the creative minimalist

darren r hill : writer, minstrel and journal keeper

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Acclimatising to the new world

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I am settling in. The moon has travelled with me. It is nice to have the odd familiar face. An unfamiliar face is the sun. I am here in summer and there is a summer. The sun is shining, it is nice and warm and I don’t need a coat; now that is different from the UK.

I could certainly get used to a more nomadic existence. I have minimised things and could go a little further. One thing I miss is my guitar. I need to work out a way to travel with my guitar. It might be I need to book extra luggage, we’ll see.

The only ‘tourist’ thing I have done so far is to buy a bag of Funyuns. Yes, 5000 miles and I pretend to be Jesse from Breaking Bad.

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I ditched a pile of journals before flying. My bags were getting close to the weight limit. Therefore, the first chance I got at the bookshop I did a little stocking up.

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So all is going well and I’m getting into a routine. I have plenty to do over the next few weeks. There is a trip to Portland for a few days, lots of ideas beginning to take shape and there is always walking the dog too.

Now to finish off those Funyuns and start using the journals.

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Across America

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‘There are some nasty storms so we’re adjusting our route.’

That’s the sort of announcement that would have left me a little anxious in the past. I seem to have become accustomed to a nomadic, flying lifestyle quite quickly.

New York is more than just Manhattan. I knew this, but seeing it makes it real. So much of our take on reality is shaped by the media, what we view on TV, in the papers and online. Reality is so much more. I may have been stuck in my little room for too long. That’s my own fault. It is easier to sit still and let my reality be shaped than view the awesomeness that is out there.

Now I have a window seat. I want to see the awesomeness. The plane was brand new, bright and shiny on the trip across the ocean. I’m now on something a little smaller and older and tired. It drinks up more fuel to deal with the altered course, then trundled down to the runway. The thrust of the engines pushes my fellow travellers back into the seats and we begin to climb.

I am struck by the size. It used to be a little walk down to the coast where I was. I know that won’t be the case now. A little over 500 years ago this land had not been consumed. Now it is both consumed and a consumer’s garden. Cities, towns, factories, highways, farms… so many farms… so many farms… like patchwork across the continent, carefully laid out squares to provide for the consumers.

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The seatbelt signs remain on for most of the flight. We dodge thunder clouds. They rise up to the 38,000 feet at which we fly and seemingly higher. Storms rage below. It is a wonderful view.

Then we are approaching our destination. It has been a long flight. I have travelled back in time once again. My day has been extended by 8 hours. I am arriving at the state I will call home for the next couple of months. It looks wonderful; the forests, the river, the volcanoes.

We land. I have arrived. I collect my case and leave the airport. I wait for the shuttle to arrive and take me on the final short leg of my journey.

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Hands across the sea

Buildings the size of aircraft hangers. Aircraft hangers too. Bright uniforms, uniform smiles, make-up and well-groomed. It’s a smooth operation. I move swiftly from one zone to another. I realise I could have carried a little more. We’ll mark that one as something to learn.

Too many tangled cables hinder the procession through security. But I am cleared. I have my boarding pass, my seat and my suitcase is on a conveyor belt somewhere in the bowels of this city in a city. There is a feeling of the future in a place like this. It could easily flip into a dystopian vision if they hadn’t washed the streets outside of anything and anyone undesirable.

Inside all that glitters is gold, or diamond, or silk, or high-end electrical, or expensive tourist tat. Every fragrance or alcoholic creation can be found. I sit and wait and people watch.

An Asian lady meditates. She is still, with her headphones on for what seems like half an hour. She doesn’t move, she sits upright and motionless. A procession of men (why men?) attempt to charge their laptops and phones at the charging station. It isn’t working. No one sitting around passes on this message as each eager person approaches to untangle their cables.

Finally, my flight is called. It is on time. There are no delays. I wonder with a new crowd of fellow travellers along the chrome walkways.

I am greeted with smiles, a bottle of water and a nice new aeroplane. It’s called ‘West end girls’, how appropriate for an 80s music fan. I find my seat, buckle up and after a while, we get underway.

It’s been a while since I have flown. I used to be nervous. Not now, I sit back and relax. Soon I am being fed, watered and watching Batman vs Superman. The service is wonderful. The flight gentle. The journey long. The ocean is crossed.

I arrive on another continent. I have travelled back in time, it should be the evening but it is early afternoon.

Now it is time to make my way through what could be the most difficult part of the journey. It isn’t. I am welcomed, if not by a smile, but by an official stamp. The next gate, I do get a smile. But I am still only about halfway.

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The day I took my midori to the bank

I took my midori out to the bank today. I only share this because…

  1. I hadn’t thought of putting the paying-in book inside the elastic band
  2. I like playing with pixlrexpress photo app
  3. It was a nice sunny walk to the bank
  4. I stopped at Costa on the way
  5. I have a bad tooth and things like the midori make me happy and take my mind off my tooth
  6. When I got to the bank I found out that I only needed to take the cheques and the paying-in slip and could just load them into the automatic machine – so they could have just slipped inside the midori
  7. Someone had to show me how to use the automatic machine so I still had some human interaction
  8. It rained while I was in the bank and the nearby art shop, but not when I was walking outside
  9. I bought a white paint pen at the art shop
  10. I bought some cheap exercise books for my writing course and some cheap acrylic paints at the 99p shop

All this, and more, happened the day I took my midori to the bank. What adventures will we have when I take it elsewhere?

midori and bank paying-in book

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