Staring into Nothing

When visiting Asheville, North Carolina Duffy and I got several recommendations to visit Blue Ridge Parkway. Being innocent and not caring to do more googling than to find an address for it, thought this was a park or something, perhaps a scenic route that circled some great hiking and picnic spots. We really weren't sure. So, after breakfast we drove up there. We were confused when we got to Blue Ridge and noted the 45mph speed limit. Duffy drove slow to allow us to enjoy the sights of Blue Ridge, despite the dullness of the rainy day. He'd pull over if a car came behind him because everyone was really whipping it through this place. 

Duffy decided it was likely because locals used this as a backroad or shortcut, while us tourists took our sweet time. Whenever we saw a look out we'd pull over, get out, and enjoy the view. There really is nothing like the mountains. Even though driving through them makes my ears pop, I still enjoy the journey. I love the size of the mountains, the way the trees grow green and tall. I like to imagine all the wildlife that lives within these areas, and to wonder what it would look like had someone decided to not put highways and tunnels through them. At the look out I no longer looked up from the roads, I looked down to them, and across the valleys to other mountains, spotting houses and farms. I recall us stopping at one and Duffy pointing to the top of the mountain, and noted the speed of a cloud moving over it. 

It got colder as we climbed the winding roads of Blue Ridge. The wind got stronger, and it seemed that our proximity to the clouds made the world a little darker. After some driving we began spotting signs for "Craggy Gardens." I hoped it was a spot with some fine landscaping, lots of flowers to bring color to the gray day. We decided we'd stop to look at it. 

There was no garden as I'd imagined, but there was a visitors center to stop at. As we approached the visitors center the fog grew thicker, and thicker. I pulled out my phone and took a video of the fog. Unfortunately, it looks like posting the video to the blog won't be very good quality, so here is a screenshot from the video. 

I was a little nervous about the fog because it made driving conditions worse. Of course Duffy didn't worry. We parked and looked out towards the mountains. We had already seen gorgeous layout after gorgeous layout. We saw vast valleys, massive mountains, and endless sky. But now we were in a cloud. It was thick and deep. As you can see, we couldn't see too far ahead of us. 

I wrapped my travel blanket around my shoulders to keep me warm since I was still in a dress from breakfast. Everyone else we saw wore pants and vests, clearly outdoorsy folks on a journey. I walked up to the edge of the parking lot and stared out into nothing. 

I smiled, my heart happy to be looking into the great beyond, finding nothing but white and wind. It was just a wall of fog, hiding the beauty of the mountains. I could see the tree tops that were reaching up towards the parking lot, trying to take over the concrete placed there. They blue wildly in the wind, the leaves flipping over, the branches bending so hard it was surprising they didn't snap. They did there dance, as if to impress me since the true sights of Craggy Gardens was being concealed. 

Duffy went to the bathroom, but I stayed at the outlook, studying the fog as it was about to reveal something. I loved it because I just kept thinking about how I was staring into nothing. Looking into a blank slate, a blank page, a blank canvas. I couldn't see a damn mountain or valley, only the fog. I just stood there, trusting that there was something great beyond the fog. I smiled thinking that if the fog cleared there was a chance a large mountain would protrude from the fog, maybe just a few hundred feet away from me. I had no idea, but I hoped there was a magnificent mountain that close, I wouldn't' even mind if ti was blocking the real view of Craggy Gardens. 

When Duffy returned he took a video of me looking out into the fog. Again, it won't be good quality as a video, so here is a screenshot to show you the beautiful nothing I was staring at. 

I couldn't look away. But it was also very cold and windy. We went into the visitors center and looked at the knick knacks and t-shirts, admiring the way the entire shop smelled exactly like a Christmas tree. The back wall was all windows and showed a great view of the fog. The wind howled against the windows, pressed against the wooden walls, but inside the air was calm and still. Duffy picked out a small pillow full of balsam fir tree and a bag of peanut m&ms for the road. It was in this shop that I noticed a wall decoration for sale. It was a map of the Blue Ridge Parkway, which stretched 469 miles and went through two states. It wasn't a loop or scenic route as we had thought. 

This fact explained the people driving the speed limit or faster through the roads. And the cars we saw parked at the look outs that clearly had people sleeping in them. It made so much more sense. We couldn't drive the entire thing in a day, though after we checked out and said goodbye to the fog, we decided we would one day drive the entirety of the parkway. We want to see it in the fall, when the leaves are changing into reds and oranges, as well as in the spring when the leaves grow back, fresher and greener than ever. 

I will definitely tell you about that experience when it happens.

For now, I will leave you with one final picture. It was taken the following day when Duffy and I decided to drive the mere twenty miles of the parkway that we had explored once again. It was a clear day, and much warmer. When we got up to Craggy there were a lot more people than there had been the day before. With the sun shining bright we looked out, and saw the mountains and the valley and the body of water that existed at the bottom. 

We saw this: 

Wide open space, green tree tops, and that beautiful sky with the perfect clouds. We went into the visitors center again to get another little pillow for me and the best peanut m&ms in the entire world. 

A List of Delicious Places to Eat in Asheville

While on our trip someone asked Duffy and I what we were doing in Asheville. I answered honestly, "Eating." Because that's what we do on trips, seek out the best restaurants and devour their food. So, here is a list of the best places we ate at in Asheville, North Carolina.

Early Girl Eatery: One can never go wrong with breakfast food! Duffy and I both ate French Toast Biscuits, which were AMAZING! Who knew biscuits made such good french food?

Tupela Honey: We knew this place would be great going in, because everyone recommended it. I got salmon with some delicious mac n cheese, and Duffy got a veggie burger. The burger was magnificent. Thick burger, large bun, and included a healthy serving of pimento cheese that oozed out with every bite. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it!

Noble Brewery: Duffy hates beer, but loves cider, and Asheville had just the place for him. The cider was low sugar and high alcoholic content. They had classic flavors, as well as some far out flavors like "Coffee and Cream." I took a glass of "The Spice Merchant" which was made from chia tea and included a bunch of delicious spices. Duffy got a glass of "The Village Tart" which he just described as "fire." The place looked like it was made from an airplane hanger. There was a large table full of board games, some tall tables, a food truck outside along with some patio space, and three small rooms off to the side. We went to the rooms, which each had three walls so they remained open, and sipped on our drinks. Then, we noticed a table for checkers and decided to play. Guys, that cider made me really good at checkers! I C R E A M E D Duffy! Usually I'm okay, but I typically lose. But with this cider in my hand I took up the voice and tone of a renaissance queen who was battling with the French and trying to obtain an entire country while battling with the goblins and fairies in Scotland. And then I destroyed Duffy in checkers!! Anyways, we left the brewery with a growler of "The Village Tart."

French Broad Chocolate Factory and Tasting Room: This city loves its chocolate, apparently. The line was out the door at the French Broad Chocolate Factory lounge, and had a lengthy line at the Tasting room, which was where Duffy and I found ourselves. This was probably due to the fact that there was only one employee manning the Tasting Room. We were patient, and when we got to the counter we ordered a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a chocolate snickerdoodle cookie. Then, at a nearby fountain we mixed our two desserts together, creating a heavenly treat. 100% doing this combination.

Biscuit Head: GUYS I SPOTTED TWO RONS IN THIS JOINT. BEST DAY EVER!

But the food. Okay, so I got a plain biscuit and two sides. Then, I found out they had this jelly and butter buffet for the biscuits. So I went over there and got the raspberry jam, and some lavender honey butter. Then, I saw the woods "vanilla" and immediately started scooping because I love vanilla. But as I scooped I saw it was vanilla cantaloupe, and I don't like cantaloupe. But I took it anyways and sat down with Duffy who was digging into his vegetarian chorizo biscuits. The raspberry was good, the lavender honey was delicious, but guys, the vanilla cantaloupe. I went back to get more of that shit because it IS THE SHIT! And then put lavender honey and the vanilla cantaloupe together-- game changer! I bought a mug from there that just says "dang." because that's exactly what I said when I bit into that biscuit with the jelly on it. Yum yum yum!

To finish our trip we went to

Sunny Pointe Cafe: It was hopin' in this joint. We had a short wait, but it was worth it. We both got BLAT's which were Bacon Lettuce Avocado and Tomato sandwiches. Of course we got the vegetarian option, along with either a side of fries or a side of grits. The sandwich was soooo good! Served on a croissant, it just made our trip. Then, Duffy said the grits were some of the best he'd ever had. Now, we had expected the grits in North Carolina to be good, but they were mostly sub par. A little bland, not much to them. But these, they were good! 

I would also like to take a moment to acknowledge the service in Asheville. Honestly, every single server we had was friendly and knowledgable about the menu. They were gracious hosts, and I was pleased to see that despite how busy the restaurants were the servers still managed to be happy and full of energy when serving us.

Asheville, North Carolina

My parents are notorious for taking spontaneous trips. Since I have a brother in Florida with 2.5 kids and another brother in Wyoming my parents love their road trips. And since they're retired they'll leave whenever they please. I can call them at any given point and not be surprised if they tell me they're in Wyoming or Florida, even if I'd just seen them two days prior and they didn't say anything about a trip. This is probably why my Mom was so good at getting everything together for the New York trip. Anyways, all of this must've rubbed off on me because now spontenous trips are the only trips I take. 

I texted my boyfriend, Duffy, on a Sunday, joking that since he was off Wednesday to Friday I could switch out my Thursday and we could take a trip. I specified a Carolina (either North or South, but I'm partial to South). He responded with "eeeehhhh" and I had assumed it was about the trip part. Neither of us are rolling in dough, and a trip takes some planning. I didn't think much of it, just put my phone in my locker and returned to the sales floor from my break. When I called him after work he asked, "So where are we going?" 

Turns out, he had said "eeeehhh" to a Carolina, because he was imaging Nashville or Cincinnati since they're closer and I had missed that he did work on Wednesday. But at this point, we had momentum. I was concerned I wouldn't get anyone to switch with me, since the staff was stretched somewhat thin with people taking summer vacations and all that. But I sent a text to the sweetest woman in the entire world, and she agreed to switch my shifts. I was estatic, since I had three days off we decided a trip to Asheville, North Carolina would be worth it. Now, Duffy had to at least find an open shift for Wednesday so we could leave as soon as possible. 

We almost thought we wouldn't get to go, because it took until Tuesday evening for someone to agree to switch with Duffy. I had thought his switch would be the easiest, but as it turns out, his work has an even more limited staff. 

And so we were off! Kind of...

Since we'd stayed up late doing some rushed planning the night before Duffy didn't pack his bag since he went into work at 6am. I had been packed since 3pm on Tuesday. So I was ansty. We were already leaving in the afternoon versus the morning, and he wanted to stop at his work, again, to get a cup of coffee for the road. I may or may not have rushed him while he packed, making him forget his phone and watch charger. Poor boy cannot survive without his technology. Luckily, the phone could be charged on his laptop with the cable he keeps in his car, but his watch died. He also forgot his swim trunks, but that didn't matter in the end because there were kids in the hotel pool, always. 

But we got on the road around 3:30 (only 2 hours later than I'd originally planned). I brought the DS Duffy got for his birthday a couple years ago, but eventually just let me have since I played it more. I packed us a new flavor of bean crisps for snacks, and green apples, which are the superior apple. 

The drive to Asheville isn't actually too bad. It's closer than Chicago and has no tolls. Duffy's car hit the 1,000 mile marker, which was a big deal, and since he'd gotten a new air-filter thing (idk ask him) his gas mileage was slowly rising. 

We arrived at our hotel around 9pm, and the best part was we realized it was a dog friendly hotel! Dogs! The sad part was, the main thing we do when we travel is eat. This was another reason I wanted to get on the road, because I'd been looking up restaurants and checking to see if we could make reservations for that evening. Most reservations ended at 7:30 and the restaurants closed around 9. And the concierge only offered a couple of pizza places, since everything was closing. Hungry, and ready to enjoy the new city we went to one of the pizza places recommended, though first we walked around downtown, checking to see if there was anything better. But all that was open was an Irish restaurant, hookah bars, and tattoo parlors. So we ate the pizza. Which was average, but still carbs are delicious. 

We headed back to our hotel to get a good nights rest so the next day, which was the only full day we were spending in the city, could be as amazing as possible. And so we could get up early to beat the rush to Asheville's most famous breakfast place, Early Girl. 

My Dad Made Me a Feminist

This is either a bold statement, or one that would seem cliche. Perhaps you're thinking I'm about to spin a tale about how my Dad was a proud feminist who I had long talks with about equality and the treatment of women in third world countries. However, this is not the case. I just had a thought recently that the way my Dad treated me and my sister led me to believe women and men are equal.

My Dad was 45 when I was born. He lived in Kentucky his whole life, and settled down in a small town called LaGrange. In this town he and my Mom go to Church every Sunday at Immaculate Conception, it's where they raised their seven children, and at the community center of election day they vote Republican. He is a traditional fella. It's not a bad thing, and we don't fight about it (mostly because we don't talk about politics), it's just the way he is. He's a hardworking man, spent thirty years at G.E. going in early and staying late for the sake of his family; and he enjoys the peace and quiet, especially with a nice glass of bourbon.

My Dad set a good example of how I should be as a person. And in some ways I am like him, and in other's I'm not, but that's because he made me this way. This thought, that my Dad made me a feminist, came when I was sitting in the backyard drinking wine with my boyfriend's mom.

At the time I was actually somewhat salty and fidgety. I was feeling weak and useless, and I wanted to be involved. You see, at the time my boyfriend's parents had decided to take down their back porch so they could rebuild. So far the rail had come down and they were gradually working through the floor boards to get them off. This process involved whacking the boards from underneath with a sledgehammer until it popped up, and then using a crowbar to ease the board up. I had offered my assistance, in part because I was used to using sledgehammers as they were incorporated in my workouts at the gym, and because I am very used to being asked to help with this kind of thing. Since I was a guest my offer was declined, and I was left to sit. It felt awkward, because I wanted to help, and also because it made me feel weak and incapable.

I'm not sure if it's because of his age or because he was used to always having help with seven kids around, but my Dad asked for mine and my sister's help often. We helped him move furniture up and down stairs, he taught me to keep up with my aging car engine, Anne and I frequently did lawn work-- it was natural that I'd offer my help and be handed a tool. But in this case, I was told not to help. I was given wine and a chair, and told I could pick up any missed rusty nails when they were done. It wasn't mean, it was considerate and polite, but it still felt weird. It made me reflect on my Dad, and how he never thought my sister and I as less useful than our older brothers. He just needed a helping hand, and when he hollered, we did what he asked.

My Dad made me a feminist because he never belittled me. I never felt weak or uncapable. I felt strong and knowledgable, and now that I'm older I value what he taught me even more. Every kid should be asked to mow the lawn or rake the leaves. Not just the boys. Every kid should be asked to carry heavy things, even if they don't like it, because it will make them stronger.

A Memory: South Carolina Hanging with Memaw

I have this memory that probably happened a million times, but I only remember it happening once. This singular occurrence of a common occurrence has stuck with me for all these years. But recently, light has been shed upon it and it's become even more special.

When I was a kid I hated the idea of sinking. I once saw the ending to the Titanic and then panicked whenever the toilet overflowed. I would run and jump on my bed and cry about the fact that the world was about to sink. This is also why I'm afraid of space, there is no end. It's just infinite falling.

This fear didn't stop me from getting the bath, or swimming in pools or the ocean. I was more than okay with all of these activities, and though Shark Week changed my perception of the ocean, I still enjoy these activities. But you bet your ass I refused to get on boats as a kid.

This problem really only came up once a year when we took our yearly vacation to South Carolina. It was a wonderful time, and I'll write more on that topic late, but part of our vacation was to go visit the fort near by. The fort that was on an island. That required taking a boat. I was not about that. Luckily, my Memaw always volunteered to stay behind.

So this is the memory. I was sitting on top of the spiral staircase, looking down at the joined living room and kitchen, Memaw was on the couch. The house was quiet for once, and the contrast between the orange sun and the shadows of the window pane was stark. We didn't speak, but I went to the cabinet in the left front corner of the living room. Inside was a collection of wine glasses, us kids drank from them as often as we could, but we had to be careful. The glasses made a high and sharp cling as I pulled one from the cabinet. Memaw heard and warned me not to break anything. I nodded in agreement, and carried on.

That's the entire memory. A single paragraph so mundane it would hardly constitute as significant, but it does. I have a lot of memories from that house, with all my cousins and siblings, my aunts and uncles, and of course, Memaw. Most are specific, some are blurs of things we did regularly like beg to go to the beach, hanging out on the porch, ghost crab hunting, etc.. But none like this.

I've always remember this evening, but since Memaw has passed away I have often lingered on this memory. Now, let me tell you how this memory became even more significant recently.

In my final classes of undergraduate we read a book by Crystal Wilkinson, and then watched a brief lecture she gave as a homework assignment. In this lecture she discussed that she writes about what she is curious about, the topics that she has a childlike eagerness to explore. She then prompted the audience to write down their top three curiosities. I made a list longer than three, then began to create spider webs from the topics, going further and becoming more specific with what I'm curious about. Then I wrote. The assignment was a minimum of three pages to explore a curiosity, I sat down and had such a good flow I wrote 9 pages.

My curiosities included how women lived in the 1800's and early 1900's, country life, and family history. I started it as just the first two curiosities: A young woman living on a farm in the 1880's. I thought I'd explore her at different ages, but then I realized I needed names for my characters. So I texted my Mom and asked for her great-aunts and uncles names, they would be old enough and my family has a knack for beautiful names. She sent me a list of the first chunk of great aunts and uncles and I ran with it. As I wrote I based it off my family's land, and then remembered the story of a young girl who died on the farm and was buried on the land. I don't know the story very well, but I decided I'd write it.

Once I had that story down I decided to continue it by jumping fifteen years into the future and covering my Memaw's youth. I told my Mom about this endeavor, and I still need to send her the draft, and I explained that I couldn't remember how the little girl actually died, but I just made it a diabetic seizure that led to a coma and eventual death. She then told me that my great grandma had seizures as a kid. She even said it was rumored that they took her to a neighbors house and dipped her in an ice bath to try and cure her. Mom thought that was crazy, but as I was simultaneously writing a novel about sisters in an asylum during the 1920s I believed it 100%. Hydrotherapy wasn't even the wildest or cruelest way doctors attempted to cure patients. Anyways, Mom told me that she stopped having them for the most part, but did suffer a single seizure after having her fifth child.

As a result, the family then never left her alone. Since my Memaw was the oldest sibling she was often given the job of staying behind when the other kids went to the pond. Mom confirmed that she didn't mind, because Memaw was an avid reader. In that moment I recalled the day she stayed behind with me but in a different light.

I remembered what Memaw was doing in the chair. I'd always thought she was watching TV, but it was so quiet in the house. She was actually reading. She was doing exactly what she'd done for her mother all those years ago. Staying behind, enjoying the peace, and reading a book while someone kept her quiet company.

I picked up the story shortly after it, and had the character that is Memaw, Dorothy, escape from the house when she could, climb up a tree, and read. I'd like to memorialize her, and thank her for providing a near infinite amount of content for me as a writer. I like history, but I love family history, especially as it relates to Memaw.

Book Review: "The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach

I believe I have mentioned several times that I love characters that are the worst. The book "The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach has characters that are the epitome of THE WORST characters, and I love it endlessly.

I first read this book upon John Green's recommendation (if you are ever stuck on what to read next check out some of your favorite author's recommendations, they will not let you down). He posted a video about the books he had recently read and loved and suggested "The Art of Fielding" if one wanted to become unexplainably and uncontrollably attached to the characters. To that I said, "Sign me up!"

Guys, the characters are so flawed and so magnificent. You wouldn't think so as they all start out so shiny and new. We're introduced to characters with high hopes, starting new, and eager to achieve their goals. Okay, so maybe not so perfect like that, but they had least had hints of it when we first meet the five main characters. But then, we get their flaws. Their glorious, horrific, flaws.

I found myself screaming at Henry, "THROW THE BALL!" and telling Pella to get her shit together, as well wanting to wring Mike's neck, and cheering on Geurt's happiness, despite the danger it imposed. All while having the occasional change of pace with Owen, who was so delightful.

The book was actually featured on the Netflix show "Thirteen Reasons Why" because both are the story of a baseball team bonding. But "The Art of Fielding" is better, I'm just saying.

If you want a book that will rip out your heart, play baseball with it, then stab it, then stomp on it, and finally bury it, dig it up, and toss it in a lake then this is the book for you! This is one of those books that will take you to your knees from pain, and at times make your heart race with love and joy. It's not your typical story of overcoming struggles, because it's mostly just the characters trudging through their struggles and making them forty times worse because of their flaws.

Harbach crafted such wonderfully horrible people, and for that I love him. Even though they couldn't achieve their goals because of all that happened, I still cheered for them and recommend their story to anyone who will listen. So, since you're here listening: read "The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach.

Book Review: "The Hate U Give" by Angie Thomas

This book is a hot topic right now, and if you haven't read it, you should. Seriously. You should read this book.

"The Hate U Give" is about a girl who witnesses her friend get shot by a police officer, and then she goes through the process of trying to get him justice. She also gives the reader a chance to explore her personal world, from the empowered family she is surrounded by, to handling a double consciousness when attending a majority white private school, and everyday life in Garden Heights. It is so much in one novel, but it is done perfectly by Angie Thomas.

I think Thomas is a brilliant author, and I'm sure this blog post won't do her justice, but I'm going to try. The first thing I would like to note is that about a page into the novel I realized this narrator was unique. It's not because she's spunky or smart, or any other traits other authors give their characters in attempts to make them stand out, but because I have rarely read a book with this voice. The perspective of black teenagers is grossly low in mainstream fiction. One would have to really search the teen section to find this kind of book, but even then they'd probably have to order a print on demand title because bookstores won't carry the item regularly. I thought I was a well-rounded reader, I thought I had exposed myself to a lot of different perspectives, but after getting into "The Hate U Give" I realized I needed to read more books like this. Everyone should. We should be reading more authors of color, because their stories are not only entertaining and wonderful, but informative of a world America often forgets about, or doesn't even recognize at all.

At this moment I'm reminded of an episode of "Jane the Virgin." Jane is a latino woman, her grandmother was born and raised in Venezuela, and she is a writer. Jane has her book published, but it is eventually dropped by the publisher. Which evokes her to say, "Very few women of color get published. And when we do, we cannot afford to screw it up, because we don't get a second chance-- like our peers" (Season 4, episode 9). I know Angie Thomas had similar thoughts running through her head as she was publishing this book, especially since it covers Black Lives Matter topics. But she nailed it, and she is also working on her second book "On the Come Up" which I'm sure will be equally amazing.

To continue on with what makes "The Hate U Give" amazing is the pure beauty of her writing. Not only is the voice authentic and unique, but she just has these amazing quotes sprinkled into the book. The first one, for me, came 26 pages into the novel. Kahlil has just been shot and Star is sitting on the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, and her parents have arrived. Thomas writes that her mom holds her close, "She rubs my back and speaks in hushed tones that tell lies."

I was so blown away by this quote. In such an elegant way she shows the reader three things: (1) the mother is telling her everything will be alright, (2) Star reacts honestly because she doesn't believe that for a second, (3) it hints at how the story will go. And, the quotes don't end there!

Google "The Hate U Give quotes" and hit "images." You will find a plethora of beautiful quotes decorated with fan art. Allow me to give you a taste of what you will find:

So many good quotes! They give me chills. Angie Thomas is #writergoals. 

This book is just so honest, so blunt, and beautifully written. The story moves you through the daily life of Star, from the major stuff like dealing with the trauma of witnessing a friend be shot and fighting for Black Lives, to the mundane parts of her life like boyfriend problems and working at her dad's grocery store. Everything is in there, and Thomas makes it magnificent. Read it if you are an activist, if you'd like to be exposed to a non-white perspective, or if you really just can't wrap your head around why the football players are kneeling during the national anthem. Basically everybody needs to read this book. 

Read more: https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=jane-the-virgin-2014&episode=s04e09