You Look Familiar…

OK, first a fussy moment. I am staying just 15 miles outside of Indianapolis (no small town, this), am a mere half mile north of I-70, and in the middle of a geologically flat state—and I’m practically communications starved. No NPR radio station is accessible from my site, I have no TV by choice, and the RV park’s Internet service (Cisco) doesn’t support Macintosh, so I have no local email or Internet except 15 minutes at a time on a prehistoric dial-up at the office a quarter mile away (bring your own computer). Even my backup laptop, a Windows unit, can’t seem to hook into their Cisco web page from this spot. At least I’ve got a good cell phone signal and a weather radio, so I’m not completely incommunicado. [End of fussy moment.]

Last night I pulled in a few hours later than usual—about 5:30p because of the several rest stops I made along the way. And, I realized this morning, it was actually 6:30p because I had unknowingly crossed into the Eastern time zone.

Despite the latish hour (and the next day being a workday), my Indianapolis friend, Dean, was more than willing to have me drop in for a visit the same night I arrived. He lives in a beautiful older neighborhood in eastern Indianapolis, where the streets are narrow and winding, the trees are tall and broad, and a lot of the houses are brick and cottage-like, with what seems to be one long shared lawn all along the road frontage.

It was good to see a familiar face for the first time in weeks…well, actually, for the first time in 15 or so years, if you count how long it’s been since I’ve been here and seen Dean. He and I were colleagues at HBJ publishing in San Diego: I edited college textbooks and he designed their covers and insides.

Besides being a great graphic designer, Dean happens to be a really good cook, which is why I opted to eat at his place instead of having dinner out. He treated me to his specialty of hickory smoked catfish, full of spicy Cajon heat and grilled in his backyard under a twilight sky to the sound of cicadas and crickets. He accompanied it with fresh corn on the cob (local, of course), red potatoes, and stuffed home grown tomatoes (huge, juicy, as flavorful as only home grown can be)—all also grilled over coals and seasoned with his own garden herbs like rosemary and chives.

We sat until well after midnight at his dining table, chatting through the years over cheap white wine and hot Julian peach-apple pie (which I had imported across country for just such an occasion). He sent me home with a bag of fresh tomatoes and squash from his overflowing garden, promising more (“Take all you want, please!”) in the days to come. I am more looking forward to visiting with him for another evening, as his schedule can allow, and we’ve made plans to go to the Indiana State Fair on Saturday.

This is my longest stop yet on the trip—a full week in one spot—and I’m taking advantage of the breathing space. Today (Monday) I hung around the rig and laid plans for the rest of the week. There’s lots to do in Indianapolis and environs, depending on how far I want to drive to get someplace.

And because I’m parked a while, I finally brought out my wonderful peregrine whirligig that Janis gave me before I left San Diego. It looks quite spiffy out there, spinning in the wind. Patchouli seems to like it, too.