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Digging to China with a Spoon
I decided to be an artist in the car. Most all of my big decisions are made while I'm driving. Our family drove at night. When I saw the black sky and the car lights, first as dots and then growing into glaring circles from the dark space, I wanted to be a person with a voice, an artist.

The family never planned the trips. They weren't vacations. My mother  would wake us up and tell us to get our pillows and all five kids would be packed into the car. The trips were escapes. We were running away from my mother's demons and we had to keep moving. I think she also made decisions while she was driving the car.

I would stay awake and watch. My survival depended on how well I watched. I looked out the side car window. First I would see how the rubber, cracked from the Arizona sun, wrapped around the glass and held it in place, protected us. There was always a start and an end to the rubber. I would find where it began and follow it around the oval shape of glass. The glass gave me two ways of looking at the world. I could see my own face reflected and watch my eyes or I could see out into the night. I would switch back and forth, looking at me and then looking at the streets as we drove towards highway 60 out of Phoenix.
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