Leavin' On A Jet Plane

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standing here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say "good-bye."
But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn,
The taxi's waiting, he's blowin' his horn,
Already I'm so lonesome I could die.
--John Deutschendorf (AKA John Denver)

To see John Denver sing this song with Peter, Paul and Mary, click here.


NOTE: Click on any photograph to view it full screen in a new window.

Not the jet plane on which we left

Saturday morning, March 26th, we packed our bags, loaded them in the car, and headed to the airport. I'm always a bit melancholy at the end of a trip, filled with mixed emotions. On the one hand, I'm glad to be getting back to the kids, home, my own bed, but on the other hand, there's a wistfulness about all the things that didn't get done while on the trip. This time was especially fraught.

In my last post, I talked about the frustrations we faced upon our arrival in Phoenix and the subsequent drive to Visalia, California. Those frustrations continued through the whole week. Monday morning, after checking out of our motel, we had a very good breakfast at the Main Street Café in Visalia, then drove to the Tulare County Court House so that I could add one more governmental building to my portfolio. We had a good meeting with the folks at BWGS, one of the companies we hope will agree to supply our new Hydroponics Warehouse in Phoenix, and then headed south to Los Angeles. Crossing Tejon Pass, the official dividing line between northern and southern California, we again drove through a snow storm--one so severe that it dominated the LA news. Why, oh why, does the snow seem to be following me everywhere I go?

In Los Angeles, well actually in Ontario, east of LA, we met with the Arizona representative for Sunlight Supply, another hydroponics supplier, perhaps the largest in the country. Art was very informative, but couldn't tell us whether he would accept our account--not until he had done his own research to make sure we weren't encroaching on anyone else's territory.

Having concluded all the meetings we could in California, we turned the Ford east on I10 heading back to Phoenix. Kevin had never been to Palm Springs, so we turned off the interstate onto California 111 and drove into the gayest city in the world. Appropriately enough, a giant rainbow appeared in the sky as we approached the city. Of course I photographed it, and posted the picture on Red Bubble.

Prickly Pear cactus in bloom at the Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport

Rainbows, of course, also indicate the presence of rain, and since it was raining so steadily, and since neither Kevin nor I are bar people, we just drove on through Palm Springs, gawking as tourists do, but not stopping. Kevin wanted to get further down the road before stopping for the night, and I had no interest in staying at a clothing-optional resort in the rain. I had noticed a road sign directing traffic to Mecca on our drive west, so I asked Kevin if we could take a brief sidetrip. He agreed, and now I can say I have been all over the Arab world, in a manner of speaking. I've now been to Baghdad (Oregon), Tunis (Montana), and now Mecca (California). None of them were noteworthy, and I feel no compunction to turn toward Riverside County when I say my prayers. East of Mecca, however, was another story. Rand McNally had marked the road with green dots, signifying a scenic drive, and the Painted Canyon we drove through was certainly that. Kevin stopped repeatedly so that I could take pictures, and I posted a few of them on Red Bubble as well.

We stopped for the night back in Blythe, but found a different motel this time, one of the nicest places we've ever stayed. The next morning we crossed the Colorado River, entered Arizona, and drove back to Phoenix, arriving at the Royal Villa around eleven a.m. This gave us plenty of time to head downtown to the city's governmental complex, where we got our city tax forms filed, then on to the building we want to rent where we met our business partner, Gary. We were supposed to meet with bankers the next day, but that didn't happen, and we haven't heard back from Gary, so I don't know what is happening on that front. Yet another frustration.

On Wednesday, we were supposed to meet with the doctor we are contracting with to screen prospective medical marijuana patients, but he called and cancelled. I can't help but wonder if he's just too busy to do what we need done. Still more frustration.

Downtown Phoenix, as seen from I17. Quite the mix of squalor and grand architecture.

Thursday, our extemely handsome realtor picked us up at the Royal Villa and took us to six different homes for our consideration. I fell in love with the very first house we saw (also the most expensive, of course), and number two was also great, in my opinion. Number 3 did not appeal at all to me, but was Kevin's favorite. Go figure. Turns out Kevin doesn't want a two story house, no matter how much I felt the upstairs lofts would be perfect for my weaving studio. Another thing that caught my attention: the two story houses had the laundry room on the second floor. At first I was taken aback, but when you think about it, where is most of the laundry generated? You can carry your napkins and placemats upstairs, or you can carry all the clothing and bedding downstairs. I'd rather have the washer and dryer close to the heaviest loads.

One of the cacti growing at the Royal Villa, Phoenix

House 4 was another two story that I liked (another loft for my weaving studio) but Kevin didn't, and that brought us to house 5. This one was closest to our proposed hydroponics warehouse, meaning the shortest commute, and was an older home in a well established neighborhood. It backs up to a golf course, and has absolutely no privacy in the back yard. We'd also have to make the open fencing dog proof so that the kids wouldn't get out and bother the golfers, but much to my surprise, I fell in love with the house. It felt like "home." No large space for my weaving, no privacy, no pool, but still. I had to admit to the realtor that the house had nothing on my wish list, but I could live there quite comfortably. The next door neighbor told us that he, aged 55, was the youngest person in the neighborhood, and that's when the realtor found that the house is in a seniors only area. I guess, much as I hate to say it, that Kevin and I both fit that bill. House 6, however, if I had the money in hand, would be mine now. On a single level for Kevin, with a completely private back yard and a built-in pool, new paint, new carpeting, new appliances, new roof, and in our price range. The only problem is that we still don't have the go-ahead for either of the ventures we're hoping to start in Phoenix. We drove back to the Royal Villa with my frustration level at the tipping point.

Friday, we spent most of our time at the Royal Villa, with me naked by the pool for most of the day. In the evening, the doctor called, and we met him at a Glendale Hospital at 8 pm. Maybe, just maybe, things will work out, but I'm still not convinced.

Saturday, as I mentioned above, we packed up and headed to the airport, arriving three hours early. I know Kevin didn't understand my mood, and I'm not sure I can explain it to him. Now that we're home, I'm glad to be back in my own house, with the kids on my lap, but at the same time I miss the blue sky, sunshine, and warm temperatures we had in Phoenix. Not to mention all the time naked at pool side. Oh well, life does go on.

Still not the jet plane we left on, but one parked at Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport

For John Denver singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane" with Cass Elliot, click here.

The Tulare Dust

The Tulare dust in a farm boy's nose
Wondering where the freight train goes
Standin' in the field by the railroad track
Cursin' this strap on my cotton sack
--Merle Haggard

Listen to Merle Haggard sing The Tulare Dust by clicking here.

I haven't thought of this song in years, and I don't think I ever heard Merle himself sing it. Back in my college days, there was a coffee house on San Pablo Avenue in Berkeley called Freight and Salvage. (As you can see from the link, the Freight is still around, just not on San Pablo Avenue.) I loved going to the freight to hear such greats as Bruce U. "Utah" Phillips and Rosalie Sorrels. I still sing Phillips' "Colorado State Song" and Sorrels off-center version of "My Favorite Things," but the singer I enjoyed most at the Freight was a young man, a few years older than myself, who I swore was the reincarnation of my uncle Virgil Stephens, my mother's baby brother. Unfortunately, I no longer remember his name--but hey, this was almost 40 years ago--and boy does that make me feel old. My uncle drowned in the Ohio River in 1946, and this young singer was born that same year. According to my parents, Virgil could play any instrument he picked up, and so could the F&S singer. One evening, I took a tape recorder into the Freight, and with his permission, I recorded his entire concert. That tape is on reel-to-reel and my big Sony player has died, more's the pity. He performed at the Freight almost every month, and one of his regular songs was The Tulare Dust.

OK, that was back in the early 1970s, so why am I thinking (and singing) The Tulare Dust today? Well, due to a series of strange incidents, I find myself typing at a desk in a Super 8 motel in Visalia, California, the seat of Tulare County. I haven't been in Visalia in almost forty years either--not since I visited my best friends from college, Jim and Rosanna Brown when Rosanna was working as a librarian at the Tulare County Library.

Those of you who have read this blog from the beginning may remember the reason for the blog title, "If there were witchcraft." In case you need a reminder, there was a song that we sung at church camp when I was small, a song titled "Witchcraft" which I have subsequently taken as my own personal motto. The song goes:

Witchcraft

If there were witchcraft, I’d make two wishes,
A winding road that beckons me to roam
And then I’d wish for a blazing campfire
To welcome me when I’m returning home.

But in this real world, there is no witchcraft
And golden wishes do not grow on trees
Our fondest daydreams must be the magic
To bring us back those golden memories.

Memories that linger, constant and true
Memories we cherish----Camping days and You

The last line is slightly different than what I remember, and a slightly different version can be heard on YouTube on a 1957 recording by Patience and Prudence. At least the melody is right, and they have most of the same lyrics--just not the one that's most important to me.

"A winding road that beckons me to roam" has always been one of my fondest wishes. That and the blazing campfire to welcome me home. With Kevin, I've finally got a partner who also likes the open road, and when he mentioned that his trip to Phoenix was going to involve a side trip to Ontario and Visalia California, I begged to go along. And here I am.

We flew into Phoenix last evening, Saturday, March 19th, and we'll fly home from Phoenix next Saturday, the 26th. Turns out the 19th was not a good day to fly into Phoenix. Oh our flight was fine--we even managed to get an exit row so I had enough room for my legs. But we flew into Mesa on Allegiant and had to pick up our rental car at Sky Harbor, some 25 miles away--or in other terms, an $80 cab ride away. Kevin had arranged things thus because Allegiant's fare was considerably less than Delta's (Delta flies into Sky Harbor), but Enterprise wants considerably more if you pick up your car at Mesa--where Allegiant is based. Kevin thought he'd worked things out with the cab company which quoted him $25 for the cross-town fare, but first, Mesa Airport doesn't allow any cab company but Yellow Cab to pick up passengers, and second, once we walked away from the airport so that our arranged ride could pick us up, the driver turned the wrong way and our fare tripled. Such fun.

Once at the rental car center at Sky Harbor, we found that most flights into Phoenix had been late--very late--and Enterprise's supply of cars was severely depleted. Kevin drives a Ford Expedition, and always requests an SUV, but in order to get the car of his choice, we would have had to wait an additional half hour, or so, and since we were offered other choices at a reduced rate, I asked if we couldn't just take a full-sized car instead. Hence we drove out of the center in a beige Ford Fusion which is supposed to be a "full-sized" car. All I can say is that "full-sized" doesn't mean what it used to. Still and all, the Fusion is a fine vehicle and it carries the two of us and all our bags in style. Plus it gets a lot better mileage than an SUV, a definite plus when driving in $4.00+ per gallon California.

I had reserved a room at the Phoenix Airport Howard Johnson's, a non-smoking room with a king-sized bed. When we checked in, we found that the room was smoke-filled and the bed was definitely not a king. The desk clerk basically said, take it or leave it, it's all I have, and you're free to complain to the manager in the morning. We left it, and I will be complaining both to the HoJo manager and to Wyndham Rewards through whose website I made the reservation. Turns out there were NO rooms available in Phoenix. Some 10,000 folk had arrived for Spring Break and Spring Training, and we headed west, knowing that we would be driving that way in the morning anyway. Now if you look at a map of Arizona, there's not much west of Phoenix--even on Interstate 10 which was our route to Ontario, California. Well, there's 155 miles from Sky Harbor to Blythe, California which is the first town across the state line. And Kevin drove those 155 miles, arriving in Blythe at 1 am, local time--the first place we found a room.

This morning, we left Blythe, and drove on into California, past Palm Springs, through San Bernardino, and up into the mountains to the city of Hesperia where my second cousin, Pat Rumsey, lives. Pat and I have corresponded and spoken on the phone for many years, but we have never met. Faithful readers may remember that I wrote Pat an apology as a blog post after writing her a very nasty e-mail. I don't want to go back into that, but suffice it to say that meeting Pat was an experience that made me feel absolutely terrible--she's such a small woman, and I'm such a big man, that it felt as if I had thrown my weight around in a completely unfair fight. I hope to never do such a thing again. Pat and her husband Larry were delightful, and Pat and I talked family while Kevin and Larry watched fishing on TV. Pat's mother and my father were first cousins, her grandfather being my grandfather's eldest brother. While we visited, the wind came up strong enough to cause a power outage. Kevin had decided that he wanted to go to Visalia first and return to Phoenix via Ontario, so we still had at least three hours of driving ahead of us. We bid Pat and Larry good-bye, and headed out.

Filling up the Fusion at the cheapest station we could find, I felt the car rocking in the wind, and was glad that we weren't in a higher profile vehicle. Driving out of town, we passed a trailer that had blown over on its side, blocking one lane of traffic. Continuing on toward Tehachapi, the rain turned to sleet, then snow, and I was forced to call Missoula to ask why I had traveled all the way to southern California, only to find myself back in the snow. I'm so sick of winter.

As we wound down the pass into Bakersfield, the snow turned back to rain, which has continued all the rest of the way. Looking out the window just now, the rain is pouring, or in the Pennsylvania Dutch locution I grew up with, "It's pouring the rain down." There won't be any Tulare Dust around for a while.

Sorry that there are no pictures with all this text. I hope you enjoy the music. The weather just didn't warrant getting the camera out so far this trip.

And here's one more Merle Haggard song that I learned from that young singer at Freight and Salvage, Mama Tried.