Our First Blue Sky 

Josie at Amarillo's Cadillac Ranch 

The Natives Are Restless in Arizona 

Texas Next

Before we left Visalia, I went to my bank and warned them that I would be spending money across ten states and that I didn't want them to suspect that my check card was stolen and put it on hold.

So what happens Friday night? Our card locks up, and we could not contact our back until Monday. Downside: sitting around Chandler for an extra day. Upside: sitting around Chandler for an extra day.

We got on the road yesterday and rolled through the Navajo nation. We are now sitting comfortably in Alba... uh... Albe... uh... Albakwerke... no... uh... New Mexico.

South/South-East

Yesterday was day one of "the Howard's Long Haul". 600 miles, $350 (just in gas), and 5 hours sleep later, we are chilling in Chandler, AZ.

We saw beauty. The Mojave itself is pretty stunning. Desert hills, sandy brown dappled with spiky, sun-dried brush gives way to cactus and red earth. We passed by the edge of a desert lightning storm. The kids counted the strikes as we drove.

I heard many interesting things along the way.

There was a secret. "I think about this alot, but I've never told anyone before: I hope that all the animals are O.K. I really care about them you know."

And from another as we traversed the desert. "I sense there are a lot of holes for lizards around here."

In the final long stretch, the girl and I were struck with desert fever and held hands and sang to each other, inspired by Laura Branigan...

Tell me how am I supposed to live without you
Now that I've been lovin' you so long
How am I supposed to live without youAnd how am I supposed to carry on
When all that I've been livin' for is gone

Thankfully, the fever has passed and so has our longest traveling day. Here's to a bit of rest with the Thomas'.

Funeral Blues
(because Mitra once asked my favorite poem)

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W. H. Auden

Origional Watercolor by Jackson Fisher Howard 

Still and Known

I have three friends... and they are Mind, and Heart, and Rhythm.
They give me thought.
They warm my life.
They pace my journey.
And one couldn't have it better.
So, to Mind who is at war...
To Rhythm who wanders...
To Heart who hollows out...
...peace.
...peace.
...peace.

What I Hate

I hate I-pod owners. It's true. It's a choice. I choose to hate them. I hate them, because they have one and I don't. I know it's a hatred born of petty jealousy, but I don't care.

Well, at least that was true until this past Sunday.

A few comrades, who knew my angst and accepted it just as they accepted me, bought me one as a going away present. I tore off the wrapping paper, and there it was. I stared at it, stunned. Something caught in my throat.

I owned an I-pod. I hate I-pod owners. The self-loathing was papable.

And that passed in about five minutes. And life is good. No more petty jealousy. No more bitterness. And my world is filled with wonderful, portable sound.

Until this morning that is. On my way to work I passed a a Corvette, and I glanced over at the guy driving it. And at that moment I realized that I hated that guy. In fact, I hate all Corvette owners.