Sacred Heart Mission

(Spokane Valley, WA) It is very early in the morning of Wednesday, Oct 20th. I can’t sleep and it’s dark outside, I should be asleep. I only drove 540 miles yesterday and most of it was in the “zone” so I should be relaxed enough to sleep. But noooooooo. I awoke at about 2.30 am knowing that this part of my odyssey across the country and back is almost over. I can almost smell the fog and the beach. The Atlantic is cool I guess but the Pacific is where the day ends. Remember that statue called “End of the Trail” by James Earle Fraser? There’s a pic of it on this page. That is the way I have been feeling since I left the Pine Ridge Reservation. I look forward to my own pillow and sitting down and editing all the interviews I have done so far. Very interesting people and it will good to see their faces again. I have one more person here in the Northwest to interview this afternoon, then heading home. Should be easier driving this time because on the map it is all down hill.

The End of the Trail
In my plush Motel 6 room here in Spokane Valley, I have a friend who has been with me ever since I threw open the window to air out the room. I call him “Barney” and he is a fly. He likes to sit on the back of my hand while I am writing or typing. He’s a cute little fellow, if flies can be called “cute”. He follows me everywhere in the room and is still quite swift when I try to pet him with a rolled up copy of the Spokesman Review. I am beginning to talk to him as I am waiting for the sun to rise. I think he is talking back although I am not sure because I cannot understand him. He may be one of those French Canadian illegal immigrant flies that hitched a ride on one of the millions of semi’s I have passed or have passed me on the road. If he is, Motel 6 is a good place to hide out. I don’t think I’ll call Janet Brewer of Arizona just yet. I want to see if he will do the job that American flies won’t do. He does have his own agenda I’m sure, and he manages to land on my head when I’m about to close my eyes for a moment as if to say, “Hey, I’m still here and I don’t sleep and neither will you.” (Although I think he thinks I know French) So that is why I am writing this now instead of last night. I think I’ll walk over to the gas station for a cup of coffee and ask Barney if he wants to go along. America is a melting pot they say and maybe Barney can pick up on some local, get married have an anchor kid-fly and stay for a while.

and so it goes…