If you are me, you get extremely excited when you note that the Bradbury Science Museum is on your way to Jemez. If you are me, you get excited because you think this is refering to Ray Bradbury, even though you know something's not right about that since it's in Los Alamos and marked on your Road Atlas.
Oh. Right. Bombs. The Manhattan Project.
It's really creepy to be looking at the bomb casing of Fat Man while various people continue to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a xylophone in the research area of the musuem. (Forget explosions, we're mapping the human genome!) And did you know that the series of tests nuclear scientists do to make sure that the US is afeared good n' proper like as far as our existing nuclear stash goes is called "Stockpile Stewardship?" I learned this in a video featuring scientists with well-groomed scientists (and some really cool computers, I must admit).
I also witnessed an old lady in a wheelchari spitting great gobs of spit on the floor near the Oppenheimer display. In fact, the majority of patrons at the Bradbury Museum were old white people.
Just imagine who they would have been at the museum I'd envisioned.
PS I'm still totally camping near here.
I am in the public library in Santa Fe. I should be writing smut, but instead I've been looking at art and thinking about where to eat tacos.
I am mystified by the mix of artful wealth and poverty that appears to be all over New Mexico.
I cannot choose what to see next and resorted to purchasing the new Harry Potter.
Since the fabulous Dinosaurs (DINOSAURS!) I cooked chicken in Steamboat Springs, bought a hat, stayed a bit in Denver (the PS Lounge is incredible--the give you a rose and a free shot) with my glorious friends then drove south on 25 only to have my patriotism restored through a mining disaster and a Vietnam War Memorial. And trout. Everything about this tirp makes me want to fish and ride horses.
My next plans include the Bradbury Science Museum and Chaco Culture National Park. But first I gots to knock out the smut, yo. Posted by Ida at 10:38 AM | Comments (0)
Hey, all. I'm currently in Vernal, Utah. My grandparents moved to Moses Lake from here in 1942. I can't believe they never mentioned how incredible it is out here. I mean, c'mon, there are DINOSAURS!
I'm having trouble with both my MT login, so this post is coming to you via the nimble backdoor hands of Mr. Norton.
If it were coming straight from me, you'd get detailed info about getting married along Highway 14 (I'm now Ida Belwith-St. Cloud; my husband is Daniel St. Cloud and we have a 2-year-old daughter called Elizabeth. They are both in New Mexico; I'm driving to meet them. Daniel works for a philanthropy that makes grants to fish hatcheries), trip #2 to the replica of Stonehenge, the gas guy in Oregon, Catherine Creek, Boise, Mountain Home (never go there), Hagerman Fossil Beds, my new front tires, lunch in Burley, rocket displays, Ogden, Salt Lake City, Strawberry Resevoir, Vernal, and Red Fleet State Park.
It will all have to wait a bit.
I will tell you that yesterday was entirely bizarre as it began with the Pioneer Day Parade and Temple Square in Salt Lake City and ended with camping at Red Fleet State Park. From religious extremes (in the gaudiest way) to geological extremes.
I've been signing all guest-books with my married name, but so far the longest conversations I've had with people have featured my real name. I've also been taking various crappy photographs and either handwriting notes or tape recording them (I still can't believe I didn't get punched in the nose during the parade).
Now I'm going to eat some lunch and look around Vernal (population 7416). Then it's on to look at even more dinosaurs. (DINOSAURS!)
I realized last night that there is a very good reason I usually leave packing until the very last minute: I am excessive. I am streamlined and efficient when it comes to clothes and toiletries, but when it comes to, well, let's just say that if I run across some folk on the road who are having a craft emergency I will be the one to help. "Never fear! I've got glue a glue stick right here. Die, rafia, die, die!"
And my friends rule the school. Like, the Fat Boys totally gave me a dag-yo goodie bag chock full o' Teen Series Novel delights. And Heather Shannon gave me a fuzzy steering wheel cover.
Today's planned stop: Maryhill, Washington and the replica of Stonehenge. Then it's on through Oregon and perhaps a bit of Idaho.
I'm already wearing my fake wedding ring.
I can't breathe, I have to get up to take my car to the doctor by 8am, my lips are chapped, and I have cramps, but while I was driving home I suddenly remembered that soon I will be driving through the desert and there will be stars.
In two days I will be hot and sweaty in a tank top. In two days I will be gone for three weeks. In two days I will be pretending to be married in small town bars.
In two days I will be thinking of you.
(Blogging from the road can't be any more sporadic than blogging while teaching 72 students a week. Ghost stories to come.)
I am leaving on Monday to drive all over the desert states. I have a tent. I have a phone. I have a debit card. I have a car. I have the pair of hiking boots that I thought burned down but turned out were just at my ex-boyfriend's house for the past six years.
But what I'm thinking about is why no one is giving me one million dollars.
See, I just submitted a course outline for classroom teachers including the phrases "establishing ethos and ensemble in the classroom through spatial perspective and emotional memory" and "exercises will explore common emotions and situations to develop group stories through individual experience."
I mean, c'mon, hand it over.
Rabbit rabbit.
(I have some good stories to tell, but it may take until the celebration of the birth of our nation to have time for it...which means I may well be drunk typing. SPODIE! PS Please come to our house on the 4th.)