In the crossroads of America, where semitrucks thunder past likes sports cars to the radio's twang of Country music, I paused for a break. My mom's California college buddy David had lived in LA, tried it out, said the hell with Hollywood superficiality and headed home to Tulsa, OK where the streets are tidy, the people polite, and life is comfy. The Finers opened their home to me and I eagerly took shelter from the summer monsoons behind me in their comfy abode.
David treated me to some nice Southern barbeque (funnily familiar to my Polish Grandma's brisket), and we wound between the heavily forested city just enjoying the general calm. For my city thrills I stopped by the memorial of the federal building terrorist bombing, artfully presented, and an art gallery of Native American works from across the continent which was assembled to educate the ignorant Italians and other Europeans about the immense diversity of this land.
After a good day's rest we hit the lake, a massive man-made string of freshwater fingers. I put my surfing skills to the test and started wakeboarding, jumped off a massive cliff with a hideously girlish scream, and realized this wasn't anything near the dry prairie I'd imagined. Even though I'd always thought the ocean was what made me feel centered, it was easy to feel at home in the middle of the middle of things.
David and I dig into a Southern barbeque feast! Pickled chiles a must.
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