Aili MacDonald with Crab
Waimanalo Beach
Waimanalo, O'ahu, Hawai'i

Besides the typical 80 degree weather, Christmas in Hawai'i isn't so dissimilar from the mainland. We have a traditional Christmas lunch with the relatives after opening gifts in the morning. As is custom, I am always the latest to rise, and my family patiently waits for me to roll into the living room before opening gifts. The highlight of this year's presents was a new pair of cargo pants from my sister to replace my "uniform" which had accompanied across 35 states this year.

After a leisurely lunch, it's off to the beach. You have snow, we have sand. You have cold, we have warmth. You have ice, we have surf. See, not so different at all.

My Sister
The Contemporary Museum of Hawai'i
Honolulu, Hawai'i

Back home in Hawai'i for the holidays with the family, and my sister insisted that we go up to the Contemporary Museum to look at some prints for our mom, but more importantly to try to take a picture for her belated holiday cards. This particular installation is composed of a ton of branches from some native plants (i.e. guava), and although I don't if she'll select this particular photo, it's my favorite.

The Last Supper
Pizza Hut
Washington, PA

I left New York on August 4. I've traveled nearly 18,000 miles. I've seen 35 states. I've gotten one speeding ticket.

My windshield needs to be replaced. I need new glasses. I have to go get my teeth cleaned at the dentist.

I've eaten more fast food and beef jerky than I care to admit.

My lower back is a mess.

I've listened to the John Mayer CD more times than most teen-aged girls, and many more times than a heterosexual male should.

I basically wore the same clothes the whole time (t-shirt and cargo pants).

I took my photo at Pizza Hut with the camera that's attached to my laptop.

Now it's time to rest until the weather warms up again.

And then the last 13 states will be mine...

Hope Train Station
Birthplace of Bill Clinton
Hope, AR

A modest house sits next to the train tracks in Hope, Arkansas where Billy Blythe grew up. Billy's father, William Blythe II was killed when he was thrown from a car into a ditch while Billy's mom was seven months pregnant. Billy's mother subsequently married Roger Clinton, and young Billy Blythe eventually took his step-father's name and became William Jefferson Clinton III.

Without a husband, Virginia Blythe and Bill were forced to live with Virginia's parents, Eldrige and Edith. Virginia went off to nursing school in Shreveport, LA, so Bill was raised in the early years by his grandparents. Clinton's grandfather ran a small store in the racially segregated town, and was one of the first to offer credit to the black population. Seeing his grandfather interacting with the blacks during a time when segragation and racism were alive and well in the South allegedly gave Clinton an true affinity for the black community.

The home is now joined by a visitor's center that is filled with memorabilia from the Clinton years, and the town is also adorned with likenesses of Clinton, although "likeness" is a generous term given the disimilarity to the former President. And despite all the indiscretions of the former President, the people of Hope seem to be proud of their little piece of history.

My Broken Windshield
Caruthersville, MO

The average piece of windshield is composed of two pieces of glasses that sandwich a piece of polyvinyl butyral, giving the glass over 1000psi of tensile strength. So really, breaking a windshield takes a tremendous amount of force. But a semi kicking up a small rock flying at a vehicle traveling 80mph (er, 65 mph) could very well do the trick, and in the past week, I've somehow managed to crack my windshield twice.

The first was a small crack in the lower left that managed to grow about 1/2" per day until I got to the auto-glass shop in Oklahoma City. The technician told me tht the crack was much too large to repair and the windshield would have to be replaced. But, he noted, the strength of the windshield was not compromised because the laminate was still in position.

Then today, a rock flew at my car creating a loud pop sound, and suddenly a nickel-sized crack appeared in the middle right. Ah, the perils of traveling on the highway. Fortunately, I have a comprehensive, zero-deductible policy for such an occasion.

Incidentally, I-55N from Little Rock to the MO border is the fastest stretch of highway I've traveled on, with vehicles easily averaging 90mph with no cops in sight.

Donkeys for Sale
Rosedale St.
Hostton, LA

There isn't much going on in upstate Lousiana besides gambling. Shreveport, like many states, circumvents the law restricting land-based casinos by permanently attaching a ferry boat to the Harrah's hotel downtown. This makes for a three-story, extremely long and narrow casino. But even on a Monday night, patrons could be seen in a filled casino losing money at every turn (I couldn't possibly be talking about myself, now could I?).

You can tell the authenticity of a southern BBQ joint by the number of trucks in the parking lot. The number of camoflage hats is also a dead giveaway. I was probably a bit out of place at Padnuh's BBQ with my bright orange Patagonia raincoat, but no one minded, as everyone was engrossed in their BBQ. I did a repeat of Houston by ordering brisquet and sausage, and sadly, the Shreveport-version wasn't as good, but it was still smokey as hell. I will pretend for a moment that the pain in my heart hasn't been caused by the massive quantities of red meat I've consumed on this trip.

I headed off towards Arkansas, and had the opportunity to drive the two-lane "highway" through upstate Louisiana in search of a postcard for my sister. And it soon became apparent that there isn't much noteworthy in these parts, just a lot of empty towns with derelict one-story structures, and lots of people selling junk on the roadside. But should you ever need to buy a donkey or some worms, you'd best do yourself a favor and head down Rosedale St. in Hostton. I can only surmise that the worms were for sale based on inference. But then again...

Road Kill
Radio Station Rd & LA84
Mansfield, LA

Like the ubiquity of the Golden Arches around the roadsides of the US, you can't escape the foul sight of road kill. Dogs, cats, deer, elk, rabbits, wolves, they are all represented as flattened, two-dimensional representations of their former selves. And I can't help but wonder about the circumstances of the hit and runs that I've encountered. I can understand hitting a stray cat on the side of the road, but when you see a dog splayed out on the freeway, I speculate about the idiot who allowed their dog to jump out of their car, or maybe the back of their truck. Dogs might be man's best friend, but we certainly aren't their best friends.

Running into roadside stands selling fruit, vegetables or flowers is fairly common from Maine to California. So I wasn't so surprised to see the familiar white tent that so many vendors use while driving through Cleveland, TX. But I was puzzled as I rounded the corner and saw "WORDS" in bright red. A few seconds later, the signed revealed itself, and I was still utterly confused because it read "SWORDS." Why anyone would need to pick up a sword on the side of the road is beyond me. I should have stopped to ask.

Gulf of Mexico
Galveston, TX

The beauty of traveling to new places is crushing old preconceptions. I had a notion that Texas was a very homogeneous place with little culture and a lot of bullshit Texas-size pride. And sure, Texans have a lot of pride in their state and their history, but Houston is an interesting place. Very large asian and middle eastern populations co-exist with the caucasian and hispanic populations, so much so that I saw signs in multiple languages beyond just English and Spanish. Then there is the culture. Houston boasts a very vibrant museum scene, and Menil Collection is one of the larger museums, and one that I had never even heard of before.

Heiress to the Schlumberger oil fortune, Dominique and her husband John, collected one of the largest private art collections in the world (valued at between $75 and $150 million), and in 1987, the Menil Collection opened with over 15,000 pieces of primarily 20th century works in a building designed by Renzo Piano. Beyond the main exhibition building, there is also a non-denominational chapel designed by Mark Rothko with architect Philip Johnson, and a Byzantine Chapel with frescos on permanent loan from Cyprus, from where they originated in the 13th century. The collection and the setting are staggering, and definitely worth the visit.

It so happens that when I was in Dallas, I emailed my friend, Dr. Amit Sarma, who I thought had a fellowship in Austin. But in fact, he was a fellow in oncology in Houston, and he informed me that my other friends, Jeremy and Gretchen Zucker were visiting him that weekend. So I bypassed Austin and made my way to Houston, and was treated to some homecooking, and Amit's crazy home theater system. We also went to Goode Co. BBQ the following day for lunch. The Texas BBQ is so different from the stuff I had in the Carolinas...all ketchup-based, and the real flavor comes from the smoking. Delicious.

Since I had already dipped my toes in the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans on this trip, I figured the Gulf of Mexico was the last large body of water to hit. So I took the 70 mile trip southeast to Galveston, walked out onto a stone jetty, and dipped my hand in the water. It was cold and salty for those that were wondering. But it felt good to have done it anyway.

Sunset
Alfred P. Murrah Building Memorial
Oklahoma City, OK

Until September 11, 2001, the Oklahoma City bombing had been the worst terrorist act in our nation's history. Today on the same plot of land, stands a dramatic, but serene memorial to the men, women and children that lost their lives on April 19, 1995 at 9:01 am. When I was a child, I couldn't understand how something like a piece of music or a sunset could make a person cry. I couldn't understand how people could be "overcome with emotion." But life experiences change all of that. Experiences contextualize the events that happen to us every day. And as I approached the memorial, I started to feel my chest tighten and my eyes watering. I had witnessed the worst terrorist act in US history, and this one was no less tragic.

I remember driving across country from New Haven to LA in May of 1995 when I passed through Oklahoma City via I-40. I argued with myself over whether to stop to see the site, still uncleared...I looked at my watch, and I passed through without stopping. I regret that decision even today.

A shallow pool filled with water sits between two towering walls, and on a still day like today, acts as a mirror for those who come by to visit.



168 empty chairs sit adjacent to a reflecting pool, representing the lives lost. Smaller chairs for the children.



As I walked away with a heavy heart, I noticed a crowd gathering at the museum next door. I wandered over to find that I was only minutes away from witnessing a rare copy of the Declaration of Indepence being delivered as part of the traveling US Post Office exhibit. As a local high school band played the Stars and Stripes, two postal employees carried the hard-shell case housing the document to a celebratory crowd. Such a strange day it has been from witnessing Dodge City to the Oklahoma City Bombing site to watching the Declaration pass in front of my eyes.





A strange, and wonderful day to realize our storied history.

Roadside Table
Buffalo, OK

A curious feature of the US highway system is the prevalence of roadside tables. A blue sign marks the one mile mark before these small, often covered picnic benches appear just feet away from speeding traffic. In 1919, a young highway engineer named Herb Larson, who had campaigned to save old trees along the budding highway system, was frustrated by the lack of areas to picnic and cook while enjoying nature. His contribution was the creation of roadside tables. I haven't actually seen anyone using the roadside tables yet, but maybe that's because it's about 40° outside.

As I passed highway workers in Kansas and Oklahoma, I noticed that all of them waved at me. And in fact, I think one of them was upset that I didn't wave back. I thought to myself how terrible New Yorkers are, with our reluctance to even say hello to a neighbor. A little further into Oklahoma in Fort Supply, however, I saw a sign that indicated that the highway workers were from the corrections facility. A sign a few miles from the jail read "Hitchhikers may be escaping inmates."

So maybe they weren't just saying hello after all...


The back of the truck reads "Haulin' Liquid Chicken" and then in smaller type "INEDIBLE." I'm not sure what it is, but my BK chicken sandwich with light mayo tasted really good today.