New Things

Since I got home, people have asked, “How was your trip?”  A fair question.  I could just say ‘fine’ and leave it there.  For those who really don’t want details, that would be OK.  But the answer I have come up with is “It was like visiting another planet.” 

There were a number of things I learned.  Some of them you may have heard of.  Some, I’m sure you haven’t.

Gritonese:  This is the language spoken by someone raised on grits.  You have to listen very hard to understand and sometimes, that doesn’t help.  Asking them to repeat it doesn’t help, either.  For example, Ananda wanted some local food in the middle of Arkansas.  So, we stopped at Craig’s BBQ.  That place was held together with plywood and duct tape.  And not new plywood, either.  The door to the kitchen had a hole burned into it.  The tables were shimmed with old newspapers that had been mopped over until they were a gray wad under the table leg.  But the place was packed.  It only had 4 tables, but still, it was jumpin’.  Lots of people there for take out  So, we ordered.  I am a real wuss when it comes to spicy food, so I always tell the waitress I can’t eat much spicy stuff.  I asked if there was something not too spicy.  She answered, “Ah lahke uh mawel.”  I wasn’t sure what a mawel was, but I figured, what they hey, so I said, “I’ll have that.”  She replied, “An’ wha’ you wan’?”  Still unsure of what she was saying or even what was on the menu, I chose something that I knew would have bones that I could identify the species it came from.  I said, “Ribs.”  It wasn’t until Ananda ordered that I figured out what was going on.  The waitress asked her,  “You wan’ uh mawel, too?”  Ananda answered, “No, I’ll have it medium.”  Ananda is much better at Gritonese than I am.

It isn’t just roadside waitresses that I have difficulty understanding.  Going through Missouri, listening to the radio, I heard a news item that said some woman was being prosecuted under the Arkansas Hot Chick Law.  OMG!  I didn’t know that was illegal.  I was worried that I might be breaking some laws, so the next time I was on the internet, I googled the Arkansas Hot Chick Law.  Whew!  It was only about passing bad checks.

Rolling Roadblock:  This is where two vehicles drive side by side and neither of them is going the speed limit.  Either one of them is trying to pass and can’t quite make it, or they are having a nice conversation with the windows down.  I ticked a motorcyclist off by doing this.  I was passing a vehicle, but not fast enough.  Even though I was going 5 mph over the speed limit, the biker passed me on the right, pulled in front of me, and pointed with his thumb to the right lane.  At first, I thought he was giving a thumbs up to my van, as many people did during this trip.  But, no.  He thought that if I wasn’t speeding, I should be poking along.  At least he gestured with his thumb and not a different digit.

Dreads:  I had heard of dreadlocks, so this wasn’t too much of a surprise.  I just hadn’t heard the shortened version, which seemed to be filled with trepedation.  Wren worked on Colin’s dreads as we traveled from Missouri to Virginia.  She would roll his loose hair between the palms of her hands, like making clay snakes.  She would take scissors and split a big mat into two or three strands.  I heard her say once “What’s this?” as she did something to his hair.  I didn’t ask what she had found in there.

BBQ Gluten:  I almost don’t want to describe this, since it brings back things I would rather not remember.  Just think of wallpaper paste in the form of a slug covered with some red stuff.

Couch-Surfing:  I knew this by the term ‘crash pad’ in the 60’s.  But now, with the internet, you go online and look up who has a place to crash in the city you want to be in.  Ananda raved about it.  I wasn’t so sure.  She talked me into couch surfing in Albuquerque, and by that time, I was just going with the flow.  We stayed the night with two lovely, intelligent women and had good food and great conversation.  They were the ones who recommended the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center.  They also had a meditation group in the tradition of Thich Nhat Hanh.  I didn’t sit with them, since I was so exhausted, I didn’t want to fall asleep and snore, as I am inclined to do.  But I did stretch out on my bed (and it wasn’t a couch), and listen to the bell and do my own form of meditation.

So, for now, couch-surfing has a thumbs up from me.