Posted by roadpoet on June 30, 2008
Today’s lesson: learn from yesterday.
Yesterday’s lesson: humility.
The past two nights I slept in the same spot - tucked neatly behind a graveyard on the outskirts of Waynesburg. There was just so much to do here that I needed to stay an extra day. Actually the truth is that the local multiplex was showing an all night Chaplin marathon. Really I’m still here because I noticed a slight impefection in the drinking water and I thought I better share that with everyone.
I think I may be lost. Although if I have no particular destination nor time commitments, then I suppose I can’t be lost at all. Why is it so hard for us to admit we’re lost?
So here’s what happened: I woke up yesterday morning, dusted the clouds from my eyes and grabbed the atlas. I noticed I was real close to Elizabethtown, Indiana, perhaps less than twenty miles. I have a very unique relationship with the movie Elizabethtown (I don’t remember which state the movie was based in). I enjoy the movie and have seen it eight or ten times, but I have yet to see the whole movie. So off to Elizabethtown I went.
After forty minutes I began to realize I was headed in the wrong direction. I pulled over and out came the atlas and off I went – this time heading toward Elizabethtown. Another hour of driving and i was nearing Kentucky. The short of the long is that I have absolutely no idea how I never saw E-Town. After a few stops for food and gas I headed in yet another direction, and nearing dusk I once again came upon Waynesburg. I decided it was fate and that I needed to spend the night there again when I passed a slightly limping old man with a red elmer fudd hat walking by the roadway: Bean.
So there’s three hundred or so odd words just to say I got lost yesterday.
What I wouldn’t have seen had I not been lost: Rows upon rows of rainbow colored mailboxes; front yard tree stumps that had been chainsawed into three crosses; the return of Bean.
To be continued. peace
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Posted by roadpoet on June 29, 2008
Joyce and I spoke for almost two hours today. Apparently our previous meeting and talks have invigorated her interests in her cousin Mary. They grew apart as they grew up, and although Joyce thought they shared everything when they were younger, she’s beginning to see she was a bit naive.
Apparently she was talking with a girl named Linda who she and Mary went to school with. Linda lives within half an hour of Joyce and things being as they are, they rarely cross paths. When they do see each other they exchange pleasantries, but no conversations.
Yesterday Joyce looked Linda up and they talked for quite a while. Linda shared a lot about Mary and her mother that Joyce didn’t know. The disturbing news was that Linda had heard through the years rumors that men used to pay Mary’s mother to have sex with her daughter.
Even though my mind had been digging for what Joyce had to tell me, I was taken completely speechless when she related this to me. I promised her I would mention that right now this is just a rumor. And we hope there is no truth to the very disturbing rumor that it is.
Joyce is now at least as anxious as I am to find Mary’s son. Before hanging up I made a pledge to help her find out the truth. Honestly though, as I write this I feel a bit helpless. I’m not sure what I can do to help. I’ve run out of leads to find Tom. And I don’t really know where to start looking.
My heart sits thick with thoughts of Mary.
peace
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Posted by roadpoet on June 28, 2008
Earlier today I received a phone message from Joyce indicating that she had found some possibly disturbing information about Mary’s mother. I’ve returned her message with a message of my own, but I haven’t heard back from her yet. Which has my brain teeming with ideas, none of which I’ll bore you with right now.
I decided to stop in the booming metropolis called Waynesburg. With a population buckling the double digits. I couldn’t find one Waynesburgian named Wayne, and yes I was hopeful.
I did happen across a feller calling himself Bean. In his late seventies or thereabouts Bean actually happened across me while I was irrigating the wild weeds.
Bean couldn’t tell me a whole lot about the area although he said he lived near there all his life. Perhaps there just wasn’t much to tell. He did mention that he lived in the house with the green door from the time he was seven til they let him out around age thirty he presumed. Apparently the house with the green door is the local asylum, or was since they shut down years ago, as Bean puts it they ’stoppped counting flesh.’
If you’ve ever seen the documentary ‘My Brother’s Keeper,’ Bean reminded me of one of the brothers, although they really didn’t look the same. Perhaps it was just simply the way he spoke. I’ll share some ‘Bean stories’ somewhere down the road.
The only other notable from today was when I was driving around the Chesterfield exit earlier today I overtook three pink cadillacs. I reached for my camera to snap a photo of ’The Pink Posse’ when I realized I left my camera at home. I must be pretty attached to my camera, because I was really upset with myself for a good fifteen minutes.
peace
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Posted by roadpoet on June 27, 2008
Classes scheduled, tonight I drive.
I’ve observed the whole time that I’ve indeed been on two trips: the road trip and the mind trip. The road trip is easily categorized and classified by the places I go, the people I meet, and the words which transpire. The mind trip is a bit more complicated since it has no boundaries of place or time. The mind trip has focused more on the creation of the everyday breath of life and how they (we) all connect. The mind trip deals more with my internal stitching, if you will, and often I feel like the worn out nose of a little ones’ well loved pooh bear.
So in dramatic fashion, since I haven’t done so yet, sound the trumpets and let the mind trip officially begin. (and yeah it’s fairly common for my mental actualization to be several weeks behind my mind’s happenings, sometime years.)
love
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Posted by roadpoet on June 26, 2008
The Good: I should have everything taken care of for my fall classes by tomorrow which means I can be back on the road very soon.
The Bad: No new leads on the whereabouts of Tom Moskowitz, but I’m thinking about putting up billboards and passing out leaflets while on the road this next time. How do you think a flier with DO YOU KNOW TOM MOSKOWITZ? would be. No picture, No description, Not even a last known whereabouts.
OK so the fliers are probably out, but what if I circulate an electronic version on myspace. Odds are that everyone has a friend named Tom right?
The Ugly: I don’t really have an ugly, just couldn’t bear killing the theme.
The Surprise of the day: For anyone who doesn’t know one of my favorite sports is disc golf. Yes it is a sport. No it’s not frisbee golf or frolf, it’s disc golf. Anyway the 2008 world championship is being held in and around Kalamazoo, Michigan this August. There currently under openenrollment for amateur’s who are also pdga (Professional Disc Golf Association) members. I’ve let my membership lag, but it’s possible to get my membership reinstated. They have pro and amateur fields. Should I play?
peace*
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Posted by roadpoet on June 24, 2008
Maybe it’s a good time to restate what’s going on here and how it began.
Short version: I bought a book (‘Imitation of Christ’) at a used bookstore in Lansing, Michigan quite some time ago. Recently I pulled the book out of storage to finally read, when I found an envelope as a bookmark. The sealed envelope was addressed to Mary Moskowitz in West Unity, Ohio, and appeared to have never been sent. Inside was a mostly faded and non-readable letter to Mary from thomas R.T. Wilson. He signed the letter ‘Artie.’
The parts of the letter that I could make out say basically that he is starting a five year quest to outgrow his own ego. He believes God will give him a new tool every day and at the end of the five years he will be able to live completely selfless.
So I decided to try to find Artie, and write a book about the experience. So far I have found Mary Moskowitz’s cousin Joyce who has produced almost all of the info I have so far.
I’ve spoken to Joyce many times, but she doesn’t seem to have any more information to help me right now. She is hoping to look through some old boxes in her garage and maybe come up with something else to help, but basically I’m now working on finding Tom Moskowitz, Mary’s son.
And so it goes
peace*
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Posted by roadpoet on June 23, 2008
In honor of Mary’s b-day, following is everything I know about her so far:
She was born June 23, 1946 (In Ohio I think); Mary’s father died April 19, 1956; Mary and her mother moved in with Joyce (her cousin) and her mother in the Glennie, Michigan area about August 1956; Mary and her mother lived there longer than expected, possibly two years, because there was some hold up with the insurance money-Joyce thinks the insurance company was calling it a suicide, but her memory’s not sure; Mary and her mother moved into there own house near Glennie, Michigan and Mary remained there until marrying Nevin Moskowitz in March 1964 (Joyce was 17, Nevin 46); Mary had a baby boy in August 1964; Nevin drank himself to death around 1980; Mary had dated Artie (Thomas R. T. Wilson) while in high school; After Nevin’s death Mary rented a house from Ron & Lilly Grey in West Unity, Ohio for 8-9 years; Mary then moved to Angola, Indiana where she lived until her suicide in 1995.
Her cousin Joyce, who still lives in the same house she grew up in around Glennie, Michigan, continues to be very helpful and thus far she and Mary are the best links I have to finding Artie.
Joyce seems to think that if I can find Mary’s son, Tom, that he’ll be more helpful than she has been. Joyce and Mary were close when younger, but grew apart in later years.
Mary may turn out to be more interesting than Artie. I’m growing more anxious to find both Mary’s son and Artie and hear the rest of the story.
to be continued
love*
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Posted by roadpoet on June 22, 2008
I have two things to take care of in Mt. Pleasant: Organize the new living space & set up classes for the fall. So the book and the trip are on standby for about a week.
I’m happy to be taking advantage of sleeping on my real bed, watching some baseball on tv, and writing poetry. I’ve started two reading series while home: Anne Sexton’s collected poems & Kurt Vonnegut’s writings (in chronologically published order).
To be continued.
peace*
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Posted by roadpoet on June 19, 2008
So I now have a face to put with the voice formerly known as Joyce.
Joyce and I met for lunch at an undisclosed place in the middle of northern central lower peninsula of michigan (Joyce is that non-descriptive enough?). There’s so much to write, but instead of overwhelming anyone I’ll try to bebrief and to the point. I will mention that there was more than one picture of the three stooges on the wall and that there might have been an airport somewhere near where we were.
Ok so Mary died in the mid 90’s, Joyce couldn’t remember exactly which year, she dated Artie while in highschool. Artie was then known as little tommy wilson then (at least to Joyce). Mary married a man named Moskowitz and they had a baby boy (whom Joyce has no idea where he is living).
Joyce didn’t think that Mary and Tommy were that serious during high school, and she really didn’t think that they would have kept in touch after Mary got married. Joyce also mentioned that she and Mary were the closest of friends and shared every secret so she would know. Proving this to me Joyce shared how Mary giggled while telling her about tommy and their relations.
I’ll post a lot more soon, but now I’m heading back to Mt. Pleasant for a few days to move all my belongings out of the storage unit they’ve called home for a few weeks and into the apartment they’ll be calling home for the next year or so. Then back to the trip.
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