Looking for a way out of war via Arlo Guthrie storytelling trip

I know I've heard Arlo when I was a kid, and my mom sang us the likes of Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, and her fav - Peter, Paul, and Mary, who sang many a well-repeated song with pacifist substance and immediate, calming yet raw sway for change. . .you know, the Gandhi-King-Lennon (John) approach. . .
But as I have written, never was I so borderline obsessed over any song since the Cure in 9th grade, Robert Smith's neon cherry painted lips mouthing Love Cats, and no war protest about it. . .

It all began with Alice's Restaurant, as it seemed to have begun with Arlo Guthrie himself.  The son of Woody Guthrie, of This Land is Your Land fame - a song I believed was akin, equal, even more fitting than our national anthem when I was in elementary school - I believed we had to memorize it, and yes, had the concrete realization that such a lovely and catchy tune about sharing and being proud and honored to live in such a place that valued freedom and gratitude as our country - well, had the actual thought that it was a much more appropriate anthem then relating our entire existence solely on battle, on bombs, on icons like the flag.  It seems to me that we are founded on good principles, but just like not seeing the forest for the trees, we lose track of them and focus instead on big bangs and big bucks. . .enough!  This is by no means a political commentary space, I'm too far removed to make intelligent observations or opinions. . .

So, it all began outside Stockbridge, MA.  A sudden realization of the power to answer most questions or interests that pop into my head at any moment, I remembered the mystical and omnipotent powers of the internet and, in a moment of curiosity looked up the church from the song.  Sure enough, by Jove - it stands, it lives, it breaths!  They're even added to it.  It's now a non-profit called the Guthrie Center, and tomorrow at 6am, we are taking the bus up for a visit to the legendary church, sleeping on the bus, talking with some friends we haven't seen yet.

This may not be anything to anyone, but it's terribly significant for me.  Life is in a constant motion of change - you may think you are stable and even have a routine, most of us have jobs that have corralling effect, money that keeps our imagination in check, our spontaneity in a dusty lock-box at the bank, only available with apt notice and planning. . .some of us are impulsive in a positive way, of being un-scared, honest, epic, and completely optimistic.  Don Quixotes of the world, let us never stop.

Even though the original plan for the bus is a plan of either the past or the distant future, another plan is formed.  Alice's Restaurant, the song, is mainly re-telling the happenstance manner in which Guthrie avoided the Vietnam draft because of littering. . .the movie is about a time when being yourself was hard.  Sound familiar?  That's because it can always be difficult to be yourself, or rather, to recognize that others may be ok with you being yourself.  And peaceful, and perhaps - diplomatically and respectfully - disagreeing with a stance of war that is, for some people. . .seen as needlessly violent or wasteful, negative, deleterious, fatalistic, self-defeating, and/or antipathetic.  Seems like Guthrie, and an entire generation, got a whole lotta difficulties for exercising things like First Amendment rights and humanitarianism.  Sometimes I feel like a bubble of glue-energy (that's static energy that just glues me stiller than a bowl of fruit in an oil painting from the black and white days), unable to let things move, to see the significance of things like pickles. . .uhoh, here I go again with references.  Let's just say, that it can be easy to get stuck on an idea, let's say the idea of how things aren't working out.  OR we can say, "I'll just step back a few paces to give myself, my ego, and my fear some breathing room" and wallah!  we can see the significances, the connections, the why's.  Not always mind you.  Sometimes it's all such a reach it feels like you're lying to yourself.

"Yeah, Sabrina, I'm stoked on the bus concept completing morphing into something less adventurous and more local geographically, looking forward to art openings and acting cool."  Um, no.  I'm looking forward to introducing artists and concepts that may not be welcomed in the sleek and sterile environs of the galleries of So-Ho, Olde City, and geez, whatever Boston and Baltimore have, and G_d knows I'm taking Sirius down to Austin and Albuquerque and San Diego.

So. . .looking for a way out of patterns, holes, or repetitious thoughts that consume us, actions that form us without our full consent, lifestyles that are created through a false sense of urgency, of lack, of need for more. . .Guthrie wasn't particularly looking for a way out (the movie suggests he was, kinda) but look what happened.  Well, listen to what happened.  If you have no idea who or what I'm talking about, that's an opportunity for you to check out this.

So tomorrow, with 4 children and two adults, we will make our way to visit the church that held an infamous Thanksgiving Dinner, the cafe that sorta inspired the name of the song, and a nice place in the woods to park the bus, morphing into a gallery for all those incredible humans out there who I know would enjoy a nice, renegade showing of mobile art, versatile and slightly disruptive, passively awesome, rolling on wheels of imaginative solutions, and somehow - I'm working on this one - somehow making the world a better place.  Sharing, acknowledging the beginning, middle, and now, and, allowing growth and directions to open up my mind.

See you in Massachusetts!

To everything there is a time. . .

What have I been doing?

Tie-dyeing

 Driving the bus up from North Carolina and touring New Jersey

 Holding Chickens

 Picking up cowboy hitch-hikers

 Shameless blog advertising

 Jawbones

Tearing out bunks and walls

 Deconstructing

 Riding Samson on my handlebars to get the bus

 Letting children spray paint, power-wash, and cover up spray paint

In no particular order. . .

A New Twist for a Summer Drink

I like a good twist.  A good twist in a story, a good twist of lime, a good twist from the chiropractor, a good twist on the dance floor, and most recently, Samson's good twist that took out his front tooth, giving him that adorable *lithsp* we all had when we lost our front teeth.

I guess this bus idea and the bus itself has gone through (is going through) a twist in its life. . .from a proposed documentary film and taking my kids on the road, to sitting in North Carolina for a year in a half and being home to at least three people up there (!) to becoming the proposed newest twist in the arts world (though not the first -Stunning bus gallery in the UK, an art bus that reaches children, a pretty interesting idea to bring art to the people, for free, and St Louis gave this project $50,000. . .).

A MOBILE ART GALLERY!
that supports community, sharing, creativity, social justice, human rights, and yes. . .art. . .

So. . .this is all in conjunction with the art gallery I've been managing in New Jersey since last year.  I had originally asked the owner, who has a large enough space on his property, if I could park my bus there.  I had all but given up on The Parting Family - knowing now I'm almost done with graduate school to be a teacher, and well, I need to use that degree to pay back my loans! Yikes!  So, no traipsing around the world of intentional communities and monasteries and national parks. . .yet. . .

So. . .the owner says 'sure' to parking the bus there.  I only knew if I didn't move it the 700 miles up here, it was just going to die, and with it, my dreams and ideals and visions of whatever I've written and spoken of in the last 4 or 5 or 6 years.  It was in bad shape (visually).  I'm not sure where the idea came from, but I believe it must have begun back in 1999 when I first moved to Philadelphia from a small Southern town, and thought I could just walk my portfolio into any old gallery and have them swooning.  An acquaintance of mine, had been dealing with the same crap of cliques and select, tony, and mostly pretentious curators, artists, and art wizards closing doors in his face and generally making art into a popularity contest in which was reminscient of our presidential elections.  It made no sense.  I imagined a less 'cool' arts scene, or day-dreamed a room full of highly talented artists sharing cocktails, but all of them uber-introverted and ugly and dorky.  Some of them may not even know the newest classifications of the genres of the newest music, or know what a fixie is, or eat the same bologna and mustard sandwich everyday for the last 23 years.  I dunno. . .

So why not have a renegade art gallery, on wheels?  Level the playing grounds.  Why not an impetuous and genuine opening on the street, where perhaps everyone will have a chance. . .well, everyone without bumptiousness and conceit. . .those who want to support what I envision as pretty important electrons around an equally important nucleus (can't think of anything for the nucleus to represent right now). . .and we, the people, are exchanging electrons, making energy and explosions and stuff - in a good way.

Don't take me for a negative thinker - I love art galleries, and I may have it all wrong.  But, you can't deny a 36' school bus rolling into a gallery district in Philly, NY, Baltimore, or DC isn't pretty interesting. . .

So right now, I'm working on a Kickstarted video to raise funds to complete the process, contacting potential sponsors - like the good folks and AS Hanging Systems that I contacted this morning about helping us out with a cable system to hang the work, and putting out the word for a collection of artists to be involved.  I am also beginning to compile causes and projects in which I would like to sponsor from exhibit and sales proceeds. . .

Here's the transitioning interior.  I'll be painting the walls a nice, calm grey, finish the curtains, and work on finding a good electrician to complete the circuits to the marine batteries I have.

Let the twisting commence!!

The Great North

I think The Great North refers to places other than South Jersey, but the bus has never been north of the Mason Dixon line, so for Sirius, we'll keep it as such.  We just arrived home about 30 minutes ago.  Scratch that - we arrived about 6 hours ago - I just re-christened the bus with my friend Tom and a very early Mother's Day present - some good conversation and a couple tasteful beers. . .and a lesson on the gifts youtube has to give - Tom introduced me to Phillip DiFranco (I am guessing at spelling).  I'm sold.

So!  The bus is parked in what turns out to be a perfectly allowed space on our street, to be moved tomorrow once our things are sorted out.  We stopped in Elizabethton to gather the remainder of our worldly belongings from storage. . .things such as toys and books and clothes all outgrown by the kids that haven't been seen in close to 2 years.  But they traveled all the way up here - 700 miles actually - to be given to Goodwill in Jersey.  That's cool.  These Yankess could use some Southern flair.

It's almost dawn, the bus sits happy, tagged with red spray paint (a nice touch to accent its peeling paint and mildewed roof), awaiting the reactions of neighbors close, and probably town-wide.  Good.  Maybe you're a neighbor reading this because the blog address is painted on the driver's side.  Maybe you're my best friend (I hope).  Either way, please come back and read more about what is happening tomorrow, when I'm more lucid. . .

Thank you I-81, thank you highway 66, thank you 495, 895, 295, and I-95.  Thank you Delaware memorial bridge.  Thank you weather.  Thank you for facilitating an awesome move.  I hope by September the mobile art gallery is in place and Sirius will be treading lightly all the way to your neighborhood, with something BIG to offer.

Highway in the Wind

One thing that has kept me from becoming, or even attempting to become, a successful artist is the discrepancy between meaning and meaningless.  Sometimes it's a difficult line to see.  Art can, by the cynic, be seen as petty.  But then take Banksy's political and social commentaries, so in depth and thought-provoking.  Take that artist in O'Henry's The Last Leaf, a story (you should read) in which a painting literally gives enough meaning to a woman that she chooses Life.  Look at any artwork, and by artwork, I mean anything, because the definition of art basically encompasses everything. . .

So, thank God for Arlo Guthrie, as I've been obsessed with him lately.  Thank God for these songs and voices, sounds, colors, shapes, and actions that can inspire us to get up and go.  Thank God for writing that has nothing to do with anything sometimes other than looking at our own lives and deciding that if that person there can write a short story (thanks Vonnegut), that by God, I should be doing something.

And so we leave today, my ex-mother-in-law and my three children, to drive all afternoon and night to the Bus, in Marshall, North Carolina.  We drive with new leaves on the trees, through DC and its cherry blossoms, through country that Pete Seeger sang to and of, past mountains that have been topped and across borders, down to the town where Amanda Barry's father lives, over and in and through Appalachia. . .

The bus is something more than steel and oak (!) and wishes.  It's a movement both literally and figuratively.  I will be driving it up with kids bouncing in the bunks and playing cards on the floors, back the poetic way we will ramble down.  Through the thunderstorms they are forecasting, through all sorts of wonderful surprises.  It will be parked somewhere in New Jersey, a location not yet disclosed to even me, arriving on Mother's Day, a significant day for me. . .and my mother. . .and against all odds, it will prevail as something good, meaningful, pertinent, positive. . .like the art I struggle with to find meaning in often.

The worst news to come of the bus, after I traveled down 3 weeks ago to clean it out and move it to a garage to prepare for the 600 mile trek, was that the veggie conversion done in 2011 is, in diesel mechanic Tim McGee's valued opinion, is "all gummed up."  This translates to it is the worst attempt at a conversion he's seen in his thirty years working on diesels, buses to be specific.  We're talking next door to Asheville, North Carolina - a convergence point for every type of progressive person, group, movement, and order in the nation - a place where those in San Francisco and Portland, Oregon go when they need something more progressive. . .so Tim has seen his fair share of converted buses.  In his opinion, he could not let me drive at all with a clean conscious with the fuel system intact. . .not only was it installed terribly in-efficiently, but it was dangerous!!  Wow, so, being the woman I am, with karma in tow, I have let any feelings of resentment or anger pass me by and have chosen to view this set-back as a learning opportunity.  Not doubt or mistrust in people, but a chance for me to perhaps learn to speak with many different people, to take my time with big endeavors, and to. . .well, to enjoy some Alice's Restaurant when it all falls to pieces. . .

Back In Business

The business of starting over.  Everyday.  Like 12-steppers. . .maybe? 

It's been a year since I've posted anything.  Close friends can tell you the round-about journey I've taken, the road I've driven down, backed up, driven backwards, and parked on for a year, longer. 

Skipping the details, the kids and I are living in New Jersey.  I am managing (for the lack of a more intricate description) an art gallery/framing store.  I'm having my first solo show this Friday after almost 2 years without showing any photographs anywhere.  I'm nearly through a graduate degree in elementary education. . .a late-night decision I made a year ago because, well, I'm a single parent of three kids - teaching = aligned schedules with my kids and perhaps some viable income, especially up here in the northeast.  But do I really want to teach?  Did I ever dream of being a teacher?  NO!  A resounding NO!  Sure, after college I thought it would be great to teach. . .college. . .not 3rd graders.  And sure, I've home-schooled for a couple of years, but that was a totally lax approach, myself to answer to.  But, nevertheless, here I am, with three kids in three different schools, working while they're in school, taking online courses, and, wait for it. . .driving the bus up to Jersey in April.

Yes, through a pyramid of rationalities, I will be flying into Asheville, North Carolina, to retrieve my long, long lost love and drive it to a farm around the corner from me, to re-paint, to complete, to usher the Idea long ago into a new phase, a New Testament. 

As tempting as running away again is, and as much as I day-dream about taking my student loan and ditching it all for a long drive west and entertaining a story-book escape story, I have come to honor the journey, the renewal, the glory of keeping in touch with dreams, with ideals, with passions.  Though they change (thank God) and morph and mature, the ones that remain must be spoken to. 

Is it self-defeating to write in this space as if it's a diary, a journal for a therapist to search over, revealing weakness and confusion?  I should be confident in my answer - NO - and I am.  I have no idea what this bus will become.  This bus as a concept, is far greater than a road-side restaurant; yet, I'm ok with that, too. . .for now. 

After visiting my oldest and dearest friend in Honduras this summer, we entertained the idea of having a bus service in Central America.  Why not?  The ideas go on and on.  The reality is simple.  The reality is complex.  The reality can be relieving or hindering.  The process is the real Savior. 

Oh yeah, and holding true to that which you believe.  Which begins with, Belief. 

The Infinite Responsibility of the Truth

Sometimes I wanna throw it all down and get lifted.  Yes, that's a quote from an enlightened rap character in a goofy drug movie from when, maybe the late 90's?  But that's how I feel. 

I visited the Simple Way for one of their weekly potlucks last Friday and though nothing extraordinary happened, no earth-shattering revelation made, no crazy worlds collided in the punch bowl (or coffee pot as it were) I left with a light heart, having met several people, one woman that I talked with at length and proceeded to pour out details of my life and how I ended up here, sharing my hallmark Dahl with these normal folks I think are incredible examples of humanity and God's children. . .losing more and more of that blasted self-confidence and cockiness that blew up in my face a few months, or heck, a few years ago.  Everytime I get to 'tell my story' it seems more a pre-ordained disaster or perhaps an outcome that family and some friends foresaw. . .the bus parked at a friend's, no possible funding, all the belongings I sold and gave away being slowly replaced as I settle into a 'normal' and practical life of full-time employment and public (or maybe private if three kids in the same family stand a chance of all getting full scholarships) schooling and haircuts and insomnia, constantly analyzing and re-analyzing why I gave up and why I had such an idea in the first place. . .

But yeah, anyway, leaving the Simple Way, heart lightened and all that, standing outside that night watching the moon shining back at us all, I reminded myself to not forget that peace and inspiration I felt earlier within the community (which, incidentally, is not really an intentional community anymore, for all practical purposes, the folks live together, but they are temporary interns, for 20 months, but if you ask me, it's a community.  But if you ask me, everything is art, also.  I'm broad with definitions).  Tonight I called upon those feelings, after a very tough weekend with my children adapting and learning simple things (that take us all life) like sharing (over and over and over and over and over) with Anna and her daughter, whose hearts are bigger then they can sometimes stand.  Personal drama/tragedy/trauma within a certain circle I have trouble balancing tripped our little ecosystem over the edge and its force was felt emotionally tonight for sure.

These are the trails of community.  But what to do?  Maybe my microscopic example of community is a voice that may need to be heard.  Maybe it's time to shed pride or confidence, or even ideals - certainly a time to throw out the romanticism of travel and a gypsy troupe of three beauties. . .though it's never gonna leave my blood. . .I have bigger fish to fry, It's a Wonderful Life replays in my mind on a loop - our purpose might not be glory, or more like, our purpose is never glory of self. 

I was looking for a way to raise my children in an environment perfect in a way that people were at peace (at the foundation of it all) with each other and the world, respectful and loving and joyful and faithful, where the earth was treated as God's daughter and the lives of Jesus and Gandhi and that quiet kid in Pass it Forward were sought after.  I was looking for good examples, for a place, for a perfect option versus welfare or spending time away from them in lieu of having money to provide a house for them.  I was looking for the answer to everyone's problems of this critical society, time, place, over-stimulation. 

I thought I failed in involuntarily being selfish in a selfless mode. . .

I thought the whole thing was a sham and a bust. . .hours ago. . .not the first time

I re-thought what a horribly naive process I've made known I'm engaging in for much too long without results. 

Then Anna apologized for being short, which she barely was snappy, and I said it was ok, and there was an opening in the air, to allow clean breathing air to circulate between us, the adults and parents and decision-makers, then we were allowed to pass a bit down to the kids, who have had a somewhat difficult time adjusting to something of a benign life as we figure out what a meaningful life looks like after preparing for extraordinary lives. . .

But, living here is nothing short of extraordinary, and your life is nothing short of painfully pertinent and important.  We are all sharing a global community that shouldn't make your thoughts jump to picture a globe and a graphic of hands being held across it - though that's endearing, we should all be more actively thinking as highly respected members of this community of earth. . .and your loving, caring, joyful tiny decisions you make before you move down the next mile, these are the sinew in the muscles that will lovingly lift up the veil of oppression that we willingly place on our lives.

And in a post I began writing a month ago, a whopping big part of the veil is lack of true communication.  It begins even deeper with self-knowledge and exploration, which is, of course, a whole 'nother story. . .

All is well in the Smith-Pender-Zimmer-Bertsch household/community tonight.  Think happy thoughts, think what a Simple Way we have before us