Benny

The house is sold, I'm on the road, and I didn't think I'd see this day. I left Minnesota on October 2nd, 2006, watching the Twin Cities slowly shrink in my rear-view mirrrors.

My traveling partner for this trip was named Benny. He was an orange canary that I had promised to deliver to my girlfriend's daughter in Laramie, Wyoming. Benny would stay in Laramie while I continued on to my girlfriend's home in Oregon. We would pick him up in a few weeks on our move from Oregon to New Mexico.

Benny acted a little agitated as we drove away from the Twin Cities. I put his cage in the passenger seat, so he could sit on his highest perch and look out the window. He flew around his cage, chirping and hopping from perch to perch until I shoved in a music CD, Los Lonely Boys. When the music started to play, Benny calmed right down. He squatted down on his perch and his eyes closed the way birds do when they sleep. I think the music got us both settled in for the long drive that was ahead of us. The miles started rolling by, and Benny sat contentedly on his hightest perch, looking out the front and side windows. I tried to keep food available for him. Before we left town, I bought red leafed lettuce and a sweet potato, both his favorites. I poked bits of veggies in the side of his cage where he could sit on his perch and nibble away.

As the day wore on and dusk started to fall, I noticed that Benny once again was becoming agitated. He flew off his perch and circled right back to the same spot. He couldn't fly far in the confines of his cage. He kept looking toward the back window of the pickup cab. He chirped and shuffled from side to side on his long perch. It looked like something in the back of the cab was bothering him. I craned my head around to look in the small dark area behind the seat. My bags and clothing were stacked behind the seat to the bottom of the rear window. Only a small, dark space was left behind my head. Then I realized the Benny was looking for a place to roost for the night. He wanted to fly into the small, dark area behind the seat to go to sleep. I didn't let him into the back of the cab, but I did pull over and then place the cloth cover over his cage. I left a small opening where I could peek into his cage to check on him as we drove into the night. That did the trick. I could see him in there, perched on his regular sleeping place. He was quiet the rest of the night.

I drove late into the night, and then pulled off the side of the road to sleep a few hours. After I woke, I drove to the next town and pulled in for gas and coffee. I found a free advertiser in the news stand and used it to reline Benny's cage. I normally clean his cage every day, but in the chaos of the last night of packing and the morning of closing on my house, Benny's world had been neglected. I found fresh water for his bird bath and cut fresh vegtables for his breakfast. Benny had a fresh cage, the pickup had a full tank of gas, and I had my coffee. We were ready for the road again.

On the final leg of the trip to Laramie, Benny acted like a seasoned traveler. He sat on his perch, against the side of the cage, as close to me as he could get. He gave me his little sideways look, the way birds do, and I could almost see him smiling. Then I realized I was smiling too. So that's the way we rode, on the last leg of our trip together from St Paul, Minnesota to Laramie, Wyoming.

I missed Benny after I left him in Laramie. As I drove toward Rawlins, I kept looking over to see how my little orange friend was doing. He wasn't there. All I saw was an empty seat. It's funny how I had made friends with that little bird. I popped in a CD, Los Lonely Boys, and settled in for the drive.

Take This Job And Shove It

Didn't Merle Haggard sing that? I'm done. Friday was my last day of work. That doesn't mean that I am retired, or that I won't work again. It means I am through with THAT job, and THAT employer. It means no more calls in the middle of the night to go in and fix problems. It means no more long weekends of grueling work. It means having weekends to myself again. For the time being, it means having evey day to myself instead of having to give up my time to the whims of my bosses.

The complex of buildings where I worked always seemed dark and sinister. I resisted going to work there, but circumstances just seemed to draw me in. The buildings are constructed of dark brick and dark glass. They sit back from the highway across a mowed grassy field, surrounded by marshlands and cornfields. They recently erected some signs and lights, but earlier the place looked dark and foreboding, especially at dusk. Before I worked there it reminded me of a modern version of a House of Frankenstein. It only needed strange lights coming from the upper windows, and storm clouds with lighning overhead to complete the scene.

I think it's good that I'm leaving. I never liked that place. In this case I am following my instincts, and they are telling me to get the heck outta there.

Exit Merle. Enter Willie. "On the road again. I just can't wait to be on the road again...."

Chaos

I really believe that a person should move every 5 years just to get rid of unused junk, and so life doesn't get boring and stale. That being said, I really detest moving. I'm living among piles and boxes. I have piles to be packed, piles to go to Goodwill, and piles that I just don't know what to do with. The thing is, my possessions are minimal compared to a lot of people. What do people do that have a lot of stuff?

So, this is my life right now. In a few weeks I'll be settling into a new place, and hopefully things will calm down a little. I'll be glad. I want to concentrate on other things. There are so many interesting people and places and ideas out there, that it is a waste and a shame to be stuck on a long-term, mundane job or routine. I thrive on new ideas. I am attracted to smart and creative people. I hope for an infusion new interests. Even though my life is chaotic with this move, it's a worthwhile investment in my psyche and my well-being.

I promised my employer that I would stay to the end of a project, and after working 12 hours on Saturday, the cut-over has been accomplished, and now it's just a matter of tying up loose ends. I am working the rest of the week, but I certainly will be concentrating on other things.

My first concern is getting moved out of my home. I have been culling and sorting and boxing, but it still looks like I have made no progress. I live pretty simply, but I am amazed at the amount of stuff I have collected over the years. My goal it to get rid of as much stuff as possible. I need to fit everything into one U-haul trailer and a small pickup bed. I want to throw off all vestiges of my former life and start completely over.

I am not entirely forsaking the memories of my past. I like to keep one or two small things in rememberance of significant people or events from my past. I have a small collection of rocks that I have picked up in my travels over the years. I pick out one rock, and I hold it in my hand, and I remember, "Oh yes, this was from my trip to the Oregon coast. It was cloudy and cool as I walked with lovely Addy, and we watched the waves breaking on the sand."

Some people have chided me about my rock collection. During a past move a person picked up a box and exclaimed, "What do you have in here, ROCKS?" I said yes, and she looked back with shocked surprise, and then burst out laughing. I have to ask why is that worse than packing knick-knacks, or bobble-heads, or any of the millions of other things that people collect? My rocks contain memories, and they connect me with the earth. Each person has their own values and priorities.

I am a man making major changes to my life. I am quitting my job and moving from Minnesota to New Mexico. My friends and co-workers are supportive, although I suspect they secretly think I'm a little crazy. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a little crazy. Some have said that they have thought about doing the same thing, but they have never had the courage to do such a thing. Well, I'm doing it.

Several factors are driving this decision. First, I have always wanted to live in the American Southwest. I like the history and the prehistory, the culture, the art, and the lifestyle that I perceive it to be.

Second, I am anxious to get back to the mountains and a dryer climate. Minnesota is beautiful for its forests and its greenery and its lakes and rivers, but it's also known for its stifling, summer humidity and damp, cold winters. I really miss dry air, cool nights and mountaintops on horizons a hundred miles away. I miss the geology, the exposed rocks, the layers, the colors, the textures, and the sense of unfathomable time.

Third, (maybe this should be first) I have met a lady. Her influence has made me realize many things about myself, and she has helped me gather the courage to make this move. Without her, I think I would have withered into an aging, lonely, insignificant man, working a soul-less job, and hopelessly clinging to a tenuous paycheck. She has made me see that life is too short, and that I need to take chances and really experience life.

The fourth reason for moving is the developing attitude I have for my job of the last 6 years. Although I make a pretty good living, I draw no spirtual sustenance from my employment. It provides no balance in my life. My employer demands more and more of my time, which I am becoming more reluctant to give up. I have survived several stressful layoffs, and this spring there was talk of still more cost cutting, which translates into yet more layoffs. For their role in the cost cutting, the people in upper management give themselves high-fives and big raises, while the guys and gals in the trenches suddenly find themselves out on the street. I had sworn to myself that I wouldn't be caught in that situation again, so when the rumors of cuts started circulating this spring, I said 'enough', and I put my house on the market. I started thinning out my possessions and preparing for a change.

So here I am, packing my meager possessions under the deadline of a house closing, and preparing to drive half way across the continent to an unknown future. It should be a real trip. I was ready for a new adventure.