Troy

Mo wrote an article for The Sun-by-the-Sea.  It’s pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.

…almost unscathed. I say almost because Mo’s foot (which she injured while trying to capture a photo of Mission Dolores in San Francisco) has turned out to be slightly more than sprained. To be more specific:  It’s broken. … And requires surgery. So it’s not been exactly an easy landing on our return to “reality”, but we’ve managed to get the rest of the photos uploaded … and some videos.  You can view the pics and videos on flickr (which, unfortunately is having lots of “hiccups” right now, but…)

The sun was just starting to rise, but the rest of the Cawley clan was fast asleep. So I sneaked out into the quiet morning for a few moments alone, and I snapped some pictures. There was a peaceful calm, that took my breath away. And nothing was moving…except me and the sun and a stray dog, who reminded me in some odd way of our old Rocky. (RIP) I watched the shadows change as the sun peaked over the mesas and buttes in the east. For a few moments, everything turned slightly golden. When the show was over, I headed to the laundromat to wash red dirt and several, shower-free days of adventure out of our clothes. Then it was time to add one more bumper sticker to the back of our own trusty stagecoach and move on.

Mancos State Park campground with its 30-some campsites,  cool mountain air and comfortable, well-equipped yurts (including futon beds, a fridge and a microwave) lacked only one luxury amenity—a shower. Not to worry, though, we fancied the lack of bathing to be part of the true pioneer experience, complete with the echoes of howling coyotes at dusk and dawn. Plus it was only two nights…and we had lots of baby wipes.  The price was right for  comfortable digs, just 15 minutes from the entrance to Mesa Verde State Park, too – $60 a night. Mesa Verde is the former home of the Native Americans, formerly known as Anazasi. Ranger Dan, the tour guide who led us through the Cliff Palace ruins explained that the Navajo word”Anasazi” translates roughly to “ancient ones” or even “ancient enemies” and is a less-than-accurate way to refer to the people who built these amazing dwellings and inhabited the four corners area of the United States about 900 years ago— years before the Navajo settled nearby and way before Christopher Columbus was even a twinkle in his mother’s eye. So now, we latecomers call these industrious early settlers “Ancient Puebloans” to distinguish them from the Puebloan people they eventually joined to form groups in placed like Mexico, New Mexico and Arizona. (Hope I got that right.) This journey certainly has inspired me to learn more about American history. To see the ingenious dwellings that these native people built without benefit of modern machines is humbling and amazing and to think they scaled these cliffs daily to make their way to the mesa tops where they farmed without rivers or running water is almost unimaginable. During our day in Mesa Verde, we learned about kivas—circular ceremonial spaces incorporated throughout each collection of dwellings. Ranger Dan explained these underground spots were also used regularly for socializing and relaxing (kind of like a holy rec room). They eventually abandoned these awesome dwellings for reasons no one knows—possibly a drought, possibly other depleted resources, possibly some cultural incentive to move on The most interesting thing I took from his talk, however, was that early people probably didn’t distinguish subject from object as we modern folks do. In other words, a worthless, inanimate rock to us was part of living earth to them, just like our living bodies are collections of rocks/bones, minerals, etc. The whole world was alive to them, he said, complete with crying streams, angry storms and sympathetic stones. In the afternoon, we took another guided adventure of “Balcony House.” The tour of this smaller dwelling is not for the faint of heart (like me). It included climbing a 32-foot ladder, squirming through an 18-inch wide tunnel, and a steep ascent up a cliff face assisted by a swinging chain railing. All the kids ranked this potentially perilous experience as one of the highlights of the trip to date—although surprisingly Anna learned she has a fear of heights, and Balcony House is an adventure she will always remember, but likely not repeat.

Memphis “Monday is a Blues Day, Y’all.” – Big Jerry on Beale Street. We set out today on the path of Kings. We saw Graceland, of course, and we also spent a couple hours at the National Civil Rights Museum, which is located in the Lorraine Motel, where the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot on April 4, 1968, the day before my sister Colleen was born. I was 18 months old. I am always surprised to see how much the history has happened within my lifetime. As a child, I was mostly unaware of being born during such a tumultuous time in American history, but I do remember my aunts wearing MIA bracelets for soldiers during the Vietnam War and seeing “colored” bathrooms at worn-down gas stations in the south during family trips. The Civil Rights Museum gave a detailed look at an important and tumultuous time. The exhibits are extremely text-heavy, however, so come prepared to read…a lot. The room where King died is also preserved here so you can pay your respects, but no photos are allowed anywhere in the building. We did grab a few shots outside however. We also took a few photos at Tom Lee Park on the Mississippi River. The story of Tom Lee shed a bit of light on the history of race relations. A memorial erected in his honor at the park in 1954 describes him as “a very worthy Negro,” which seems faint praise considering the man risked his own life working singlehandedly through the night to rescue 32 white passengers on a steamship H.D Norman in 1925. A new bronze sculpture installed in 2006 tells the story of his heroism on much more personal terms. While there, we “enjoyed” a picnic lunch…in 95 degree heat and humidity, all with the view of a pyramid, which we still don’t know the significance of. It was all part of the experience. By the way, there is no breeze off the mighty Mississippi. Graceland, however, has air-conditioning, in addition to 23 rooms. We thought the experience was, from its carpeted ceilings to it mirrored staircase and fabric colored walls, well, “gonesville.” My sister-in-law Cheryl, who has much better taste than me found the décor wanting for the most part, particularly that in the “jungle room.” I found it all charming, and surprisingly comfortable, but perhaps 5 days in a cluttered car are playing tricks on my mind. What I found rather remarkable is that for a “mansion,” in spite of the decorating style, Graceland was relatively modest. It has 23 rooms, but they were relatively small and include a refinished basement, garage and office space. I didn’t get the square footage, but it didn’t seem bigger than some suburban houses nowadays. Elvis bought the house and its 13 acres of property at 22 years old for just over $100,000. We had fun learning about his life, and I for one left the property with a greater appreciation of the King of Rock and Roll. We had ribs for dinner on Beale Street at the Blues City Café, where the walls are graced with signed photos of famous patrons, including former President Bill Clinton, Molly Ringwald, Jimmy Kimmel, Cuba Gooding Junior, Bo Diddly, Big Daddy and Lynyrd Skynyrd. On the wall above our table was a Pink Cadillac. On our plates were delicious ribs—falling off the bone. Emmett scarfed them down in ten minutes. We didn’t get a chance to try dry ribs at Rendezvous, since it is closed on Monday. The kids had also wanted to see Mud Island Park, with its splash-inviting scale model of the Mississippi, but it, too, is closed on Mondays. We took walk down Beale Street, instead, and enjoyed some live music. But we couldn’t get into Silky O’Sullivans to see his famous beer-drinking goats, as it was Monday and a private party was going on there. We pressed our faces against the wrought iron gates and took a photo anyway. On our way out, we stopped to see Big Jerry and his blues band play on the street. We bought a CD, and headed back to our cabin in the deep, deep woods. But when we popped it into the CD player, it wouldn’t play. It was still Monday, after all…

We left Meeman-Shelby State Park at 7 a.m., and took a breakfast break in North Little Rock, Arkansas, where we wandered around whimsical Old Mill Park for an hour or so. Built in 1933, the entire park is a piece of art. The Old Mill and the gates and the bridges and benches that seem to grow from the landscape were sculpted by Mexican artist, Dionicio Rodriquez, who used some sort of concrete to create a world that you would swear was made of wood. After breakfast we headed straight to Oklahoma City, stopping only for gas, a bathroom break and a chance to grab lunch out of the cooler in the trunk in Fort Smith, Arkansas on the Oklahoma border. It was near here that we also stopped to look at our car thermometer, which was displaying readings we had never before seen. 104, …105,…106, …107. Really? Must be broken… We checked into the Days Inn off I-35, and I took the kids to the pool as ASAP. Troy, my hero, volunteered to get the laundry started. While in the pool, I spoke with a nice lady from Oklahoma, who confirmed what I feared. The car thermometer was not broken. “We’ve had a bit of a heat wave,” she said. “It’s supposed to cool down to the 90’s tomorrow.” Okay… We had an awesome steak dinner at Cattleman’s Café in the OKC stockyards, complete with lamb fries (AKA fried slices of cattle testicles…really, but don’t tell the kiddos). Katie ate her weight in steak and still wanted more.  She was also amazed and thrilled to see cowboys wearing real cowboy hats. Everyone but Troy fell into refrigerated and blissful sleep by 10 p.m. Troy, the trooper, stayed up after midnight, updating the website. We’re off to the Cowboy Western Museum and Amarillo next. See ya’ll at the Big Texan.