Mama TT

Theresa here again.

Cori went out to solo adventureexplore some more at Arches National Park and well, I am doing the opposite of that. Instead, I am locked in a death match music battle with the Motel 6 cleaning staff who are outside our room in the hall. To be perfectly honest I like their music more than mine but I am too tired to walk across the room and turn mine off. Yesterday’s adventuring wore me out  and then after a long, hard, couple of hours of waiting for Cori to do my laundry, I had to hunt and gather a pizza for us, since every four days we start to feel bad about eatiing only candy.

I might have hid under the covers after I provided dinner.



We stayed in a motel the last couple nights because it’s just a wee bit cold at night here.

While I absolutely do not recommend travel expeditions while waiting to schedule a hip replacement, this trip has been lovely. Until today I haven’t been in particularly rough shape, and waiting an extra week in Portland for my wheelchair to show up was about the most complicated this trip has been. Cori might beg to differ that California driving caused the most stress.

Usually I try to get out as little as possible during the winter, but traveling in December has turned out to be pretty perfect. The national parks are less crowded, the surrounding tourist towns are delightfully abandoned during the off season, and we have been practically the only ones in a couple of different RV parks. I have fallen pretty hard for little Acorn the teardrop trailer. She keeps us from getting cold and is the absolute perfect cure for even the worst cases of insomnia. I want one to live in forever and ever amen.

Here are our reflections trailer camping near Joshua Tree

photo 1


Here we are not eating candy

photo 2 (2)


And the crazy sunset we enjoyed that night

photo 3 (2)

Also here is Cori demonstrating our running joke of how shut ins travel. Pull into a national park and open the trailer doors (or just the air vent depending on how nature social you plan to be, and then continue doing what you were already doing – usually reading or watching Netflix if you are us.)

photo 4


I have some more adorable nature pics here 

We have a couple days before we head back to Vegas where I fly back to Minneapolis. So now is the time to betting on how early we’ll fall asleep in Vegas. Hint: we usually make an effort to last until at least 7:00 pm.





T here.
In response to Cori’s post a couple of days ago, it’s not that I have no opinion, I’ve got plenty of those. It’s that I have learned to reign them in to better control my rage. I’d call myself an opinionated non control freak. I respect people way more for not listening to me, except when I am right, which is about politics, social issues, and Netflix. I have exactly zero opinions about where to sit in the movie theater, where to eat (as long as it is always tacos and frozen yogurt), or whether we should stay in a place or leave it. This is because I am saving all of my feelings for election season when I will probably care way too much and could murder a basket of kittens in cold blood. And it is also because Cori is doing all of the driving and I automatically make anyone who will drive me places my pack leader. My lack of caring about incidental stuff probably makes people around me pretty uncomfortable, but I mean I kind of just don’t care. At least I am consistent.

Cori is worried that she’s bumming all y’all out and being a food downer and my thoughts on food are kind of a downer right now too. I love hearing all of her stories about farms and such and about the amazing people running them. And that gives me quite a bit of hope. But it does seem like generally the more you find out about farming and produce, the less you can eat. I’ve been fighting this for years. I’ve been advised over the years to eat or not eat everything under the sun by experts with varying degrees of actual expertise. Add to that the pesticides, the mistreatment of animals and farm workers, GMOs, and the other concerns surrounding sustainable agriculture, and the fact that the guy sitting next to you (me) at Starbucks is a total douche monster and it is overwhelming to say the least. This has been the general consensus in the traveling twosome’s discussions of the day.

I do have some pictures and some happy stuff to share about this trip, but in the interest of being consistent and in order to avoid getting accused of writing another fluff piece, I will leave you with this poem. A poem I did not write and one that is probably a downer (not to me, I just love it).

Evil Corn

My first few months in Minnesota, I listen to a Public Radio performer pimping a perfidious, nasal patter of prairie companionship, and I can’t help but wonder what hairless planet he’s nattering from. Okay, on the surface, it’s safe here. Life is ordered. No stone-heart urban thugs a’dancing. No fearsome city noise to start the ears a’bleeding. But something about the place gives my bones the heebie-jeebies. Left to the sun and rain, this land of quaint squares of dark soil sprouts a bright uniform green from road to road that murders anything natural. Gone are the tall grass prairies, vanished are the native trees, and corralled are the once-feathered Indians. Evil corn and its masters have murdered this land.

I wake to my first harvest in southwest Minnesota and see that corn, the basic grain, the light of dark Indian stomachs for millennia, has transformed from a life sustainer to a life destroyer. When I tell a friend the corn is now evil, she titters and whispers, “Oxymoron.” Transplanted city folk at the college say how glad they are to be away from cities and in “the country,” but this place is not “the country” even though a green blanket shrouds the four sacred directions. This is subjugated land, strangely industrial and rural at the same time. Corn and soy fields rotate on alternating years. The corn here is tall and imposing, but it is not the same creature Squanto planted and spoon-fed the loony pilgrims with. This is not the corn of the Zuni shalako, and it’s not the Diné holy giver of pollen.

This is not the corn I scratched into the dry dirt of my childhood. This is mutant flora, a green American Frankenstein born of chemicals and greed. It is lucre bound for the sweet tooth of America in the form of corn syrup, for our car gas tanks as ethanol, and as fodder for the stomachs of cattle. These cobs, genetically altered and pesticide soaked, cornhole all that is sacred.

In dreams, I recognize the sacred, have always tried in my profane way to bow to the sacred, but waking decades of hand-to-mouth survival have nearly blanched all holiness from my soul. Despite my occasional frothing, a typically generic American consumer lives in my mirror. Yet I reside in an ancient farmhouse surrounded by evil corn. Green death rises from this bad-heart land where I’ve brought my cats and dogs. We’re exiled to a toxic hell where the laughing devils of necessity have chased us, five hundred miles form the dying woman we love. Do not pit my animal friends or me. Pity the sallow and linear pimps who greedily grow green the destruction of our ancestors and their natural world.
– Adrian C. Louis

I have about a week and a half left on this trip and then I’m out, so I’ll try to guest post with substance soon. I work well under pressure. I’m gonna say some super deep, meaningful stuff soon and it will change your life.

Mama TT/Brain Twin/Spirit animal here. Since I am joining Cori on a portion of her walkabout travels, and because she is plumb tuckered from from the daily blog posting of November, I am doing a little guest post. Since I missed out on all of the farm festivities, I’ve got little to offer in the area of farm wisdom, but may have some insight on what happens when two insomnolent hermits who prefer to communicate through text messages live in a trailer together for an indefinite amount of time.

But first, how did I end up on walkabout?

I thought Cori was dead for a while because she didn’t text me for almost 14 hours. It was weird because I was worried but I also wanted to respect her space and I thought there might be a good chance she was faking her own death and obviously I would not want to interfere with that. So I buried my feelings deep and decided to join her on walkabout so we wouldn’t have any more of these misunderstandings.

After buying my one way ticket to Vegas, where she kindly offered to pick me up after she shifted some of her plans around, the guilt started to set in. What in tarnation was I doing encroaching on another hermit’s alone time? What Cori is doing is basically the coolest thing ever. Lots of people talk about things they would like to do, places they would like to travel, how they’d like to take a break from real life and road trip across the country. Few people actually do these things though, in my experience. But Cori is actually doing it and that is just plain badass. So what do you do when a friend has worked hard to achieve a goal and put incredible time and effort into creating what could potentially be the perfect solo travel experience and a catalyst for personal growth? Well, you invite yourself along of course. I felt bad but not bad enough to not go.

In the midst of a life panic about my own living situation I texted “I WANNA GO ON WALKABOUT” to Cori and she didn’t tell me to go take an ice hike in heels so I took that as an “ok” and began packing incredibly weather inappropriate clothes.

So far I have been on Walkabout for only 6 days. We went to sleep early in Vegas, drove through all of Nevada where “Nude Girls” signs and abandoned ghost towns beckoned to us, slowly crept through part of California, where we found a lovely RV park to spend my first actual night in the trailer, and arrived in Portland where we’ve been crashing for the last few days. I have learned a few things: teardrop trailers cure insomnia, persimmons are amazing, pugs and I are food motivated, and being able to climb out of a cozy nest, walk around to the car and drive off is a pretty great feeling.