I flew back into Albuquerque yesterday. Someone told me the other day that I’ve got more tour dates than a band. I thought that was an exciting way to look at it.

Last night I picked up my car. Today I packed all my stuff from the storage unit. Tomorrow I begin my drive to Kentucky. I’m couchsurfing tonight with an awesome lady who took me to see foreign projected movies with a whole big bunch of her Latin friends from all over Mexico, Central and South America. We ate the best tacos because they know which taco truck is the best. They are a great crowd and I am very excited that I got to hang with them tonight.

I’m dirty, tired and in the same clothes as yesterday. The same clothes I will be in tomorrow. I’ll be back in ABQ someday and next time I know some solid people to hang with. Tonight as I laid on the deck, the movie playing in the background, I felt the soft warm wind come in and the stars were twinkling above me and there were pinkish clouds hanging in the night sky and everything was effortless and easy. It was a nice feeling . . . a necessary feeling.

Yes, as in also.

Trust me on this . . . 5 bucks and a 6-pack of Coca-cola gets you a lifetime membership. Oh, and the stain, ask about the stain. Make sure you see Elvis’ report card from where he failed Music class. Holly Springs, Mississippi - Graceland Too . . . if you are ever remotely near Memphis, you have to go . . . and preferably with a whiskey buzz.

This Temple dedicated to The King is open 24/7 and is known 100% by word of mouth. We rode up to the mansion built in 1853, turned all-time #1 Elvis Fan shrine, all excited and between the four of us we had two cases of Coca-cola. With it’s rows of barbed wired cement lions covered in white rope lights, the place did indeed look strange enough to be the final destination for our goofy pilgrimage . . . We knocked on the duck-taped door. No one at home. So, we decided he must’ve walked down to the Piggly Wiggly for groceries and that if we waited around awhile, he’d be back around nightfall.

We went up to the square and found a little diner. When we asked the waitress about Graceland Too, she just smiled and said in her Southern motherly voice, “Well, now, ya’ll will have a good time, no doubt. I mean, I’ve never been myself, but I cannot guarantee that every little thang that comes out of his mouth is the truth . . . He’ll be back prob’ly after ya’ll have time to eat dinner. I bet he walked down to the Piggly Wiggly.”

Two elderly ladies with canes came up to our table and said, “We saw ya’ll standing outside of Graceland Too. Neither of us has ever been, but he sure is an interesting fella. You’ll have a good time.”

We went back, just as a carload of frat boys pulled up too. This time he opened the door. Every surface of every wall and ceiling are covered with some sort of Elvis picture or printed out comment from people who’ve visited. He tells lots of tall tales, but I can’t remember most of them because I was so fixated on his floppy false teeth slipping around in his mouth. I do remember that he named his own son Elvis Aaron Presley McLeod and is absolutely convinced that Elvis and his son Elvis look 100% alike. He sang for us, told lots of stories and after the first room, we were all openly cracking up at him, not with him - but the best part is, he doesn’t care!

He’s a dirty old man and says that Cokes make him horny. He has a pink Cadillac and lots of other strange items, like a fake electric chair and fake ball and chain props made with black spray-painted basketballs. He talks about raking in the money and shows pictures of a rake and alot of money (I saw 1’s and 5’s in with those 100’s) taken from his front porch. Most All of the stories he tells are about himself, but it’s a trippy little delight.

I think Elvis would be proud . . . and really that’s all that matters. And don’t forget to ask about the stain.

I’ve been absent from the blog world for the past week because I’ve been living on the farm and there’s no internet up there. I can’t even begin to list all the insanity that’s gone down this past week - but here’s a quick sampling . . .

We went to a show, met up randomly with a couple of people from Memphis and ended up giving a ride back to one of them after her sketchy roommate ditched her in Nashville. From there, things just got stranger . . . we ended up staying in Memphis for two days. Note: Protection in Memphis seems to come in the form of an aluminum baseball bat behind the door and a pit bull named Money.

We saw some good shows, went to a pirate bar, became lifetime members of Graceland Too in Mississippi (which is so strange and surreal that I will have to blog about it separately), ate some damn good BBQ, stumbled literally into a cool-ass hostel for one night and met some very interesting characters.

Other than that, I’ve been living it up on the farm. I like it there. Taking walks, finding 4′ long snake skins, hanging laundry on the clothesline, drinking real milk from the next farm over, making tobacco stick bonfires, dancing til all hours of the morning to old records, tractor drinking . . . Life is good.

I’ve been visiting my Grandma at her retirement center on and off for about six years now. I’ve gotten to know some of the other residents who live there and have had the pleasure of many tender moments with some of them.

Honestly, many times, I’m just bored and depressed when I’m there. I see so many of them sitting around staring into space, unable to do much of anything. They seem to be languishing, like a sickened plant that only seems to need a breath of sunshine or some fertilizer. I feel it’s my job when I’m there to be a bright ray of light and when I give them attention, they perk up as if coming out of their dormancy for just a fleeting moment . . .

*The last thing my friend Vashti ever said to me before she died was a very quiet and stuttery, “I’m very ashamed of what my generation has done to this planet . . . ”

*Mr. Russell asked me once during a long walk, “Why? Why, Anna, why is there so much pain and suffering in this world?”

*Ms. Amanda the ex-PE teacher who always zipped around so fast with her walker asked me once, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Oh, an Artist Adventurer!” I said.

“Good,” she said peering at me with her hawk-like eyes. “We need more of those.”

*Darlene told me the other day, “You need to put a ruffle on that short dress.”

*And then there was dear, dear Andy, also passed away now, who once asked me when we were stuck on the elevator together, “You wanna sit on my lap?”

I’ve had so many moments with these wonderful treasures of oft-forgotten people. I encourage anyone who has a song to sing, an instrument to practice, a story to tell, a book to read aloud or a pet or child to show off to go down to your local retirement home and beam a fleeting light into the hearts of those kind souls who won’t be with us much longer, if you’ve got an extra moment or two. The reward may surprise you. May change you.

My friend Kyle and I caught up last night in Champaign - Urbana. I was literally about to get in the car and drive off when I got his phone call. I’m so glad I stayed. I met Kyle and his family through couchsurfing a few years back and we’ve remained great friends throughout the years. We hadn’t caught up for a couple of years.

Kyle is one of those people who thinks about things like I do and who enjoys the simple things. Case in point - there we were, sitting in front of a picture window at The Esquire in downtown Champaign, our legs kicked up on the barstools in front of us, watching a thunderstorm roll through, eating peanuts and throwing the shells on the floor. In that moment I was reflecting on how relaxed I was and how good it was to see my old friend when he said, “you know, this is what life is all about . . . ”

And I knew just what he meant.

I hate to call my girlfriends out like this, but I’ve noticed that most of the women I know all still use some kind of tampon with a plastic applicator. This is a pet peeve of mine. While I’m still not to the point where I want to use a cup instead of a ‘feminine cigar,’ I highly recommend that all women use an applicator-free tampon. I will forever maintain that you will get to know your own body better if you don’t use an applicator - srrrrsly . . . if you can’t touch yourself, who can?

I read an article in Mother Jones Magazine last fall about how the world’s oceans and beaches are getting inundated by plastic applicator trash. We as women are supposed to be closer to Mama Nature, but the tampon industry, in an effort to market ‘useful’ things, have forgotten to remind us that these applicators often end up spoiling our land.

There’s not much of anything more nasty than walking the beach after a heavy rain and seeing a used applicator poking out of the sand. Just sayin’.

To-go boxes just confuse me. Why do restaurants insist on packing our food in these things? Often I find that they are much bigger than needed and in the end, they get tossed. It’s a waste. Don’t let the recycling emblem on a food box trick you. It’s nearly impossible to recycle styrofoam (or any kind of packaging that has food bits, grease, etc stuck on it.)

Being on the road, I have the capacity to go through many of these boxes. I always ask for my leftovers to be wrapped in a piece of tin foil. Sometimes the server looks at me as though I’ve sprouted a third head from my armpit when I ask for a piece of tin foil as opposed to a box. Sometimes I have to take extra time to explain that I do not want a to-go box. But it’s worth it.

Obviously, some wet items like soup or chinese food necessitate more packaging, but for that extra half-sandwich, this is a small and very effective way to cut down on waste. Plus, an item wrapped in foil fits easier into your purse or back-pack. I’ve even carried leftover pancakes tucked flat and neat inside my journal with this method. It’s easier to trek when your hands are free and you’re not lugging around a burdensome bag with a to-go box inside.

Remember - it’s all about re-education. People don’t think of solutions as it’s often easier to accept what is presented - and restaurants usually only give the option of a to-go box. Help re-educate in restaurants. Ask for your leftovers to be wrapped in tin foil. Or if you want to get really hard-core eco-friendly, ask for a newspaper wrapper. For now, tin foil works for me.

Every single time I turn that bend on the 90/94 expressway and suddenly the brick buildings and the hulking steel structures appear in front of me . . . I feel a settled-ness, a calmness, a great big warm sigh of relief right in my belly and my head and my heart. And yesterday was no different. I love Chicago.

Yesterday, I had the entire afternoon all to myself in my Grandma’s apartment. I re-organized my suitcase. I’ve not had a moment to do this for several weeks. It’s difficult to get going in the morning when you can’t find your toothbrush. Then I laid down on her bed and took a few deep breaths and then thought, “OK . . . what next?”

Then it hit me . . . my Chicago friends were having an afternoon BBQ. There is just no way I can be in the state of Illinois and not go see all of them. And now, reflecting on it, I’m so glad I did. It was a magical convergence. It just so happened that there was a special training event going on in town and so several of my friends from Detroit, St. Louis and San Francisco also showed up. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming up either, so when I ran into the courtyard, everyone was really surprised. It was great. I mean, there’s nothing much that compares to ten of your favorite people all arguing over who gets to pick you up and bear hug you first.

I retold all my latest adventures and a few of these friends pointed out that for the four years they’ve known me, I have always been a gypsy. (I hadn’t realized that, not really.) I put some pieces of the puzzle of “what will Anna do next” together and ran into some folks who can help educate me about straw/cob housing - which is my latest interest. Everyone is trying to convince me to move there.

We ended my 24 hours in town with lunch at one my favorite restaurants - Lula- located in Logan Square. I highly recommend this cafe - the food is always local, fresh, unique and priced very reasonably, especially considering the eclectic mix of items that they serve. They serve brunch daily, not just on weekends and everyday the menu changes. I had the beet & arugula bruschetta - one of my favorites. Their bread is always grilled to perfection, never doing damage to the inside of your mouth the way alot of bruschettas have a tendency to.

Also the art there is always really great. I’ve been patronizing Lula for four years now. When I first lived in the neighborhood, they were never crowded during the weekdays, so now to arrive on a Monday afternoon and be put on a wait list was impressive for the tiny cafe that I’ve grown to love so much.

So I left late this afternoon, heading back down south, rambling ever closer to Nashville. I was going to drive all night, but an old friend in Champaign just called and so we’re going to catch up. Yup, the adventure always continues . . .

Someone asked me that question yesterday . . . where are all the accompanying pictures for these adventures?

Well . . . I must admit that I own more than several cameras, but for some reason the last few years I’ve taken a bit of a hiatus from using most of them, even though I have a tendency to carry a camera with me just about everywhere I go. The only thing I can figure is that I have been so transfixed by all the moments unfolding in front of me that I have not had time nor inclination to use cameras to freeze those happenings.

I realized awhile ago that it’s difficult to be very good at several things simultaneously. The past few years as I’ve been gypsying around, I’ve been paying attention to the conversations and the things happening around me . . . and instead of capturing those moments on film or digitally, I’ve been writing about them . . . because more than anything, writing about those moments is my gift and truest calling. I do have a passion for photography, but have been more interested as of late to proceed fullest throttle forward with the one passion that trumps even my photo bug . . . and that is my writing.

Well, her nose finally stopped bleeding. Her main concern was that she’d be all bloody for her party and have to shove  wads of cotton up her nose. That and she was having trouble deciding between three different outfits to wear. In the end, she said that her 90th birthday party was even more exciting than her wedding day - she said it was the most exciting day of her life. I’m glad she was able to enjoy it and not worry about all the little stuff, although she was very concerned about one of the table cloths being excessively wrinkled. She forgot all about that when the people began to arrive.

My aunt and uncle and  I have been working on this, thinking about this shindig and planning the entire year. It was stressful. She’s worth it though. Now that it’s over I sort of feel like I can get on with my own business. I’ve been galavanting the United States most of the year with the intention of pointing myself in her general direction by July and honestly hadn’t had much time to think beyond last Saturday where I’d let the winds carry me next.

So, I’m figuring that out . . . oh, within the next few days.