Bryce Canyon Park (walk to Mossy Cave), late afternoon sun, April 1, 2023
TRAVEL: either post about traveling, and writing while traveling, OR post a piece that you wrote WHILE traveling. See the April newsletter for any more info! Looking forward to this —
You've reminded me of an Oulipo technique called a metro poem: you get on the train, and between stops you think of a line or lines of poetry, then each time the train stops you write furiously until it starts moving again. So the length of the poem depends on the length of the train journey. (Presumably, a metro poem written on the Circle Line in London could be infinitely long!)
Hey that's a pretty cool idea. I think there's about 15 stops between where I live and downtown Vancouver...maybe 12 to where I go for a haircut. I might have to try that.
Unfortunately I wasn't planning to go there this weekend. When I go on weekends, I generally go with the wife. (Kinda lame to ignore her.) On a lighter note, it's almost time for a haircut. I go that far because it's right next door to an amazing used bookstore on Commercial (if you happen to live in Vancouver.)
Or my trip to Mexico at age 22 wherein I passed out drunk in an alley and woke up in a mysterious car with strangers hours into nowhere land: https://michaelmohr.substack.com/p/mexico-story
“The stink of male sweat, body odor, beer, and a faint whiff of urine.” That’s both depressing and funny at the same time. Actually, I think that’s me after a daylong bike ride.
Are you familiar with Charles Portis’s 1967 article “An Auto Odyssey through Darkest Baja”? It’s in Escape Velocity: A Charles Portis Miscellany. I think you’d enjoy it.
I have never successfully written much while traveling. Which is a bummer cos I really like the idea of it. I did do an audio story that way once on a van ride through Alabama when I was about 17. It's called "The Waterpump Girl" and is kind of sad magical realism.
Thanks Frank! More where that came from on petermoore.substack.com. And you seem to be certain you can’t draw. Are you sure? If you can write, you can master the line of drawing. It’s not about perfection, after all. It’s about learning to see like an artist, and I believe anybody can succeed at that. Just put your artist glasses on!
In 7th grade, I was the one whose work blew up in the kiln, taking several classmates’ objets d’art with it.
At the beginning of the semester, I had transferred into the class mid-period and several days late because of some mixup over scheduling for band. The art teacher was lecturing on “wine” that day, or so I thought; she had a slight speech thing going on. I remember thinking, okay, junior high, more sophisticated than grade school, and art, yeah, I guess that has something to do with wine. She was talking about thick wines and thin wines. Yeah, kinda makes sense. Then I realized she was saying “line.” Looking back, I must have been something of a rube.
An odd coincidence: On Sunday at random we watched season 3, episode 17 of Seinfeld on Netflix, only to hear “loogie,” so that’s twice now in as many days. This is the famous double episode called “The Boyfriend,” which parodies the accounts of bullet trajectories in conspiracy theories surrounding JFK’s assassination, where an errant loogie is a substitute for the bullet.
There's an episode on Jerry's interview show, Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee (maybe still on Netflix?), where he visits his hometown, Massapequa, Long Island, with Alec Baldwin, who's also from there. As to the other writers of that episode, Larry David is from Brooklyn, and Larry Levin I don't know about.
THAT was such a good series. I learned so much about behind-scenes and comedy...but also writing process, too, as every comedian is a writer. I actually learned more by a second even third watch of many episodes.
Th "loogie" thing here is cracking me up--after growing up with three brothers, and ageing with three sons...
I think my favorite episode was the one with the late Norm Macdonald, where Jerry gives this brilliant definition: "Poetry is bad standup. It’s carefully chosen words that have no laugh at the end." I gotta say, that's pretty good. It's really hard to finish a poem with a good "pop," as we say.
That’s the strangest true story I’ve read in a while. Then I thought: But of course people would want to do that.
When I was a teenager we used to drive over to a county park a couple counties over where you could swim in a former limestone quarry. No runoff into the quarry, only rainfall and springs, and since the sides were, well, rock, the water was as clean as you’d find anywhere. And 30-foot walls that we would jump off of into the water. I always wore tennis shoes so as not to smack the bottoms of my feet. Of course, one year they banned jumping off and that was it.
It does seem as though life was more fun when we were allowed to be a little irresponsible.
Back before Expo 86, you could not buy a drink at a bar or restaurant in BC on a Sunday unless you were having a meal. For those in the Lower Mainland who just couldn’t do without a beer on the Lord’s day, there was the Breakers just across the border in Pt. Roberts. It had live music and cheap American beer and you could drink and dance all Sunday afternoon. Back then, the border was not quite “slow down and wave”, but it was close. I played there once and recall the posted fire marshall occupancy limit being 770 people.
The BC government allowed Sunday drinking for Expo and afterwards, and the Breakers fell on hard times. In the 1990s, I had a client who thought he saw an opportunity to convert the abandoned property to a casino, with gamblers flying in from Seattle in their private planes and landing at the Point Roberts airstrip and playing golf at the local golf club. My client consulted a lawyer in Bellingham who advised he had foreclosed on the property three times over the years. The lawyer also warned that no one was quite sure what was buried in the parking lot. My client wisely turned his attention elsewhere.
I’m a little surprised the building is still standing. It’s right next to Puget Sound and exposed to the wind and salt spray. I suppose there’s no good financial reason to tear it down. I doubt the land down in Point Roberts has much investment value. There are two border crossings before you’re back in the mainland USA and Canadians can’t move here permanently or work without papers. There’s not much of a market.
US Customs and Border Protection takes an expansive view as to what constitutes working. One afternoon I was in the Point Roberts customs office when a Canadian fellow was sent in from the Nexus lane. He and his wife had come down to check on their rental property. The customs officer said this was work. When fellow got a little argumentative, the customs officer asked him if he wanted to “escalate” the situation. The Canadian, realizing the escalation might involve being stuffed in the back of a van and transported to Bellingham, backed down.
The punch line came a minute or two later. As the fellow waited for the papers to be prepared for a “voluntary deportation”, which carries with it a minimum 6-month prohibition from entering the US, his wife came in, wondering, I expect, what her husband had got up to. He told her what had happened. She replied, “I hope this doesn’t interfere with our trip to Maui next week.”
The changes that came with Expo were far-reaching. From the Point to Robson Strasse and more and more... I grew up in Tsawwassen, when one could simply walk along forest-paths over the border, unquestioned... Sad about the Breakers. My spouse used to play there on occasion. Some great lines in this, as Frank and Amy point out!
Apr 3, 2023·edited Apr 3, 2023Liked by Alison Acheson
The king is a metaphor that can be interpreted as a failed “shortcut to success”. The images are generated by Midjourney and based on Travis Charest. Thank you for reading or listening to it :)
The traveling stranger... It's taken me awhile to get caught up after my own travels, Kamil! Glad I've made time to read through the posts here--thank you!
I enjoyed reading this! Especially the ride. I feel sweaty too. Maybe also because I'm all too familiar with this scenario. And yes, you described it so correctly.
The description of the food, along with the knowledge that you won't ever be able to taste this again... stands out. Thank you for sharing this, Shan! I've been home for a couple weeks, but am still catching up. Today, determined to read and enjoy all these posts. Glad to have made the time!
“What’s your purpose in coming down today?” the Border Officer asked. Elrod was always nervous crossing the border. There was rarely a problem, but, occasionally, he would run into some young, fresh-faced recruit on the lookout for a pedophile sex-trafficking ring run by a cabal of socialists, probably Democrats; or, alternatively, a jaded, cynical, bitter, veteran of the US Customs and Border Security who, eager to defend America against the wave of illegal immigrants threatening to overwhelm its southern border, was, instead, assigned to Point Roberts, Washington, a quiet, leafy exclave, accessible only through Canada. Point Roberts was a small, mostly rural community—its population was less than a thousand permanent residents--that subsisted on selling cheap gas and cheese and providing shipping and receiving services. Its salad days of Sunday drinking and an adult movie theatre were well in the past. The only threats to America from its northern neighbor were fresh fruit and Canadians coming down to check on their rental properties.
Today, the Border Officer was a friendly woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties. “I’m picking up a parcel—a trombone mouthpiece—at Point Shipping,” Elrod said. The Border Officer scanned Elrod’s passport and, as she returned it to him, smiled. “Have a nice day,” she said.
As Elrod left the border crossing, he noticed a vehicle, a brown Porsche Macan, exit the Nexus lane and turn onto the main road, cutting in just ahead of him. After about one hundred meters, it turned into the parking lot of Point Shipping. Elrod followed, and parked next to it. The Porsche and Elrod’s car were the only vehicles in the parking lot. The driver of the Porsche got out, walked to the building, and entered the office. Elrod followed. They were the only customers.
The Porsche driver was there to pick up a couple of parcels. The attendant took down his information and went to retrieve the parcels from the warehouse. Elrod waited patiently, studying the Porsche driver, a tall, slender man, about thirty-five years old, dressed in flip-flops, a pair of dark track pants, and a pink hoodie with a “Superdry” logo on the chest. The attendant returned with two large parcels. One appeared to be camera equipment; the other an expensive piece of consumer electronics. The Porsche driver paid the fee and carried the boxes out to his car.
The attendant retrieved Elrod’s parcel. “Another mouthpiece?” she asked. Elrod laughed. He had been a regular customer for years.
Elrod returned to his car. The Porsche was gone. Elrod left the parking lot, turned left onto the main road, and headed north towards Canada Customs. About fifty metres from the border the left lane was coned off, and there was a single line of about six cars waiting in the centre lane to cross into Canada. Elrod stopped and took his place at the end of the line. There was only one lane open and the line was barely moving. Several cars arrived and stopped behind him.
Elrod glanced at his driver side mirror. He saw the Porsche approaching from behind, in the left lane. The Porsche passed him, proceeded as far as the cones, and stopped. The driver turned on his right turn signal and tried to edge into the line. Elrod heard a woman ahead of him yell at the Porsche driver, “There’s a line! Back up!” The Porsche driver ignored her. The drivers inched forward, refusing to let the Porsche in. Elrod proceeded slowly, not allowing any gap between his car and the car ahead of him. As he passed the Porsche, Elrod glared at the driver. But the driver behind Elrod hesitated and the Porsche crowded into the centre, ahead of the drivers who had been patiently waiting their turn.
Elrod got to the booth. “Anything to declare?” the Customs officer asked. “Just a used trombone mouthpiece,” Elrod said. He paused and then added, “Do see the guy behind me in the Porsche? He butted into the line. You might ask him about the two parcels he picked up at Point Shipping.” The Customs Officer looked at the Porsche. “Let’s see what he declares,” he said. He handed Elrod’s passport back. “Have a nice day.”
Finally taking time to read all those posts, after having returned home, and thoroughly enjoying each and every.
I used to pick up items on the Point, and also sell vintage children's books through the summers I was teaching, using the US post office there. Met a few Porsche drivers...
I appreciate the layers in this. My childhood and youth was too frequently on the outside of pop culture--I grew up without television. Many things did not rings bells!
Hello 👋 Thank you for the prompt. It inspired me to write a post. I wrote about what it means to me as a stepmother for my step child to travel the world for the very first time. May not seem like a biggie to regular parents but the experience is different for me.
I've traveled from Bryce Canyon Park to Capital Reef now--incredible. BUT have been without wifi for too long. Currently sitting outside an Information place, and trying to catch up on all the wonderful posts here--I am so grateful to see this!
Wonderful stories from others here. I used to only blog when I travelled, so I felt inspired to contribute. I've dusted off an old WordPress post from a few years ago. It's part 1 or 2 so I guess I'll update part 2 next. To start here's the first 'Postcard from Latvia'. https://marylouisetucker.substack.com/p/postcard-from-latvia-2017-23-02-03?sd=pf
Oh my, I was so excited I didn't follow the word count rules. I'm a retired Technical Writer who spent years writing instructions. I really will try to read them in future!
Usually I pretend I don’t have time to read links, but over the weekend I took time and really enjoyed reading and commenting on all the travel pieces posted by late afternoon Sunday. Maybe the key is the prompt. Something about travel brings out stories in just about everybody.
You've reminded me of an Oulipo technique called a metro poem: you get on the train, and between stops you think of a line or lines of poetry, then each time the train stops you write furiously until it starts moving again. So the length of the poem depends on the length of the train journey. (Presumably, a metro poem written on the Circle Line in London could be infinitely long!)
Hey that's a pretty cool idea. I think there's about 15 stops between where I live and downtown Vancouver...maybe 12 to where I go for a haircut. I might have to try that.
If you do, I hope you post it. I might try it myself on Monday!
Unfortunately I wasn't planning to go there this weekend. When I go on weekends, I generally go with the wife. (Kinda lame to ignore her.) On a lighter note, it's almost time for a haircut. I go that far because it's right next door to an amazing used bookstore on Commercial (if you happen to live in Vancouver.)
😂
This is--altogether--a great idea. Yes, please post, if you do...
Ooooh... love this idea! Next time I'm somewhere with a metro...
😃
Makes the brain buzz...
Is that photo Joshua Tree??
Traveling:
My experience walking 500 miles across El Camino de Santiago in northern Spain, spring 2016: https://michaelmohr.substack.com/p/buen-camino-my-unexpected-walk-across
Or my trip to Mexico at age 22 wherein I passed out drunk in an alley and woke up in a mysterious car with strangers hours into nowhere land: https://michaelmohr.substack.com/p/mexico-story
“The stink of male sweat, body odor, beer, and a faint whiff of urine.” That’s both depressing and funny at the same time. Actually, I think that’s me after a daylong bike ride.
Are you familiar with Charles Portis’s 1967 article “An Auto Odyssey through Darkest Baja”? It’s in Escape Velocity: A Charles Portis Miscellany. I think you’d enjoy it.
No! But that sounds delicious 👌👌
Looks like Bryce. It's from unsplash, I'm sorrry! But I'm having issues with getting my own pics off my phone.
Joshua Tree was so full of people. Spring Break, I guess. The best walks there were right off the Black Rock campsite...
Nice!!! I need to go back there again
Spent a whole day with a guide in Joshua Tree in about '94 and I don't think we saw another soul.
I have never successfully written much while traveling. Which is a bummer cos I really like the idea of it. I did do an audio story that way once on a van ride through Alabama when I was about 17. It's called "The Waterpump Girl" and is kind of sad magical realism.
Great title! "sad magical realism"--yes!
After rereading it, maybe it's just emo ;)
Ah, the re-read... :)
Me, chasing Vincent Van Gogh around France: https://open.substack.com/pub/petermoore/p/vincent-and-me?r=4g2k&utm_medium=ios&utm_campaign=post
Haven’t heard the word “loogie” in a while. Quite refreshing. And “the listener” for ear brings to mind Wodehouse.
I’m envious of those who can illustrate their own writing.
Thanks Frank! More where that came from on petermoore.substack.com. And you seem to be certain you can’t draw. Are you sure? If you can write, you can master the line of drawing. It’s not about perfection, after all. It’s about learning to see like an artist, and I believe anybody can succeed at that. Just put your artist glasses on!
In 7th grade, I was the one whose work blew up in the kiln, taking several classmates’ objets d’art with it.
At the beginning of the semester, I had transferred into the class mid-period and several days late because of some mixup over scheduling for band. The art teacher was lecturing on “wine” that day, or so I thought; she had a slight speech thing going on. I remember thinking, okay, junior high, more sophisticated than grade school, and art, yeah, I guess that has something to do with wine. She was talking about thick wines and thin wines. Yeah, kinda makes sense. Then I realized she was saying “line.” Looking back, I must have been something of a rube.
Ha! Wine, line…both good!
An odd coincidence: On Sunday at random we watched season 3, episode 17 of Seinfeld on Netflix, only to hear “loogie,” so that’s twice now in as many days. This is the famous double episode called “The Boyfriend,” which parodies the accounts of bullet trajectories in conspiracy theories surrounding JFK’s assassination, where an errant loogie is a substitute for the bullet.
I wonder if Jerry is from southern Connecticut. That’s where I learned about “loogies.”
There's an episode on Jerry's interview show, Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee (maybe still on Netflix?), where he visits his hometown, Massapequa, Long Island, with Alec Baldwin, who's also from there. As to the other writers of that episode, Larry David is from Brooklyn, and Larry Levin I don't know about.
THAT was such a good series. I learned so much about behind-scenes and comedy...but also writing process, too, as every comedian is a writer. I actually learned more by a second even third watch of many episodes.
Th "loogie" thing here is cracking me up--after growing up with three brothers, and ageing with three sons...
I think my favorite episode was the one with the late Norm Macdonald, where Jerry gives this brilliant definition: "Poetry is bad standup. It’s carefully chosen words that have no laugh at the end." I gotta say, that's pretty good. It's really hard to finish a poem with a good "pop," as we say.
Great read, Peter Moore! Very entertaining and informative. Thank you.
What fun! Here's a story about being a moron while travelling... https://nikkitate.substack.com/p/bonus-post-where-idiots-go-to-frolic
That’s the strangest true story I’ve read in a while. Then I thought: But of course people would want to do that.
When I was a teenager we used to drive over to a county park a couple counties over where you could swim in a former limestone quarry. No runoff into the quarry, only rainfall and springs, and since the sides were, well, rock, the water was as clean as you’d find anywhere. And 30-foot walls that we would jump off of into the water. I always wore tennis shoes so as not to smack the bottoms of my feet. Of course, one year they banned jumping off and that was it.
It does seem as though life was more fun when we were allowed to be a little irresponsible.
Your leaps into the quarry sound both exhilarating and terrifying!! Glad you all grew up to tell the tale...
Those are the best travel tales 🙌
Right? It's a tad boring when everything goes smoothly :)
Haha: True!
I love your sense of humour. Really great story. MLT
So glad I was able to read this, Nikki--thank you!
Oh my goodness this is so entertaining, especially the portrayal of absurd human foibles!
Thanks! Part of me wishes I had just been an observer... but then again, you only live once :)
Killing Time in Pt. Roberts
Back before Expo 86, you could not buy a drink at a bar or restaurant in BC on a Sunday unless you were having a meal. For those in the Lower Mainland who just couldn’t do without a beer on the Lord’s day, there was the Breakers just across the border in Pt. Roberts. It had live music and cheap American beer and you could drink and dance all Sunday afternoon. Back then, the border was not quite “slow down and wave”, but it was close. I played there once and recall the posted fire marshall occupancy limit being 770 people.
The BC government allowed Sunday drinking for Expo and afterwards, and the Breakers fell on hard times. In the 1990s, I had a client who thought he saw an opportunity to convert the abandoned property to a casino, with gamblers flying in from Seattle in their private planes and landing at the Point Roberts airstrip and playing golf at the local golf club. My client consulted a lawyer in Bellingham who advised he had foreclosed on the property three times over the years. The lawyer also warned that no one was quite sure what was buried in the parking lot. My client wisely turned his attention elsewhere.
I’m a little surprised the building is still standing. It’s right next to Puget Sound and exposed to the wind and salt spray. I suppose there’s no good financial reason to tear it down. I doubt the land down in Point Roberts has much investment value. There are two border crossings before you’re back in the mainland USA and Canadians can’t move here permanently or work without papers. There’s not much of a market.
US Customs and Border Protection takes an expansive view as to what constitutes working. One afternoon I was in the Point Roberts customs office when a Canadian fellow was sent in from the Nexus lane. He and his wife had come down to check on their rental property. The customs officer said this was work. When fellow got a little argumentative, the customs officer asked him if he wanted to “escalate” the situation. The Canadian, realizing the escalation might involve being stuffed in the back of a van and transported to Bellingham, backed down.
The punch line came a minute or two later. As the fellow waited for the papers to be prepared for a “voluntary deportation”, which carries with it a minimum 6-month prohibition from entering the US, his wife came in, wondering, I expect, what her husband had got up to. He told her what had happened. She replied, “I hope this doesn’t interfere with our trip to Maui next week.”
"It had live music and cheap American beer and you could drink and dance all Sunday afternoon." That's the first line of a story right there.
Surely...
or: and no one was quite sure what was buried in the parking lot.
The changes that came with Expo were far-reaching. From the Point to Robson Strasse and more and more... I grew up in Tsawwassen, when one could simply walk along forest-paths over the border, unquestioned... Sad about the Breakers. My spouse used to play there on occasion. Some great lines in this, as Frank and Amy point out!
Fairytale about population decline
https://open.substack.com/pub/onceuponanews/p/the-vanishing-kingdom?r=19bdgo&utm_medium=ios&utm_campaign=post
Wrote this yesterday while on the road, illustrations and voice over today
But what happened to the king?
Interesting illustrations. How did you do those? The 3rd and 5th ones remind me just a little of Frank Frazetta’s work.
The king is a metaphor that can be interpreted as a failed “shortcut to success”. The images are generated by Midjourney and based on Travis Charest. Thank you for reading or listening to it :)
The traveling stranger... It's taken me awhile to get caught up after my own travels, Kamil! Glad I've made time to read through the posts here--thank you!
Here is a writeup I did about a trip I took to Ecuador. It includes the perils of public transportation and personal space. https://shanmonster.dreamwidth.org/991316.html#cutid1
“People may lean on you. Just push them off if they do.”
I idly wondered if that would work as a life philosophy. Then immediately thought, oh, you can’t say that.
There are times... one should recognize them. Can I say that?
But of course you can. It falls under the category of eliminating negative people from your life.
I enjoyed reading this! Especially the ride. I feel sweaty too. Maybe also because I'm all too familiar with this scenario. And yes, you described it so correctly.
The description of the food, along with the knowledge that you won't ever be able to taste this again... stands out. Thank you for sharing this, Shan! I've been home for a couple weeks, but am still catching up. Today, determined to read and enjoy all these posts. Glad to have made the time!
One more:
Have a Nice Day
“What’s your purpose in coming down today?” the Border Officer asked. Elrod was always nervous crossing the border. There was rarely a problem, but, occasionally, he would run into some young, fresh-faced recruit on the lookout for a pedophile sex-trafficking ring run by a cabal of socialists, probably Democrats; or, alternatively, a jaded, cynical, bitter, veteran of the US Customs and Border Security who, eager to defend America against the wave of illegal immigrants threatening to overwhelm its southern border, was, instead, assigned to Point Roberts, Washington, a quiet, leafy exclave, accessible only through Canada. Point Roberts was a small, mostly rural community—its population was less than a thousand permanent residents--that subsisted on selling cheap gas and cheese and providing shipping and receiving services. Its salad days of Sunday drinking and an adult movie theatre were well in the past. The only threats to America from its northern neighbor were fresh fruit and Canadians coming down to check on their rental properties.
Today, the Border Officer was a friendly woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties. “I’m picking up a parcel—a trombone mouthpiece—at Point Shipping,” Elrod said. The Border Officer scanned Elrod’s passport and, as she returned it to him, smiled. “Have a nice day,” she said.
As Elrod left the border crossing, he noticed a vehicle, a brown Porsche Macan, exit the Nexus lane and turn onto the main road, cutting in just ahead of him. After about one hundred meters, it turned into the parking lot of Point Shipping. Elrod followed, and parked next to it. The Porsche and Elrod’s car were the only vehicles in the parking lot. The driver of the Porsche got out, walked to the building, and entered the office. Elrod followed. They were the only customers.
The Porsche driver was there to pick up a couple of parcels. The attendant took down his information and went to retrieve the parcels from the warehouse. Elrod waited patiently, studying the Porsche driver, a tall, slender man, about thirty-five years old, dressed in flip-flops, a pair of dark track pants, and a pink hoodie with a “Superdry” logo on the chest. The attendant returned with two large parcels. One appeared to be camera equipment; the other an expensive piece of consumer electronics. The Porsche driver paid the fee and carried the boxes out to his car.
The attendant retrieved Elrod’s parcel. “Another mouthpiece?” she asked. Elrod laughed. He had been a regular customer for years.
Elrod returned to his car. The Porsche was gone. Elrod left the parking lot, turned left onto the main road, and headed north towards Canada Customs. About fifty metres from the border the left lane was coned off, and there was a single line of about six cars waiting in the centre lane to cross into Canada. Elrod stopped and took his place at the end of the line. There was only one lane open and the line was barely moving. Several cars arrived and stopped behind him.
Elrod glanced at his driver side mirror. He saw the Porsche approaching from behind, in the left lane. The Porsche passed him, proceeded as far as the cones, and stopped. The driver turned on his right turn signal and tried to edge into the line. Elrod heard a woman ahead of him yell at the Porsche driver, “There’s a line! Back up!” The Porsche driver ignored her. The drivers inched forward, refusing to let the Porsche in. Elrod proceeded slowly, not allowing any gap between his car and the car ahead of him. As he passed the Porsche, Elrod glared at the driver. But the driver behind Elrod hesitated and the Porsche crowded into the centre, ahead of the drivers who had been patiently waiting their turn.
Elrod got to the booth. “Anything to declare?” the Customs officer asked. “Just a used trombone mouthpiece,” Elrod said. He paused and then added, “Do see the guy behind me in the Porsche? He butted into the line. You might ask him about the two parcels he picked up at Point Shipping.” The Customs Officer looked at the Porsche. “Let’s see what he declares,” he said. He handed Elrod’s passport back. “Have a nice day.”
You had me at "trombone mouthpiece."
Very good close!
Finally taking time to read all those posts, after having returned home, and thoroughly enjoying each and every.
I used to pick up items on the Point, and also sell vintage children's books through the summers I was teaching, using the US post office there. Met a few Porsche drivers...
The King Is Dead
The town was called Farmland,
every state probably has one.
The diner was not uncommon either:
brisk, efficient old people working tables
and counter, pies under glass.
Over our booth hung a glorious velvet Elvis,
like the patron saint of comfort food.
Min, the newest member of the team,
inquired after it, perhaps thinking
she was looking at a local figure
or someone in period costume.
What! the cries went up, you don’t know
who Elvis is? Surely even folks in China
are familiar with the music of Elvis.
While we waited for our pork tenderloins,
Min dutifully pulled down a famous song
onto her phone. Tinny and barely audible
over the lunch crowd, the tune was still…
recognizable. All eyes waited expectantly.
A gentle smile: Nope, didn’t ring a bell.
Finally reading through all after being away.
I appreciate the layers in this. My childhood and youth was too frequently on the outside of pop culture--I grew up without television. Many things did not rings bells!
You've captured this.
*Travel* is a terrific prompt!
I write a series on road trips in the micro mashup, my weekly 100-word microessays. Here’s the latest featuring national parks:
https://open.substack.com/pub/morningpagemashup/p/road-trip-the-national-parks-6a6?r=78mjm&utm_medium=ios&utm_campaign=post
"Socially-distanced bison..." yes!
Hello 👋 Thank you for the prompt. It inspired me to write a post. I wrote about what it means to me as a stepmother for my step child to travel the world for the very first time. May not seem like a biggie to regular parents but the experience is different for me.
https://thebravermom.substack.com/p/her-first-travel
I've traveled from Bryce Canyon Park to Capital Reef now--incredible. BUT have been without wifi for too long. Currently sitting outside an Information place, and trying to catch up on all the wonderful posts here--I am so grateful to see this!
Wonderful stories from others here. I used to only blog when I travelled, so I felt inspired to contribute. I've dusted off an old WordPress post from a few years ago. It's part 1 or 2 so I guess I'll update part 2 next. To start here's the first 'Postcard from Latvia'. https://marylouisetucker.substack.com/p/postcard-from-latvia-2017-23-02-03?sd=pf
Oh my, I was so excited I didn't follow the word count rules. I'm a retired Technical Writer who spent years writing instructions. I really will try to read them in future!
I think people are enjoying all the reads here! So good to see the sharing...
Usually I pretend I don’t have time to read links, but over the weekend I took time and really enjoyed reading and commenting on all the travel pieces posted by late afternoon Sunday. Maybe the key is the prompt. Something about travel brings out stories in just about everybody.
It would seem that way, yes. I've just finished--at long last, and still recovering from my own travel!--reading through all.
Now to come up with such a prompt each month. But I never know just how it will go... inspiration being its own shadowy thing.
Thank you for this--as on your post. It's exciting to see how many posts on others' newsletters grew from this prompt!