I’m on hiatus from LA until the end of January. Cleared outta my Burbank place and managed to fit it all into a 8×7x5 mobile pod that the Big Box Storage guy, Eddie, actually brought to my door, let me fill and then drove to a warehouse. The mobile pod had no number on it so there was this flash of wondering whether or not everything from my birth certificate to my pre-teen journals to my electric power drill would end up going the way of the lost Arc of the Covenant. But the moment quickly passed and I felt lighter than I had previously. Between now and the end of January –during which time I’ll be helping mom pack up the home in Denver she’s about to leave for five hours a day, and then spending another five hours a day writing two new screenplays and there will be little to nothing to distract me.
But now it’s a road with only my thoughts to distract. Well, that, and arguments with my mom. Mom, Dad, Alex and me used to do cross country road trips every summer when we were kids and Alex and I would actually get paid, in quarters, not to argue. We’d start each day w/ a maximum of seven quarters and then a quarter would get taken away whenever we’d have an argument or fight. And we got all over the country this way. Car bingo, books on tape and flash cards about the different states. Oh, and I’m actually proud to be able to say I’ve been to every single state, except for Florida. And whenever I say this to people they ask me why not Florida and I have nothing to respond, really, except that it’s a peninsula and therefore easy to miss.
Back to the desert, though. Back to the vast, vast, vastness you wont really ever be able to picture completely in your head. The space is just so difficult to conceptualize, even when in front of it, it’s simply easier to hang back and decide to think of the vastness in terms of time, instead. So I imagine those great big ice sheets pushing through the rocks, carving out the canyons and the valleys and then melting all away. Stayed the night in the Virgin River Casino that night, drove all day and then evening. We get out of the car at a scenic overlook to try and, once again, take in the extendo horizontal as it appears to be continually extendo-ing. We end up getting a nice picture snapped of the two of us. Mom and me looking nice. 
Got gas for only $1.51 here, can you believe?
Finally, Colorado. Colder still. Elevation climbing. White mountain peaks glow beneath a moon. Roads are icy and my Cali car, doing it’s best in this fresh new altitude, lacks the wheel and overall oomph power. Find a hotel for the night. Snowing the next day, but we set out anyway. Windshield wipers battling the precipitation straight on until finally, we’ve driven out of the cloud. The elevation is lower, slightly. Shift into low gear to avoid skids on the way down.
Photo of the vast, vast, vastness at the bottom of the page is of part of my latest obsession. Something my friends, as well as me are convinced is the direct result of Palin haiku withdrawal syndrome. That is, my obsession w/ the “six word story” that Earnest Hemingway popularized. So here’s my six word story:
Canyon interstates where glaciers once grew.
It’s the next day. I continue to think about those canyons, only I think about the back in time versions of those canyons. I think about those enormous glaciers, advancing and retreating sheets that defined this great horizontal over 12,500 years ago. And since you’re reading this now, I know you’re thinking about it as well. Perhaps not as obsessively as I have been. But you’re nevertheless thinking about it, anyway. Those long ago glaciers that carved out canyons, then melted away yet left their trace .
