Leg 2, Wichita Libraries...and Houston on my mind

I've been surreptitiously visiting Wichita libraries during my summer hiatus (whilst otherwise letting my brain grow fat, flat, and smooth with minimal thinking, swimming my dorklaps in the apartment complex's pool, and driving around cranking the radio & drinking gallons of venti iced coffees and cherry limades), and decided to sit and write a spell instead of just flitting in to return books/DVDs before hunting down more empty calories, unexplored roads, sick tunes. Yadda.

Of course my summer has been a little bit more than that (cat wrangling being the newest trend that is both vexing and aDORable at the same time) though there's nothing I can compare it to unless I reach way, way back to non-working school days, lolling and watching too much TV, minus the cigarettes and unshattered dreams, of course. I am deep in the middle of planning Leg 2 but was late starting so it's a bit unnerving, even if previous planning experience makes it a bit easier. Leg 2, by the way, is going to be Epic. Perhaps more Epic than I'd imagined when it was all just a 2D idea. I knew I'd be going to Devil's Tower in Wyoming (HELLO, MOTHERSHIP) but who knew there would be so much else to explore out west and north? Well, everyone, I'm sure, but not me. I mean, have you seen Idaho? They've got stuff there. Rolling hills and other SUPER pretty shit. Like.

I mentioned my brain is completely lineless at this point, yes? Like a smooth river rock. You could skip it across a pond, probably.

Anyway, the plan is to launch in mid September and go through the end of October, possibly longer depending on fitting in all the sights and managing the finances required. While this blog sleeps now, it'll be revving up in earnest again soon. I will be traveling through Colorado, Utah, and California, though different parts of those states this time, then onward to new places in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, N and S Dakota and through Nebraska (with one planned stop) before getting back to Wichita in time to participate in holidays like a Person (not to say anxiety ridden alcoholics aren't people...they are...it just doesn't feel that way when you are living it, ya know? Especially when you can't go home because you have a massive panic attack before your flight and then are kind of relieved anyway because you'll get to spend the holiday soaked in liquor and pretending to be sad about it and honestly feeling like shit about being a shit so you dump more alcohol on that which solves everything for about five minutes). I haven't had a holiday with my family in years, so this will be FUN. Clean, wholesome, non-haunted FUN!

I am currently hanging out at the Alford Branch Library (more on this later) which is located in the far southwest part of the city, not far from the airport and about 12 miles from where I am staying. It is the newest of all the Wichita branch libraries and has a rather ingenious design that tips its hat to the library's namesake, Lionel Alford, a Boeing executive and community leader. It's wear worn at this point, but still in pretty good shape considering it's about 14 years old, and I couldn't help but fell an empathetic twinge when I realized it would soon be outflanked by the new main branch under construction downtown. Check out the link--it looks like it is going to be freaking amazing and I cannot wait to see it.

I've visited 7 of 8 Wichita branches now...and time is running out on the last one, but it's the humdinger, if you will, the Endgame Boss, the Last Bastion, the MFER to end all MFERs. The Main Branch. What's truly SAD and WRONG (to use our president's favorite bigboy words) is how much I love this library, and yet how much I've built up my nerves about going in and spending real time there. The architecture is DIVINE, especially if you dig harsh, cruel lines and blackhearted but efficient construction. People either hate it with all the powers harnessed in the fires of Mordor...or they want to live in it and call it Babylove. There are two kinds of people, amiright? Both sick...but special.

The new library won't open until 2018, but there's no news on when they will start emptying out the old main branch, or even what they plan to do with it. The proximity of the two structures would suggest that the older building will either be torn down (a very Wichita thing to do) or will be repurposed (fingers crossed). They can't both be libraries serving the same public...one clean and shiny and new and the other a doomed relic, someone's idea of a futuristic bunker where Logan is forever on the run, perhaps. OMG, just writing this is making me want to GO THERE, and fuck the fear, just GO. OMG OMG. I have to see it, I have to document it. I have to smell how it smells (yes, it has its own smell unlike any other smell in the world) and I have to bask in the weird, filtered light and delight in the quirk and color of it because it is so special to me, very beloved.

(I will not cry in the Alford Library I will not cry in the Alford Library I will not cry in the Alford Library I will not cry in the Alford Library I will not cry in the Alford Library I will not cry in the Alford Library I will not cry in the Alford Library I will not cry in the Alford Library I will not cry in the Alford Library)

The website for the new "Advanced Learning" Central Library answers the question (But what about the current building?) in a clipped and detached way: "The current Central Library building is the property of the City of Wichita. The City Council will make the decision on the future of the building." It housed your Damn Books for 50 years but go on, girl, be that way. Seeing some of the decisions made by this city in the past, I'd advise getting out to see the old building before they destroy it completely, especially if you're into sexy brutalism.

As for me, it will be my opportunity to face old ghosts and end a lifelong relationship on a positive note, rather than the ugly memory of one incident that spoiled the place and cast all other memories under a shadow of yellow feelings and avoidance. I will be writing about my Wichita area library experiences in future posts, with a little more (and less) specificity than on my travels, first because it is Wichita, my hometown, and I know these neighborhoods and people well. But I'm also using these libraries as a True Patron, not just passing through, but checking books & DVDs out, making interlibrary requests, etc. So that will change my approach a bit as well. I also plan to visit some libraries in outlying towns, some of which look pretty freaking fancy from my preliminary research...it will be a fairly all-inclusive kind of trip and I hope to do justice by them all.

When I arrived at the Alford Library, I tried looking for the latest information on the Houston libraries I visited during Leg 1 of my adventures, but there is no specific news as yet. It's even difficult to get information on specific neighborhoods, but I would imagine that is to be expected in the chaos of Hurricane Harvey. The websites report that all branches are closed (as are all YMCA facilities) but there is no news on the conditions of the libraries, whether they made it through okay or if there is any sort of structural or water damage to one or some.

We don't watch the news in my mother's home (she hates it with a passion) so I was only vaguely aware that there was a hurricane going on in the first place, and last night was the first I realized it was as serious as it is. I was making my plans, drafting out different routes and places to visit, tracking miles and time along the way, and marveling at timing and how you just never know when these life changing events will occur. One of the mornings in Houston, my AirBNB host hung out in the kitchen and talked about historical Houston hurricanes and flooding and how it had been x many years since the last incident. He even had a book that documented the devastation the last time around (pretty sure it was Ike). He ventured that global warming made the specter of similar weather events (and worse and worse) all the more likely. Just those few months ago, neither of us were thinking that the specter would be now. I hope he is OK. I hope everyone is OK, healthy, fed, dry, and safe.

A darling little girl (about 9 or 10, missing two front teef and sporting the biggest glasses) was walking into the library at the same as me, and she smiled bright and starry eyed and said "I Loovvve your shirt." And I thanked her and checked my peripherals because I'd forgotten what I was wearing and I swear to God without even a conscious thought (it's one of my last pieces of clean laundry, honest). It wasn't until I was in the bathroom that it struck me. Houston solidarity.

Yes, this is my face. Yes, you can land a space shuttle on my forehead. Yes. I pick up extraterrestrial signals on my radio dish sized forehead. Yes, you are jealous as HELL. (PS. I love you, Houston, And your people, and your grackles, and your food, and your pretty, pretty libraries, and especially your NASA. MUCH LOVE and please take care.)

Postscript Best/Worst List & Shiny Shiny Product Recommendations

Worst Place to Find Starbucks 

Colorado, where signage is Full of Lies. When you drive around the country, you come to depend on the highway-helper signs for upcoming gas stations and food. I tried three different times to follow the signs for Starbucks and was thwarted every time: Too far from the highway, impossible to park (no drive throughs), even impossible to find. CRIMINAL!

Best Breakfast

Y’all, three times I went back for this thing: Multiberry Pancake Breakfast at Cracker Barrel. It seems this special offer is now over, so you'll just have to settle for some blueberry or pecan pancakes, which will still be exceptionally good, I have no doubt. But dang.

Best Tacos

Albuquerque, New Mexico. Casa Taco. Oh happy taco times. This is well worth a drive out of your way, like a hundred, or thousand miles. And if you are ever in Albuquerque, there’s no excuse not to drop by.

Best Restaurant Decor

Houston, Texas, Molina's Cantina. OMG, look at this thing. The pictures are so limited but it was this awesome Spanish vibe, lots of wrought iron, warm, low lights, and the best thing of all: Marbled mirrors. YAAAAASSSS MARBLED MIRRORSSSS. These were hot, hot, hot back in the 70s (it was all just disco balls, tube tops, red lipstick, Farrah Hair, and MARBLED MIRRORS) and I get way too overexcited whenever I spot it in modern times.

Scariest Drivers 

Sorry California, but Texas has you beat. Primarily Dallas and the surrounding areas. It’s the aggressive Grille Up Thine Ass School of Driving that wins them top prize. Also, it wasn’t California Chainsaw Massacre, was it? Though it easily could have been Barstow Chainsaw Massacre, but I digress. I never felt more threatened by other drivers—not even by my scarce driving experience in frickin NYC. Not a Badge of Honor, y’all.

Best Wildlife

Arizona. In one gorgeous day of driving (the Canyon de Chelly adventure), I managed to nearly run over a bunny, a domestic dog, a chipmunk, and a wily coyote, who actually bared his little white teeth at me as I drove by, mouth agape at the close call…and the close encounter to a favorite wild thing of mine. This is also where I saw those meaty, mouthy ravens and the fearless elk (at Grand Canyon).

Best Rest Stops

Theoretically, Texas. They are new, clean, not too smelly, and well designed. And they feature real plumbing. Real, live plumbing. But my heart will always put those Western Kansas rest stops above all others. They are quaint, simple, clean, and perfectly functional, with those magical outswinging doors and the tinny comfort of weather reports echoing from recessed speakers, voices drifting across the parking lot, and through the plains. Even if you are the only one there, you never feel alone.

Worst Rest Stops 

Without even a close runner up, Utah. They are old, broken down, smell like Satan’s b-hole, and offer those low toilets so everyone has to drop it like it’s hot or, I don’t know, just stand on the edge and aim?

Best Traffic Full of Whimsy and Charm 

Houston, Texas. There was such a rich variety of foliage and wildlife…it was incredibly lovely and a pleasure to drive around, seeking out all the different libraries and tacos and Starbucks. I also liked how they let each other in and showed a level of courtesy I’d never seen before, at least not commonly.

Worst Traffic 

Austin, Texas. Dude. What a shitshow. And yes, even compared to Los Angeles. There were slow downs during my LA experience, but I saw nothing that could compare to Austin. Whenever I think of Austin and its traffic situation, I also imagine the city planners as shaking, wrecked shells of human beings, just trying to make it through the day until retirement to maybe Antarctica or the bottom of the ocean…wherever there are no roads.

Best Scenic Drive 

Hands down, everything between Las Vegas and Denver. If you ever get the opportunity to make this drive, DO IT. It is so beautiful—lots of mountains and of course, the finale: The Rockies. It can be a little scary at times, but don’t drive like a maniac and you’ll be fine. Also, get coffee before you hit Colorado. And food. At least until you get to Denver…otherwise, you’ll be driving in endless circles through snowy mountain towns, trying to figure out where the hell all the promised amenities are hidden.

Worst Scenic Drive 

Western Kansas (and really, anything east of Denver) may be “flat” but it’s a feathery, soft kind of flat, as opposed to the hellscape route between Roswell and Albuquerque documented earlier in this blog. Close encounters of the Boring Kind.

Coolest Library

Pasadena, California. Oh my God. Oh my God oh my God. Those dark wood stacks, those glowing, dreamy lights, the painstaking dedication to preserving the timeless, aching beauty of a quintessential Library. Swooooon. (Second runner up, a lot of them, actually. I loved McGovern-Stella Link in Houston, Ella Mae Shamblee in Fort Worth, Yarborough in Austin, Beverly Hills and West Hollywood, too. I loved spending time in so many of these libraries, with very few making my Never Ever Again list. What a remarkable treat.)

PRODUCT RECOMMENDATIONS
Okay, to be honest, I am only making this section to scream praises for one product in particular, but I’ll mention others for what it’s worth.

1. Like, omigod Sheffield 12-in-1 Hatchet Multi Tool. This thing will totally not fly off the roof of your car when you forget you put it up there and take your first hard turn out of the parking lot. Sturdy little sucker.
2. 2-person Dome Tent by Embark. This is a super easy tent to set up and break down, even for just one person. It’s more of a temperate weather tent, so not for super cold, windy, rainy, or snowy situations, but it withstood my abuse so A++. 
3. Ozark Trail Sleeping Bag, Not Really Sure Which One but Wow. So warm, so soft, so comfy. I’d recommend any of them, but here’s a general link. Cheap as heck, too! (Just don’t set yourself on fire while you are in it. Generally advice to follow, daily. But it is doubly advisable when wrapped in 100% polyester.) 
4. Finally, the best thing ever: Intex Classic Downy Twin Air Mattress. The link to the WalMart site now has it priced at 15.97, so I guess it was a lucky break that I got it at 7.97? Like, how crazy. I fully expected such a cheap mattress to pop, deflate, or otherwise disappoint. Really, what could I expect? Apparently A LOT. I beat the living hell out of this thing. Remember, I had to launch myself into the backseat to get to my little sleeping area, and while I might’ve tried to spring light as a dove’s whisper at the beginning of the evening when I was still awake and fully present, in my shivering zombie 3 a.m. form, I was really just hurling a corpse made entirely of elbows and bowling balls into the back of my car, violently whipping to and fro to get the sleeping bag zipped and all the blankets back to a complete cocoon state. It has great support and only seemed to inflate and deflate depending on temperature and elevation. I recommend this air mattress so hard, even if you don’t need one you should probably just get one, anyway.

Evidence! Before the trip I bargain hunted and kept photos to make it easier. Best. 7.97 ever spent.

Outtakes, Leg 1

Lovely, lovely Houston

Houston, Texas
Where I learned about the most mean spirited toll roads ever, offering no options but to exit into the unknown...and you might just get a ticket in the mail (which I did not, thank goodness). This is also the last place toll roads were included in my map searches. Turns out you can travel 9,000 miles without hitting a toll road at all.

Rootin Tootin Dallas Ft. Worth

Houston, Texas AirBNB
My most gruesome injury of the trip, a Florida shaped bruise up my leg, from splatting on the floor, trying to find the Host to let me out so I could visit my libraries. There are few things I can do as well as I did as a young teen, but it seems I can still fall like a massive, wet, green frog, much like I did at our first dress rehearsal of Alice in Wonderland when I tried to sprint across the stage in flippers. I was 14, a Frog Footman, and furiously humiliated. It seems the muscle memory is the same, as I blushed madly all these decades later even though there was no one there to witness my clumsy shame.

Chic and shiny Austin

Big Bend

Pretty, pretty Roswell

Bottomless Lakes Campground
When I drove up to the campsite host trailers, no one was at the On Duty station, so I rolled to the second, where an older man was sunning right by his Off Duty sign. He looked at me and mouthed something awfully not nice, but was willing to help after he realized the other host was MIA. It's funny that anyone would think the average person couldn't lipread MOTHERFUCKER. But I can.

Magical New Mexico

Magdalena, New Mexico (AirBNB)
When I shopped for supplies at the Albuquerque Wal-Mart, I was so overexcited by the idea of having a kitchen and endless, luxurious time, that I bought a week's worth of food when I really only needed a few days. Like, what did I think I was going to do with an entire box of Frosted Flakes?

Canyons de Chelly, Forests so petrified, doggy butts

Grand Canyon, Meteor Crater, Flagstaffian Library Lodge

Grand Canyon Campsite
I blame the children, always. But in this case, it is definitely their fault since they distracted me. The family that came in the night before I had to leave were up bright and early and the kids were climbing the trees around their campsite (and mine) as I busied myself with breaking down the tent and packing up. We started talking about climbing trees, visiting the canyon, and where they were from and planned to visit on the way back, and I totally forgot I put my flashlight, pill case, and ax on top of my car...until I took the first hard turn and all but the ax (sturdy, heavy thing) went flying off the roof and smashed to the pavement. The flashlight survived. The pill case did not. I spent the rest of the trip taking medicine from individual pill bottles like an animal.
Flagstaff, Arizona
Home of Assholes on Bikes Who Do Not Look Where They are Going and Giant Falcons or Perhaps Pterodactyls Who Crap on Your Car in the Night. Not really an "outtake" as much as a state of existence. A pretty but perilous place.

Cali 1

Arizona/California Border
I cannot explain why, when asked if I had fruit in the car, I felt compelled to tell the truth (yes), but then lied (saying I had one apple when I had two) and then lied even further (when he said, oh from a Flagstaff hotel probably and I said yes even though it was from an Albuquerque Wal-Mart). As though I'd been caught with live parrots tucked in my bra?

Cali 2

Post Flagstaff
The Cooler of Shame and Failure. I tried keeping up with the ice, but it wasn't enough of a priority and also makes that one jar of grape jelly go from a somewhat reasonable price to the most deluxe, gold flaked tumbler of Smuckers to ever be acquired at auction. It works best if you are camping a lot and know you are going to go through your goods in a matter of days, but it is not a long term option. I ended up trashing more than I'd care to remember and, as you can imagine, any kind of waste during these post-employment months is irritating and regrettable. I do admit that 90% of the problem is me!

Toothy Utah

All States, Including Mental
Car Sleeping--it can be done! And quite peacefully and effectively. But it took me awhile to build up the nerve to do it at all and I did opt out a few times when I planned to sleep in the car and either chickened out or thought it would be too cold. Considering the savings, I would obviously far prefer car sleeping over everything else. I am sure there are other sub-outtakes in this category, all likely involving nearly falling into toilets at 3 a.m., sleep blurry and freezing, or trying to guesstimate how many people saw me with my mouth agape and nose pressed against the back window, but we'll have to leave that to our imagination.

Rocky Mountain HIIIIIIIGH, Colorado. I really did think I'd see people smoking pot out in public but no dice, man.

Leaving Houston, North Houston to the Navarro Rest Area (165 mi.)

Aside from the toasty, globally warmed welcome, I really liked Houston. The traffic made sense after I got used to it, and all the distinctive neighborhoods were interesting and memorable. And while they were distinct, they were all bound by the same reaching trees and gabby grackles, which I came to truly understand as a Real Annoyance. Cute as hell, loud as sin. And they never. Shut. Up.

Before doing anything else, I decided to stalk a famous movie setting, the Houston home of Aurora Greenway in Terms of Endearment. First, I was kind of shocked at how easy it was to look up online, but I was happy that it took me right past the oogity boogity Williams Tower once more, dropping me into a neighborhood adjacent to the downtown area. And it really is right there, just off the highway, where you leave the grill grinding kill-or-be-killed speedway to find yourself in a very upscale neighborhood, driving past beautiful houses, any of which would have been a suitable choice for the film. I stopped for a hot second to snap a quick pic, then headed to the end of the street, turned right, and drove slackjawed through what can only be described as Seriously Massive Mansion Row. These were not McMansions--these were gorgeous, historic homes built for oil barons and their kin--the neighborhood is called River Oaks. I didn't dare stop to photograph it for myself, but there's plenty of images already online if you are interested.

I was sad that I could not spend the last day in Houston in a library--only outdoor venues were available--so I opted for the aforementioned Barnes and Noble in North Houston. Since B&N is not interested in people roosting in the Cafe indefinitely, electrical outlets are not available, so I was at the whim of my laptop's battery. When I finally had to leave, I decided to just go and see where the roads took me. 

North Houston is a juxtaposition of attitudes. I started out in the "Champions" part of town, where the roads were "Champions" this or "Champions" that, with surrounding areas named for Kings this-and-that on top of it, but moved eastward to the Humble part of north Houston, which still boasted Kings this-and-that but at least wasn't blatting on about it every second (Champions Golf Course, Champions Auto Parts, Champions Pet Grooming). Luckily, there is no Champions High School to bear the burden of that title...though I suppose it would make for sly headlines every time they got trounced in some odd sporting event. 

I eventually found my way to the Deerbrook Mall in Humble and while I spent little time inside, there was one corner of it that made me giddy with joy. Here's the thing: I love malls. LOVE THEM. Not so much the refurbished ones, though, even though I do understand why they have to do it. I love old malls, especially ones that have retained their original identities and decorative 60s-70s-and 80s flair. While Deerbrook has clearly been updated, it hasn't lost all of it's charm. Here is the interior--standard mallage, white, white white, devoid of character, etc.:

But one of the entrances to Dillard's (of all places, and no I did not cry) still retained that original 1984 whimsy: The giant glass overhang that serves no purpose other than to be crazy, give over-the-top shelter of sorts, and create a terrarium like environment when coupled with the jungle planter offset from the main doors. Look at this majesty.

After hanging out there for a while (malls are stupid, I know, and for someone who has cut away almost all material possessions, they are next to useless except to go smell giant pretzels but never buy one because they are never as good as their aroma would suggest) I hemmed and hawed about dinner until finally settling on Kublai Khan, which serves Mongolian stir fry and sushi. Feeling as wishy washy as I did, I lucked out in finding this place and forcing myself to make a decision: Hands down some of the best sushi I've ever had. Didn't even need the soy sauce. I had the Shaggy Dog and the spicy tuna roll and both were intensely flavorful and phenomenal. I would highly recommend this place to anyone in the area...though one word of warning (and I hate to say it, but as a traveler I must): avoid the bathroom at all costs. It needs a thorough scrub down and repair/update or vice versa. It really is too bad that such a great place (great food, great atmosphere, excellent service) would suffer from such a fixable problem. 4/5 stars!

I mentioned before that I was a bit of a squirrel yesterday--hard to make a decision, twisting in the wind, etc.--and all the reasons I've listed thus far are valid and true, but the one I didn't want to mention until it was over was still on the horizon...like, the actual, literal freaking horizon, and I was too nervous to jinx it by talking about it before it happened. But let's take a breath and look at this sunset from Humble, Texas, and be thankful for our atmosphere and the suns rays and our very improbability in this universe.

One of the things I am doing on this trip is saving money by staying in my car some nights. I've done my research, I know where to go, and in which states it is legal and in which states it is not. Texas is cool with it. You can stay in their rest areas for 24 hours so long as you don't set up a tent or start barbecuing in front of your RV (besides there are picnic areas provided where you can do that sort of thing if you really, really must). I bought the Rogue because it has a huge amount of space for a compact SUV, 70 cubic feet once you fold down the back seats. This fits a twin air mattress easily (you have to tip the front seats up a bit) and I threw in some pillows, sheets, and blankets for good measure. All in you-don't-see-me black. And all my camping gear, cooler, etc. fit in the footwells below, making the whole ride a nice little house on wheels. Getting in is a bit of a comedy, but I'm getting the hang of it. I basically have to launch myself in through one of the back doors (not the hatch), get situated, and lock myself in. 

When I pulled up to the Navarro Rest stop (northbound) it was only about 9:30, and I knew I was up for an interesting night regardless because lightning had been threading through the clouds for the last hour of my drive. I won't deny yelling quite a bit at the unbridled audacity of the display--horizontal lightning that appears to streak across miles of sky is quite simply mind bending. I got things situated and ran into the facility to take care of the Goodnight Procedures (wash face, brush teeth, other) then made my way back to the car, more giddy than scared, but still looking out for danger, threats, monsters. I cracked the back windows for a cross breeze, launched into by "bedroom," closed the door, locked up the car, and used the hold bars to put up some barriers of sorts to fortify the privacy a bit. The windows are already tinted, but a little more doesn't hurt. It was warm (of course) and it took a while for my mind to stop racing, so eventually I turned to my grandmother's voice, when she would try to get the grandkids to take a nap. In my head, on repeat, "Settle down, settle down." Still it took over an hour to calm down and cool down. In the meantime, the highway roared in the distance, and people pulled off and on, mostly for bathroom breaks, but often for smoke breaks. Lightning continued to streak and flow and burn through the sky all around me, but only a few drops fell. It was just a light show it seems, as it never really rained, but somehow that assurance--that it was just lightning flashing against my closed eyes and not stranger danger (I've watched far too many episodes of Criminal Minds, okay)--and the sound of my grandmother's voice finally set me to sleep. I woke up once to go to the bathroom (I didn't bother to check the time--it was infinity o'clock, just half past the dead of night) and there were a few people rambling around, but the highway had quieted significantly, and finally, Finally, stars. I was too groggy to enjoy them much. I fell back asleep and was awakened by my phone alarm at 8 this morning. 

Aside from the general weirdness of it, here are my takeaways from the first experience of Sleeping in the Car:

1. It was amazing. Once I settled down, I realized just how freaking comfortable I was. This air mattress cost me something like $7.44 (ha, at Wal Mart, where else) and we will see how long it lasts, but I can say that this first night was an absolute dream. It was so cozy and I have no aches and pains from it at all.
2. Once the cross breeze settled in and the temperatures dropped (I believe it went all the way down to 60 last night), it actually got chilly and I needed the sheet. 
3. I parked at the edge of the parking lot, but it was still not that far from the front door to the facility, so there was some semblance of privacy with that still much needed sense of human contact just by proximity. 
4. The Navarro facility is ridiculously nice and I have no illusions that future stops of this sort will not always be at this level of posh. It was a comfort, I will admit, especially on that first venture into Sleeping in the Car. Not that I am deluded enough to think that Criminal Minds stuff won't happen even at super nice rest stops. Remember that facade of order that brings comfort to the human animal? In this case I must allow myself to buy into it fully and completely.

However...and this is the darksided part of the adventure: What if? When I would tell my plans to new people, I would search their faces for judgment, awe, terror, what have you, especially when I brought up sleeping in the car. It's not a first choice for anyone. But honestly, we can get into that "Facade of safety" idea that I mentioned before, and if you take the wooded path down where the panic disorder folks live, they will be the first to tell you that you are going to die (or be hurt, or violated, pick your grim imagined scenario) right in the safety of your locked, well-lit home. Once you've stacked up the anxiety attacks and have all the brain blisters and scars to prove it, no place feels safe. Ask Erin Andrews, or Danny Torrance, or your average, middle class homeowner (though it is all about perception, isn't it?). I'm already spending more money than I'd like on lodging (AirBNB, camping, hotel), and may consider more car sleeping in the second leg, once I have the experience of the first leg firmly under my belt. 

I slept, and that should tell you all you need to know. But if you happen to be passing through Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Utah, or Colorado, and you have to stop for a quick break at a rest stop, be cool. You might see a couple of ferret-y eyes peering at you from the depths of a Nissan Rogue. It isn't stranger danger, I promise. I'm just trying to settle down.

Heights Neighborhood Library, Houston, Texas

After visiting Meyer, I had the better part of a day to kill so decided to make my way up to the Houston Heights neighborhood to check out Heights Neighborhood Library. A little internet research promised a family friendly, historic neighborhood and they were not kidding around. The second you enter the Heights area, voluptuous trees are spilling their green into the streets and lawns, the houses are classic Cape Cods, Colonials, and Victorians, with gingerbread fixins on every other one, and the streets themselves are teeming with families on bikes, tandems, kids affixed to the front or back or big enough to ride alone, and fast walking elders making use of the many paths and sidewalks. There are generous bike lanes and it is clear this is a much more pedestrian friendly area of the city.

As with any neighborhood that caters to young, hip families, there is an overabundance of twee shops and eateries to choose from, and finding a smutty old gas station was a bit of a challenge. More challenging yet was my attempt to “pay inside” which somehow triggered a malfunction at two different gas stations and doubled my level of crossness, though most of my bad mood was likely due to hunger since it was getting farther and farther from lunchtime and I was getting more and more frustrated with finding not just fuel but a restaurant I could actually park next to and wanted to try in the first place. I know the darling, quaint places are a thing that people like, but they put me off—if your business is pretentious out of the gate, there is almost nothing that will make me go there. I kept passing barbeque smells, which made the hungerage worse, and I finally found a place (Pinkerton’sBarbeque) that seemed normal and served the smell I now not just wanted but needed in my bones.

DAMN IT WAS GOOD. The guy who put together my order was helpful, realizing that I was in one of those tantrum-y, indecisive moods, and he led me down the path to a delicious, melt-in-your-mouth pulled pork sandwich and a side of cole slaw. I was stuffed to the gills by the time I finished, but it hit the exact spot and my mood improved substantially. If you find yourself in Houston, make your way over to Pinkerton’s—the neighborhood is beautiful (think Lawrence, KS, but with even bigger, more impressive foliage), and the barbeque is out-freaking-standing.

I went to the library after lunch, and made sure to walk around the exterior and interior since both had interesting little details to absorb. It stood to reason that the library was not very busy on such an infernally sunny and summery day, and there was a bored staffer posted near the front door whose entire job was to ask each person who entered if there was anything she could help with. She mostly just stood there, alone, exuding misspent energy, until she saw an endcap that needed straightening or a book that was just slightly out of line with the rest. It seemed like an odd misuse of resources, like if Barnes and Noble hired holiday greeters in July. A very nice touch, but wholly unnecessary.

The library itself was a funky mix of classic and modern architecture, with those big colonial windows, interior columns capped with faux Corinthian capitals, and trapezoidal flairs off to the side, with glass walls creating private alcoves at the edges of the stacks. Since I was only staying for a little while (I didn’t have my laptop and took notes by hand instead), I set up shop near the main entrance and its high, impressive ceiling. The library was incredibly quiet with so few people taking advantage of the space on a Saturday afternoon, and I did feel a little conspicuous taking photos, even though I did try to 007 it and make like I was doing something else.

It’s highly dorky, but my favorite part of the library was the poster of David Bowie with “READ” across the top—a classic, and a touchstone of sorts that made me feel more at home. These were my sort of people after all, twee shops and darling food notwithstanding.

When I left the library, I took a walk around the block to capture some more images of the neighborhood itself—those reaching trees (Oaks? I wish I knew—educate me. Googling “trees in Houston” only creates a list, a long list) were everywhere around the city, but it felt like the greenery doubled in Houston Heights.

The Heights also has different signage than the rest of the city (you notice the differences in other parts of Houston, e.g. one neighborhood has red signs instead of the usual green). I think the serif font is a bit much, but only people like me would squint their eyes at something like that (read: production editors). And of course I loved the tiling on the curbs that the library adopted for its main sign out front. That’s the kind of twee I can get behind.

My dark mood—while improved temporarily by pulled pork heaven—has spilled into today, a lazy yet still infernally sunny Sunday, where I’ve set up shop in a northerly Barnes and Noble to update this blog and do some forward planning for the travels ahead. I think visiting the Houston Heights neighborhood, and my struggle to find a gas station that worked and a food station I felt comfortable entering synced perfectly with what was going on in my head, anyway. Though I’ve only been on the road a week, it feels like I’ve been gone for much longer. My homebody personality is currently at odds with the wanderlust alter ego that grew—haphazardly and haltingly—over these past couple of years. I spent years in a rut—a familiar, homey, dank and sad rut—and part of the reason I am doing this is to break that part of me and reprogram myself to be more adventurous, more impulsive, more trusting, and more open to the world in general.

For the terminally awkward, inhabiting any space that is not your own feels alien and uncomfortable. It's part of the reason you sequester yourself in the first place. The only safe space is the one you create and it is harder to extend that safe space to new places when you are used to being burrowed into the same environment for years. I've always struggled with feeling welcome anywhere--my ex could tell you about the time I cried in Dillard's department store because I felt too poor and feral to be there. Most of the time I can put on the facade and power through--but that doesn't stop the emotion that bubbles up and makes me circle the same blocks over and over, willing myself to just stop the car, get out, and walk into an unknowable place. The difference between crying-in-Dillard's me and circling-the-blocks-in-Houston-Heights me is that I care far less what people think of my poor, feral ass invading their space, whatever space that might be (and there are so many! Rich spaces, squalid spaces, hipster spaces, loud music spaces, academic spaces, arty-elite spaces, sports spaces, rich golf pants spaces...). There are just times when the impulse to run and hide overwhelms me...and far from home, there is nowhere to run...well, except my car, which is fast becoming one of my favorite places to be. But that's half because she's fancy and still smells new. You would want to be there, too.

So I am feeling a bit blue and untethered, but that stands to be expected. Tomorrow promises Dallas, then Austin, followed by camping at Big Bend and allow me a tiny prayer here: DEAR GOD, IT’S ME, ERIN. Please make Big Bend bearable and drop the temps like 10-15 degrees, PLEASE. DO ME A SOLID. THANK YOU and You Bless.

Meyer Neighborhood Library, Houston, Texas

After having a very long, very emotional day visiting the Battleship Texas and the Houston Space Center yesterday--to be explained in more detail at a later date--I wasn't sure what I would be up for on a sunny, overwarm Saturday. I knew I had to do laundry, so went about that chore first, and spent my down time figuring out what to do next. Meyer Neighborhood Library was closest, so once everything was dry, folded, and bagged, I headed over for a quick tour.

Every inch of Meyer was familiar to me--the 60s architecture, the fluorescent lights, even the low hum underscoring the entire mood of the place felt like a memory. Having been built and outfitted in 1962, the library is showing obvious wear and tear from 50+ years of service to its community. Nevertheless, it was impeccably clean, well kept, and clearly cared for by the staff. It is a very small library, and it was full of patrons studying at tables, working or playing on computers, and perusing the stacks. While the dark wood furniture evoked that old-school library charm, it was too hard to make a long go of it writing or reading, so I didn't stay for long.

The best part of the experience by far was watching the staff interact with patrons, both big and bumbling (the guy trying to figure out the copying services) and tiny and wide eyed (the tyke checking out a book from the children's section with the help of his dad). The staff at each branch I've visited in Houston has been helpful, attentive, and professional, but the Meyer staff was even more so. They were kind and warm above and beyond the norm and it struck me particularly in this case because the setting was so aquamarine, 1960s, with vibrating fluorescents, stark, cold, and soulless. The staff's demeanor countered the space--and it wasn't just one staff member, it was all the staff members I witnessed while there.

It reminded me of the library in the grade school I attended in 4th grade, Jefferson Elementary in Wichita. It still stands there looking exactly the same as it did when I went there 30 odd years ago. While I am sure they've updated the interior since those old, Solid Gold days of the early 80s, I recall the library looking quite similar to the Meyer interior...and our librarian, too, was just as warm and kind as the librarians I saw today. Weird, right? I bet you there's something to it, at least in Meyer's case since the community has apparently fought to keep it right where it is. Here's hoping they keep their library and, if fate does turn, whatever replaces the current Meyer library serves the same community and retains the same, magnificent staff.

McGovern-Stella Link Neighborhood Library, Houston, Texas

The reason adults grumble about sharing library space with kids is well-known and understood: The noise, the Noise, the dagnabin NOISE. I couldn't agree more. So when I entered the McGovern-Stella Link Neighborhood library and saw a sea of little faces all waiting for storytime to begin, I knew what I was in for. And they are little, little faces, just toddlers, so the level of discourse is going to be about locating knees and toes and whether we're happy and we do, in fact, know it. As I set up my desk (our lives are just a twist of wires, cords, and devices now, eh) the reverie began--lots of peppy songs, call and answer, yelling and happy chirping, none of which bothered me a bit. I even had to smile because a gaggle of revved up toddlers is something to hear (they are just around the corner from my desk)--they are wholly and completely alive and unburdened by self consciousness. But I had to put the headphones on because, despite the chorus of otherwise upbeat and engaged kids, the existentially bereft, soul crushing, brain shattering wails of sorrow from the unhappy few were just too much to bear. So now we have Pat Benetar, Salt-n-Pepa, Donna Summer, and so on...

My first thought when hearing these sobs of severe unhappiness is not "Brat" (it used to be) but "God, someone help him." What if he is panicking? What if he doesn't like crowds? Or loud noises? Or chaos? It could just be the desire to be doing something else entirely, but even that evokes a level of sympathy I never had when I was in my twenties or even thirties. When you are an adult for a while you forget just how controlled your life was when you were a child, and when you are a freewheeling, lets-run-into-traffic toddler, your life is tethered, monitored, and directed every minute of every day. The frustration must be unbearable. So, you do the only thing you can: Scream at the top of your tiny little lungs to the Gods of the Universe for this insufferable injustice. Until snack time. 

Anyway, they have storytime here.

As you can see from the photos, the space in this branch is similar to the rest of the libraries I've visited in Houston. I am going to go ahead and say it is Borders-1995-chic, with pine stacks and brightly lit everything. I'm sitting at the back of the library and cannot be happier with my view--the whole wall is windows and it affords me views of greenery, sky, and those gorgeous little grackles. This is a good place for viewing them, too, since grackles love snackles, and they are grubbing all around this area looking for food. LOOK AT THEM.

There are handy outlets at every workstation (I have a wall, otherwise, they are in the floor), the tables are huge and the seats are very comfortable. Also, and this is some sort of unprecedented unlikelihood, the temperature is exactly right. The better you know me, the more pearl-clutching you will do at this statement. I am just your garden variety hot house orchid (or whatever winter-frigid, 50 degrees or less, messed up variety of flower that might be).

Every library I've visited thus far has had helpful staff and clean facilities, something I was not entirely expecting after checking Google reviews. Which goes to show you that people are more likely to sign in to Google to bitch about something than to praise it. I've been trying to leave reviews for restaurants I've visited and enjoyed, though I've held off and reviewing any of the libraries, perhaps for paranoid reasons, but after a little side adventure yesterday, maybe not. 

I decided I had to see that wildly weird Williams Tower up close and personal, so made my way over to the Galleria district to see if I could get a good picture. After circling every which way and finding no easy spot, I pulled up to the building's front drive, parked, and popped out to take a quick picture. Two very nice security guards immediately approached and advised that I not do that. It wasn't about parking for a half second--it was about the picture itself. They were very cool about it--we just have to tell you, the building's management has a window right there, they just don't like it, etc.--and turned to go back to the entryway in a very leisurely fashion, not looking back so I could take a quick snap, anyway. And I get it--living in New York for 15+ years, I've seen the signs forbidding pictures on the bridges and in the tunnels, but as one of the most photographed cities on the planet, there's absolutely nothing you can do about people taking photos of buildings and other "hot spots" of interest, not only by tourists but by terrorists alike. As one of the other most-photographed cities on the planet, London also knows this all too well.

I was hyper aware of why they had to say something, on that day of all days, what with the attack near Parliament in London earlier that morning (US time). Anyone who has visited London as a tourist has been on that bridge--that section of London has to be one of the most photographed areas on earth (I took quite a few myself, back in 2006). While I get the paranoia and wish to stop terrorists from using photographs in their planning, it's just like the airport rules we've all endured since 9-11: Where there is a will there is a way, and terrorists will always find a way. This is a horrible truth to come to terms with--and government must always at least appear to be doing something about it--but as someone who has thrown out numerous lighters (cheap and zippo fancy), water bottles, shampoo, food, and at least one pocket knife at airport security, I will tell you a butter knife or a knitting needle are effective and lethal weapons if you use them correctly, but they are not on the list. As is a pencil or pen, still completely allowed on airplanes (and always have been, even in the earliest days post-911). At the Williams Tower, the guards only said something to me because I was on the property, but feet away other tourists were taking the same pictures...and will it make a difference one way or the other? Well, that's the rub, isn't it? 

When you have panic disorder, the idea of safety becomes porous and unpredictable. You become acutely aware of rules, regulations, and laws created to bring order to a disorderly world, and just how flimsy they are when it really counts. And when things are really bad, the construct (lol Matrix, if you must) gets all the more unreliable and transparent. I know this is part of the reason I am visiting libraries in particular--years ago, an unnerving and perspective shifting event changed something sacred to me into something dangerous. It didn't stop me from engaging with libraries going forward, but always with extreme caution and a degree of fear. I don't want to be afraid in these spaces. And I don't necessarily want indigent patrons to be barred from them, either. I just want to use them for my purposes and be left alone. And I think a majority of the homeless who take refuge here feel the exact same way. They just want to be safe and comfortable, too. 

I suppose this is why so many of these new libraries all have that bright, Borders feel. The libraries of old, with their dark wood, muted light, and harsh rules were not exactly community inclusive. For scholars and serious patrons only, etc. Before the behemoth B&N and Borders rolled into town, most of us only had those squalid little mall installations to count on for our book buying needs (Waldenbooks, B. Dalton)--and independent stores were always hit or miss. Some had a good vibe, some had the charm and cleanliness of your uncle Greg's garage. If you had that option at all, which in car-driven communities (with no or substandard mass transit), could be a nonstarter, anyway. And none of these options felt all that open or inviting (remember the cramped little aisles and cross, less than helpful staff?). To me, the old Barnes & Noble stores were a bit off putting, hearkening to those old libraries with the dark wood and brass fixtures, but the Borders stores were clearly inviting with light color schemes and a laid back atmosphere. It felt welcoming and safe. And the libraries at least in this community embraced this warm, inviting atmosphere and made it permanent. (Sadly, Borders has since passed, though I suppose it should be proud it's left its mark, at least in some fashion?)

So far, this trip had gone very well (knock on piney wood, everywhere around me)--no panics, no overwhelming feeling of doom. And each library has been a safe haven to sit, plan, contemplate, watch grackles snackle, and write to my heart's content. You know how fear is--it wrecks the world and rules the day if you let it. So I am on this trip, stepping outside my comfort zone, testing the boundaries of my moxie, and attempting to go with the flow as much as my controlling, "let's plan everything down to the last minute" mind will allow. And the little storytime agitator has also helped to remind me: I am free to go wherever whenever I choose. Isn't that the greatest?

Cash cow says "Moo."