@ 2012 Tami Casias
You know you have to get out when you find yourself ironing rather than writing. So when I needed to travel to my daughter’s home in Nebraska at the same time that I had writing projects due, I started looking at my options.
Puddle jumping across the Midwest on economy flights shows off the patchwork of US agricultural diversity in sections rimmed by property lines and lengths of sprinkler systems. But flying east, into the future, often brings a quick end to daylight, and you’re left trying to get comfortable in a seat too small, eating sodium-stuffed snacks while watching your feet swell.
Driving east from California follows high-desert Highway 80, so bland and repetitive it’s like running in a Flintstone’s cartoon. Your feet may be moving, but the only things getting anywhere are the tumbleweeds that repeatedly lap by. You’re left closing the blinds on the RV to avoid a glare on the television and replaying the Indiana Jones trilogy while everyone but the driver enjoys freshly blended margaritas and a game of 'May I?'
So I boarded a US train for the first time since I'd worked as a hostess on the Skunk Train in Mendocino County during high school. I'd have just the rocking pull, my laptop and time for my characters to tell me how the story ends. Best case scenario I’d have a wonderful trip and get a lot accomplished. Worst case, there was a bar car.
The train followed basically the same route I’d already driven, so I didn’t expect to be distracted by the scenery. This was my first miscalculation.
Traveling at times only yards away from the usual roadway was discombobulating—like looking at the usual, but while standing on your head. I was used to the many malls and shopping centers that dot 80 through Sacramento. But from the back, they looked like refugee camps with everything from scattered mattresses to tent villages pressed against the back of cinder block walls.
This rear view improved immensely as the train climbed into the Sierras and I recognized the backside of my regular restaurant stop in Auburn, just out the east window. As I turned to the west, I could see that the small town actually sat at the edge of a tree-filled valley. All these years, driving only yards away from this scene and not knowing. I had a backstage pass to beautiful.
Six hours after leaving Martinez, we passed the Reno station. The cars quieted and I decided to take my work to dinner. I would love sitting through a long meal in a noisy setting, letting all the background talk fade into a pleasant buzz as I wrote, only I hadn’t counted on dining car etiquette.
I arrived at my seating reservation with my laptop ready, to be told “We seat family style.” I was paired up with another single and a couple to fill out the table of four. Absolutely no room left on the table for a laptop, let alone a pad of paper. So I resigned myself to enjoying the setting of cloth napkins and fresh freesias. I’d eat quickly then get back to work. What I was missing in writing time I was getting in character development.
I understood the concept of island time, but on a transcontinental train hurrying turned out to be ridiculous and impossible. No one has anywhere else to go. Dinner is to be savored and lingered over. It took at least an hour.
Using what was, I’m sure, great wisdom, Amtrak scheduled the route so the train left Reno near sunset and powered through desolate Northern Nevada in the dark of night.
The ear plugs deep in my backpack saved me from a night near a crying baby, and after some productive pages, I fell asleep somewhere outside Salt Lake City. I woke early, excited to have another full day onboard. I enjoyed a breakfast of fresh oatmeal and fruit, then carried my things to the observation car and put in a good four hours before I found myself staring out the window more than at the monitor.
The train roughly followed Highway 70 along the Colorado River, south of my usual route. Passing high-desert shrubs we criss-crossed the water as we slowly climbed the Rockies. On the north side were tall dusty buttes and rock formations, while on the south the rushing waterway was framed with greenery and spotted with multi-colored tents as men and women enjoyed fishing in the last of the clear weather before the first snows. It was fun to see campers waving to the train as if they knew someone onboard. Even the occasional wave from the waxing moon of a heavyset camper was met with quiet giggles and harrumphs from the passengers. I gave the afternoon to the glistening water and the camaraderie of fellow passengers.
Daylight ended as we reached Denver. Though technically in Colorado, many local mountain men refer to the large city and everything else east of the Rockies as Kansas, due to the flat, distant horizon.
I settled in for a few hours of writing when one of the women passed around two pounds of cheese and began unpacking piles of quilt fabric, patterns and scissors onto her chair. “If you’re bored, I brought a lot to cut,” she offered. I declined, chatted for a few moments on the number of unfinished sewing projects I already had at home, then when another woman engaged her on Q versus R-sized feet for embroidery machines, I slipped my ear plugs in and hunkered down.
Later, when I’d packed everything up, hoping for a nap before reaching Lincoln at 3:30 a.m. I heard the first woman ask, “Would anyone like any udder cream? I have it in my fanny pack.”
So instead of going to sleep, I began to think of a new book -- about a woman who travels back and forth across the country by train creating quilts based on the people she meets along the way. Maybe this will be me.
I think I’ll take the Southern route next time…perhaps a trip to New Orleans.
Tami Casias wrote local news for years while raising four children. Nowadays, writing fiction for young adults while sitting in coffee shops has taken the place of city council meetings. She uses her degree in Journalism to research new ideas for stories. Tami lives with her husband and Yorkshire terrier, Bruiser, in Sonoma, California.
Hot Flashes: more sexy little stories and poems is having a pre-Valentine’s Day Promotion at Book Passage!
In the spirit of pairs, Book Passage is offering this special deal:
From January 2nd to February 14th, there is a “buy one, get one free” Hot Flashes: more sexy little stories and poems pre-Valentine’s Day Promotion at Book Passage (415-927-0960). Just let them know that you want a free copy when you purchase!
So buy the book for yourself, give the free copy to friend or lover, and join the editors for a lovely in-store party on 2/12/12 with a reading, entertainment, a sexy raffle and more!
There will be wine and chocolate and ... who knows? ... you might win a super special prize.
I was writing up blog posts for the Left Coast Writers® Valentine's Day events and I remembered a few very interesting traditions associated with this holiday in South Korea and Japan.
When you think of Valentine's Day you think of cards, candy, chocolate, flowers, and other various gifts given by men to women to show their affection, along with romantic evenings of one kind or another. However, in Japan and South Korea the date aspect of it is underplayed, as well as all of the other types of gifts besides the chocolate; and the men are the ones on the receiving side.
I first noticed this at about eight or nine years old while watching a Japanese anime programme called Ranma 1/2; In Japan women usually give out "giri" or "obligatory" chocolate to male classmates or colleagues. To their love or prospective loves, however, they give "honmei" or "favorite" chocolate. The "obligatory" chocolate is usually cheaper and store bought; the "favorite" chocolate is more expensive or handmade. But it's not as though they receive nothing in return. In both South Korea and Japan White Day is celebrated on March 14th. White Day is a holiday where the men who were given chocolate on Valentine's Day give gifts of non-chocolate candy, flowers, jewelry, or other sentimental items to the women who gave them chocolate on Valentine's Day in a ratio of 3:1.
It is a rule that the return gift should be three times the value of the original chocolate given. Also, in South Korea they celebrate a holiday called Black Day. My Korean high school friend told me about it and I later researched further. Black Day is celebrated on the 14th of April. Those who did not receive anything on either previous holiday eat black noodles to "mourn" their singleness.
Let's hope I'm not eating black noodles.
—Jack Betterly-Kohn
Independent publicist and consultant, Alice Acheson, has negotiated literary contracts and edited numerous works. She is the former publicity director for Simon & Schuster and has more than 30 years’ experience promoting books. Alice will be teaching a few workshops that are going to be at the Corte Madera Book Passage location in March. We recommend these to all of our members!
One of the most interesting meals I have ever had the pleasure of partaking in had to have been at a small restaurant in Tokyo. I believe it was in the Shinjuku district in the northeastern part of the city that I found this place while wandering around one night looking for a bite to eat. I went in and ordered a dish with potatoes that were dyed bright red with hot pepper and covered with a delicious sauce, somewhat similar to patatas bravas, a Spanish specialty generally found in tapas bars, only these were less chunky, neater, almost meticulously cut and arranged—a distinctly Japanese twist. But what I decided to order for my main course was the really interesting dish. I got one of the best pizzas I have ever had and certainly one of the strangest: a miso pizza with eggplant. It was just like a regular pizza, except instead of tomato sauce they used a mixture of mayonnaise and red miso, the Japanese seasoning created by combining a grain or soybeans with salt and the fungus called kojikin. The pizza was creamy and delicious, and upon the server’s recommendation, I garnished it with Cholula hot sauce, which they had at the restaurant. This brought it to a level of taste I have only been able to fantasize about since then. Sadly, I do not remember the name of that little restaurant, only the distinctive tomato logo on their sign.
The best writing, just like the best food, has elements of surprise and unusual contrast. These things create interest and excitement. They are imaginative and lead to new experiences. That miso and eggplant pizza was one of the best pizza-eating experiences in my life … well except for the one with fermented soybeans(natto).
—Jack Betterly-Kohn
Photo Courtesy of Marianne Betterly, © Marianne Betterly
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Monday, January 2, 2012 || 7pm
