The Gift of Memory.

Photographs are tricky. I used to be into photography. It was definitely a hobby, as my camera was always with me. I would stop along the road to take a picture of a field or a sunset or I'd trek thru my parent's neighborhood thru the snow. It went like this for a year or two, but then it stopped. I'm not sure exactly why it did. Maybe it was just a phase that my friends and I went thru and once one of us started losing interest, we all did. It could also have to do with the fact that lenses are expensive and I didn't have money to upgrade my equipment.

I remember saying that it was because I couldn't find that beauty anymore. Whatever it was that I found in photography was no longer there. I had captured everything I wanted to and couldn't find anything else. I had already walked thru my neighborhood three or four times and gone out around the city with my friends. I'd taken pictures of my grandma's huge amount of flowers more than once. I felt like I was in a rut - I needed to branch out and take pictures that were different from every other one I had taken. Well, I never really did and my camera gathered dust. Once in awhile I would pull it out and take horrible shots because I didn't remember how to use it. My sister's graduation was a casualty of that.

But the trip to Florida inspired me. Not in some gradios way, but enough to take it. I took pictures of the guys playing - and it took me a little while to remember lighting settings and technics I had learned along the way. But I couldn't wait for the ocean. I could take pictures of the ocean forever. I have hundreds of pictures of flowers and clouds that all look the same to anyone but me.
So today, I went thru a hundred or two of the four hundred pictures I took last week. I haven't touched the band pictures; mostly, I looked at the pictures that I went looking for. I came up with about five, which are the ones lining this post.
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Back to my original statement: Photographs are tricky. There is so much emotion and nostalgia attached to them. Even if there was love - it can bring pain. They are reminders of what once was and how different it is now. Those pictures are easier to not see; but to hide or burn. There is something to be said for remembering and learning from the past, but there's also something to trying to forget it completely.
Even going thru these few, I remember what I thought about out on the beach that morning. Being alone and - for once - enjoying it. Seeing how big and powerful this world is and how small and weak I am. Feeling the ocean breeze and mist on my face. I was at peace that morning as the sun rose and I felt its warmth on my face.

Looking back from today, there's a big difference. I feel these walls closing in on me and all I can find to hold them back is smaller than I am wide. Six weeks...I think I can handle that. And then I can breath, take a step back, and figure this thing out. If only it'd be that easy. At least it will be the break that I've needed for eight months - which I only got a taste of this past week.

Suffered a swift defeat.

I'll endure countless repeats.

The gift of memory's an awful curse.

With age it just gets much worse.

Then The Rest Be Damned.

I realize that this is very past due. I'm quite sorry for that. But this is part four - the finale - of my posts from the trip to Florida last week. It required a little more and I couldn't find the time. Well, I've found it.
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Wed. March 11th, 2009. 12:50 PM (CDT).

We're back on the road, after our wonderful stop at Whataburger. We've dubbed it Weezerburger due to the similarity of the logos.

Here I was at the end of America - no more land - and now there was nowhere to go but back.

We've the windows down and we're rolling down the road; a country road with fields and woods. We're in our routine spells: Andrew is driving with Dan riding shotgun. Andy is watching 30Rock on his iPhone and Devin and Eric are listening to music - as am I. Their dancing about is entertaining and I usually join in. We're having fun. This trip has been great. We've had a few little fits and many more laughs.

I finished part one of On The Road. It felt right to finish the first part all on one trip. He left home when I left and returned when I did. 50 bucks went a lot further back then and hitchhiking was it's own club.
I found it interesting that he would usually settle into a town for awhile - not just a few days but weeks or more. He'd get a job and find a niche. But there always came a time when he felt the need to move on. A few of these times, I was right there with him. I was urging him to move and ready to pick up my bag along side of him. But there was one time where I begged him not to go; I pleaded with him to stay. It was right before he went home; back to New York.
He had met this girl named Terry on a bus. And as he described her and the time that he spent with her and how much they loved each other, I found myself wanting him to stay with her. But that time came and I cursed him. How could he give up something so good because of the road? Maybe he finds her again, maybe not. I don't know yet. But I have a hard time seeing a reason to end something good - whatever it may be - for what seems to not matter.
But he left and he went back home. I guess sometimes those things just happen.


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One Great Red Line.

Sat. March 7th, 2009. 6:14 PM (EST).

Chapter two is only three pages but really sets up what follows for the rest of the book - at least of what I've read up to this point.
Kerouac explains how he's set out on his adventure to meet up with his friends in Denver and he has mapped out an easy route that has him on the same road for most all of his trip. But circumstances arise and his plans fall apart. He's left in the rain, alone, and cursing himself.
And life is that way. I'm reminded of Death Cab's song "What Sarah Said."

And it came to me then, that every plan
Is a tiny prayer to father time.

Life has two points - a beginning and an end. But there are many paths that connect those two points. And everyone must figure out their own way. Some are easier than others and others only look that way. But regardless of difficulty, we take one and we walk.
But every path ends - maybe not until the very end, but they all end eventually. And sometimes by the time we realize that a path has become overgrown, we are left standing in the middle of the woods trying to figure out up from down. And in that desperation and time of being lost we question who we are, what we are, where we are going, and even our ability to get there. But we must keep moving; we must keep walking - even when it hurts, because thru all of that, we stumble onto other paths. And each path is different - but we must not forget the paths we've been on. We may regret having ever set foot to it or perhaps we'd die to tread that familiar ground again. But it is our time on these paths that shape us; that teach us who we are.

...I wanted to go west and here I've been all day and into the night going up and down, north and south, like something that can't get started.
It was my dream that was screwed up, the stupid hearthside idea that it would be wonderful to follow one great red line across America instead of trying various roads and routes.

I bet in the end he thanked the Lord that his great red line failed. He saw more of the country and met people like Eddie and Montana Slim and countless others that I have yet to meet. Perhaps it was more difficult and took longer than he intended, but I guarantee that those country roads held more life. And so I am thankful that Route 6 had no traffic on that rainy night one July.
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I'll end this entry with this:
At the end of chapter four, Jack says goodbye to Mississippi Gene:

"I hope you get where you're going, and be happy when you do."
"I always make out and move along one way or the other," said Gene.
It was sad to see them go, and I realized that I would never see any of them again, but that's the way it was.

Ocala to Destin:

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The Pearl.

Sat. March 7th, 2009. 3:41 PM (EST).

We've made it to Florida and have only made one stop for gas and food. We've all gotten to the point of putting on head phones to listen to music or watch TV shows; We're reading or air drumming to whatever it is we're listening to. Actually, only Eric does the drumming - but it isn't really drumming...I think you'll have to ask him what it is exactly. Once in a while we break out of our spell to answer a text message or make a joke about a sign along the road, all the while Andrew plugs on with driving.

And after a few attempts to read that have failed due to my ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, I have successfully read a chapter of a book I have read countless times. Part 1 Chapter 1 of On The Road by jack Kerouac. I borrowed this book from my friend Jared awhile back and started it. But each time I started it had an interval of about a month so I just started over each time. I've since given his copy back and bought a copy of my own - two in fact. But one was intended as a gift that will never be given.

The last line of this chapter caught my head - much like it has each time I've read it:

Somewhere along the line I knew there'd be girls, visions, everything; somewhere along the line the pearl would be handed to me.

I have read further on thru this - only to chapter 6 at the most. But what is this pearl he talks of? I assume that it's different for everyone - and that's why this line fits everyone. I've been into books lately that have been about hitting the road and having an adventure. I read one by Don Miller, Through Painted Deserts, and am half way thru a book titled Wild At Heart - about how men are driven for adventure. And after I read Miller I knew that I wanted to read On The Road. I actually went thru a phase of buying every book of Kerouac's that I came across. I started one called The Dharma Bums but it fell to the wayside. I intend to read it one day too. I intend to do a lot of things that may never happen. We'll see.
But it was from reading these books that led me to crave an adventure - something to do that was challenging. My friends back home and I are planning a camping trip when I go home in June and my father and I are planning a trip out west to explore the desert together. This road trip may not be an adventure like that, but it's something. It's the road - and the road is therapeutic. I find it calming. And I think it stems back to why I started on long drives and what that meant to me.

And I don't know what I'm looking for, what I need. I have ideas and I have desires - some of which may never come to pass. But I know that somewhere along the line the pearl will be handed to me - whatever it may be. And I would like to feel prepared and equipped to receive it well when that time comes.

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The Taste of Blood.

Sat. March 7th, 2009. 10:22 AM (EST).

We hit the road around 7:20 AM (CDT). Actually, according to the clock in Andrew's Tahoe, it was 7:19 and I can tell you that for a fact. I pay attention to numbers. But I will most always round them one way or the other so that you don't know that. I suppose that I find it more "normal" to not have a mind for time or numbers like that. And in no way do I mean that I'm good with numbers - math is a foreign language that I stumble thru. Much like saying that I speak french when I use works like rendezvous or buffet. But I always remember them. If you call me, chances are I will know exactly when you called me and if you ask what time it is, then I know exactly - but I will make it sound like an estimation. I pay attention to a lot of details - it just comes thru more with numbers. That is one of my quirks.

Eric, oh Eric, he brought his xbox and a TV screen so that we can play Call of Duty in the car. It is awesome...to say the least. However, it is very difficult to aim when bouncing around in the back seat. But I think my favorite part of the trip thus far, is Devin falling asleep next to me and hogging the entire bench. Oh well, at least he's cute. Oh, and there was the time that we hadn't even gotten out of Murfreesboro and were flagged down cos our trailer door was open or something. I wasn't really paying attention so I'm not completely sure of the details.

So right now...I have no idea where we are. I think we've gotten thru Atlanta, Georgia, but I have no idea as I have fallen asleep at various times. This is partly because I fall asleep like a baby when I am in the car. It also has to do with the fact that I stayed up all night erasing and filling my iPod. That was stupid. It's to the point where it is becoming very difficult to fit an adequate and representative amount of my 70 GB music collection onto my 30 GB iPod. I'm near time for an upgrade - either that or the bands I like need to stop making albums. But anyway, we are on our way to Orlando. I'll let ya know if we make it. Also, you can follow all of our Twitters at Andrewadamsonline.com


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Oh, The Weather Outside Is Weather...

I must admit that I am so happy I watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall last night so that I remembered the line that is the title of this. That movie is wonderful on so many planes of wonderful.

So today! This is what I woke to! I'm very torn. You must understand that I absolutely love snow. I like driving in it, I like playing in it - I just like it.
But today is March 1st. There comes a point where - after being teased by warm beautiful days - you just want the summer sun. But today, I will try and enjoy the snow. I understand why people don't like it. It's cold, it's just one step away from rain, and driving in it can be treacherous. But I find there to be something peaceful about snow. In the winter, when it covers naked trees and the cold, dead ground it brightens up the world. It illuminates the day (mostly due to the sun's reflection off of the tiny ice crystals) and brightens up my mood. So I will always welcome snow and the cleansing it brings.
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I've been in this mood of only listening to They Might Be Giants. It is simply amazing what that does to a person.