Travel Companions That Don’t Shed

     “When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch…. I fear this disease is incurable.”

   That is the opening line of John Steinbeck’s novel “Travels with Charley” and in short, it sums in brief prose my very experiences of life.

   The novel is a light-hearted review of a road trip Steinbeck took late in his life with his dog Charley.  They cris-cross the country “in search of America” and in so doing, encounter an intriguing collection of human beings and situations that make the back roads of this country so, well, intriguing.

   Steinbeck soon learned that having his dog Charley with him opened many conversations, set strangers at ease and overall led to greater adventures. Not only was he a good companion, he served a purpose and made the journey so much more pleasurable in many ways.

   However, I’m a cat person and little Miss Snowbelle, who becomes perturbed during the three block ride to the veterinarian’s office, would never tolerate the discomforts and inconveniences of three month a cross-country road trip..

   Thank goodness I have my friend Edna.  She lives around the corner and would hop in the car with me at a moment’s notice, so ready is she to explore the world – or just escape her husband, kids and dogs that live in their house.

   Our schedules are such that we usually have our Christmas lunches in February, so getting together for a road trip is about as likely as the price of gasoline dropping to less than the gross national product of a small nation.

   However, the moon and stars aligned very briefly on a sunny spring day a few weeks back, and Edna and I took off down I-70.  Blackwater, Missouri was the destination, a fun little dot in the road about half-way between Kansas City and Columbia.  The resulting story is in the summer issue of Show-Me Missouri Magazine.

   This isn’t the first time Edna and I have explored the back roads of Missouri together, and each time, she has been a pleasant traveling companion who made my work easier.  Just like Steinbeck’s Charley, Edna opens many conversations, sets strangers at ease and contributes to a great adventure.  

    And now that I’ve compared her to a poodle named Charley for all of cyberspace to enjoy for eternity, we’ll see how long it will be, if ever, before I write the next installment of “Travels with Edna.”

Luv ya girlfriend!

 

 

 

 

 

Toot, Toot

   My Grandma Eastman lived in little Anna, Illinois, one of those places where still today many people don’t bother to lock their doors.  And certainly 40 years ago, there were fewer reasons to worry about whether that dead bolt and chain were in their places.

   So when we would come to visit, we often just opened the front door and walked in, calling to Grandma as we went.  Sometimes she was in the kitchen or in the basement doing laundry, but most often, she was out back in her little garden where she celebrated the better part of many of her days.

   Wherever she was, when she heard us calling, she would respond “Toot, toot.”  And she would keep repeating it as she got nearer, just like a little train announcing its arrival.

    Well, it’s not just little grandmothers and choo-choo trains that go “toot, toot.”  In a recent professional development session at a writer’s conference I attended, Susan Kraus, a writer from Lawrence, Kansas, chastised and challenged all of us to toot our own horns more often.

   Well here I go.

   At the writer’s conference I was at in Rapid City, I won a third place award in magazine writing for an article I did for Points North Magazine from our trip to Alaska.  The name of the story was “The Great Silent Places” and it’s on my website.

   I didn’t go to the spring meeting of the Midwest Travel Writers Association that was held in Amarillo, Texas.  Nothing against Amarillo – I understand they have an abundance of Dr. Pepper in Amarillo.  It’s just that I’ve been traveling quite a bit and every writer has to spend some serious butt time in front of the computer or it’s not called work and nobody writes you a paycheck.

   The spring meeting is when MTWA, the oldest professional travel writers’ organization in the country, recognizes outstanding achievement among its members.  The awards are called Mark Twain awards, after one of the world’s first and best travel writers, who, of course, was from right here in Missouri.

    Well,  I’m just a little embarrassed to tell you the details, but in summary…

… you’re reading a blog from the Mark Twain Travel Writer of the Year.

 

toot, toot.  

 

You Can Go Home Again

    The most exciting part of my work, some might call it glamorous, is exploring and writing about far away places, exotic cultures and experiences that some might call adventures.  But a real pleasure for me is finding a great story and exciting destination in my own back yard.

   That was the case in January when I had the opportunity to return to Cape Girardeau, Missouri – not exactly my birthplace, but certainly where I spent a lot of time as a child.  It was when I started college at Southeast Missouri State that I really came to love Cape. (I would insert some stories of my college experiences here, but since my parents read this blog, perhaps those stories would be left to the imagination of those who “enjoyed” college as I did).

    My first professional jobs were in radio and television Cape Girardeau, and of course, that showed me the little community in an entirely different perspective.

   But going back to my roots 30 years later was not the experience that Thomas Wolfe had when he wrote his infamously quoted novel “You Can’t Go Home Again.”  I fell in love with Cape again, with the majesty of the Mississippi River there, the history of Lewis & Clark, the Trail of Tears, of Mark Twain.

    The results of my visit fill pages 56-59 in the June issue of The Crafts Report.  And by golly, if you flip on to the next page, you’ll see a story about a craft artisan from North Dakota who taught Martha Stewart a thing or two.

    I’ve had a relationship with the editors at The Crafts Report for nearly 20 years, which is longer than many friendships, marriages and prison sentences.

   Like Martha, I got to go home again, but my visit didn’t require an ankle bracelet.

Traveling Solo

  Nobody travels alone in this world.  Although there are times when we may pack a single bag, get on an airplane by ourselves and not know another soul when we arrive at our destination, we have not traveled alone.  Dinner may be at a table for one, only one room key may be required at our accommodations, and admission to an intriguing attraction may be a single, yet we are still not alone in our experiences.

   While traveling and writing about travel have become much of my life, for all of us, traveling is a poetic and befitting metaphor for life.  And just like the journey through life that is influenced so greatly by our families, our teachers, our friends and co-workers, my writing and my travels are also enriched by others.

    Today, my thoughts are of Shifra Stein, a friend and pioneer in travel journalism,

Shifra Stein (1940-2008)

whose journey in this world ended on Thursday, May 29.  Shifra was an entrepreneur, a creative spirit whose mind never rested, and an inquisitive soul who found intrigue and entertainment in any number of options the world presented to her.

    You can’t have lived in Kansas City for very long without having known the name Shifra Stein.  She was the Queen of Day Trips and an artist of many mediums.  So when I was seeking advice and sponsorship for membership in the Midwest Travel Writers Association, and later in the Society of American Travel Writers, I called and introduced myself.

   From that first lunch we had at the River Market Brewing Company more than ten years ago, Shifra and I became friends, business associates, and travel partners.  Two of the books that now carry my byline and generate income for the Meyer household were first written by Shifra Stein. Many of my goals and dreams have been brought into focus through conversations with her and the roads she traveled in this life.

   Now Shifra is traveling on a different plane, but I don’t believe she is traveling alone.  A good part of those who knew and loved her is tucked away in her carry-on and in her checked luggage.  And the road left for us to travel without her is undeniably more bland, void of the scenic overlooks and roadside attractions that was Shifra’s presence in our lives.

   Her journey in this world has altered my journey, and even though there may not be as much laughter along the way now that she is gone, each time I pack a bag, board a plane or place my fingers on a keyboard, Shifra Stein will continue to be here, sharing the journey with me.

    God rest her soul.