Ca$h Money!!

I'm visiting my parents this weekend in Dallas. It's one of my travel destinations, next of which is Norman for the week of Thanksgiving.

Anyway, I digress....

One of the typical things my family does when I'm home is run errands and see movies. Actually, they do that regardless if I'm here, but I get to tag along when I am. Yesterday, dad and I saw The Descendants, which wasn't too bad. But before that, we went to the post office and to the bank. Sitting there, in the drive through, I witnessed the craziest transaction I'd ever seen. And when we left, I asked my dad if he thought what had just happened was bizarre and he didn't know the slightest thing what I was talking about.

This explains three possible things:

1. I'm way too observant and curious for my own good.
2. My dad is way too oblivious to all of his surroundings.
3. It really wasn't that bizarre, but I thought it was because I'd never seen it before.

Here's what happened:

Right after we pulled into the drive through and sent the transactions through the tube, an armored van pulls up right behind us. The ATM is directly to the left, so an armored man gets out of the van, leaving his sun glassed partner watching from the van like an eagle on its post. The dude gets out his keys and after about 5 minutes of punching codes and unlocking and opening the machine, the world is staring at the ATM's skeleton. Or I am at least. he continues punching numbers and a piece of paper regurgitates with some more numbers, I'm guessing, and then finally, he bends down too far below for me to see him extracting the money. It's like he's doing surgery on the robot ATM and getting paid millions in a matter of seconds.

I keep looking in all my mirrors and at the teller, who has been on the phone the entire time. It's taking a very long time for our transaction to be complete.

Then, after a while of bending down, the uniformed man stands up, turns around, and we lock eyes. He's caught me observing the surgery and although I wasn't doing anything wrong, it felt like I had seen him extracting a kidney to sell on the black market. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time and maybe I had caught on to something that wasn't meant to be witnessed. It felt even more like that when he immediately radioed something on his shoulder, at which point the teller behind the window broke me from my trance by mumbling something about taking a little longer. Sure thing, lady, I'm watching this million dollar transaction occur. Take all the time you need.

After that, he walked to a drive-thru that was 3 spaces away from ours. There was a car to our right, and then a space, and then him. Until, right as he started sending the money (I'm guessing), this unmarked white van pulled into the empty space to the left of him. And then the car next to us left, and the van reversed from his original spot, then pulled into the spot next to us. Finally, after about what seemed like 10 more minutes, the armored car that was just sitting behind us began backing away, then the uniformed man walked to the backed up car and got in. It finally drove completely away. But the white van remained. And then suddenly, the teller turned her attention back to me, apologizing that her assistant had been away and was there anything else she could help us with. No, I responded, and thank you.

Why was I so mesmerized, I wonder, while my father remained completely unfazed?

Today, mom and I took a trip down memory lane, to the square in downtown Carrollton. It brought back memories of the county fair parade and riding in the float that my dance company put together every fall. It reminded me of the days when mom would get us out of school for a doctors apt., then take us to the Rainbow Fountain for an ice cream cone and the chance to sit and spin on our favorite color bar stool. I always chose blue. I thought the antique store next door was boring, but as long as the Rainbow Fountain was in the plan, I could manage to get through antiquing. Then there's the gazebo in the square where I'd pretend like I was Lisle from the Sound of Music, and try to jump from bench to bench. Getting back into the car, mom would put us back in our places if we got out of hand. She had me convinced that if I continued to act out, all she had to do was press the Eject button and I'd be shot out of the car, through the ceiling, like a Wile E. Coyote. I didn't dare challenge the threat. All I know is that I didn't have to learn "the hard way" and that she was a great rearing mother and she still is a great and loving mother.

Tonight a lot of my family gathered to help celebrate my only living grandmother's 80th birthday. Grandma Pat has been in the family since before I was born, after she married my Grandpa, the same year my parents got hitched, in 1980. The number of friends and family who attended, and their age ranges, is a testament to the type of woman Pat Fuller is. I can only hope to one day hear my husband publicly express the kind, heartfelt and supporting words my Grandfather spoke to a room full of loved ones, tonight. And I can only hope to live as long and as full of a life that she has thus far. Just 2 or 3 years ago, I might not have made the short trip or minuscule effort in coming home for the weekend. But somewhere in between, I realized life is too short. I constantly have to remind myself to keep things in perspective. Money should not restrict you from doing the things you love or want to do, and it certainly shouldn't keep you from the people whom you care most about. But sometimes it's that impeding obstacle. But when you're just a kid, nothing can slow you down, right? Not even bank tellers.

Lemonade for Sale: $10

My sister and I were those kids on our block who often had a table set up on the curbside when the weather was nice outside. Most of the time it was lemonade or some low-sugar fruity drink, but sometimes we went through our rooms and decided to sell things we no longer played with. My sister's claim to fame was that she sold a Troll doll to Derek Harper, who lived down the street. He said it was going to be one of his daughter's birthday presents. We'd perch on on the top of our brick mail box, flagging down the traffic that consisted of a sole car, creeping down the hill, about one for every 7 minutes that passed.

I began babysitting when I was 13 years old. By the time I could drive, I was booking jobs weekends in advance. I'd glance ahead in my planner, realizing that I had jobs lined up each day of the weekend, for the next 2 or 3 weeks. All of a sudden, as I'm typing this, it makes perfect sense! My dating life was obsolete, but I was making bank and got amazing grades throughout all of HS! I had unknowingly developed the habit of multitasking at a very early age, as well as entrepreneurship. Families could depend on me to take care of their kids and their houses and I began to build a reputation as one of those sitters who would tidy the house and wash dishes after the kids went to bed, thus was recommended to friends of existing clients. I remember one Christmas, I bought a stack of blank rectangular magnets and designed a logo on Windows "Paint" program with my name and phone number and job title: Babysitter. After I printed them off, cut them out and adhered the paper to the magnets, I personalized each and every one of them with multi-colored stamps, then gave them out to my client base. I learned from my father that if you develop good business relationships, it's important to recognize them and let them know they're recognized; that the appreciation is mutual.

Now, as an adult and someone who has suddenly found themselves interested in building a reputation in the creative arts industry, I am pulling out those habits developed as a teenager. So far, the repertoire consists of fused glass pieces of jewelry, uniquely designed racks upon which to display your jewelry, collaged light covers, re-used vintage house window glass paintings, and the piece I'm most proud of, my very first poem chapterbook, "The Toothbrush Tales, Vol. I". It's a collection of 10 origi

nal typewritten poems and collaged artwork. I don't have a steady income at the moment, so this is the beginning of my livelihood as a visual and literary artist. I'm calling the idea "Totem Tokens", because it's a hodgepodge of creations and each area represents a different aspect of areas of life. I'm hoping that there might be a duel-purpose token that can offer something to anyone.

Asheville and Memphis have been very productive points of travel. I found an instant community on the Warren Wilson campus in the woods and entered as a traveler and left as a perspective student for the only graduate program offered: An MFA in creative writing. Go figure that I was plopped onto a campus, in the middle of nature, with one of the best writing programs in the country. It was only natural that I'd get inspired to complete the chapbook, I guess.

I caught my first Craigslist ride share to Memphis, to visit my sister. It wouldn't have been possible without my friends from WWC, though, who helped me with meals, a warm place to stay, use of computers, and a ride into town. My ride share was this woman who needed to get home to see to her ailing mother, with the help from her siblings. The situation seemed familiar to what my own mother and her siblings may have experienced, only a couple of months prior, with Nana. My new friend and I cheered each other on, as we spoke similar views about our society; the need to share what we've already got and bartering our services, while reluctantly agreeing that one still has to try to earn money, even though money itself can truly be the evil root of everything.

Something we didn't have in common, though, was the fact that she'd grown up 3 decades earlier, in the deep south. One where she recalls classmates spitting on her chairs before sitting down to try to focus on the day's lessons. One where she remembers being "taught" by means of staring at the backside of her teacher because he had divided the class by race and directed his topics to only the white students. One where she was the first of five total black students to graduate from the de-segregated high school in Batesville, MS in 1969, only to receive her first reunion announcement 40 years later, after Obama obtained office.

In Memphis, my sister and I visited and talked about our plan to reunite the family by relocating us all to Eugene, OR, in 2-4 years. I hope everyone realizes by now that if it's a "plan" I'm a part of, it's going to happen... :) We went on a hike in the Shelby Forest State Park near her house, and I went on runs and set up the Totem Tokens Facebook page and attempted an Etsy account, not to mention, watched a bunch of Netflix. It was awesome.

I'm plotting my next move, that involves touching base in OK for a couple of days before heading off to Dallas, spending Thanksgiving in Norman and continuing travels to points west. The winds are picking up; clinging leaves are becoming chameleons on their branches, at which point they'll be released to the rest of the world. I'll happily continue to join those leaves on their journey.

Birds of a feather, nest and flock together

For the past couple of days, I've been residing in the valley of the Blue Ridge Mountains, on a small college campus, in the middle of a forest. I have met some very forward thinking and intelligent young adults, who are so excited to gain and utilize their new skills, and furthermore, pass them on to anyone willing to listen.

I opted to stick around the Asheville area, in order to soak up all the natural beauty I could manage, and in return, have managed to become a vicarious student, through my newly developed friendships. One of the main things that I'll be taking away from this experience, is acknowledgement of the importance of balancing friendships on both ends of the age spectrum. The second night, I was invited to this potluck, where the food was garden grown and passion to learn and teach one another was the secret ingredient. It was the best dinner I had tasted while on the road, and it was most certainly because of the love for one another and desire to nourish. After introducing the Wednesday dinner howl from back home, we enjoyed our flavorful feast.

I went for a run the next morning, through a series of trails and ending in an open pasture. As I descended the pasture, gaining ground towards the hill sprinkled with brilliantly autumn-hued trees, my perception was deceived. It was the most bizarre phenomenon I think I have ever experienced. For every step I advanced, the distance felt farther and farther out of reach. It was an experience one might not be surprised to dream, but I became more alert and awake with each new tread.

Sooner than later, I'll advance towards my next travel destination, Memphis. I'll carry with me more than my creation of newly crafted travel tales, yet my load will be lightened and very much enlightened.

What's your favorite type of writing?

You never know what you'll find, if you never go looking.

This is a picture of the Typewriter Serviceman in DC and this is the typewriter he hand delivered to use while he fixed mine. And then we made a trade, on my request. Of course I paid him for his repair service, parts and labor. Sterling Rich has been in the typewriter parts and repair service for 40 years. I believe I have made a pen pal...

Goldilocks and the Three Boroughs- A NYC Fable

There was this traveler who came through the big apple to reconnect with friends, seek inspiration and a little solitude. I know what you're thinking; with over 8 million people, how can anyone seek solitude?

The first several nights, this weary traveler felt pampered and cared for by a hometown friend, at the top of an apartment which overlooked Madison Ave, nearly reached the height of the Empire State Building, which she felt like she could reach out and touch. Glittery lights shown through the full length windows, which reflected on the mirrors that lined the other two walls of the master suite. She certainly appreciated the luxury and independence, but felt a bit out of place and nervous about messing things up. Banter with the doormen made up for the awkwardness. One day, she walked all the way down to the Occupy Wall Street and saw a stark difference. She wondered if any of those Occupiers would pass up the opportunity to stay in a pent house apartment for a couple of nights, for comfy bed and a hot shower, if given the chance...

After the Manhattan mid-town trip, she peeked into the life of friends from a not so distant past, but from a completely different world. The upper east side felt safe and comfortable and moderate. Perfect for up and coming professionals. The apartment was larger than she anticipated, hearing stories of outrageous monthly rent. But the underground was a completely different story, especially when she took a wrong train to the wrong stop, plopping her down in the middle of the Bronx in the middle of the night. It reminded her of her first subway experience at 12. A clever scammer stood at the gate, accepting tokens from the group of youngsters who passed though to enter. He probably managed 20 tokens worth of free rides before someone called him out and he made is escape.

The last night, she crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and hunkered down in Bushwick, to stay with another hometown friend. The sentiment and aura of the apartment felt the most comfortable of all, but the neighborhood, well, didn't. She was nervous in a different way this time and for the first time during all of her travels, felt a twinge of homesickness.

However, alls well that ends well, and on the final day of NYC, she reconnected with four friends from another world, which made her feel right at home again. And of course, every fable has a moral, right?

The New York City boroughs are some amazing places, with an amazing history, a vast diversity of ethnicities, amazing food, educational institutions, museums, theaters, parks, lights... the list could go on and on. For the first time, though, the distribution of wealth was displayed out in front like a children's pop up book, each new page full of surprising images. So, be respectful of those who have more, or who have less than you, but don't covet their lifestyles. Embrace what luxuries come your way, and find the silver lining when the clouds turn gray. And then, keep traveling.

Shrinkidinks and Cowinkidinks

Coincidences. I get a huge kick out of them. But I often wonder if they really are just that? Or if all the little things we call coincidences are leading up to something larger. After all, circumstances that have led to this journey have led to these so called coincidences. Or maybe, it's all just a bunch of junk...

The other day, probably when we were driving through the Adirondack mountains from Albany to Burlington, I was thinking about how I'd like to start typing my poems on an actual type-writer, because I like the font and I like the simplicity. And I'd like to put together a little booklet to share with others to read.

We pulled into Portland, ME on the 18th, with no agenda and no place to stay, so I set up shop at Local Sprouts, a highly recommended c0-op cafe, which didn't disappoint. My decorative light switch covers are making their way into other people's homes, which is so awesome. So I decided to go out to the car to get my supplies to begin making more, and to feed the meter, and when I cam back, I noticed a type-writer sitting on a table, begging to be used. I couldn't believe my eyes and I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it earlier. I asked my new friends behind the counter if it was always there and they didn't know anything about it either, so I sat down and typed a letter which read:

dear my dear friends,

wow, it has been a really long time since i've used one of these :) it was sitting, ready for use here at this cafe in portland, me..can you help me findone of them?? ///? i want to start typing all of my poems one one. i used to have one when i was a kiddo. it's a shame to have gotten rid of it, and my paren'ts awesome 10 speed bike.

[insert poem here]

well, it's time for the owner to use it now. just in time! thank you for reading. this was meant for your reading enjoyment.

love from the road!

Hazle Lee Dove October, 18, 2011

********************************************
Then I sat down and began collaging the covers. The rest of our stay in Portland was wonderful and our CSing hosts were amazing, taking us to lighthouses in the rain and letting me spread out my mess to finish 6 new covers. I even read some poems and attempted some songs at open mic night before Luna Moth and Blue Valley Farmer blew everyone away.

Fast forward to Cambridge and Boston. It was really comforting to stay with friends from Oklahoma and run through streets so tiny, I felt like I was on the set of a theatrical play. We got to the house show and I met some of the hosts. I walked into my new friend's room and guess what was sitting on her desk? Yep. And she proceeded to tell me she had two, after publicly displaying all of my excitement. So I asked her if she would consider selling one of them to me. It wasn't until after the show that I told her about my plan, and eventually found myself sharing the letter with her. And she thought about it throughout all the beautifully moving music that was performed that evening and afterward told me I could give her $10 for the typewriter that shares the color of a dove. Want to know what really fuels that coincidence flame? My friend is from Peru, which is where the main character of my book is living and doing field work, deep in the Amazonian jungle, with an indigenous tribe that consists of about 50 members.

Yesterday, we walked around Walden Pond State Reservation and later walked around Boston for the purpose of looking for their local Food Not Bombs serving site, only to the Occupy Boston, and coincidentally, the Food Not Bombs information table. It was being manned by the co-founder, who pointed out where the first FNB site took place, across the street, 30 years ago. He stayed with one of my friends from Oklahoma when his car broke down for about two weeks.
http://www.foodnotbombs.net/

Today, I am typing all of this in a penthouse apartment, overlooking about 50 rooftops, and straight down Madison Ave, watching the taxis inch by. Nearly a stones through behind me is the Empire State Building and in front of me, to my right, is the Chryslter Building. I'm staying with a friend from Oklahoma, who told me last night that I'd have a lot in common with her other friend who is also staying with her. She told me she did Peace Corps in West Africa and that they met when they were both living in Burlington. Later, in walked in her friend, it turns we had already met, in The Gambia, because that's where both of us served. I barely knew her then, and barely know her now, but jesus christ, what a coincidence.

10/18/11 Public Service Announcement

Running through Washington Park, I was swimming though a sea of pink. I passed a group of women and one of them was smoking a cigarette. I didn’t have enough nerve to speak my mind to her about smoking during a Susan G Komen breast cancer Race for the Cure. Perhaps someone else did… Instead though, I told the “Team Granny” survivor congratulations.

I also walked to this amazing neighborhood co-op grocery store. It had the biggest bulk item section I’d ever seen in a locally owned shop and I got brown rice and yellow lentils and granola and dates and chili lime peanuts and peanut butter and also carrots and tortilla chips, all for about $15. The co-op offers so much to its customers, but it doesn’t offer me the crap candy that I eat pretty much on a daily basis, so I walked literally right next door to the dollar store. But the two stores couldn’t have been farther away from one another; practically polar opposites with regard to commodities and customers, yet they shared back walls.

The words to this poem began stirring in my head on the walk back home…

PSA 10/17/2011

Here’s a little advice, from little old me

I’m no one special really

Just one of those apples who happen to fall not too far from the family tree

Faults of my own, faulty wires, a lose screw of one or two

Sticking out like sore thumbs, taking it as it comes

Obsessively compulsing, mind always pulsing, until everything is in its exact place

Now for the tid-bit

Kindly turn the music down, adjust your seats, prepare a new drink and put out the smoke

Excuse me, madam? The smoke?

I’ll forgive you once because perhaps you haven’t got a single clue

About what cigarette smoke can do to my little babe, and even worse, to you

But darling, during this survivor’s walk, you’ve got no place or room to talk

Or we’ll just continue to stop and gawk

And I’m so, so sorry that breast cancer took your best friend’s life

It too has run amok among my own mother’s milk ducts

Now, time for a quick intermission break

Go ahead and choose a snack

But I’d think twice about grabbing that

We learn through practice, must practice what we preach and in turn, preach what we learn

So for cake’s sake and for your salud, let’s get lost in this labyrinth and pick some fruit

Fresh fruit, organic apples, locally grown greens

You’ll find it all here at the Cut Out The Crap community food co-op

You know it, don’t you? It’s right around the corner from the dollar store

Oh, the food here you can’t afford?

You’ll need to leave and shop next door?

Because there you can purchase so much more?

I’m so sorry, my sweet, sweet dear

It makes my blood boil too and it’s just not right

That the 1% can afford to eat so great

And that the 99% will eat so poor

Later, I found myself in another alternate universe, upon landing in Burlington, Vermont. A unique type of tea house, called Dobra (there are only four in the US, including Madison, Burlington, Portland, ME and Ashville), that originated in the Czech Republic. The tea house led to listening to Arabic chanting, which lead to our couch surfing friend telling me about her art hanging at a coffee shop, a quick walk away, which led to my stepping into the place and immediately hearing the words to a song from an artist whose name I didn’t recognize, but had to learn right then that very instant. Because the lyrics referenced flying into Senegal and having crazy lucid dreams from the malaria medication. Which I’ve experienced. So I walked straight to the front counter and asked the barista, who told me it was Elephant Revival. Apparently, two of the band members are from Talequaa, Oklahoma, which is really bizarre because the very next moment, I turn around and see my friend Brooke from Oklahoma, sitting down with a friend, sipping coffee.