Watched: The Avengers: Age of Ultron

Kind of a mess, but in a way I didn't entirely hate.

  

   

Hawkeye pep talks are great. More of them, please.

  

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips...

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig

sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance

climbed up through my conscious mind

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind

cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood--

and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent. 

--Pablo Neruda, "Lost in the Forest"

After all that time in Vietnam, doing things and working and sometimes doing nothing but just existing, as a stranger in a strange land, it was not surprising to me (at least not surprising anymore, not after the first few homecomings) that I still felt strange upon returning home. Someone posted a quote on facebook that I liked, that summed it up I think, and to paraphrase: to live abroad is to subject yourself to heartbreak because you'll learn what it feels like to love another place and then you'll never fully love home in the same way again. I mean you may still love it and maybe even more than you did before because you'll realize exactly what you have back there and how lucky you are to have it, but you are essentially changed and your love is changed too. Although it can be difficult to feel ourselves changing, maturation happening behind the veil of consciousness, maybe while we sleep or ponder lunch options or try to navigate rush-hour traffic or a thousand other mundane things that clamor on throughout the day, our thoughts are shifting behind our thoughts. It can hurt, like the sting of a deep breath taken on a winter morning, but just like that deep breath it is refreshing and in the end, I wholeheartedly believe that it is good for you.

All of this is to say, I was glad to be home and it was not easy to come home. My relationship with the concept of home has been tenuous and complicated, at best, for a while now. But seeing my family is never a bad thing, and I had missed them quite a bit.

Up first, a return to South Jersey for Easter:

Vicky and her nephew little Dante, who is quickly becoming not-so-little-anymore Dante!

The target practice...

Zombie clown, zombie nazi, meet:

The arsenal.

Yes, even I got in on this.

My uncle Jim delivering the killing blow.

Decimation.

Later, as do all good American-Irish Catholic families on Easter, we played dice games and gambled.

The next destination: a drive down the eastern seaboard to see my brother and sister-in-law in North Carolina.

Stopping in for some craft beer and delighting in the company at Good Hops Brewing.

Seafood and sunsets at The Oceanic. A really nice evening.

The little placard placed in front of the stone reads: The Town of Kure Beach is aware there is a grammatical error on this monument . There is no way to correct it while maintaining the integrity of the monument. This inscription was hand cut on granite in 1925.

Feeling a little snippy/defensive there, eh Kure Beach?

A troubling number of sea gulls.

Later, we made dinner and drank much alcohol.

Gross, Casey.

Many sea foods were consumed.

The glare is kind of strong but it says: BLACK SEA GRILL, Mediterranean Casual Family Dining. Except the Black Sea is not the same as the Mediterranean at all, it is the Caucasus and if you had even the barest grasp on geography you would know that, restaurant owner of Wilmington. I'm offended on a personal level by your lack of sense.

Fun afternoon spent at the Cape Fear Serpentatrium.

I'm not sure why it looks like my parents are scolding Ben here, although I think that may be Ben's default "standing around shooting the shit" posture. He kind of looks like he's getting ready to give the going-into-battle pep talk.

Eyelash Viper. Only 2 1/2 skulls worth of poison.

Komodo dragons, that one is straight up making a break for it.

Black Mamba, 5 skulls worth of poison.

What's wrong with your faaa.....

Reticulated Python, 0 skulls worth of poison but it's basically a 20-foot long 250-pound rope made of muscle. So.... yikes.

Those tail plates are kind of strong evidence for evolution, I feel.

I liked this one, the King Cobra, because its sign described it as "insolent and aggressive" and it was laying in this little section of its room exactly how I might imagine a teenager to when it is sulking. Side note: only breed of snake known to take down an elephant. 5 skulls worth of poison.

Blackheaded Bushmaster, 5 skulls worth of poison. The texture of its skin is amazing.

Western Green Mamba, another 5-skuller.

Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake, only 4 skulls worth of poison but we forgive it because it's so pretty.

Jararacussu, 5 skulls worth of poison. Symptoms after being bitten by this thing:local necrosis [the death of most or all of the cells in an organ or tissue], shock, spontaneous systemic bleeding renal failure (by snakes longer than 50 cm) and incoagulable blood from those that are shorter.

Rhinoceros viper, only 4 skulls but look how cool it is!

The Copperhead, a mere 2 skulls of poison. Pshaw.

Saltwater Crocodile, nickname: "Bubble-Boy".

Oh... hey. What's that? No, nothing, just on my way out. Gotta go, bye!

Green Iguana, the derpiest creature in the joint.

Black-Necked Spitting Cobra. 4 skulls.

Boa Constrictor.

Gaboon Viper, 5 skulls.

Sniff sniff.

This was a real parrot, just chilling in the lobby. The giant poster board directly behind the parrot was covered in conspiracy nonsense about chemtrails.

Afterwards, we got some lunch and introduced the new grand-cat to my parents. They didn't like him at all, not one bit.

The next day, Ben and I went on a little adventure to find Acid Park. Unfortunately, a lot of the whirligigs have been moved to the center of Wilson, a small town that looked like ground zero for the zombie apocalypse.

Ben's feeling on Wilson.

Whirligigs are creepy, especially on blustery, overcast days.

Wilson is equally creepy though. Maybe it's not so desolate when the sun is shining and the smell of doom is not riding on the wind.

Leaving Wilson, we drove around searching for Acid Park. We eventually ended up at what we believe used to be the home of the whirligigs, but not before we'd passed so many falling down murderhouse-looking lots and walked about a quarter mile down a random deer-hunting trail before realizing we were not somewhere we should be.

All that remains.

The donkeys are watching.

SOME REAL TRUE DETECTIVE SHIT.

Can you read that? It says "Scott's Church Primitive Baptist". What in the world does that even mean? That question is rhetorical by the way. I refuse to look it up because I suspect the answer would just depress me.

Whiskey Dicks Saloon. Ben really, really wanted to stop in but I had to refuse because this was not the day on which I wanted to die.

On a lighter note, later we went to look at some antiques in Zartiques warehouse-shop thing. It was full of random and wonderful odds and ends.

Dollhouse, thankfully no dolls inside.

Finally, the road trip back up north. My dad had to fly back early for work so my mom and I decided to take our time and drive back through Shenandoah National Park (on the Skyline Drive) and stay the night in one of the lodges there, Skyland. We had a little navigational trouble getting there but we finally hit one of the southern entrances in late afternoon and started making our way through. It was really nice as was the park's restaurant, where we ate a tasty dinner and watched the sun set over the valley below.

Getting out bearings.

So many deer. And they're really bold, a little TOO unafraid of cars and people...

We had to double back because my mom's car was out of coolant but later we returned and drove more or less the entire length of the drive, which I cannot recommend enough. Like, we went and it was still winter and probably nowhere near as impressive as it is in Autumn or proper Spring and it was still beautiful.

The next morning was beautiful!

We saw a bear, I was pretty jazzed about it.

 

Bold. Very bold.

The reason for our choosing this path originated with my wanting to see The Great Stalacpipe Organ in Luray Caverns, which are located in the town of Luray (obviously) towards the northern end of Skyline Drive. So after traversing a bit more of the Drive we veered off to check out Luray.

The original spot where they discovered the caverns. Imagine climbing around inside this thing with only a couple candles. Horrifying.

Walking down into the first cavern.

My favorite cavern, this is actually a pool of water that's like maybe 2 inches deep, reflecting the ceiling. This room looks like a world that should be in a Star Wars movie. Get on that, Abrams!

Our tour guide telling us very interesting things which I have completely forgotten.

Sheets of cave.

Cave fall.

The great stalacpipe organ! We got to listen to it play which was great. Basically it has all these little hammers hooked up to stalactites all throughout the cave, the guy who made it spent forever making sure that each one made just the right note when it was hit so that when you play the organ it uses the cave to make the corresponding notes. Now it behaves like a player piano and plays what was once the guy's favorite piece of music. It is haunting and quirky and really, really cool.

I threw in some coins, I'm not above it.

Next to the entracne to the caverns is a car museum. I don't even like cars and I was pretty into this. Except for the weird/unnecessary mannequins which, as always, I could have done without.

Don't you lie to me, little sign, this was Cinderella's carriage and we both know it!

Aw yes Oregon Trail! From that game I will never forge the Conestoga Wagon, the king of all wagons.

Child's goat-pulled cart, as you do.

Kind of a stretch.

Hey! Was my family in the car manufacturing business at one point, perhaps?

Definitely my favorite.

Second favorite: Rudolph Valentino's  town car, custom-painted to look like cracked leather.

And then we hopped back on the Drive to make our way north once again!

This happened. No more words necessary.

It was a lovely week or two of traveling and catching up and returning my mind and body to being home. I was exhausted but happy to have checked in on everyone, especially since my turnaround between gigs this time is so brief, only two months. In fact, I leave in less than two weeks. Itinerancy (non-religious) is indeed the life for me but it does require a lot of flexibility. Still, I had one more big North American adventure planned before I left for parts unknown again. More on that later...