Curiosity Roving : V.12 : Home Free
Curiosity Roving
The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen
V.12 : Home Free
in which we encounter disruptive elements
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Greetings and Salutations!
Welcome to the twelfth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention. For new subscribers, a special howdy howdy, welcome to my three-ring circus and magic pony show. If you fancy some historical context, you have the option to browse volumes one through eleven in my archive: https://tinyletter.com/curiosity_roving/archive
In the time since my last letter, my life as I understood it has done a spectacular kablooie. One month ago, I had just finished an indulgent vacation in Mexico with a young American and I was all set to mosey out to a secluded permaculture farm in the mountains of Chiapas. Things were getting tense on the world stage, but I still had some faith that I might be able to opt out of the madness and carry on in my pleasant little bubble without major disruption.
prayer
Enter Loki, Eris, and Anansi. Cue life.
I took a sixteen-hour bus ride to the beautiful mountain town of San Cristobal de Los Casas, spent two days waiting to meet my hosts, then received a memo that the farm would not be accepting any new volunteers. The Guatemalan border closed. Parts of the USA went into lockdown and flights became increasingly jeopardized. I contracted some stubborn food poisoning that rendered all varieties of Mexican food totally unthinkable for about a week. The young American dumped me in video chat. I checked in with a fellow artist-voyageur with whom I'd planned for an April project in Oaxaca, and he told me that not only was that definitely off the menu, but also this would probably be a good time to return to my country.
I took a sixteen-hour bus ride to the beautiful mountain town of San Cristobal de Los Casas, spent two days waiting to meet my hosts, then received a memo that the farm would not be accepting any new volunteers. The Guatemalan border closed. Parts of the USA went into lockdown and flights became increasingly jeopardized. I contracted some stubborn food poisoning that rendered all varieties of Mexican food totally unthinkable for about a week. The young American dumped me in video chat. I checked in with a fellow artist-voyageur with whom I'd planned for an April project in Oaxaca, and he told me that not only was that definitely off the menu, but also this would probably be a good time to return to my country.
So, I emailed my mother, and for the first time in twelve years, I invited her to influence my decisions.
from this beach...One week after I shipped out Volume Eleven, I woke up in the loft of my grandfather's motorhome, swaddled in down-filled plaid motifs, and watched my breath pluming dragon-like out into the frigid air. I remembered how to unzip the bottom of my sleeping bag so I could walk around while continuing to be inside it. I learned to pre-heat the bathroom before attempting any business therein. My first two weeks of reluctant repatriation were passed in a strict quarantine, during which time my only non-digital human contact was with my mother when she delivered toast and coffee at 11 AM, then quesadillas and wine at 7 PM. She deposited paper plates on the doorstep and backed away to the requisite six-foot distance, and when it was warm enough, we shouted pleasantries across the driveway. My travel kit contained only one sweater and one pair of trousers, so that is what I wore for every single one of those fourteen days and nights. Taking inspiration from the geese that arrived on my schedule, we decided that if I needed attention, I should just honk.
...to this beachMy grandfather's motorhome is a 1988 Travelaire, and it is one of my favourite places in the whole wide world. As children, we would tear up and down the two metres of aisle space, burrow into the fuzzy blue seats, probe the fascinating retro contents of the enigmatically tiny cupboards, and abuse the radio. My grandfather drove it to Arizona in the quest to escape the winters of the '80s and '90s. He maintained the interior with characteristic homesteader fastidiousness, so if anything is broken, it was securely the fault of the rambunctious grandchildren. The machine has been parked here for a decade or so; my mother occasionally takes it on an outing. Like all of her vehicles, it is colloquially referred to as 'Lizzie'.
habitatThen there was a blizzard on April 2nd - of course there was, this is Manitoba - during which all of my power sources shorted out. No shade to Lizzie; we can hardly be surprised that the electrical engineering of the eighties wasn't quite up to the task of sustaining a depressed millennial with tropical predilections and a quenchless thirst for hot tea through the last hurrah of a prairie winter. As the world turned white, I was hustled in through the garage and re-quarantined in my sister's old room, which I found somewhat chaotic and very orange. I achieved fusion with a vintage armchair. I have been here ever since. This is the only bedroom in the house which I have never before occupied, and it feels like the last level of a video game. I have become the Final Boss.
nightmare
In December of 2012, I was at a Rainbow Gathering in the High Atlas mountains of Morocco. My memories from this period of my life are far from reliable and certainly not complete, but there is a fragment of a song that I've managed to carry with me from those campfire evenings: "I've always been a drifter // I've traveled all my life // and when I cannot hit the road // I travel in my mind". Such is my reality, as I have now come to understand it. I will be here, in this room, with myself, for the foreseeable part of the now-foggy future. As the geographical world closes off, my inner world expands. Despite my public and performative vocation, I am a deeply introverted person, so the current responsibility of isolation is like candy on the holidays for me. I can imagine very few circumstances under which I would allow myself to have this much time and space for great glorious antisocial behaviour. I'm having it now.
heirloomGratitude is appropriate. To all the teachers who have guided me in yoga and meditation: thank you. This month has been hard, but without the strength of my training, it would have been quite unbearable. To all of the artists and entertainers who are offering daily online opportunities for connection and joy: thank you. I've learned to party on Zoom and it's certainly better than nothing. To all of my friends who have taken the time to call and commiserate, thank you. Tu eres mi vida. Please keep the all memories that I forget. To the essential workers who are managing the "real world" while we're all checked out: thank you. I cannot imagine the living hell with which hospitals around the world are now tasked to cope. Brava, brava, brava and 加油. Last but largest, to my mother, for telling me to come home, for letting me cry, and for helping me clean out the closets. Thank you.
perspectiveReader, I'll be thirty next Friday. When I started this odyssey, part of the fun was that I didn't know where in the world I would observe that milestone transition, and Gimli, Manitoba is absolutely the LAST place that I would have guessed, so there is some trickster beauty in that. We'll also celebrate the birthday of my brand; Curiosity Roving is one year old, and dang, she is cute. But on that note, I'm considering rebranding as Compass Rose. What do you think, is that better? Better because it incorporates my name, worse because the domain's already taken. Hmmmm...
Anyway, birthdays mean wishes where I'm from, so listen up. Here's what I want:
I want readers. Not followers. I want you to tell your friends who read. If you are enjoying my little project, get crafty and thread the words "Curiosity Roving" into some socially distant conversations with your literati nearest and dearest. Give me a shoutout on the social media platform of your choice. If you're embarrassed by this flagrant plug, just tell everyone it's my birthday. It actually will be on May 1st. I've been at this for a year, it is going well, and I will continue. I know I'm good. I work to be good. Show me you love me.
growthOur sauce today is equal parts romance and razor blade, because that's my job.
Please enjoy.
Reader, I won't pretend to fathom the details of this fabulous destiny that I am bound to pursue, but I am confident that it won't be boring, and I promise to tell you all about it. I still have some fumes of ambition drifting through my shattered tanks. I've strapped my bones to a dream machine and I solemnly swear that I will ride 'er till she breaks. Frankly, I expected to die a long time ago, but as I approach this next decade and confront its shady promises of horror and joy, I find myself becoming accustomed, or perhaps resigned, to the idea that I might not.
Until next time, stay curious. -- Rose
Until next time, stay curious. -- Rose
Appendix: Proof of Life / Life Support
Here are some of the online resources that are keeping me sane and healthy:
-- Lesley Fightmaster's channel is a great option for those days when you need to get into some yogic asanas and you don't really have the mental force to initiate. Safe sequences, great guidance, nice production, California style. I've been running her 30-day program and my ardha chandrasana's never been better.
-- Emily Rosen has been hosting some awesome conversations in an event called Navigating Trauma. Trauma psychology is an expanding field in modern mental health, and these interviews are packed with techniques and vocabulary for anyone and everyone. Don't be scared off by the word 'trauma'. It probably applies to you. I especially liked the talk with Rachel Maddox, and there's a demonstration of conscious relationship that is both amazing and hilarious in the episode featuring Buster Radvik and Rachel Rickards.
-- It's been National/Global Poetry Writing Month all through April. There are still a few days to hop aboard and make use of the daily prompts. Zero risk, lots of fun.
-- This is my NaPoWriMo collection of poems. I write poetry like a songwriter and a storyteller, mostly aiming for the low-brow emotional appeal. Some are good, some are not. The daily ritual of completing this task has turned it into a sort of diary sequence, so don't go there unless you fancy playing Peeping Tom to my deep dark subconscious. April 9th and 10th are probably the best ones so far.
-- Chris W. Hubbard has a weekly podcast where folks share stories about going from one place to another. You, too, can travel in your mind. You can hear about a wide variety of human challenges that will allow you to momentarily release your fixation on the present one. Find me at Episode 16.
-- This is my juvenile solution to dupe and pacify the capitalist agenda of my brain. I haven't played online games in about seventeen years, and this site looks exactly like it did in 2003. My username is goose_roses. Friend me and I'll fight you.
-- Some housebound pals in Calgary are making these hilarious QuaranT.V. videos because they can. They had my heart at "Igor! Did you feed the sheep?!" Featuring cameo appearances by Jesus, Satan, and Joe Exotic.
-- Fleetmac Wood hosts a digital dance party every Friday at 4 PM PST on Twitch. If you need a serious twirl-fest, this is your go-to. Bring your best pashmina. They fuse the Fleetwood Mac catalog with electronic dance music, and the potential for emotional climax is off the dang charts.
-- My old pal Sunny Ray of New Zealand just released her new album, Sentient Compass. It's calibrated to 432 Hz and it's very soothing and full of positive and hopeful messages for the road-weary warrior. Track 3 is my fave.
-- Here's our pretty-boy prime minister with an important broadcast. (click it, you'll love it)
-- By way of counterpoint, here's the mayor of Taipei with some sound advice.
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