Yesterday my brother Mark suggested that we drive up to Lowell to visit the museums and take a boat ride on the canal. It was the first fine, warm day of the year. Our tour guide, Karen, was charming and engaging. The only other member of our group on the boat was a young fashion design student from New York. She was touring the mills as part of her school work.
Lowell was the home of Jack Kerouac, one of the Beat Poet fathers. I have always enjoyed On the Road. It’s a record of a New Englander and American spinning around in confusion and disorientation. The Transcendentalist fathers and mothers were so sure of themselves and of their spiritual wisdom. Kerouac and the beats had no idea which way to turn. The great roads stretched out to the west. Maybe an answer waited for them out there, on the road.
“I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”