by Harold McMillan

Now and then, there are those days -- sometimes several days in a row -- when I wake up and have the feeling that something happened during the course of the night that somehow threw me out of the "loop." All of the sudden I feel like I'm standing over here by myself looking back at all of you. I'm out of the conversation. Don't get the joke. Missed the meeting because I didn't know about it. Don't feel right at work because I don't know what to do first, second, at all. Exactly what is it that I do, anyway?

There are those times when most of my time is spent just trying to figure out just what it is that I want/need to be doing here. I know there was something going on here that I was a part of. I had an assignment, but I just can't seem to remember what it was. And, my friends, for some reason, you won't even tell me what it was. You seem to know that that dazed look is not just a "look." I am dazed. You refuse to shake me out of it.

Thank you?

Oh shit! I guess I forgot to return your call, too. Sorry. Really, I am. It's just those big ass trees. I can't get them out of my mind. The sea lions. The cold-hearted, angry Pacific beating the hellouta them big gnarlly rocks. The salty evergreen smell of wet air so thick and cool you can see and taste it -- at least until noon. Under the big top, the canopy, it's 68 degrees. In the clearing, 50 yards away it's 78 and sunshine. The tree right next to camp was probably 75 feet tall, five feet wide when Jesus was born. Highway One, Big Sur. General Sherman! Big fuckin' trees, a little earthquake down south. Big bidness corporate farms, set on the flattest earth possible, nestled a few miles into the middle of a ring of truly majestic mountains, rows of lime trees so straight, so geometrically perfect that I can't believe my eyes, nor can I even see the end of the rows as I pass by at 70 mph, speeding along to the next precious piece of what must be some of God's best handiwork, in this part of the world at least. A hundred miles behind us, the "greatest meeting of land and sea." A few miles ahead, a town where it seems that everybody is brown, English is the second language (a non-language for some), and when I ask for a "breakfast taco" at the we - don't - really - care - if - you - smoke - with - your - morning - coffee - cafe, they ask in Spanglish for me to explain what I mean by "breakfast taco." Where the "burrito" I describe beats the hellouta most any Tex-Mex tacos (except maybe those I get on the East Side every Saturday morning at Mi Madre).

I'm outside the loop because, inside my head, I'm still California dreamin'. The poor man's tour of the sea, big trees, mountains and valleys, small towns and cities, state and national parks, tent and Coleman stove, packed (too tight, according to Grace) in the ten-year-old-Honda with the road maps, wife and toddler, my trusty buck knife and the need to get the hellouta 100 degree Central Texas October reality. What a great road trip!

Now remind me, why is it that we live here in Austin?.....Oh yeah, it's so cheap to live here, there are no traffic problems, it's "liberal," everybody is making a lot of money, the community really supports the arts, there are lots of cool apartments and houses for rent close to downtown, bigotry is dead, and its the live music capital of Central Travis County. Isn't that what the Chamber of Commerce tell us?

With that said, I just want to let you know I do realize that the Chamber of Commerce in Monterey County, California probably puts out similar drivel. Don't get me wrong, I am an Austinite. I live here. I even really like it sometimes (after all, I do live here).

What I'm saying to you is -- damn! -- California is really a beautiful state. It's big and a lot of it is really paradise-like. A couple of weeks driving and camping through it really makes it hard for me to get back into the swing of it here in Austin. Obligations and various financial realities made me come back, but I tell ya, I coulda hung out in Cali for a long time without seeing too much of it. The people were ok, but the splashing wet splendor/savage power of the Pacific at Big Sur, a few miles away that grove of 3500 year old "smaller" coastal redwoods, a few hours away 6000 feet up in the Sierra Madre, Sequoias big enough to drive a Cadillac through; that's what got me.

Maybe God spoke to me. Perhaps it was the secret fear of being this season's tourist whose name makes the news because of a chance encounter with a California black bear. Maybe it was the joy and wonder I saw as my son experienced all of this, like the first time he ate ice cream, simply something else to learn about being human (unlike me, Hayes took all of this in stride; just more cool stuff that mom and dad were turning him on to). Maybe being so far removed from my personal, self-centered day-to-day, in the middle of all of this majestic natural truth, made it possible for me to once again see just how small and inconsequential are the worries that creep into the lives of those of us who want to do too much, too fast, all of the time, right now. Maybe I just needed something to re-set my internal clock. Seeing, touching, smelling trees that are older than Jesus might have that effect.

Now I just have to figure out if it was really the sea, the big trees, the people of California, or just the fact that for the first time in months I was alone with my family 24 hours a day and our tent didn't have a phone line, a fax machine, email, the Internet, mail service, or walk-in visitors who required payment, advice, or information.