Hi there!

Welcome to PoembyBecca blog archives.
​
I no longer write blog posts but if you are interested in exploring how this project came to be, look at photographs of my booth all over America and get to know me (a lot), please feel free to poke around a bit.

This project changed my life. I hope you find something valuable in your exploration. Happy reading!

-Becca

These pieces were all successfully auctioned off at the 2017 Wigs & Beer charity event, July 17, 2017.

Wigs & Beer was organized by S Salon and was put on to help with the cost of providing free wigs to women and children in this community. More info about what they do, here.

If you like these pieces, come to The Hub on August 4th. I will be setting up there for their First Friday and will have more for sale, among other things!

​Don't know what The Hub is? Find out, here.

I wrote this poem to hang in the window of the coffee hut I have called home for nearly five years (with a few breaks). 

You can (still) read it in the window of College CoffeeHut in Fairbanks, Alaska while you wait on your barista (maybe me!) to make you that morning cup of coffee.

Camera (unseen)/audio: 
​Naomi Oneal

So my friend, Eric Roberts aka @RunSmileBreathe has been helping me with a project called, "Fragile Expressions in Rugged Places".

He's a mountaineer and has been able to take my poems to some pretty incredible spots, here in AK.

I was so inspired by this idea, I've started sending out more poems so that other people can do the same.

So, I ask some basic questions about photo intent and what subject they would be interested in. Then, I ask them to open it at the scenic place of their choice and snap a photo that looks like these, below. 

These poems are like children (a little weird). Seeing them out in the world, in beautiful locations makes me feel like a piece of me is there, too. For a girl that loves to travel, this is a pretty sweet (and cheap!) vacation.

You can follow his amazing adventures at

runsmilebreathe.wordpress.com

RunSmileBreatheInstagram

CLICK THEM

​I’ve personally hiked a small number of popular trails, here, and can attest, every single one is mind-blowing. Mount Juneau, Roberts and Jumbo are accessible right in town. As someone who likes to go on hikes to clear her head, it's almost tear-jerkingly wonderful to finish up at the downtown office and take a quick stroll down the street and jump on a trail.

Oh, and did I mention you can take the tram down Mount Roberts? 

JACKPOT. It takes about an hour to get up to the tram, and if you buy something at the gift shop, or at the restaurant, you can ride that sucker down for no cost.

Talk about a post-hike reward.

Mount Roberts is definitely the most popular, with the tram running every few minutes, but don’t be mistaken. It’s not easy, and it's also dangerous up there. The top is just open terrain. Tourists have DIED hiking up there. One woman has still never been found.

​Okay, that maybe isn’t the best encouragement to get out and go hiking. I’m sure you’ll be fine.

But there are actually three summits you can hike to, False Summit, Gastineau and then Roberts.

But, Mount Juneau is my favorite for several reasons.

This was supposed to be the original place for the tram, and remnants of construction can be seen, and played on at the top. It sits in the perfect spot. You can see all of the south channel, where the ships are coming in, and up to the far end of the valley (suburbs) where the airport is.

​On your backside, you can see the Juneau ice-field expanding out into oblivion. You are literally looking DOWN on mountain goats.
I might have yelled more than once, “Look at those mountain goats down there!” just because I loved the way it sounded.

The hike is hard, but we ate tons of raspberries, saw baby marmots, grouse and porcupine, and I found an awesome walking stick!

Another is the Salmon Creek dam. Built in 1914, it was the inspiration for the Hoover Dam. The reservoir holds trout and it was easy, compared to Juneau and Jumbo-"Probably because it's not a mountain!".
 

​
All of the hikes I mentioned are given an extra layer of awesome by one simple detail: Mining history.

The gold-mining history of Juneau is still present. There are placards on the trails, and the structural skeletons are still out there, visible. Climbing up Mount Jumbo, you can see the enormous glory hole (don't laugh) leftover from the Treadwell Mine, which was the largest low-grade gold mine in the world. It collapsed abruptly one day in 1917 and if you follow this link, you can check out some super sweet hipster photos of the ruins.

​If you were to stroll down the boardwalk, you would come across dozens of independent tour vendors, selling anything and everything. To list a few- glacier walks, dog-sledding, deep-sea fishing, sea-kayaking, whale-watching, seaplane flights, hovercraft adventure (whatever that is) and so much more. You can even sit in a botanical garden, drink tea and look at the Mendenhall glacier, if that’s what you’re into.

I was lucky enough to jump on a 45-minute ice-field tour after work, one day. I literally walked across the street from the office, watched the planes land on the water, strolled down onto the floating dock, where they pull up and jumped on one-"the yellow one!".  The pilot took us all around the ice-field and I was back on the docks an hour later, just in time for dinner. I think it was the most casually cool thing I've ever done.

Okay, I'll come clean. I got motion sickness. I spent the flight struggling in a perpetual state of "Oh, wow!" and "Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't puke". Everyone else I talk to seems to be just fine.

So, I guess it was just me...or that hangover.

Another time, I went out on a whale-watching excursion and watched a group of humpback whales bubble net feed. If you don't know what that is, it's when they trap a bunch of little fish with bubbles and then jump out of the water, mouths agape and scoop them all up. Several of the giant beasts swam so close to the boat, I felt I could have reached out and touched them. I actually teared up with pure emotion when I saw that baby humpback's white outline through the water below me.

​I kept it cool, don't worry.

They play amazing films.
Every film I see advertised is an “OOOH I WANT TO SEE THAT!” moment for me. Independent documentaries are my specialty, and me and Goldtown have a shared love affair. I even was able to catch the documentary “Weiner”, a film I obsessed over from the time I found out existed. There's really nothing like hearing about a small, independent documentary and then being able to watch it in an actual theater.

A friend of mine had been out of this world excited to see this one movie. Turns out- It's playing at Goldtown! But, he was unable to make it. I went there and met the owner and convinced her to show the film on a night when she wasn’t playing anything. Granted, she had shared on social media a desire to do so, if people showed interest. So, I marched over to the theater and showed interest. My friend was so thankful...and well, surprised. That’s not how the world works!

It’s cheap. The price was $9 at the beginning of the summer but has since gone up to $10. The seats are a mix of lawn chair-cushioned wooden seats to some red, plush couches and love seats in the very back. You have to get there early to get those, and since that’s not exactly one of my strong suites, I have yet to score. The snacks are cheap, too. If you bring your own bag, each scoop of popcorn is $1. 

One last thing. You know how you always have to sneak in your own snacks when you go to the movies? Not here. You can bring them. You can stroll in with a bottle of wine and a box of Cheez-Its (guilty) and buy a ticket to the show. No more clinking and crinkling tote bags!

I read an article in the Juneau Empire, dated from a while back, that it was rumored it would shut down. Don't do it, Colette! I don’t know what’s going to happen to this place, but I’ve literally been inspired to start my own independent movie theater. I’m not even joking! I mentioned it to a friend and everything.

​Everyone knows mentioning something to a friend is the first step!

 The other really awesome theater in Juneau is, well, an actual theatre. It’s called Perseverance Theatre and is apparently, Alaska’s only professional theatre. I was able to catch a performance there (yes, I was alone, okay!) and was impressed by the whole shebang. It's on Douglas Island and the outside is pretty unassuming (connected to a diner), but don’t be fooled. It will blow your socks off with performer quality and stage set up. I saw Anapurna and completely forgot that I was sitting in a small theatre on in island in Alaska, for about 2.5 hours.

You can check out their webpage, here or by clicking on the photo.

Okay, I've been trying to seem cool and not give it away. So, I saved my favorite for the number four slot. If you know me, you know I love people. No, not talking to them, or interacting in any way. I love watching them. 

I'm a writer...It's cool. Okay, I'll just jump in....
​
Love sitting in crowded places and watching the world go by? By that, I mean, do you love staring at large amounts of diverse strangers and contemplating human existence and social structure? Well, I’ve got the spot for you. It’s anywhere in downtown Juneau. That's right. Anywhere.

Like I said, It's a small town. I wave to people I know about eight times a day. 

​On a busy day in July, one will find up to 6,000 people swarming Franklin street. Up to five cruise ships can dock at a time in the harbor and release their diverse demographics into the tiny downtown area. 

( In fact, the last time I was here (last night), I was sitting with a friend, telling them about it's mention in this post.
THREE different people made comments to us as we sat there, about how we had the best seats for people watching in Juneau. With each incident, our response laughter grew more obnoxious.

Everyone knows. The secret's out. They might as well use it as an advertising campaign.

If you can’t tell by my overuse of exclamations, I really enjoy the food in Juneau. Having lived in Fairbanks, Alaska the past five years, where your choices are diners, thai food and espresso drive-throughs, unique and diverse eating out options are not something to be taken for granted. Granted, Juneau prices tend to be high, coinciding with everything else in Juneau. If you don’t already know this, everything must be shipped to Alaska, just like Hawaii. Juneau, having no roads leading out, must have everything barged in, even more expensive. Food, especially runs high. I was once at a small, low-end diner and their “boring burger” was priced at $12. 

But there are so many options, and plenty of ways to get your money’s worth. Nestled along the docks, there is a food cart parking lot. I have to walk by this everyday and let me tell you, I salivate every time. Popcorn stands, pizza, crepes, fish and chips. These scents swirl in the wind like the leaves from Pocahontas and basically draw you to them like a zombie.

A reindeer hotdog (Only $4!) from Manilla Bay Cafe, where a sweet woman named Jennifer and her sister sell amazingly cheap Phillipino options, bubble tea and cheap meats. ​

A rootbeer float with locally-made rhubarb ice-cream from the Coppa stand. It’s also $4 and you get the fancy root beer. According to my coworker, who is from Juneau, Coppa has been voted the number one ice-cream company in Alaska. You can sample any flavor and they often write encouraging things on their sign, like, “Be Happy!” which I enjoy as I power-walk to work everyday. 

There is an insane amount of food options in Juneau. My favorite breakfast place is The Sandpiper. Their line is out the door on Saturday’s and Sunday’s, but it’s worth every second of awkward eye contact. Their specials change daily and every time I go, I have immediate FOMA (fear of missing out) for everything else on the menu I didn’t order.

My all-time favorite restaurant in Juneau is a small place called Saffron. They specialize (and I don't use that word lightly) in Indian comfort cuisine. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I want to stand up and give an acceptance speech after every meal. 

You order a bunch of stuff, share everything and get way too full on quality ingredients. The food is so good, the server could call me ugly, steal my purse and run my cat over and I would still have a great time. I took someone here, once, who hated Indian food. Guess what?

You guessed it. They hated it.

Just kidding. They loved it. It's THAT good. It's Eat, Pray, Love in one bite. 

Get the spinach leaves fried in chickpea batter, the lamb Kheema, garlic naan and masala chai. Oh, and the mango, mint and chili chutney's.

​Probably the most famous food, here=, is the Pel’Meni. They are Russian dumplings and Juneau's number one drunk food. On a late night, you will find they are the only restaurant open and every single intoxicated, seasonal worker is in and around the  store's vicinity. The first time I tried them, I was perhaps a little too drunk and woke up burping out a mix of yellow curry, sour cream and stomach acid (Stop noticing the pattern!).

Sort of killed it. But it's something you need to try for yourself.

Obviously, I have to say seafood. But, growing up in Florida, it doesn’t hold as high esteem in my heart as a Pizza crepe the size of my head. Tracy’s King Crab Shack has a killer view, right on the docks and some of the best crab cakes I’ve ever had. The seafood is a bit pricey for me. I only scored Tracy’s on a day when it was my more monetarily blessed coworkers day to buy.

Want to know what my favorite spot in downtown Juneau is?

A spot that combines all of these activities into one!? 

Lean in, kids.

There is a magical place called Hangar on the Wharf. It's the original location of Alaska Seaplanes and sits directly on the water. There is an outside bar, overlooking the floating dock, where the seaplanes take off. On the left is downtown Juneau, where you will see things like people doing backflips off of the ramp and the cruise ships coming and going. On the right is Douglas Island and a perfect view of Mount Jumbo.

I especially enjoy that view, because there's nothing quite like staring up at a mountain and knowing you've stood at it's summit. 

Sometimes you can catch para-gliders swirling around above Mount Roberts, or helicopters buzzing by, on their way to glacier dog camps. You can watch tiny coast guard boats whizzing around.You can take in the fresh smell of seafood as the wind kicks up and scents from nearby kitchens come through. The only sun-burn I ever got in Juneau was right here on this porch. That's how long I will sit here.

You can order food (mushroom french fries!) and drink a cold beer from their amazing selection, all while taking in the people, places and activities of the busy harbor. 

On a nice day, I fantasize about being there. On rainy days, I fantasize about...well, the sun. But, also about being there, in the sun.  

That's the thing about Juneau. It's a temperate rainforest. You spend a lot of your time fantasizing about the sun. But, damn when it comes out, you forget all about the last five days of perpetual drizzle.

This place sure knows how to ask for forgiveness. And I accept every single time. 

You'll understand when you visit.

​Let's face it. I convinced you.

(Please don't tell the tour companies you heard that one thing from me)

Well, there it is - my list of things to do.

These are only a few of the enormous amount of activities to do in Juneau, Alaska. Obviously, anyone who has spent time here will probably read this and feel I left out many great things. 

I did. I know. 

You write an article trying to encompass an entire city!

What I mean to say is, you'll just have to come here and discover your own personal favorite aspects of this incredibly diverse and bustling little oasis. 

You might even catch a mousy girl with a beer sitting and watching you from a distance...

​Basically, just go stuff your face with rock fish taco's, drink a beer on a dock, while watching the world go by and then run up a mountain. 

I should have just said that to begin with.

For more info on what to do here, visit traveljuneau.com 

I am getting ready to post a three part series about what's been happening with me this summer.

It's a lot. I have so much to share. It's a bit overwhelming, but I know this is what I get for putting this off so long.

I am splitting it into three sections. I will be posting them, along with photos and videos every week. I'll upload the first one sometime this week, so stay tuned for overturned fish trucks, outdoor excursions, dog-sledding and lots of other adventuring.

I also want to share what it's like to work for the cruise-ship industry and the last installment will go into detail about being a seasonal employee, dealing with thousands of people a day from all over the world and living in the midst of a tourism feeding frenzy.

So the parts will be this:

1: Juneau, Alaska: What it's like and what it's like to live here.

2: What I've been up to lately: shore excursions, learning how to run dogs and roller blading...

3: Why seasonal tourism work can be the best thing that's ever happened to you and the most soul-crushing.

Stay tuned!

First, meet Charles. Take a second and get to know him and then continue.

The other thing my friends said was that he worked as a James Brown impersonator. This is true. It’s how Roth discovered Bradley. Apparently, when Bradley was little, he went to see king of soul in concert. He began playing around, impersonating his trademark style. While working as a chef in Maine, a co-worker told him he looked like Brown and asked if he knew how to sing. Bradley shyly agreed. He performed with a band several times until his bandmates were drafted into the Vietnam war. ​

If you ever see him perform, you’ll notice he has Brown’s microphone pull-back trick down pat.

Click on the photo to get to the interview.

​​In 1996, his mother asked him to move to Brooklyn to be with her and he began a career impersonating Brown as “Black Velvet”. Sometime after this, was when Roth saw Bradley and began introducing him to his future producer and music colleagues. 

My friends also say Bradley was homeless. This too, appears to be true. After working in Maine for ten years, Bradley hitchhiked across the U.S. and lived in upstate New York, where he worked as a chef at a mental hospital, Alaska, Canada and eventually settled in California. He worked odd jobs and performed small shows for the next 20 years. Woah. 

If you're interested in the personal aspect of Bradley, you're in luck. in 2012, Bradley was subject of a documentary by Poull Brian, titled, Soul of America. It debuted at SXSW and tells Bradley’s story since childhood. It's not on Netflix, but you can find it on Amazon and iTunes.

This is the trailer. If you watch nothing else about him, or don't feel like finishing this read. Stop here. Watch this and go about your busy life.

After reading interviews with Charles, it becomes clear that there is so much to say about him. His life is incredibly full and complicated. Here is  a link to an interview by Shannon Carlin for Radio.com

The final quote Carlin used in the article is:

“You can’t erase that pain, you learn to live with it,” Bradley said of his past. “I see the good it’s doing for people out there, that pain that I carry, but in that pain comes truth. I had to go through that hurt to get that strength.”

Good stuff.

So anyway, back to Wednesday. I spent a good portion of the day skateboarding around aimlessly (A luxury I have become accustomed to), listening to every single Charles Bradley song I can get my hands on. I watch his music videos incessantly. My favorites are Changes and The World, which was directed by the man that would later make the documentary film.

Also, the title track off his new album Changes, was voted by Rolling Stone as one of the best songs of the year. His debut album was named one of the top albums of the year. The more I research about him, the more I find more people who genuinely believe in him and the power of his story.
​
I’m in love.

I’m such a cheat! First with Bowie and now with Bradley. But, the more I do this, the more I’m okay with it (typical). I think that’s how it works. You form an instant connection with an artist and the connection varies in degrees, leading all the way up to full-on fangirl. That’s kind of how I felt about Bradley. The thing that made this circumstance different than other times one goes into fan-girl mode, was that I was going to see him perform live that very night. This may or may not have amplified said excitement. Who’s to say.

Torie during her finest hour on tour 

​We pick CJ up from the bus station and grab dinner at this Italian place in Downtown Jacksonville. It’s one of those places with pictures of singers and actors on the walls, unintelligible signature scrawled across the bottom and dedicated to the place of business. I wanted to like this little hole in the wall, but they pretty much ignored our existence from the time we opened our mouths. I collected our empty beers from the table, took them to the counter and ordered new ones. I can’t remember the name of the restaurant, I just remember yelling "BLUE MOON!" five times, until the man behind the counter understood me and then immediately feeling like an asshole. 

Torie and I haven’t seen CJ since tour ended several weeks ago. It was good to sit and catch up about how things have been on the road. CJ confirmed that he did in fact, miss us. After that, our attention waned. The restaurant was next door to a popular music venue in Jacksonville, where the band O.A.R. was playing that night. Their tour bus was parked right out front and we saw several people stroll by with lanyards around their necks. CJ swears one was the singer. We had our doubts.

It made me feel nostalgic about that time of my life (Oh, so long ago), hanging out around the venue before the doors open, the power of a lanyard, the sensation that the day was just beginning at 6pm and it was going to be a wild night…again.

​The whole food endeavor lasted about an hour and half. This left us with just enough time to speed home, change like we were late for school and run out the door, all while CJ watched the fury of girls getting ready in pure confusion and disillusionment.

The show started at 8pm and we weaseled our way through the door right as he was coming on stage. It was assigned seating, but after discovering people already in ours, Torie and I elected to hang out and dance in the large open area behind all the seats. 

He blew me away. Literally, I think I felt my hair swoosh behind me every time he let out one of those signature long winded explosions of voice. I felt like I had been transported to the 1970’s. I was watching a dying art, or what I thought was a dying art. Apparently it's up and running. The packed house was reverberating the energy all around the building and one felt like they were a part of something.

My favorite moments were the slow songs. I was close enough to see the emotion in his face, and couldn’t help but think , “I’m seeing something very special right now. Remember this.”

​There was such raw emotion in Bradley’s performance, voice, face. Every song was sung like an encore. After listening to The Expendables play the exact same set list every night, over the recording in their ear-piece and on top of that, say the EXACT SAME thing in between each song, it was almost soul-healing to see Bradley’s performance. My faith in the art of performance has been renewed. 

Someone presented Bradley with a dozen roses and after he finished his encore, he walked the front row line and passed them out, hugging and kissing people. I had gotten pushed (mostly by Torie) up farther and without realizing it, had cut off a girl in the front row. I was made aware when I felt a hard poke in my arm. She had clenched all of her fingers together and karate-chop poked me. “You need to wait your turn.” I was several drinks in and in my “nobody puts baby in a corner” phase. Needless to say, I didn't follow suit. Perhaps I've worked in the customer service industry too long, but when faced with a bitchy unsatisfied customer, I tend to lock into fight or spite syndrome. This infuriated her and I could tell she was struggling in a pathetic way to try and find a better spot than me. As she struggled silently to herself, Bradley walked towards us, handed me a rose and leaned in between me and Torie’s faces. We each gave him a kiss on the cheek and he bursted out laughing, continuing his journey to the stage door. I thought about giving the girl my rose to say I'm sorry.

That’s a lie.

This next part is where things get hectic. During the encore, the organ player, who I will later learn is named Mike, took control of the mic. He had a great stage presence. I waved at him to come over to the side of the stage. He did. I introduced myself and Torie and we chatted, briefly. Bradley was about to come back on, so he obviously had to go back to the organ. But, we agreed to exchange numbers after the show and possibly meet up. 

This video is a full performance of Bradley and His Extraordinaires. Mike is the one introducing him.

​So after Bradley made his rounds, Mike came over and we talked about our plans for the night. It turned out his phone was dead. I had left mine in the car and Torie couldn’t find hers. We kind of looked at each other and then Torie blurted out, “I have to pee.” He pulled us up onto the stage and led us back around and down to the green room. The band members were all there, eating food and hanging out. As we passed by the door to a separate hallway-like room, we saw Charles sitting by himself in front of a large mirror. Someone came out of the room and said, “Charles wants privacy.”

After using the bathroom, we wrote Torie’s number down on a plate and continued to talk with Mike and several others. They said they were definitely interested in going to a bar, which was our plan and would call us after they finished loading and such. It all happened so fast and as I said, I was a few drinks in, so it’s hard to remember how it all happened. But, at some point, a few minutes later, as we were leaving, we saw the door go slightly ajar. Before I knew what was happening, Torie was walking though the door and I was following.

We came face to face with an extremely kind man, full of life and happy to see us. His laugh was contagious. I felt relieved and overwhelmed with emotion upon realizing he was exactly how I had hoped he would be.

We asked if we could take a picture and he said only if we sit on his lap. No argument there. There was a container of popcorn in front of him, that was obviously his, and Torie grabbed it, shoved a handful in her mouth and then proceeded to throw several more kernels at people nearby. I’ll never forget the sound of his laugh...and the moment I realized his hand was on my butt. Okay, so the gig is up. It was on my half-butt. But there is no argument I was now closer to Bradley than I would have ever thought possible. 

This was not how I imagined I’d be spending my Wednesday evening.

And let's be honest and a little vain for a second, because one day I will be old and could never get away with shenanigans like this...I look good.
​
​The bouncer helped us find our way out and we spilled out, into the front of the building, where crowds of people were hanging out. We were holding arms, laughing hysterically and running through the mob, trying to find our friends and share the story. When we eventually found them, CJ just said, “You two would.” No one seemed that surprised that we had managed to go backstage. We are a good team. 

On the way to a bar in Jax Beach, Mike called. Him and several of the other band members met us at this bar called Hoptinger. The drummer kept telling our friend Steph that he was falling in love with her and CJ was fanning out on the band members, who I had no idea where famous in their own right. He stole my phone at one point to take the worst selfie i’ve ever seen. Mike and I ended up talking for most of the night and at one point, I thought how crazy it was that I was sitting here with him, engaged in this conversation, when just a few hours ago, I had seen him for the first time on that stage and waved him over.

In moments like this, your brain, even if it is the trained brain of a writer, always thinks the most cliche’ thought, “Life is crazy.”

Oh, and If you're reading this, Mike..sorry I was a bit drunk, eh, a good bit drunk. 

Mike and Billy, the trumpet player, came back to the house and hung out with everyone a while longer. I was done with the world, so I went straight to bed. I later heard that Torie and our friend Meghan had treated them to some drunk free-styling raps, a favorite past time of theirs.

It was a good night. It was good to reconnect with CJ and show him that we learned a thing or two about how to get backstage. The little birds have flown the nest.
​
If you didn’t think the story could get any weirder, you thought wrong.

Two days after the show, I wake up and am laying in bed, being a loser and checking social media. When I log into Facebook, I see that my friend, Chandler, who lives in Asheville, has tagged me in a post. After a brief moment, still half asleep, of pure confusion, I realize that Charles Bradley, himself, has found the picture of us backstage (Torie’s Instagram) and posted it to both his Facebook and Instagram accounts with the title, “Enjoying all Florida has to offer!”

Realistically, it isn't likely that Charles is the one that posts on his social media. And I have a sneaking suspicion that Mike may have been behind this.

Right then, Torie walked in the door with her boyfriend, Kenny, who had gone to the show separate from us. She had no clue. I love that I got to be there when she saw it for the first time, because her and Kenny’s faces were priceless.

​ We all sat in the kitchen, laughing hysterically and taking turns reading the strange comments out loud. ​

​The next day, Bradley’s account showed that the posts had been taken down. I sighed with relief. The comments were getting weird.

I pondered why for a while and I suppose I will never know. It could be that they only intended to post it for a few days or Charles had asked for it to be taken down. Or, perhaps it was the comments. They were a little wild. Some of them made my stomach cringe. But, mostly they just made me laugh. 

Times like this remind me that I won't always be able to do these things. When I chose to go traveling the U.S. alone in my car, with nothing but a strange idea to write poems and a camping stove, instead of settling down in Fairbanks, I knew it sounded crazy but I had to do it. I had this insatiable urge to experience everything and I felt I couldn't be truly happy, or even sane if I didn't fulfill this desire in my heart.

The lifestyle that I am living this year, encourages moments like these. Not everyone will agree with how I live, but for the first time in my life, I'm okay with that. I wake up every day and ask myself, "What do you want to do today?" And that never gets old.

Because how else would I have had the chance to hear about an amazing soul singer, spend two days obsessing and falling in love with him, get all dressed up to go see him perform live, meet him backstage, spend all night, drinking and talking to the band and then get internet famous because someone thought I looked damn good sitting on his lap. If that's not living, I don't know what is.

Life is crazy.

Before I can begin, I have to admit something. I'm not a David Bowie fan. Or, I should say, I wasn't. I jumped on the train a little late, er, too late. More than any other musician or artist that has passed away in my adult life, David Bowie's ghost seems to be following me around. He managed to finally pin me down in an unassuming park in Jacksonville, Florida and sing to me until I could do nothing else but pledge my allegiance to this man I'd only seen glimmers of, previously.

No, I'm not crazy. It all started in West Hollywood. The day after his death, I was in Los Angeles, about to begin tour. We were at Slightly Stoopid's management company, hanging out. It's only a couple blocks from Sunset Blvd. Me and Torie didn't have a lot of time, but I was determined to see David Bowie's star. We ran the 5 blocks there and started walking backwards down the string of them all. I was trying to read the names upside down and was worried I would miss it. All I knew was that my Google Maps told me it was in this general area.

I was staring at my feet when I nearly collided with a group of people. They were in a circle and the middle was lit up. At first, I had no clue what it was and then it hit me, "Of course!" People are doing the same thing I am. I pushed past the thin layer of persons and came face to face with more than I had expected. It was packed with stuff....cards, teddy bears, candles, flowers. There was just a tiny little opening in the middle of the mound where if you leaned over, you could read, "DAVID BOWIE" People were pretty spread out. The area right around the star seemed to be reserved for people to come and go. 

Everyone was silent. I could read portions of the handwritten cards. It was shocking. They were written directly to him, as if he was going to read them. "Thank you for everything you did." and "You changed my life". I had never witnessed anything like it. It felt eerie and weird. We got a call and Zach said we had 15 minutes to make it back We would have to run.

​Torie was on the phone with her boyfriend and right as I went to take a photo, my phone died. I felt obsessed. I needed to take a picture. I wanted to remember this moment. I grabbed Torie's arm, drug her over to the spot where I was, pulled her phone away from her face and hit the speaker button. I could hear Kenny talking about his boss. Torie, looking guilty and terrified, was leaning toward the phone, just in case she needed to respond. Everyone had turned to stare at the scene we were creating. There was no noise, other than Kenny's voice and the phone was raised so high at this point, I think people thought we were playing the voice of David Bowie. In this freeze frame of a second, I snapped the picture, took it off speaker and whipped Torie around, running back in the opposite direction. This is that photo.

​So, this is my addition, and true Bowie fans are probably rolling their eyes at it, but who cares. I wasn't a fan of David Bowie until he died. There. Fine. I'm one of those people. So be it. But, I at least have a damn good story to tell about how I came to be a fan. I think it will win over even the most pretentious of longterm fans.

My friend Patrick suggested a few coffee shops for me to set up at. I decided to go talk to Chamblin's Uptown used bookstore and coffeeshop. The owner, Jennifer, pretty much said yes, immediately. She mentioned that there was a David Bowie Tribute event happening all day Saturday at Hemming Plaza across the street and that I should come during that. After speaking with her, I couldn't help myself and I wondered around the isles upstairs, aimlessly. Only book-lovers will understand but it was intoxicating. The thin isles with books towering overhead...the strange and fascinating titles...the smell, OH THE SMELL! I focused on a section of letters by famous authors and thumbed through several volumes. I knew I needed to finish the books I have now before buying anymore, but I always feel like I'm leaving my child when I leave a bookstore empty handed. 

On Saturday, My friends Torie and Whitney, who I am staying with, agreed to come hang out for the day at the event and help me if I needed. THANK GOD they came. But, we'll get to that. 

They were loaning me a small table from their living room and it was the first time I'd ever used a table. I set up right outside Chamblin's, right as an author, who was doing a book-signing that day was posing in from of his poster. He talked to me about what I did and told me about how he used to copyright every poem he wrote. I thought that was rather odd, but just nodded my head instead of saying so. There wasn't a lot of foot-traffic and it didn't look like it was going to go well. Torie and Whitney came over from across the street and asked if I wanted them to see if I could set up inside the park, as part of the event. While they were gone, I wrote a poem for a young kid called "The Streets". He only had 75 cents to give me and after I read it to him, he said he felt bad about not giving me more. I told him, posting the poem on Instagram and tagging my account is equally as complimentary as money. Later in the evening, I saw that he had in fact posted it with some very kind words.

​Tore and Whitney came back over and said they talked to one of the organizers and paid him 10 dollars to set up. The other venders had paid 20, but Torie talked him down, since I had no booth. God, I love my friends.

They helped me carry everything over and find a good spot. I set up in between the two stages, which turned out to be perfect, as they alternated throughout the afternoon. Immediately upon sitting down, an older Japanese woman came up to me and began asking me questions. She was extremely interested in what I was doing and after talking for a minute, sat behind me and watched. The girls settled down near her as well and it felt like my parents had come to one of my ballet recitals.

​I can say that Jacksonville has given me the warmest welcome of any. Usually, people have at least heard about someone writing poetry on-demand, or in the case of Venice Beach, just passed another person doing it right up the boardwalk. But, not only had not a single person I spoke to come across this particular set up, they had never even heard of such a thing. It reminded me of the first time I'd heard that you could just sit out in public with a typewriter and write poems for strangers on the spot. It was like seeing it for the first time, again and was incredibly delightful. 

A group of teenage girls came up to me and asked me how I came up with the poems. They didn't seem satisfied with my answer, "practice," but I stand by it. Sure, you have to have creative talent, too. But, if there's anything I've learned, it's that talent doesn't get you very far. You have to go through those repetitive motions and practice your craft if you want to be good. The poet that sat at Hemming Plaza was not the same one that was at Venice Beach. If I can be cheesy and predictable for one second, I'll just say, practice makes perfect.

Cameramen were strolling the crowd, one, a filmmaker, slipped me his card. Countless amounts of photographers snapped photos. People approached me, completely flabbergasted by what I was doing, taking photos with me and dragging their friends over so they, too, could get poems. 

​I don't think I've ever been so busy. I started writing subjects down on the business card the filmmaker gave me and numbering them. Torie and Whitney came up and started helping me cut more sheets out of my pad after I ran out. Torie also began greeting people and taking down subjects. At any given moment, I was typing up a poem for someone, listening to a random person that walked up tell me their life story and potential subject, keeping up with those already waiting on poems as they circled me every few minutes. The best way I can describe this scene is by using a metaphor. It's as if I am the restaurant, the hostess, the server, the chef and the food, all in one. I did not stop to take a sip of my iced coffee for nearly four hours.

​Honestly, I never get tired. I never want to quit. I'm always sad when the day is over and invigorated on a deep level. If I didn't absolutely love it and know that I am great at it, the situation would have been a hectic nightmare. But, I feel as if I am the best version of myself when I am out there. I am the way I wish I could be at awkward family gathering. I'm in my element. I am empowered by getting to know these people and being trusted to give them this touching and overwhelming gift they have probably never received before. I am honored to get to know them in the short time we interact and I'll never forget their faces in that close, quiet and often scary moment that I am reading my words to them...for them.

People always surprise me and I've learned to just throw out any inclinations to judge upon sight. In this picture below, the man dressed in American flag colors was reading me a poem from his published book. He was making balloon animals for children and invited me to one of his local get togethers for street artists. He was one of the most surprising people I've met.

The woman that initially approached me when I got there was my favorite interaction of the day. Not long in, I turned around to see that she and my friends had struck up a conversation. A little while later, Torie came over and asked if I could please type her up a poem. She was a widow, a woman who had fled Japan and lived in a refugee camp in China. Torie began telling me some of her story and said she had dropped the ten dollars in her pocket and they could tell, wanted a poem very badly. 

​I had a line of people waiting on poems, but I agreed and hoped I could catch up. That didn't happen. They kept piling up and I kept putting her poem on the back burner so I could satisfy the people patiently waiting in front of me. After about 10 minutes, Torie came back over and said she was leaving. I immediately started typing up one in honor of one of my favorite poems of all time, "The Art of Losing" by Elizabeth Bishop.

As I finished, she walked over to say goodbye and I handed it to her. She looked stunned. I explained that Torie had requested it for her. Torie and Whitney were so touched, they stood anxiously behind her. I asked, the same way I always do, if she would allow me to read it to her. She agreed and leaned in. The music was very loud and I was nearly shouting. I couldn't tell how much of it she absorbed as she was very still throughout and wearing sunglasses.

I read the final line, paused and handed it to her. She fumbled with the paper, almost reluctant to take it. She began to say something, but was interrupted by tears. I could tell she wanted to say so much, but couldn't. I looked up at Torie and she was openly crying. There were people walking up, trying to ask me when if theirs was done and I just signed three fingers for three minutes. I wanted to give her my upmost respect and honor her with my full attention. She talked briefly about her past and her husband and how she writes poetry herself. After a long embrace, she held the poem to her chest and backed away. She said goodbye to the girls and left. They told me she had said she planned to frame it and keep it by her bed.

That experience was special in a new way, because my friends had experienced the raw magic of what I do. That sounds pretentious. It's not me that's magic. It's the universal language of poems. It's their ability to reach into someone's body and pull out their heart instantly. When these strangers bend down, lean in and listen to me silently, they aren't hearing me. They are opening themselves up and allowing themselves to be spoken to by that universal language some call God. Poetry is my God. It's my spiritual practice. And when I am able to give people that emotional, spiritual experience, I am a disciple for poetry. People that love something like I love poetry will understand this. We are all looking for ways to connect to God, pathways, the way that works for us. Not everyone is going to go home and dedicate their life to poetry or probably even pick up a poetry book. But, what they might do, and why I do this, is allow my gift to them, to be a gateway to their spirit, to God.

So someone who read my intro might be wondering, what does any of this have to do with David Bowie?

I'll answer you...you imaginary critic, you.

I've heard David Bowie songs, a few of them at least. I know the red lightning stripe. If I would have had the chance to go see him live, I probably would have gone...probably. But, throughout the day, more than 20 bands were playing David Bowie songs and nothing but it. I kept grabbing at strangers, yelling, "Is this David Bowie?! I love this song!" I couldn't believe there were a dozen or so songs I grew up listening to and still love to hear that were all David Bowie. With each new song, bellowing through the crowd, I could hear people screaming. I could hear the familiar sounds and felt in awe of the sheer number of hits. They had all seemed so different before, but now it made sense. I was piecing this man together throughout the day. It was like I was on a Bowie journey through time and I was falling in love. 

His music was like food for my brain throughout the day. Without realizing it, I was listening to the lyrics, singing along and typing a poem at the same time. In one poem, I actually quoted a lyric from a song. In another, the phrase "Sun King" stuck itself in there and I realized afterwards that it came from a song.

But what I realized, is that the way I feel about being a disciple for my art, almost like paying my rent to the creative gods, I have developed an understanding for musicians and what they do. Obviously, being on tour helped a little, but that was the rough, real-life side of the art. Doing my poem store is like writing a hit song and performing it perfectly, over and over. Oh that doesn't sound fun to you? 

It's a goddamn nerve-wracking blast.

Bowie was seeping into my creative cauldron and in a weird, twisted way, all of the dozens of poems I wrote that day, were co-authored by Mr. Bowie. 

Not that I haven't worked in loud environments. Venice Beach and Las Vegas don't exactly allow you any quiet moments to think. In Venice, I would purposefully sit next to musicians in order to train myself to focus. In Vegas, there was crappy pop music blaring somewhere above my head. I know how to tune in and tune out at will and It wasn't easy. 

But this was different. I didn't want to tune out. I was allowing myself to stay tuned into the music in some instances. It's really hard to describe but it's like lucid dreaming for your attention. I am in control and I can turn the dial of particular noises up or down. People will be trying to get my attention, standing right in front of me and I will never know it. David Bowie's creative ghost found his way in. 

I have him to thank for Saturday. So, even though I'm a little late, thank you. Your music lives on, and has now changed form. This is my card, though not handwritten. When I saw your star, I didn't know I would, too want to say those things to you. That moment ignited a journey I think I'm going to be on for a while. I've got a lot of catching up to do.

This is my favorite Bowie song, which I didn't know was a Bowie song until Saturday. I'm really going to give my age away here, but I was obsessed with it after watching A Knight's Tale with Heath Ledger and never knew who sang it.

When a band started playing it that afternoon, I literally yelled at a stranger walking by, "Is this a Bowie song?!" To which he paused, looked down at the sign that said, "Bowie tribute bands!" shook his head and laughed, "OH YEAH IT IS!"

​After returning to Jacksonville from touring, I connected with a friend from Fairbanks, Alaska who also just so happens to be here. Patrick, travels full time in his Toyota Sunrader (of which he remodeled himself), with his dog Opal. It's kind of a weird story, but he was the person that encouraged me to do PoembyBecca. I dare suggest that if he hadn't beaten me bloody with his practical minded thinking when I was in the initial planning phase, I may have well given up and could, right now, in a parallel universe, be tamping a light roast espresso blend for someone's soy latte, wondering what could have been. 

But, that would be giving him a hell of a lot of credit, and I'm far too prideful to be doing that.

Patrick is incredibly resourceful and inspiring. His website, PatrickFisherProject.com contains his blog about traveling, Miles To Go chronicles his adventure of attempting to pay off his student debt while traveling and living in the Sunrader. He's far better than I am about keeping up with it and I've been loyally reading it nearly every day since he left Fairbanks in July. (Clicking on the links will take you to his pages.)

I also have a soft spot for Opal. When Patrick traveled for work, he sometimes asked me to watch Opal for him. Her and my roommate's dog, Pink became best friends and we went on many adventures. Opal has three legs, but you would never notice. She's a feisty, bulldog and great dane mix and has pulled her leash so hard I fell down...on more than one occasion.

Patrick is quite the bold bean. Everytime I talk to him, he's got advice like, "Why don't you just ask them?" or "Are you going to do that thing you said you were?" Questions that make me squirm, but ultimately, push me to be a better person and remind me how grateful I am to have Patrick as a friend. 

I decided to take Patrick to the island I grew up on, Fernandina Beach, or Amelia Island. I'd told my grandparents that I would come for lunch and tell them all about tour and asked if Patrick could join me. I've never (ever) brought someone to the island and was excited to see how awkward I was going to be about it. 

Before we arrived, we stopped at the grocery store so Patrick could buy food for himself. No, my grandparents aren't jerks, he is a vegan and also obtaining from carbs and sugar during the week at the moment. He decided on a very enticing meal of avocado and vegan sausages. I secretly couldn't wait to see their faces when he pulled those sausages out. On a recent family gathering, my brother had convinced them to taste seaweed for the first time and I was lucky enough to have my camera handy. 

Okay, back to the story.

My grandparents are very traditional. They are southern baptists and let's just say, there were manners that needed to be adhered to when visiting as a kid. They still call northerners, "Yankees" and have lived on the island their entire life and know everybody. Patrick, upon first inspection can be a little jolting to them. He is covered in tattoos and is currently sporting a handlebar mustache. At first, my grandma actually called him "What's his face" right to his face and hovered over him as he unpacked his sausages, head tilted back away from it like it might bite her. 

After about 30 minutes of conversation, it became clear that Patrick was not a psychopath and they opened up about their lives, and the history of the island. Patrick talked about what he did for a living and where he was from and I sat there, grinning from ear to ear, thinking, "This is incredible". They asked a lot of the same questions to me about being on the road and when and where I am and will be. I know it get's confusing. It seemed a bit cruel to bring Patrick, who illicit those same questions and confused head nods. I'm just glad he was there to defer the always hilarious "Do you have a job?" "I am already doing my job" exchange. 

​For the past several years, when I visit, they take a portrait. I say portrait because that's exactly what it is. We find a spot to pose. My grandpa sets up the tripod and attempts to relearn how to set the timer on their camera. This process usually lasts for several minutes, interrupted by false starts and disappointment. After trying to give up, he usually figures it out and we take a few of the group. My grandma has a serious back injury and has been struggling to walk. Lately, this process has gotten harder for her and the last time I visited, we had to stop before we got it figured out because she was in too much pain, standing.

As Patrick and I walked out the front door, I had the thought, "I guess they aren't going to.." which was quickly interrupted by my grandma's voice behind me, yelling, "Let's take a picture!" My grandpa decided just to take one of us to make it quick. I couldn't help but giggle at the thought that Patrick would now forever be a part of my family's history and included in the network of pictures that get emailed out to cousins and aunts and nieces all over the country. 

As we were getting into the car, my granddad came out, interested in Opal. Opal jumped out of the car and Patrick proceeded to explain her leg situation. She was friendly and excited, as always. Before we could leave, now fascinated by this strange beard, three-legged dog owner Yankee I'd brought over, he snapped one final picture of the two of them. I would love to read how they explained him in those emails.

We left and I took him and Opal to the beach and attempted to teach him how to find shark's teeth (no luck). It's a gift. Opal had never seen the beach, and she proceeded to try and drink the entire ocean, resulting in a lovely case of immediate diarrhea. I took them to the Pipi Longstocking's house, where the movie was filmed. It was such a bizarre feeling of wanting to tell him everything, but realizing it wasn't as interesting to him as it was to me. I actually caught myself pointing out a place of business that "used to be a Pizza Hut." Which, to my credit, was the talk of the town when it shut down. I showed him my favorite area to photograph, which I've previously featured on the blog. Old shrimp boats, seafood shacks, run down boats lead into the port and is dotted with rusted fuel tanks and lined by the graffitied railcars. I pointed out my great-grandpa's old barber shop, the oldest bar in Florida, the marina and for some reason, all the restaurant's I'd worked in growing up (a lot). 

My phone was dead, and I wasn't able to take pictures, but I kind of liked it that way. 

So, I'll just steal his photos. 

​
I felt like a proud mom, pushing my little girl out onto the stage for her first pageant. It was pathetic. 

But, I'm thankful Patrick humored me throughout the day. He was so gracious with my grandparents and so patient with my talkative tour. We talked about life and traveling and what it's like to live the way we do and have family that doesn't understand. It was good to be able to share that with a friend I've known for years and is living the same way. 

We returned back to Jacksonville and did some grocery shopping at Trader Joe's, my favorite store on the planet. He said hey to the girls, whom he met when they all came up for my graduation in May. 

I just realized this post reads like it should be dedicated to Patrick and I want to take a second to clear up any confusion.

It is.

Thanks for being a voice of reason and encouragement for me and politely smiling when my grandma called you "What's his face" and laughed at your food.

Follow him on Instagram: @patrickfisherproject