Memoirous

 Sorry, I can’t stop flashing about going. I’ve recovered memories of two more experiences I’ve had—using alternative plumbing. I was offered a residency by the sea at an old shanty on Cape Cod. I know, blessed. It was entirely off the grid. There was a small propane burner and fridge. Water had to be hauled from a pump that needed priming at the bottom of a dune behind the shack. The outhouse was not super close, but along the dune ridgeline after a slight slope. Again, the views were tremendous. We were instructed that after going number two to add a scoop of popcorn on top of the job. Close lid. Before leaving the residency we were asked to pop another batch of corn for the next person. Sometimes I would sit there and eat popcorn, watch the gulls or perhaps seals off the coast, and go. In 2018 I was on a cycle tour from Amsterdam to Sandnes, Norway and was up in the Telemark Mountains—after hiking in to a mountain hut. It was remote and fabulous. The sun stayed up until al...

 Lastly, another flash memory of going involves one of my favorite places, an undiscovered gem—until I discovered it. I went camping at Newport State Park Beach in Door County, WI with some girls. I’d never been before but was fortunately prepared—we had to either cycle or walk in a couple of miles—so we loaded down bikes, bungee-cording plastic bags to racks and handlers and the frame in order to get back to our reserved spot. Once there and set up, I looked around. No toilet block, no visible outhouse. So I held it for a very long time. The next day became critical—where does one go? The ranger had assured us there was a facility, but not one I recognized. I wandered away from our campsite early morning, the sun was newly hatched, and there were birds and a family of raccoons on the trail, coming back from all night foraging. I found what I thought was a deer track back into a meadow and there at the end was a partial wooden fence blocking a lone toilet. A wooden box with a h...

 Another instance of “woke” bowels was when my husband and I visited Turkey on another “world” tour. Each of these trips stretching us further and further from our comfort zones. Turkey was AFTER I consumed bad water in Albania and had a terrible train ride to Greece, spending a good portion of that journey in the cramped, undersupplied and unhygienic bathroom. What I felt was akin to death. After disembarking at the Athens train station we still had to find our way to a hostel in the dark with the fact that I might suddenly urgently need to use a restroom. But this memoir involves Turkey, the country after Greece on our itinerary. We visited Selçuk with the World Heritage site of the Ephesus Library ruins. After a few days there we booked an overnight bus to Göreme. In Turkey motor coach is the main form of public transportation. Truck stops function as desert oases, where out of complete darkness comes a pin prick of light, closer and closer through the square of window. Attend...

Apparently I’ve been going potty all wrong—at least that’s what the little ads popping up in my feeds tell me. How do they know!? It’s a bit disconcerting. The little girl I used to childwatch in Eugene, OR had a toilet a bit like a throne. I thought the little steps were to assist little ones getting onto the stoiol—no, it was about better positioning. Maybe this is TMI=too much information, but, butt, it has recently created some flash memories. About going. On our first overseas trip, the Grand Tour as I like to think about it, when as newbies we boarded a plane and went to Europe, I found the world SO MUCH BIGGER—and different from North America. It was mind blowing that the Vietnamese food in Paris tasted different from the Siam Noodle I was used to in Chicago—same with McDonalds. I was assuming that things I once thought chiseled in granite were not quite. I had little imagination for exploring outside the lines. Yet, needs dictated that I pivot. So I did. The most glar...