Freedom Trail Day 1...Boston

Sitting by the ICA art museum I jotted down a few sentences that I want to share. This probably does not make sense but interpret as you like. Oh, I also decided if I were moss I would rather be moss on the rocks at the base of Niagara Falls instead of growing at the edge of this Boston port.

Willful silence fills my ears.
Seattled in a Boston Harbor with tea not coffee.
I love the view of drear from my mustard seed hoodie and ruby winded hair.
Black and brown do match.
And the green ivy cannot sliver here.



The ICA exhibit of Shepard Fairey was inspiring and daring. Look up more information about this artist and his works by clicking this example of his print work.

Tell Them I Said Freedom..Niagra Falls

With morning easing into the afternoon, our troop finally made it to the most northern point we shall travel, Buffalo, NY. With free time to meet and greet the falls and its visitors, I wandered to the observation tours photo index. Each photo placed on the board next to a cash register was ready and awaiting the person within the picture to buy it.

Shots of uncomfortable smiles, odd spatial gaps between fighting siblings, parents who have to hide the fact they made their children be quiet, newly weds with a newfound glow, and troupes of people elderly couples traveling with a group tour of Buffalo seemed to make me laugh. Why do they all come here? Again, I felt unimpressed by a wonder of the world, and wonder why so many people across America go to this destination.

Tami asked me, “Is this your picture?” I looked at the picture of a family that she assumed to be mine. It was of four boys. No Tami that is not a picture of me. I am a girl. We both let loose an uncomfortable chuckle when I answered with a loud no. She has worked here at Niagara for four years. Phew, I think.

“What do you think it means to be American?” I nonchalantly slip into our conversation about living in Buffalo. Apparently she has always lived there and has no clue why people visit besides the tourist hype. “Tell them I said freedom,” she says after resistance to answering the question.

“Do you go to Canada a lot?” I try to change the subject. Yes, all the time. “Why?” I push for more. “You can do anything there. You can smoke a blunt there and not be bothered. But here its not like that,” she relayed. Apparently, America limits her especially living so close to the border. At twenty-one she says that going out is not worth it because she cannot go to a club without the police coming to break it up. Like El Paso drug trafficking is an issue, so police have a tight rain on Americans.

I am not sure if I agree that Canadians smoke pot easily nor am I saying this is good or bad. It is just interesting that this girl thinks her answer to my question if what makes her American is freedom, but everything else she discusses is telling me she feels imprisoned by police.

Mistake By the Lake...Cleveland

We should have knocked on wood yesterday when discussing our luck with weather. Cleveland began slowly with a downpour. Instead of attending the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum first, the group started with a brunch and class discussion.

By discussing the sociology of Detroit, transitioning into Cleveland felt a smooth upgrade. As far as economy goes my research on Cleveland informed me that it tasted the bitterness of the decline in the car industry in the 60s while Detroit experienced this beginning in the 80s.

Walking down the streets of Cleveland not a sound filled the air. The videos online laughed at Cleveland’s lack of tall buildings downtown, and the soundless streets yelled to us that this was not Seattle, Portland, or Chicago. Cleveland’s atmosphere seemed what it might be like a bomb had gone off ten years ago and this is how far the city has come - dreary but thriving. After seeing the city, I realized how the city’s history with the citywide fire, industry decline, and poor sports teams has affected it.

Our group finished up some coffee discussion and went to make our appointment with the House of Blues. Shout out to the House of Blues giving us Belmonters a private tour of the folk art it displays on its walls! After attending art museums in El Paso and Chicago this tour meant more for our group. The International House of Blues Foundation is a non-profit organization dedicated to bringing arts to schools and communities through programs that promote cultural understanding and creative expression through music and art. This tour enlightened us all of the therapeutic essence of the arts for youth, those suffering from depression, and mental health patients as well as everyday artists.

Directly following our tour into the depths and secret passages within the House of Blues itself, we ended up in another spot viewing art and history, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Only having two hours, I thought there was plenty of time, but I was mistaken. In fact, the bottom level took me the entire time. Thus, pulling me into my other thoughts of how history of pop, rock, or music culture in general tells a lot about each generation.

Sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll intoxicated the generation before me even when their parents said this music was from the devil. Rebels of the young generation shelled out cash to see the Beatles or Elvis. Founders of Rock N’ Roll were young and alive which quickly pushed them to celebrity status. Once this status arises people become obsessed. This obsession in celebrity and music creates movements in society, fashion, and politics. In our tour of America we have been asking what unifies us. Attempting to make conversation with total strangers over the course of the trip, I know that I can always mention a star or celebrity in order to receive a response. Celebrities connect most Americans because they are more than that. They are icon of generations or even regions from west to east or north to south.

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame displayed lyrics, guitars, clothes, letters, old diaries of lyrics, the mask from Thriller, Mic Jagger jeans, an Elvis mobile, sparkling, feather boas, and high stilettos. Each screamed a high-pitched rocker yell of not only the artist but of the generation and history of a place in America. The celebrities and their songs ignite vivid memories for those who come to see these relics of the past.

During our drive back to the bus, Big Mamma, I thought of pictures my mom has shown me when she was in high school in the 70s. Golden in hair and breath, my mother illuminated in pictures with her long, straight hippie hair and bell-bottoms with a peace sign in hand. How connected I felt to her while miles and ages away from her at seventeen- self. I now see a connection for Americans regardless of age and generation. It is a connection to music and celebrities that produce it whether in film, TV, or with teased out hair, big white-rimmed glasses, and feathery glitz.

Coming back to downtown Cleveland later on for a free Roots show, thanks to the House of Blues, I hope someday my children will connect to my music. The bigger picture became clear as I drew a connection to the work that the International House of Blues Foundation continued to pursue through the arts in Cleveland. Even though the city had been hit hard by industry collapse, its push for the arts and music has brought it to life again.

Not only has a new center on the arts brought in an artist culture, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame represents a dependence on the arts. Cleveland may not have tons of buildings, but it does have this Rock and Roll Museum to put it back on the map. Anytime Cleveland has been mentioned, as a destination the only aspect people know about the city is this museum. Further research proved my assumptions that the city built it to draw in tourists, and in turn, stimulate the city’s economy. With that, when they were selecting the city to house the hall of fame museum, Cleveland put down 65 million to win the ballot. Now Cleveland can turn its cheek away from its past an no longer be the mistake by the lake.

At least We're not Detroit

Detroit had so many layers that it is hard to touch on them all. I will just highlight the fact that this was the first city I truly saw without any statistics or words the effects of the economy. I have seen areas that had very little or are dirty and unkempt. These are hard to see. I have never seen row after row of factories that had no one inside or using them. Windows broken out and emptied spaces where cars used to be mass produced and jobs were available. The vacancy of buildings terrified me more in our drive into the city than anything I have seen in a while.

Then our group went to see the Hidelberg project. When the economy crashed in the 80s, many people left their homes because no one would by them and it was easier to leave than stay. The mad dash out of Detroit left broken down homes and tons of other items which could not be carried or moved to the owners’ new destination or residence. With that, this project takes these items and turns them into works of art. These pieces of artwork are displayed on the lawns of vacant homes and usually display strong political and cultural opinions.

The nearby town of Rossford gave me hope. Even with its economic struggle the community still thrives. After speaking with the city council our group saw their desperation to bring in more business and create more jobs for residents. The mayor also challenged our group to “Pay it forward.” Whatever kindness we have received across America, it is our job and our generations’ responsibility to pay it forward and help each other. I must admit I almost cried because so many people have let us into their lives and communities that now I feel like I can eventually pay them back by showing that same kindness to others.

Motor Speedways make my head hurt

Next came the day which I loved to hate.

NASCAR has always been a secret point of tension for me ever since I attended a race with my family a few hours away from home in Atlanta only to develop the worst ear infection possible right before the event. Earplugs and chewable Tylenol were no match for the roaring engines of misery in my head for those few hours. Thus, today’s visit to Indianapolis Motor Speedway did not excite me to say the least.

Entering the museum for a quick tour the only item that caught my eye was the highest placing woman, Danica Patrick, racer in 2005. Our driving tour began next. This is when I felt a little angered to the point of committing an act of civil disobedience.

Our older tour guide hopped on and was a nice old man until some of his comments he made struck a nerve. Among several other facts, he told the group how in the old days women used to not be allowed to attend because they would just be a distraction. The idea that women are merely for looks hit me hard when thinking of history’s emphasis on females only fulfilling roles of beautiful seductress or nurturer. What if you are not “attractive” in the eyes of pop culture and you don’t like children? What does that mean? You are not female or a woman?

Later the guide made a remark about the lady with him helping him with the tour. He said that she tried to be a tour guide and wasn’t able to. The whole time all the woman did was open doors for us, the tourists, and there seemed this understood superiority between them. He treated her like she was just a woman who could not possibly lead a tour group like he did. I wanted to stand up and yell at him or assert my own intelligence in some way.

When he finally acknowledged Danica Patrick as coming in 4th place in 2005, his patronizing tone was almost all I needed to say something. It sounded like he might as well have said, “Awe, that pretty young thing put up quite a fight. Maybe the only female able to drive,” and I half-expected a woman-driver joke.

I thought back to the previous museums we have seen over the course of the trip as well as how far the women’s rights movement has come. How we gained our voting rights last, but how we still get paid less compared to men and have never had a woman president.

Maybe I should have said something or stood up to defend women as being more than aesthetically appealing. I did not. Why? Because the tour guide does not realize the language he uses offends people or is patriarchal. And, in the end, he is not a bad man. Next time, hopefully there won’t be one; I may commit some act of civil disobedience like Rosa Parks who stood up for where she belongs.

Chicago?

The second day of Chicago threw me for a new loop. Our group ventured into several areas of the city from Wicker Park to Chinatown or to a upper class area. As the group dispersed I stumbled upon the most unexpected scene I had ever anticipated. My mouth dropped open because it was as if we entered a forbidden area or came upon a never-seen-before event.

A block party on the edge of Chicago’s inner city and near Wicker Park pulled our traveling band of gypsies into its all-American feel. Children rode bikes, jumped through sprinkler, ate watermelon, and played hopscotch. Parents drank beer and Coca-Cola, mingled with neighbors, and yelled at their rowdy rascals. A family band of three boys and a dad entertained the crowd that ate hot dogs, burgers, chips, and treats. Sounds of laughter and joy filled my ears, not because of a ballgame or holiday, but just because.

Now I have seen this on television, but never experienced a gathering of neighbors for a block party. To be honest, I despised my neighbors at an early age for shooting fireworks into our yard or letting their dog kill my cat, Tommy. So the idea this actually happens surprised me enough. But here we were in the big city with a small town atmosphere. The refreshment of their hula hoops, water works, beverages, and food seeped into me to make my day all the brighter.

Thank you Chicago for not being too big for community!

Tasting Chicago

On medication due to major back spasms, I entered Chicago in a whirl. I must admit it was one of my most anticipated stops. The Art Institute, a friend in town, showers, and the pizza were in the forefront of my mind. Finally after a day of commuting the group got a quick shower and went on to the Taste of Chicago.

Tickets for the event were eight dollars for twelve tickets, but each food item was worth several tickets. I ended up eating away my tickets on dessert items like hot fudge brownie with ice cream and a sample of cheesecake. Taste Chicago’s most delectable food from their best restaurants, I did. Not enough to fill me but enough to curb my sweet tooth.

There I met Katie Graves an old Belmont friend who recently moved to the city. We made our way to the Art Institute for a quick view of the new modern art wing which I did not particularly enjoy. Alas, Renoir’s Acrobats at the Cirque Fernando or Monet’s Water Lilies was all I needed to make this trip worthwhile. But the day was not done yet.

A dash to the Sears tower took my breath -once from the run and twice from the view- as the lights of the city illuminated the gridlines of Chicago into a pattern that I easily read. It said to me that this was it; the world lay below me. I thought about in the olden days when someone was in the presence of a king; they had to be lower than him. Now at this height, I prestigiously looked out onto my court.

This structure identifies Chicago, and if this is how it makes me feel, powerful, that is, then what does it say about the city? Also, what does this say to the rest of the world about America? Do even the buildings we make convey a message of American identity?

Birds Fly High Over the Rainbow?...Minneapolis

A fuzzy blue parrot passed by me. Andi clapped saying, “Good for you. You cute parrot that kids love. Start them off early. That’s right,” she is still clapping . I look down to realize he had a Corona shirt on to promote the brand. To whom? I wonder. Children trying to decide what beer they want?

Disturbingly enough the bird flew closer on his prey while my group ate at one of the two food courts. A small girl reached her hand out from her stroller towards his wing. I could not see how this helped Corona sell their drinks until another small toddler ran to the parrot as another Corona representative not in costume gave the parents information as they took the parrot and girls picture just like at Disney. How freakishly cunning marketers can be!

After a few days in the wilderness and nature it was an abrupt flip to enter Minneapolis for the Mall of America. Jackson Turner wrote, “And now, four centuries from the discovery of America, at the end of a hundred years of life under the Constitution, the frontier has gone, and with its going has closed the first period of American history.” What is the future?

If the future is all we have because the past does not include the frontier, and we are merely a consumer driven market, what does that say about our society? I hope we will not produce a society that manipulates children in order to reach their parents’ wallets, and possibly place an idea in their heads to buy alcohol.

Minneapolis just made me wish for the frontier once again with less push and pull to buy and more nature.

River Rats in Crescent City!!!

I couldn't resist putting this picture up from Chris Speed's pictures. It is from the Crescent City laundromat.



Wetsuits may be an ultimate nightmare for many guys and gals. The thought of wearing a skintight body cast in front of friends or strangers makes many tremble out of vulnerable discomfort. I am no different. Embarking on this trip into the ice-cold river on the outskirts of Yellowstone National Park (it is not allowed to whitewater raft in the park), the wetsuit is the one mountain I must climb before my River Wild venture. Just as you should not look down if you are on a cliff or any other tall structure so as not to become terrified, I suggest not peeking in a mirror while in a wetsuit. Overcoming my fear and anxiety, I saddled up onto the second to front seat on the right side of the raft. It felt invigorating to be in the wilderness for another day.
Each national park has meant a break from life and an exploration into how to love life more. The lumberjack in me would stay out there and enjoy the smells and noises, which I am too busy to hear.

As I dipped into the hot springs after paying my fee to enter, I scoffed at the idea that this experience and land was not free. The group had to pay to go down the river and to get into the hot springs. Where I am from, the river is free to go and come or tube or fish whenever. It also costs a fee to get into Glacier. It makes me laugh to think of the land of the Free, yet it is not free as far as money goes. Free to enter, but there must be money involved to experience. It ties into several responses our group has received for the question, “What does it mean to be an American?”. “Freedom to make a buck.”

Ken Burns film title, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea, provokes an interesting suggestion to my discovery of making a buck off national parks. The implication is that nothing else America has done is as great as preserving national parks. I can agree with the title because it does not indicate Americans made nature just the idea of national parks. Even if money is still produced, the publicity for a park brings people and tourism to an area that would otherwise be an unfamiliar location. Also, the title does say this idea of national parks is a perfect idea, but merely the best one that imperfect people and society had developed.

As far as I go, national parks guide me to where I want to be as a person and citizen. I can always come home from a park a little refreshed with a potent outdoor aroma.

A Hole Lot of Something...Glacier National Park

I never addressed the Grand Canyon because, to be honest, I don’t completely get it. I loved the climb and view, don’t get me wrong, but the amount of people who travel to see it each year about five million is a little baffling. The only reasoning I have is good marketing and it is one of a kind. There are trails to walk, and that is fun, but you can walk them anywhere. Also, most of the time walking is spent looking down so as to not fall into the giant, oh yeah, canyon. By tripping over a rock, loose dirt, or donkey poop. Even though I am glad to say I was there because I have heard so much about it, I would not put it at the top of a family vacation for two reasons. One, if I ever have kids my heart may stop merely pondering if they will fall off or have a sibling fight to the death, literally and secondly, I am not convinced there is a ton more to explore or do there than just observe.

A family vacation is usually not be based on looking at a hole along with hundreds of other people crowding around nature. I may be wrong, but I thought nature was to be observed in silence with that Lee Ann Womack song “I Hope You Dance” acting like a broken record with the line, “I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean” because you do feel small beside the Grand Canyon.

With that, Glacier National Park is much more for me for if I choose to vacation for a long period of time. There climbing is a limitless exploration and feels safer and more tangible. Also, the mere contrast of warmth or normal mountain temperature with glacial rock is astonishing. Green combining with white blends together to form a new color, one no Crayola manufacturer can name.

There is also a town close by, Columbia Falls, with people chugging along with a tinge of Northern Exposure. So if camping in the park over a motel is not something I desire, then I can stay in the town to witness the magnificence of the mountain at my door. The mountains are unmistakably breathtaking and easily viewed from anywhere in town instead of at death threatening heights such as the Grand Canyon.

For me the beauty and awe is the same as the Grand Canyon but cheaper and more omnipresent. Two million visitors come to Glacier each year, and I can see why. The Robert Frost poem “Fire and Ice” comes to mind while in the park. This mesh of greenery and ice working together to produce a landscape anyone would need to reach enlightenment. If the world were to end like in the poem, I would just chose to be in Glacier when it did.