Life as a Fiction

This one is just right.

There’s a little bit of Goldilocks in all of us. Even if you’re not particular, or high maintenance, no one else knows you better than you do. If everything has been “too hot” or “too cold” and not enough “just right,” in your life, don’t feel bad about it. Even Jesus might not know exactly how fast or slow we like to be rocked in his loving arms. It’s ok to yell: “Jesus you’re holding me too tight!” Thank him kindly, then limb off his lap for Christ’s sake.

Heist your own life. No sense waiting around complaining about it. I started heisting my own life long ago, but I never called it that. And only recently did my writing partner - Michele Turner and I decide we wanted to share the concept - beyond our circle of friends and family. I can’t say that it was the road trip to Cheyenne that prompted this new passion. Truth is - it’s always been with us - this desire to quench not only our innate sense of spiritual adventure but to ignite it in others. We like to watch. We get a thrill when hearing the stories of other people who just take their lives into their own hands and propel it against the great unknown. But don’t forget - the universe is also conspiring on your behalf - just as it was the evening of Oct. 1, 2011. The night I decided to gaze upon a moon tethered to its own past - set into motion a chain of events that leaves me knowing there are no mistakes. There is only non-acceptance. Acceptance, therefore is the first step to finding one that is “just right”.

The night I met Paul Burke Inman, I was only on a mission to get some dinner on a Saturday night. My original plan was to walk up Hyde Street and grab a slice of pizza at Za. But as I stepped out of my door - a bunch of rowdy drunks from Ace’s bar started up the hill before me, causing me to pause. And as I did, I looked up and noticed a beautiful moon. My favorite kind - the old moon in the arms of the young moon. So instead, I followed it up Sutter Street, when a cab stopped to drop off another group of drunken souls. So I climbed into the empty cab and without knowing where I was going. Eventually I landed on Fillmore Street and walked into Delfina Pizzeria and wrote my name on the blackboard.

I noticed Paul the moment he walked past me and I watched him take a seat at the bar. In a few minutes, I was then seated beside him. We were both dining solo. Seated right next to each other, strangers, but for a moment. “Did you see that moon tonight?” He asked. “The old moon in the arms of the young moon.” I said.

Almost immediately, I learned he came from a generation of artists. My tendency when meeting handsome men at a restaurant bar is to immediately guide the conversation away from the benign and into the meat of it. It’s a litmus test. I never ask, “What do you do for a living?” In fact I only learned he was a handyman and in-house contractor for a chain of independent theater houses after hours into the evening. Instead, I asked Paul about his “pre-occupations” and learned he was a photographer. So was his father. And so was his grandfather, an illustrator with some uncommon commercial success in Chicago back in the 40’s. Our conversation stretched well past dinner and beyond the rising moon. We closed two restaurants that night, including SPQR where I presented him like a prize to my friends there. We walked for blocks, talked about our families. What we had in common was Chicago – the place where his parents met at the University of Chicago, a unique relationship with our mothers, and a penchant for telling stories.

Fast speed ahead: Exactly one year after that meeting, we are at the opening of my first curated photography show in San Francisco, featuring Paul’s photography. Plus the work of Heimo Schmidt, a reputation for being one of the best commercial and fine art photographers in the country. This is no exaggeration, and he happens to be a long-time friend for more nearly 30 years now.

Why I’d combine the work of these two photographers doesn’t make apparent sense – until you look under the surface. But it felt just right. I believe both photographers convey something about male essence and our quest to balance the needs of both the man and the inner child. Heimo is known for his very grand poetic portraitures of landscapes and people. His current work– however, are snap shops of his every day life and what falls into his purview. It’s more dank and pure. Digital and real. Honest and un-manipulated, it’s Heimo being present with his environment.

Paul Inman’s series, Papa Obscura, and its counter point photo collage series titled Chronicle of Exile is a combined photographic memory of both Paul and his father, E. Ray Inman, who died when Paul was only 6 years old.

The opening night was a resounding success. Media coverage and local interest brought in more than 300 to see the exhibitions. At a private artist dinner attended by 30 special guests, Paul made a toast. It’s a ritual that has hung around for good reason. And though we traditionally imbibe spirits or wine when making a toast, lets take a detour today. Let’s raise our innate spirits, our chin, and our eyes to the sky, to the moon and honor our good selves. This is the toast I share with all of you today, and hope you will pass it on. Honor someone you love, especially if it is yourself today. Congratulate yourself for a job well done. We so rarely celebrate milestones any more. Everything you’re doing is probably just right. And if its not, change it.

Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, welcome to the present moment.
We invoke the holy mother of all creation; we invite the father of all nurturing to be present, here, with us, tonight: The living, the dead, and the soon to be past all converge in one reckoning this evening. Leave your inner critic and let curiosity be your guide. To the mother, the father and the sacred child within us, I call on your highest self: Can you come out to play? Will you be present with me tonight? Then I propose a toast. A toast to our curiosity. (Toast delivered by Paul Inman at the Firehouse8 Artist’s Dinner October 18, 2012)

Heist Life: Part II Altruism & Unconditional Love

My personal stake in the welfare of others has always been there.

Having grown up in one of the most industrial and urban cities in the country – Chicago, I can’t articulate my sense of connectedness to the world of all living things including plants and animals. I thought it was the way all people felt. Since I was a child, my actions have always aligned with my sensibilities.

I was always the one to help the old nuns walk up the street, or take the garbage out for elderly neighbors or clean the dirty houses of single moms while I baby sat their kids. If something could be done, I did it.

I was an astute child. Not starry eyed, but in wonder, always. I documented what I saw and felt. I kept journals. I even monitored my adolescence, noting my moods and propensity for being alone and sitting in the dark. I knew what was happening around me, sometimes-terrible things: Mental illness, alcoholism, abuse, poverty and neglect. Yet they were only consequences I observed. At times it was impossible not to be sucked into it. I had bouts of my own depression and certainly an undercurrent of fear took residence. But I never lost sight of the beauty around me - my childhood friendships and companions - my cousins, my cats, and my imagination.

In 50 years, much hasn’t changed. There’s still the same amount of trouble and strife. The more people you let into your life, the more likely you are to encounter the pain and sorrow of others. But I still wade through it like a hero. Not unscathed, but marred in way that highlights all that is good about me. The happenings of my life co-exist beside an inner peace and knowing that can’t be taken away from me.

I am aware, however, that not everyone moves through life as easily as I do. My ability to let things go, and know when to retreat, and take care of myself have sustained me. My ability, capacity and most importantly – my will – to extend myself to others is tangible. My love for others is real. It is nearly unconditional and over time, I feel it has grown. As I was turning 50, I experienced a burst of energy, as slow and languid as an endless summer day. It’s like Indian Summer that has seems to have no end in sight.

That’s where I was when I decided to leave behind the corporate world and face the uncertainty of being a freelance writer. I was in that same place when my best friend called me up and invited me on a road trip to Cheyenne Wyoming. I said yes. Several months after that road trip, I am ever present and resolute in spending my time not for the benefit of a big corporation – but spending my livelihood for the good of all women and in a more experiential way to foster a spiral effect of enlightenment.

The concept of “Road Agents Heist Life” was born on the road to Cheyenne. Fathered by Eckhart Tolle and the spirit of the American West, heisting life is about taking back what is rightly yours - your innate creativity and connection to all living things.

Comrades in arms, Michele Turner and Laura Stepping, have heisted their own life and now advocate on behalf of others. Relying on experiential interventions and literary devices others can make meaning from their direct experiences with the Road Agents.

If you have a story to share, I’d love to hear it. If you have a remedy to shake us into the present, perhaps we can conspire on an event, or include you at a future happening.

Contact me at mrsrobinsonsf@gmail.com

Road Agents Heist Life: Part I

It’s a struggle to keep our sense of wonder about life when we’re fixed on making money to keep our homes and family in tact. Sometimes we lose our sense of purpose and innate sense of creativity and connection to the bigger world around us. I know this, because it’s happened to me.

A couple years ago I found myself wondering more about how to get through a miserable day at the office, than simply wondering about the profound beauty around me. My imagination went underground and was replaced by stress. There weren’t enough fancy dinners, massages, weekend jaunts, or fleeting pleasures to make me feel whole again. There was never enough money to eliminate my fear of not being able to pay the bills. The more I made, the more nervous I became.

I knew the only way to make a break, once and for all from the distraction of a high paying salary and the illusion of security – was to let it all go. This dream was fueled by two events: the anniversary of a best friend’s death a year prior, and a brush with death via a breast cancer scare.

I abandoned my job of nearly 15 years for something I had lost – the sense of who I really was. It took a lot to leave that job. I compare it to a heist. I had to steal back my very soul. In many ways I had to break rules, go against convention to reclaim myself – a creative person that has always felt a deep connection and communion with other people, including animals and the earth.

Though the comparison to a heist may seem far-fetched, I, like many others have been programmed to live and work in a material world. The un-doing would not be easy. I didn’t have a role model to follow or anyone to mentor me through my decision. It was therefore swift, and not so elegant. A year and a half later, with a depleted 401K, I am perhaps the happiest I’ve ever been. I now remember what I’ve always known – no one can take away from me the peace I came into this world with.

Over the past several months, I’ve been treated as hero to some – who ask me for advice and counsel. Others have let me go, deciding I’m a slacker or simply going through some middle-age crisis. The larger majority of people, however, get it. They understand that keeping a balance between making money and simply making a meaningful life is nearly impossible. They have celebrated my decision and I in turn have made it my mission to help them also reclaim their creative spirit.

With so many people facing the same obstacles – I decided my best contribution to this world – could be in helping others tip the scales in favor of achieving a life worth living – which is a life worth sharing. I believe one person living in harmony can have a spiral effect on those around them.

Today I role model my philosophy. Beyond living my life with intention, I live it with gusto. I heisted my own life. I saved my own life. I help others do the same. I concoct experiences – sometimes in the form of events, and old fashion storytelling to inspire, engage, and provoke others into heisting their own life. My sole intention is to promote a more creative and connected society.

Imagine finding a job that pays me to do this. Not possible, probably. But it doesn’t stop me from pursuing it. Of course I still take freelance jobs to support myself, but I don’t make nearly the amount I once “thought” I needed.

Those who know me, might ask - well how are you making a difference? I try to make a difference every single day of my life. Whoever I come into contact with is an opportunity. I’m also constantly seeking out others who advocate for a better approach to life. My goal is to be in a position where I can set the stage for others who can also inspire and teach others to live a more balanced and meaningful life.

The concept of “Road Agents Heist Life” was born on the road to Cheyenne. Fathered by Eckhart Tolle and the spirit of the American West, heisting life is about taking back what is rightly yours - your innate creativity and connection to all living things.

Comrades in arms, Michele Turner and Laura Stepping, have heisted their own life and now advocate on behalf of others. Relying on experiential interventions and literary devices others can make meaning from their direct experiences with the Road Agents.

As interconnected beings, we understand that the way we live our life has consequences on the lives of others present and future. Using our natural talent for storytelling we talk about the value of heisting your own life.

• We practice altruism and stretch the boundaries of unconditional love.
• We act as a muse, conjuring events and experiential interventions to shake us all into the present, to channel our inner child and to regain our inner peace.
• We lead by example, we live life with intention and wherever possible - with gusto.
• We intervene on behalf of others - giving them a direct experience with their own creativity.
• We heist other people and brands that share our ideals.

If you have a story to share with me, I’d love to hear it. If you have a remedy to shake us into the present, perhaps we can conspire on an event, or include you at a future happening.

“How queer,” Virginia Woolf once observed, “to have so many selves.”

Virginia Woolf, hand-printed by Anne Olsen

The Dead Writers’ Salon, October 28th, 6 p.m. at FIREHOUSE8

In the historical tradition of a salon – a meeting with a purpose – the objective is to amuse and inspire. Being Mrs. Robinson, I must add a few more objectives – to enchant, to provoke and to engage. To achieve these objectives, all in attendance must participate by gracing us with your presence. Allow your inner child to come to play.

The Mrs. Robinson Society has hosted salons in the past, but this one needed to invoke the spirit world for many reasons.

1) It’s part of the series – The myth of visible certainty, which is all about shaking us into the present.
2) It’s practically Halloween and Day of the Dead – so what better way to honor the dead, especially those literary firemen who once graced the old Firehouse 8 built in 1916.
3) There is no time like the present – because the past is gone, and there’s no guarantee in the future. All we have is right now. This moment. What’s the best way to commune with our essence – our true spirit? Subdue the ego! Let’s practice letting go. Learn to die before you die. Wearing a costume, or getting into character, is the perfect charade and a better way let go of the ego and the illusion.

I intend to dress in costume and conjure a more silvery side of myself. I will be channeling my dearest authors – Virginia Woolf, Willa Cather, and Alice B. Toklas and reading passages from “To the Light House” and also the “Alice B. Toklas Cook Book.”

What will make this event more special is if you arrive with a few friends, and simply make your own evening, make use of the FIREHOUSE, enjoy a glass of wine “on the house”, pen your own obituary, read a passage from your favorite book, purchase a cocktail from the Rye of the Road fellas, chase some ghost and dance to the Gaucho Gypsy Jazz Band. Of course, I am the queen of flying solo and I believe it’s the best way to make new friends!

I challenge you to act out a persona that has always been with you. Many times we become trapped in a role of our own illusion. Perhaps we only escape it when we’re alone, or in the company of strangers. Wherever you find yourself today, and especially in this moment, rediscover a part of yourself that you may have forgotten, or left behind, or have yet to uncover or unleash. Give it some wings. Come out to play.

Practice being the person you dreamed of - if only for a day. Be more talkative. Or less, if you tend to blab. Be a better listener. Be a provocateur. Stir up some lively conversation. Don’t talk about work. Talk about what makes you feel alive. Ask. Answer. When was the last time you were in some good trouble? Tell a lie. A fabrication. Embellish – at least 30%.

The holy trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. A metaphor for the various facades one man is capable of exhibiting in his lifetime. Who is that person you are today? What side shall you show? I started the Mrs. Robinson Society to honor an aspect of myself that was often misunderstood. I wanted to give her a voice and be my own role model. Today there are many women proud to call themselves members of the Mrs. Robinson Society. There are few meetings, fewer rules, but we’re long on vigor, wisdom and humor.

It could have been called the Mrs. Buttersworth Society – but we chose to rescue a vintage icon.

Who shall you rescue today?

Open Studio at Firehouse 8

inmanphotography:

                      

Photography and installations by Paul Burke Inman will be open for public viewing beginning Opening Night Oct. 12 at 6 p.m. And Oct 13 & 14 from Noon to 6 p.m at Firehouse 8.  

Located at 1648 Pacific Ave. (Between Polk Street and Van Ness), Firehouse 8 is a historic landmark from 1916. After sitting vacant for more than 30 years, it is now a community hub and mixed retail event. This is the first “Open Studio” event at Firehouse 8. 

Meet Your Elderly Neighbor: F8, born 1916

Historic Firehouse 8 is a San Francisco landmark with its foundation planted firmly in 1916. Structurally sound and functioning beyond its original intention – it still serves the community. Though privately owned, the mixed retail space offers the neighborhood a respite from bustling Polk Street. Located at 1648 Pacific Ave, it’s a place to stroll through, look at art, and simply be in a Victorian era Engine House. Few are open to the public in San Francisco. Re-inhabiting a landmark firehouse isn’t possible for most of us, but it’s sure nice spending time in one.

Renovating Firehouse 8 [F8], opening its doors to the public, and setting the stage as a mixed retail and event space, allows F8 to achieve its mission - to be a hub of community activity. Believe it or not, it’s actually something we need in the Russian Hill, Polk Gulch neighborhood.

Having lived on this side of town for more than 18 years, I typically travel to other parts of town for more interesting happenings. I’d like to stay in my own neck of the woods for a change. That’s why I’ve been supporting the opening of F8 over the past several months. Though it’s a private affair, there’s potential to benefit the overall community. Led by Teresa Nittolo, partner Gavin Jeffries, plus her brother and sister– it’s been a family undertaking for the past six years.

“I wanted to rescue this building so that the entire neighborhood could enjoy it.” Says, Teresa, the visionary behind the plan to renovate a historic San Francisco landmark. She believes it will be a place to connect with friends, enjoy a cup of coffee, and discover local artists. And so do I. Not to mention, if you happen to be getting married or throwing yourself a grand birthday party – it’s also the hottest new event space in the city.

I learned about Teresa’s dream about six years ago. I had just started the Mrs. Robinson Society. It was starting to take flight and I was always on the look out for fun places to host parties. Frankly, we were becoming alcoholics from all the cocktailing at places like Rye and we were getting more serious about creating a “salon like” experience for our members. Getting together for a “drink” wasn’t a good enough reason to meet anymore. When I heard her plan for the F8, I was hooked. I wanted to throw the first party in her new space. I had no idea it would be more than six years before it would happen. But now it is.

Next month I launch a month long event called, “The Myth of Visible Certainty.” Opening Night October 12th features photographers – Heimo Schmidt and Paul Burke Inman. I’ll host a pop-up dinner with the Farm:Table and wine pairings by Amy Currens. Then, the event I’ve been waiting for: The Dead Writer’s Salon on October 28th. True to the definition of a salon – it’s a meeting with a purpose and designed to inspire, amuse and engage all in attendance. Typically there are readings, performances and music. We’ll have all that, plus we’ll drink some absinthe provided by Rye on the Road and see a vintage fashion show that include designs by LemonTwist. Guests will be encouraged to channel their favorite dead writer or artist, wear vintage clothes, get into character, and just practice their imagination.

F8 is designed to preserve the past, showcase what’s hip now with a mixed retail venue, but most importantly – accommodate the community. It has the potential to act as a catalyst– to regenerate Polk Street and bring some edge and scene to one of the last authentic neighborhoods in the city. I want to help.

About Laura Stepping, aka Mrs. Robinson. Road agent. Friend. Customer. Neighbor. I don’t own anything, but I have a sense of ownership and pride in what I do. I set the stage to make things happen. I heist life and brands I care about.

I travel in good company:
Michele Turner Fellow Road Agent, Soul-Mammal and Mrs. Robinson Founder
Ramon’s Tailor
Lower Polk Art Walk
Terroir

The myth of visible certainty

The Myth of Visible Certainty is a series of artful events at historic the FIREHOUSE 8, built 1917, featuring local artists, photographers, musicians and chefs. Conjured by Laura Stepping of the Mrs. Robinson Society and designed to shake us all into the present – various works explore the space between the past and future – and what is known and unknown. Photography captures a moment in time. A bottle of wine evokes a certain terroir. FIREHOUSE 8 acts like a time capsule, preserving a space where the spirit of those who served the community can still be experienced. Three events allow us to play in that dimension and celebrate where we are today.

OCT 12 Opening Night 6 p.m. Photography by Heimo Schmidt, founder Luddite Magazine. Photography installation by Paul Burke Inman. Snacks by Craftsman and Wolves. Music. Libations. Celebrations.

“Making art is about bridging a gap between the known and unknown. It’s how I stay present.
My father left behind a visual inventory of his life, photographs and negatives he never printed. Each image of his that I reconstruct is an altar, a collaboration between father and son.” Paul Burke Inman

OCT 18 Artists Dinner with Farm:Table Seating limited to 30 special guests. $125 per person: Four-courses paired Zepaltas Wine selected by sommelier Amy Currens. A unique experience guaranteed. RSVP mrsrobinsonsf@gmail.com

“A dinner to acknowledge the past life of the Firehouse and those men who served their community. But most importantly – it honors where we are today and the community we have become.”

OCT 28 Dead Writers Salon Expect sherry and spirited cocktails by Rye on the Road. Music by the Gaucho Gypzy Jazz Band $25 minimum suggested donation. Music. Vintage Fashion. Shenanigans.

The Myth of Visible Certainty
What we evoke or share vs. what’s captured or experienced is manifested in the best examples of photography. Celebrity portraits—familiar and mysterious at once. Every day objects when isolated as still-life become more than their function. Photos of your parents taken before you were born become engrained in your psyche. The memory of your child self play out over so many snapshots until you are better acquainted with the past than who you are today. The distance adds up. Authentication, a futile exercise.

My fascination with the concept of visible certainty is tattooed on my body. A term introduced by Galileo and made popular by E.Tufte. It’s about observation, credibility and evidence. Seeing is believing. Embracing uncertainty, the option.

[galileo 1610 treatise, sidereus nuncius
“Quod tertio loco a nobis fuit observatum, est ipsiusmet LACTEI Circuli essentia, seu materies, quam Perspicilli beneficio adeo ad sensum licet intueri, ut et altercationes omnes, quæ per tot sæcula philosophos excruciarunt, ab oculata certitudine dirimantur, nosque a verbosis disputationibus liberemur. Est enim GALAXIA nihil aliud, quam innumerarum Stellarum coacervatim consitarum congeries: in quamcumque enim regionem illius Perspicillum dirigas, statim Stellarum ingens frequentia sese in conspectum profert, quarum complures satis magnæ ac valde conspicuæ videntur; sed exiguarum multitudo prorsus inexplorabilis est.”]

[english translation
“What was observed by us in the third place is the nature of the Milky Way itself, which, with the aid of the spyglass, may be observed so well that all the disputes that for so many generations have vexed philosophers are destroyed by visible certainty, and we are liberated from wordy arguments. For the Galaxy is nothing else than a congeries of innumerable stars distributed in clusters…” ]

In the Myth of Visible Certainty, an exhibition at FIREHOUSE 8 in San Francisco, I present two photographers who have mastered the art of using a camera to traverse time and space while calling us into the present. Both make us want to dwell a little longer in the moment – engaging us with images they call into focus, allowing us to dispense with our inclination to predict, validate, authenticate. Art keeps us present. The best place to be, I’m certain.

@firehouse-8, 1648 Pacific Ave. San Francisco beginning Oct 12, 2012 RSVP mrsrobinsonsf@gmail.com

Vedauwoo

The ravaged bones of an animal lay before us. That’s Vedavu in Medicine Bow. It’s the only remains we see. Boulders look like tombs, and the sight of green trees cutting through dry heaps are as queer as the wind it stirs. The same wind, the night before, that wrapped us up in the Cheyenne cemetery. How we honor those who have lost their human form, and decorate graves with baby lambs seems just as odd as the dust beneath our feet now speaking through these rocks and trees.

We’re struck with reverence. We whisper. In Vedavu, these rocks like tombs. Clusters of mountain litter the landscape. Jocular rocks huddle in the sun. They are bears and dogs. Torsos and profiles. A dark spine, a woman sits at peace. A sphinx sprawls across the grass.

We ditch the Subaru, just to get closer. Each going out our own way, to whatever rocky incline. My body feels heavy. Michele lets out a scream. She’s stung by a bee. I sense a heavy hand upon my shoulder. It’s not the sun or the heat, but I am invited to commune. I sit. I go along with it. Not a word is uttered. It’s like a family reunion.

I lock down the moment. Michele, sitting on a turtle frog. I settle into whatever arms will have me. The rocks engage us. They want to keep us.

Vedauwoo (pronounced: vi də vu:)

We have a flat tire. Four-wheel drive. We must replace all four.

Cheyenne shakes us into place, then sends us on our way. The greatest heist of all. We are in life’s clutches. At peace. And clear about our mission: We heist life. We give directions. We lend a hand. We grace you with our presence.

On The Road

On the road you’re forced to be ever present, and alert. Qualities our sedentary lifestyle doesn’t foster. Some of us were meant for multi-tasking, and hurried responses. Distractions happen, they aren’t good or bad. It’s a forward motion, yet with a keen awareness of what’s happening around you. You feel the heat of the sun; notice the glare off a wire fence. The edges are sharper, and what’s pulled into focus are not the tiny deer elk or even the semi-truck with mud flaps praising our Lord. It’s just this moment, and then the next, all cascading into nothingness and everything.

On the road, you enter a big canvas of your own creation. Forward motion, of thoughts, and even our surrender, and retreats into ourselves, leave an imprint, like streaks of paint. I see the Subaru and we two women defiantly coloring outside the repetitive yellow lines. We don’t wait for the dotted line to pass into another realm of consciousness. Our radius of control expands. Irregular patterns emerge. Our minds explode and give way to a peace brought on by the earth moving all around us and with us.

On the road is where we played as kids. Games of softball and Kick the Can, on the side streets of Chicago. We were lost in those games and the pace of being alive, unaware of time and space, except the lines demarcating an automatic home run or foul ball. The only thing stopping us from playing to exhaustion was the yell from our mothers, calling our name from the back porch to come home for dinner. “Didn’t you see those street lights come on,” she’d say, as she nudged me softly on my backside. The flicker of the streetlights coming on was always a signal for kids growing up in the city.

On the road all we see are signals to wake up and come home to ourselves, and the more we respond, the more lost and grateful we become. The nudge from the eagle landing on the fence, the red fox escaping our gaze, and a swarm of rain clouds that cause us to shudder. We are warned about the roadwork ahead, and so we slow, to stop and ponder, then admire all the wear and tear caused by so many travelers. We bare witness. We take to the road. We stop. We pay attention.