My dad is good at text chains.
I’m rereading Cordelia Jensen’s Skyscraping because I spotted it at the library last week and it is still extremely wonderful.
I squint back into the sky
knowing that this is the moment
in the movie of our lives
where the prop guy
I touched down in Chicago around 11:00pm last Friday, went (too) hard at Kate and Pat’s wedding on Saturday, hopped a twenty-six minute flight to Muskegon for some long-awaited/very-necessary hang time with my familia on Sunday and then made my way back to the Golden State on Thanksgiving evening to spend a few days sleeping a sh*tload, being all up in Ellie Girl’s cute face and furniture shopping for the new Castro casa with B-Turd.
Below are the photos I have in my iPhone camera roll from all of that.
Two weekends ago I got invited by a friend of a friend to join a group of eleven Iowans in a running relay from San Francisco to Napa. Although I didn’t know anyone on the team prior to the race, spending twenty-eight consecutive hours together in a rental van whilst wearing sweat-soaked running clothes changed all that. By the end of the two-hundred-mile journey my van mates and I had become family.
On Wednesday of last week, four days after the aforementioned relay ended, I found myself back in Napa for a work retreat and the hotel that my company put me up in happened to be across the street from the stretch of highway on which I’d finished my third and final leg of the relay. Needless to say, the familiar surroundings socked me right in the gut parts, so I stuck those feelings in an email to my running kin.
Dearest darlingest Van 2 mates,
I’ve been back to my normal life for the better part of a week now yet I can’t stop thinking about the special 28-hour journey the six of us shared last weekend.
Thank you for your warmth and your kindness and your humor and your support and for being so very generous in sharing the most wonderful parts of yourselves and for teaching me new things about myself and for making my first Ragnar relay an unforgettable experience.
There are moments, all magical in ways that my words won't do justice, from the back of the van and from grapevine-flanked checkpoints and from restaurants and starlit parking lots and the sides of busy highways that I very well may never travel again that I know will stay with me always, and it's for those moments, and more-so for each of you, that I will forever be grateful.
Thanks again, and keep on running.
P.S. Attached to this email is the picture I snapped as we parted ways on Saturday. Aside from my unfortunate facial hair situation which has since been remedied, I think it’s quite perfect.
P.P.S. Only a toilet is a toilet.
Out in the Castro last night Bevan (elephant) and I (giraffe) went. We began with food at Harvey’s and then made our way into Moby’s for a drink before bumping into and subsequently spending a good amount of minutes chatting with activist Cleve Jones at The Mix. Our evening ended in the Fillmore McDonald’s drive-thru where we procured, with a credit card, chicken nuggets (for me) and a bunless Filet-O-Fish (for he).