A Living Magazine - Day 191 - Homecoming - The Classic City

I didn't sleep very well, despite every material reason why I should have. A comment from a reader about betraying my project by not sleeping outside got to me. It shouldn't have but it did. Maybe there was a part of myself who agreed. The larger part though, was happy to be out of the rain and the dreary woods. When I opened the curtains and saw the sun, my concerns dissolved. It had been the correct decision... 

The Budget Host Inn, 3425 Atlanta Hwy, Athens, Georgia.

Considered a "two star hotel", It certainly fit the bill for me.

there were no issues and the manager/owner, Chinu Patel, and his wife

were very accommodating and friendly.

I bought another night with the last of my precious savings, and was for all intents and purposes, now out of funds. Yet, since I had a more fortified home base for the next twenty four hours, I could at least catch up the blog, take a shower, dry out all my things and reorganize. I also looked forward to finally getting down town to explore and do a laundry.

Fortunately, there was a bus stop for the Number 20 bus (which I had seen rumbling to and fro on the Atlanta Highway for the last two weeks) right in front of the motel. The fare was $1.75, and transfers good for one hour were free...

Since this stop was between listings, I didn't know exactly when the bus would there.

I waited about a half hour. Turns out, the bus gets there every quarter-after the hour.

I wasn't exactly sure where the best place would be to get off. So, I waited until we were pretty deep in the downtown, then pulled the cord when the announcement of "The Arch" came over the intercom. I recognized that area from the map. And, it should only be about a mile's walk to the Normal Town Laundry, in the north part of town... 

The Number 20 heading toward the river.

I was right near the heart of the University of Georgia at Athens (UGA) campus. It was everything a northerner might expect from a southern school in beauty and grandeur. The buildings were often neoclassical architecture, white with fantastically ornate column capitals resting on thick solid bases, mixed in with federal style buildings, lecture halls and painted brick dorms. There was certainly a 19th Century feel about the place... 

The sign directly across from College Avenue.

A panoramic view of the College Avenue Square (the intersection of College Avenue

and Broad Street). Who would expect anything less than

a Starbucks parked under the green awning to the right, on the corner.

My sister, Deb, had gone to school here for her freshman year. And, though I was mindful of our plan for me to find the bench she'd carved her initials in, I discovered the the task was much more formidable than I thought it would be. She said it was in a little park, but there were little parks all over the place. I'd need more specifics from her later if I was going to get serious about finding it. I also wanted to find her dorm, but both of these things would have to wait--probably until Thursday 12/31, when I'd have to be back to pick up my new tarp.

Some pictures from around the Holmes/Hunter Building...

Naturally, the green-awning gravity of Starbucks caught my planetary wanderings mid-orbit, and I crossed the street for my usual tall dark roast and ice water. I nursed them while getting online to make damn sure I took the right route to the laundromat. It was settled. I'd walk up College, take a left on Dougherty continuing straight as it turned into Prince and then look for the sign about half a mile afterwards. It was a nice walk...

The Grill. Looks like a classic in the Classic City.

At the top of the hill, I approached City Hall, a magnificent building...

Just past it, and on my way to Dougherty, I saw a strange site. A double barrelled cannon. According to the plaques it was a complete failure. The idea was that you load two balls connected by a chain, one into each barrel, and then fire them simultaneously, which would supposedly extend the chain and "mow down" the enemy as he approached. Yeah, not so much. They could never get the barrels to fire at the exact same instant, which snapped the chain and cause the balls to veer off in random directions. An amusing story, for sure...

The other side of the road--Athens Bank and Trust.

Outside the St. Joseph's Catholic Church, along Prince.

I'd end up passing by a bunch of white mansions in the deep South antebellum style (Latin for ante "before", bellum "war")...

Joseph Henry Lumpkin House.

The UGA President's House.

An unmarked house. One can see that it is only the addition of the wraparound porch,

flanked by thick columns that make these houses any different from

New England captain's houses built around the same period.

The sidewalk along Prince has hundreds of scratched-in messages.

The Delta Tau Delta Fraternity House.

I got to the Normal Town Laundromat and walked into to find a nice clean place with plenty of machines. I'd read the reviews of the business, and wasn't overly encouraged by some of them. The attendant (a young woman with shortish brown curly hair) was a bit infamous for her unfriendly and dismissive behavior there--apparently. Seeing her when I arrived, I wanted to observe this for myself; partly because I was just curious and had time to kill, but also so that I might leave a review to counter the others, if she turned out to be an angel or mercy.

I said hello. She did the same. Good so far. I got set up and went into the bathroom to change out of my hiking pants and into my bathing suit--a ghastly yellow thing, in order to wash the pants with everything else. I got the machine loaded and started it up. My clothes hadn't been washed since Mobile, so this was going to be a nice restart.

Firing up the laptop, I noticed that they required a password for Wi-fi. I went to the counter to ask this of the woman. She said nothing and just tapped the sign taped to the counter with her finger a few times. It was a ten digit number (probably the phone number). The young woman was a bit odd, I thought. It was as if she was completely unaware that niceties between people even existed. My impression was that she had not gotten in line when personalities were passed out.

Over the course of my washing and drying though, I noticed that what must have been "regulars" freely conversed with her and she was friendly to them. I chalked her attitude with me up to the appearance thing (I was wearing my bleached out Boston Red Sox shirt and those neon yellow bathing shorts, had carried a backpack in--basically my look screamed, "creepy transient guy". Which, perhaps I was.

When I finished, I packed up and set about retracing my steps back along Prince...    

Art work on the business next to the laundromat.

Seeing these tropical and desert plants reminded me a bit of southern Arizona...

Palms and prickly pears. 

Didn't know what this referred to?

Possibly the artist, Harry Shokler, or maybe just some local dude.

When I'd returned to Broad Street (which is actually just the downtown end of the Atlanta Highway), I had no idea what time the bus might be coming by. I figured that since it took about a half hour to get into town, a bus should be there some sometime in the neighborhood of quarter to four. I sat on the little bench, then paced around after offering the bench to a couple of foreign students...  

It was right in front of the Taste of India restaurant. Since Birmingham, in my search for some kind of ethnic food, I had been interested in getting to eat at an Indian place. This one was closed, but I made a mental note (and photographic one!) of the lunch buffet hours ($9.95), just incase I had some extra money on Thursday when I planned to return...

Bus 20 arrived at about 3:50 pm, and unlike the ride into town, the outgoing seats were nearly filled. I sat next to a guy who looked very much like my friend Glenn Romines (whom I'd met in Houston, Missouri--and whose hat I wear).

It was a relatively short trip back, and I pulled to cord right as the "MOTEL" sign came into view. The bus let me off across the street from it, and right next to an Aldi Food Market--a great discount chain that I'd been introduced to by my friend, Allyson, while staying with her near Minneapolis. If I was going to save enough for bus fare on Thursday, and not exhaust the last $10 on my Starbucks card, I'd have to buy enough food to make it through this night and the next day with only about $7 in cash.

I went into Aldi's and found a pound of bologna, a half pound of cheese, eight hamburger buns, and a bag of chips, for just over $7. Then I crossed the highway and let myself into Room 108.

After making a couple sandwiches, I got down to the task of catching up the blog, publishing two posts in about the next eight hours. This time, when I went to bed, I fell asleep easily and had a good rest overnight.

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A Living Magazine - Day 190 - Homecoming - Desperate Times Call For Reliable Friends

The rain had stopped. The tarp/fly was still very wet, with the large drops I'd come to expect rolling down its sides. 

I was tired, fatigued, nearing depression. No human being should have to live like this! We didn't conquer onrushing sabre toothed animals on the plains of Africa, withstood thousands of years of ice ages, fought each other in innumerable archaic wars, instituted and then abandoned slavery, spent hundreds of years in damp, cold, mold-infested castles, suffered from every disease and affliction that nature could throw at us just to sleep in dingy damp woods. We had space shuttles, thermonuclear weapons, complex economies, intense civil structures, iPhones and the internet. What the hell was I doing plugging napkins into the corners of a leaky tent?!

The thought didn't last long, but it made its appearance on the lonely stage of my mind long enough to push home the point: things MUST change. Not just for me, personally - as I have chosen to experience the very bottom scrapings of the shit-pool of modern society - but AS A WORLD. What the fuck were we doing? 

Middle class American people were busy and distracted by the seemingly-desperate, but everyday, concerns of binding a household together, paying bills, keeping their credit ratings up, learning about the latest gluten-free, oat bran, raw foods, Atkins, antioxidant, antidepressant, restless leg syndrome bullshit. Meanwhile one seventh of the human earthy population was going to bed with no meal in their stomachs, every single day--with over half of those being little children who have no say in world politics, military interventions, medical denial because of income level, or influence over the distribution of food from the fattest, whitest, richest nations on earth.

Such were my paltry, petty, shallow thoughts on this morning. Even *I* lived better with my unwashed body, constant hunger, leaky tent, saggy mildewed backpack, smelly sleeping bag, and detested lifestyle than any given eight hundred, so-called "third world" people each day. 

I was loved, remembered, cared about, funded by wonderful, thinking, enlightened patrons. As miserable and inhuman as I found my circumstances, they were nothing compared to the hellish torment that over 15% of the world's people endured. Why should I expect comfort while these people languished in extreme and inescapable poverty and unmitigated depression? There was no reason. There IS no reason.  Reason and logic are a luxury that white Americans can toss around like a volleyball on the their shining beach of unlimited opportunity.

We privileged-few folks on a planet infested by militaristic and industrial exploitation haven't the foggiest clue of what our relative comfort - even my DIScomfort - foists upon the rest of humanity. 

We expect it will be served to us on a shiny platter each day, grumbling, bitching and squirming like spoiled children when it isn't provided exactly as WalMart for the "poor", and Saks for the "rich", said it will be. 

We should be ashamed. But, instead, we are simply ASLEEP; pampered and coddled by a paternalistic, infantilizing, self-appointed leadership doling out SSRI's, alcohol, tobacco, red meat and TV to satisfy our lazy, ignorant and greedy needs. All the while, their own greasy chin stains betray the marrow-sucking of life out of everything natural, wholesome, healthy and pure that can be bought or stolen. 

I got up, knowing that on this day I had to get a room, one way or the other. I had a great Journey still to come, and I had to bury away my empathy for the most desperate of humanity, that I might go a few inches further, and - if I didn't lose myself in my own eventual success - trumpet their cause.

I'd found a better and easier way out of the woods, but it passed by this...

This is what an irresponsible and idiotic camper leaves behind.

It has been here for probably six months.

When I got to Starbucks I learned that my dear friend, and very active supporter, Joyce, had mentioned to one of the motels she called a couple days before, that she had a friend who had an expired ID, but was a journalist who might need a room.

She let me know that one of the places she called, Budget Host Inn, would accept this unkempt friend. This was not just music to my ears, it was a hanging vine with which to swing from the cliffside of my last Journey to the shores of my final Homecoming Journey. I - seeing brilliance before me - immediately asked her to be my Personal Manager, which she, with her naturally high intelligence, friendliness and ability to charm the Washington (ponytail and all) off a silver quarter, could easily handle, graciously agreed to. 

She then called them back and said I was in town and would be stopping by. The owner of the place, one, Chinu Patel, warmed to her graces and said that I would be more than welcome there.

I worked to post another blog entry while at Starbucks and then walked back to my two week old campsite to gather up the tent. I hiked only about a quarter mile away to the Budget Host Inn, paying for the first night with the funds I had scrimped and saved, and holding onto enough for a second night, should this work out...

The doorway to my refuge.

It was a nice room, with a king sized bed, microwave, fridge, clean bathroom and a closet to hang and dry my tent, tarps and bags.

I hung around outside for a few minutes and saw this guy on the wall...

This, my friends is the classic roach--of motel fame.

HOWEVER, there were none of his brothers and sisters in the room,

nor have I seen any since (and I write this post from two days in the future).

I took a long shower, walked to the Dollar Tree to pick up some dinner (meatballs, mashed potato, a frozen cheeseburger and some juice), then microwaved the lot (except for the juice--duh!), and ate as I settled into the first dry place that I was able to spend the night in, in many days--thankful to Joyce, all of my other supporters, readers and friends.

It was a little bit after 11:00 pm when I turned in.

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Dear Iwallkers, I would like to sponsor Alex's Iwallk project with an offer of a discount for a product I carry call Cold Bee Gone. You can read more about it by clicking this ad! If you would like to purchase some Cold Bee Gone for yourself or for the holidays we offer you 25% off by typing the code, "IWALLK" into the "Discount" field at checkout. Not only will this bring your purchase cost down (plus shipping which is USPS priority flat rate), but we will donate five dollars per bottle sold directly to Alex and his Journey. This is the height of cold season so we hope this is an appealing option to support your own health through the winter and also support the blog! Bee Well Iwallkers! ~ JCD

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Support Dawna Lamson's Simply Smiles fundraising campaign! 

From her page...

Help me support Simply Smiles by making a donation to my Win A Trip campaign! With your help, you can send me to Oaxaca, Mexico or the Cheyenne River Reservation in South Dakota to work with Simply Smiles. The process is fast, easy, and secure. I truly appreciate any support you can provide. And, no matter the outcome, it will benefit a great cause! 

If you can't make a donation at this point, help me reach my goal by sharing this page on Facebook and Twitter! Or, even better, send an e-mail to friends you think might be interested in contributing and include a link to my page! 

Thanks so much for your generosity!

This will be a wonderful opportunity for Dawna to provide a brighter future for impoverished children, their families, and their communities. It's easy to give! Just click on Dawna's picture below.

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A Living Magazine - Day 189 - Homecoming - Old Significant Other Dreams

It was another ex-girlfriend dream. As a I mentioned some posts ago, I sometimes have dreams about one of three past loves. This time it was A.L. again...

* * * * * * *

We were driving around some city doing errands. I don't recall ever being in this city, but seemed to know it really well at the time. I kept forgetting things. My short term memory was shot; the kind of thing that happens during a bad LSD trip. And, it seemed to both of us that this was something I periodically was going through. So strange how the dream world can pick up and leave off from alternate timelines. Maybe there is something to the many worlds theory of physics? We were both the ages we would be now, but in the waking world we had parted twenty years ago.

She kept driving from place to place; the grocery store, the library, the laundromat, etc. And, every time she saw a hitchhiker (for some reason there were a lot of them), she stopped and picked him up. We carted around a bunch of lost souls. They were often mentally disabled or strung out on "something". I felt a bit jealous that these guys were taking precedence over me in this fragile memory state of mine.

At some point, we stopped at a little diner with one of these guys, and she offered (with my credit card) to buy him lunch. We sat in the booth with a very awkward silence going on. She had to use the little girl's room and left the table. This guy and I just sat staring at each other for a few minutes while we consumed our cheeseburgers and fries. He was a good looking lad, long dark hair, a minimal beard and really dialated pupils in his dark brown eyes. I felt old and gray (which, compared to him, I was). Finally, I asked if he was "from around here". He just shook his head, saying nothing.

I had a memory lapse at that very point and then had to reconstruct the day's activities. He stopped chewing for a moment and peered at me with a furrowed brow, seeming to know that I was on the fritz. All I could think about, as I brought myself back into the present moment, was that he wanted to sleep with my girlfriend--who was much older than he--though A.L. always was a young and pretty looking woman anyway. She returned and turned on the charm, perhaps sensing this lust of his, while perhaps jabbing me. I have these insecure thoughts about her, because of the mistrust I developed with her in the real waking world. At least that is my interpretation.

When we were done and the $30 or so was taken out of MY account, we three left and continued to his drop off point. Can't remember where it was--maybe under an overpass somewhere. We heard singing outside the car. I guess it was the holiday season? The most sublime female voice I think I've ever heard, came wafting around the alleyways and abandoned warehouses in the area. I was gaining more of my sensibilities by that point, and was growing tired of this game A.L. was playing.

Because of a one-way street, we were forced to drive by the singing, and it grew louder as we approached. I told A.L. to pull over. She rolled her eyes, and complied. I knew good singing when I heard it. And - apparently in this dream world - I was still a music producer (as I had been before leaving Maine in the waking world).

I heard the voice of an angelic young woman, maybe half my age. It was strong, yet emotional and soulfully tragic, as if she could sing while she was crying. I was intrigued. I told A.L. to wait in the car while I investigated this beautiful singer.

And she WAS...beautiful. But even more interesting to me, her voice was rounded, rich, but yet dynamic--soft and then loud again as if channeling the sheet music she read from, in an almost supernatural way. I loved A.L. - in the dream - but it was my chance to turn the screw after an afternoon of making me jealous.

When the young woman completed her acapella performance, I walked up to her and introduced myself. She blushed as if she'd heard of me, and our eyes met. Unbelievable to me, she was the woman from another dream--the one who was presumably the mother of my future children, one of whom knocked me out of a lucid dream, by saying "Daddy?". Again, as with the previous dream, I couldn't really see this woman's face; only her heavenly blue-green eyes.

When I went to extend my hand in greeting, I felt A.L. grab my shoulder. She had run over from the car. "We have to get going!" A.L. said, dripping with green jealousy. I turned and looked at her, and she shrank back... Then, I watched as her face became widened, and she grew a greyish beard, losing her red hair... She looked like ME!

* * * * * * *

I awoke with a start! I sat sat up and realized I was in my tent. What did all of this mean? It was still dark out. And, checking my watch, I saw it was 6:28 am. Obviously, there had been a rain overnight. The inside of the tarp/fly had large drops, occasionally running down to drip on the ground. I sighed, and dropped directly back down to my makeshift pillow. My ponytail jabbed into the back of my head. Ouch!

Reaching for my pen LED flashlight, I withdrew it from the side pocket of the tent--where all of the stuff from my pants was stored each night. Holding it up to shine around the inside of the tent, I saw that no major leaks had formed. This was a good thing. I knew now that, unless there was sustained pouring rain, the tent tarp/fly worked pretty well on its own--having forgotten to add the little blue tarp on top.

I was no longer very tired, and wondered how I could pass the time before getting up and going to Starbucks. So, I decided to read more of my ebook (The Brotherhood of the Screaming Abyss). I was nearing the last few chapters. And, being able to finish it would be nice. I read until about 9:30 am, finishing the book.

The story of the last days of Terence McKenna (my social philosopher-hero), as told by his brother Dennis (my new hero), were heart wrenching. Terence died from brain cancer in 2000. And, I sobbed at the account of his passing. The majesty of Dennis' recounting, along with my utter love and fascination with Terence could bring about no other reaction. I honestly had to wait until my eyes were shorn of their bloodshot state before putting on my hiking shoes and performing the day's pack up.

I decided not to disassemble the tent. I would probably need it for one more night. I'd saved up nearly $120 dollars for a room, if I was able to get one (maybe for two nights? at $60 per night). But the better days would be Monday and Tuesday, since Monday was supposed to be an even heavier rain than I had yet faced--hard to believe.

When all had been secured at the campsite, I made my way to Starbucks to work for the day, which I did. My new friend and manager of the store, Tammy, wasn't there, but she must have given my cards out, because - though no other employees engaged me in conversation - they treated me like royalty.

I assume she must have made a very significant plea that they not judge a person by his appearance. I'd told her how difficult and prejudicial it had been in other cities and towns; with my backpack and overgrown beard, to be respected. For example, sometimes I would get to a Starbucks and listen to each person ahead of me be treated with great dignity, only to approach the counter myself, and have the cashier say, "Yeah, what do YOU want?" She would not tolerate such disrespect from her crew.

I had earned a Starbucks free drink. And so, one of my favorite guys - I think his name is Eli? - took my order. And, though I screwed it up and asked for a caramel cappuccino, when what I wanted was a caramel frappuccino, the girl at the mixing station would not accept my plea to take what I'd actually and accidentally ordered, but instead insisted upon giving me what I really wanted, I knew something was afoot.

These folks had learned from their wise manager that a loyal customer (I'd been in there fourteen days in a row) was more important that a single drink. And, they graciously and without a second thought, made SURE that I was happy--homeless or not.

I won't forget this, and I hope Tammy has a chance to read about it. America is NOT without its retail heroes. Starbucks is a great company, because they understand the overriding logic that a happy customer is a customer for LIFE.

I sucked down my delicious caramel frappuccino while I wrote out the day's blog post. The rain was gathering up again (for godsakes!), and I departed some six hours after making my order, forgetting to take my AC adapter.

I walked down to Burger King and bought the usual chicken sandwich, then realized my oversight with the adapter. Finishing that meal, I made it a priority to get back to Starbucks and retrieve my precious item.

I walked into the quiet store at about 7:30 pm and found my adapter plugged in right where I'd left it. Then, it was off to the campsite, where I hunkered down for another night of rain.

It wasn't raining when I arrived there, and despite the big drops on the inside of that tarp/fly, and the residual moisture on the large blue tarp on the tent floor--which I dabbed up with napkins, things were relatively dry.

I crawled inside, removed the sleeping bag from Saggy, which had remained damp and rather stinky at that point, then proceeded to lie down on top of it, falling asleep by about 9:30 pm
.

_______________________________________________________________________

PLEASE CLICK ON OUR SPONSOR ADS BELOW FOR GREAT DEALS!

_______________________________________________________________________

Dear Iwallkers, I would like to sponsor Alex's Iwallk project with an offer of a discount for a product I carry call Cold Bee Gone. You can read more about it by clicking this ad! If you would like to purchase some Cold Bee Gone for yourself or for the holidays we offer you 25% off by typing the code, "IWALLK" into the "Discount" field at checkout. Not only will this bring your purchase cost down (plus shipping which is USPS priority flat rate), but we will donate five dollars per bottle sold directly to Alex and his Journey. This is the height of cold season so we hope this is an appealing option to support your own health through the winter and also support the blog! Bee Well Iwallkers! ~ JCD

_______________________________________________________________________

PLEASE CLICK ON OUR NON-PROFIT CAUSES TO SUPPORT YOUR COMMUNITY!

_______________________________________________________________________

Support Dawna Lamson's Simply Smiles fundraising campaign! 

From her page...

Help me support Simply Smiles by making a donation to my Win A Trip campaign! With your help, you can send me to Oaxaca, Mexico or the Cheyenne River Reservation in South Dakota to work with Simply Smiles. The process is fast, easy, and secure. I truly appreciate any support you can provide. And, no matter the outcome, it will benefit a great cause! 

If you can't make a donation at this point, help me reach my goal by sharing this page on Facebook and Twitter! Or, even better, send an e-mail to friends you think might be interested in contributing and include a link to my page! 

Thanks so much for your generosity!

This will be a wonderful opportunity for Dawna to provide a brighter future for impoverished children, their families, and their communities. It's easy to give! Just click on Dawna's picture below.

_______________________________________________________________________