Adventuring!
4.6.24
Well, it’s that anniversary again. Almost at the last minute I decided to drive to see the total eclipse from the balcony of my old music partner’s apartment in Austin Texas. Truly idiots have angels, and likely, angels need idiots to exist. I had packed out not-that-early on a Sunday morning, but the van battery was stone dead, would not jump, would not charge. AAA sent a guy with a battery that almost fit, he made it work and got me on the road. I tried filling my tires the day before, but there was one tire that wouldn’t cooperate. The inflater valve squealed in terror, but, idiot that I am, I decided to have it checked out “later”. Now I was actually walking distance from my tire guy over the holiday, and intended to drop in to have it checked then, but, well, here we are.
Crossing the CA/AZ border at Needles after a night at Mojave National Preserve I stopped into a place that said TIRES, and TIRE SALE, to check the pressure and get 2 gallons of $7/per gas, when Johnny approached and said my FRONT tire looked a little low . . . distracted, oops, I ended up filling my tank, and pulled up to the air hose. He proceeded to show me the indicators, and the rot, and said, these aren’t safe on the highway–he showed me the date on the one I was having issues with–2015. I ended up with a full set of fresh new tires. He also pointed out that my shocks were original (1983) equipment, and leaking, and down the road in Kingman I could have them replaced, and called the guy to see if they were in stock.
Well, it could seem to be a scam, but then, even I could see they were not what I wanted to be riding on, and worrying about. Honestly, road angels exist. Somehow my work truck always had up-to-date wheels, but my van guys only go so far.
I stopped for a scrumptious carnitas taco at what appeared to be a Subway/truck stop/gift store in Seligman, so it was well into afternoon when I was back on the road, driving through an ice storm and searching for a campground. I pulled into the lot at Petrified Forest and recognized clear signs of Boondocking, chose a spot with a view of trees, and tucked in for the night.
The next morning I woke to ice half-an-inch thick on my windshield, and remembered the ice scraper I somehow had the sense to acquire and squirrel away in the back of the van. I shivered and watched as mothers hugged and hustled their tiny children through the freezing wind onto a school bus idling nearby. I pulled out early, but the fog was so thick I had to pull over and wait until I could at least see the trucks rumbling by. I felt blessed, so at the New Mexico border I bought myself a vintage Navajo Sterling cuff as a birthday present, what the hell I had emergency cash, the emergency was averted, plus now I am a genius.
Through Albuquerque, and after a sweet boondocking rest stop near Santa Rosa, New Mexico I turned south and through backcountry Texas. One more stop at a spendy RV “resort” (the blue dot) where I plugged in my laptop and got some email, then off early on Thursday morning, arriving in Austin (the red pin) in time to join Grif on his flower delivery route. Not before getting rerouted, not for the first time, by an inane map app that sent me to a completely different address with almost no relation or reason to where I was destined, a 27 minute delay . . .
Sketchy and squirrely
3.3.24
I ordered some handmade black squirrel brushes online, on the advice of a youtube watercolor tutorial. I recently also got an assortment of fine liners and riggers, they are fun. Turns out the #3 hand made squirrel brush is my favorite. Fat, fluffy, and a nice point, although I have pulled a couple of hairs . . . The point is so fine, I could add hair lines and detail and shadow to this old drawing circa 4.16.2020. It’s the view out the window in Canyon from my old chair by the woodstove, a month into the lockdown.
A friend once commented that I have a Hoard of brushes. They are not a hoard. I use them. Well, some of them. I have been looking for a chopstick rest to lay damp brushes on, and somehow came to the realization that a wooden soap dish would do the trick. I found two different hand made versions, one in cedar, one in poplar.
I’m also doing a few portraits here and there, getting over my acquired shyness about pencils and yes, the forbidden eraser. I’m working three different sketchbooks at the moment. I have been slowly filling an old Moleskine. Nicknamed “Squirrel”, begun circa 2012, it has a lot half-baked ideas that I am attempting to make sense of from here in the future. There is the $2 Goodwill hand me down from the 2022 post-Christmas thrifting binge, and this mustard paper ring-bound sketchbook I got from Viki.
I’m not putting much effort into getting decent photos. I feel it’s all works in progress. I plan to paint multiple versions of this landscape. I have other paintings of that era, the trips to Diaz Lake and Lone Pine, on the way in and out of Saline and Death Valley, the Panamints and beyond. It is a magical place, at a magical time of year, the Eastern Sierras in October, and the cottonwoods turning golden. Perhaps I’ll go there again, maybe soon.
trepidation
2.9.24
don’t know what it is exactly that stops me. planning or thinking about a drawing or painting sometimes spooks me, the idea of going out and being sociable is just an enormous struggle. reticence does not describe it. sometimes inspiration comes, and i just get up and follow through. things seem hard until you do them. i have a studio setup where there are pencils and water and brushes at the ready for any contingency. when i stop to figure out or plan, all the what ifs start to gather, thoughts get in the way and i am in a muddle. there are times when just the thinking about doing something creates a wall. a threshold. a meniscus i can’t puncture. oh, that threshold i stepped over when i broke my ankle, ow, that was a thing. but i know that if I think of a task, and do it now, it gets done.
the morning gather:
e.g. just spent two hours deciding to go out, finally i was ready for the long walk (what, about 45 feet) and down the stairs. Glorious day, fresh air and sun after the long long rain, and there i was, in my element, checking oil, checking tires, pulling crocosmia before it spread along the fence, hauling a box and a bag and a chainsaw and a few things on hangers into the house. curious.
ah. there’s the new moon.
year’s end
late december, 2023
Clearing my desktop of clutter, sketches from the unknown past, some from the roofing house studio journal, summer of 2020. It makes me happy to see how loose and free and un-precious these are.
It’s close to a year since i closed my business license and sold my truck, it will be three years since I actually gave up the business, after I broke my ankle and lost interest. Sometimes I wake up feeling palpably calm and free, no longer obsessing over what was. I do miss the exercise, fresh air, hands in the dirt, a sense of purpose, cash, check, human contact.
Quality time at home, but making a point of pushing myself out of the house; new friends and groups and nutritional inputs—I think I am feeling more like myself than ever, wearing colors, not so black and brown–and did I say I cut off my possum tail? Don’t be alarmed, just a haircut.
I have no long-term plans. I take things day-to-day. My MC in Sagittarius needs a goal, to fix things. I am an optimist, I don’t consider failure. It’s all about what can I do, what’s next to put back together. Mow the lawn, clear vines out of trees, tighten screws, make a pudding, find things, give things away. Draw, spill ink, see what it does. Full circle.
Ant-lers
Merry eXmas
12.25.23
Truly Exmas this year, as our annual non-family get-together was cancelled due to unspeakable side effects of the unspoken poke situation. I don’t know what it will take to break through this madness, but I have another booster friend today who is going for another in spite of the return of her thyroid cancer. But, hey, why ruin everybody’s mood, okay?
As an upshot of the cancellation I was able to expand my cat-sitting commitment to include Christmas Eve through to the previously-agreed-to New Year’s Eve Eve. The cat is a much needed respite from human contact. The house I am staying in is a lovely, ingenious, converted two-car garage, quite a step up from the one where I lived on Stone Avenue in Tucson, circa 1974-5. In many ways, it’s just a straight trajectory, as that was where I had my first solitary home, my first 1957 VW 23-window Deluxe, my first organic garden.
This neighborhood has delightful adventures a short walk in every direction, and I plan to take advantage when it isn’t raining. An art supply store, a chi-chi shopping zone with eggnog latte option, a natural food grocery, a place where I can pick up a half-pint of carnitas, the place where I bought my tires. I want them to check some damage I sustained hitting the newly-installed concrete bicycle barrier up the road before I take off again.
Tonight, a brilliant pink-stripey sunset. I brought sparkle snowflake ornaments and a short string of colored lights to spice things up, as the cat people didn’t deign to decorate the place they were not going to spend the holidays in.
I’ll return for a night at home before picking up the now-New-Year’s-Day presents and heading up to see my friend at the Mobile Estates. We will likely have Margaritas, I’ll pick up some Chicken Jalfrezi and Prawns Biryani to bring in the new year, then as soon as possible indulge in some thrift shopping and friendship.
I have lately been playing with ink and brushes, and here is a little holiday-inspired invention.
ant-lers
Restart
12.11.23
Things are evolving. Turkey day was delightfully streamlined this year. I roasted a turkey breast dressed in bacon, found a jar of gravy in the freezer, stirred it into the drippings, it hit the spot. Simple perfection. My neighbor invited me for pumpkin pie and to meet her two new adopted cats. Then back to my paints and pens. There’s no commute.
The whole thing is to stay centered, relaxed and unopposed. There is a quiet relief here. Keep living your life like you mean it. Reinvent yourself, over and over. Restart. Restart. I get up, see if the sky is pink, wash the sleep from my eyes, make a cup of coffee, and write.
It has always been about the writing. I can’t stop it. Drawing waits patiently on the balcony until the writing is done. Drawing demands a certain kind of romance, lighting, setting, a lag time, preparation. Writing barges onto any random page or scrap of paper, perhaps several at once; or here, on the virtual page. I have sketchbooks filled with writing. It’s the story of my life.
I scrounge for images to sandwich into these posts. I want it to be visually focused. That’s the point. I find things I had forgotten from long ago and sneak them in elsewhere, post-dated, and make up a story sifted from fifty pages of contemporaneous journaling. Somehow it makes sense, somehow there is a through-line that has a flow, from one post to the next. Sometimes there is an abrupt shift, or a repeat, or a gap centuries long when I stare off into the distance, watching crows in the tree tops and letting my coffee get cold again.
homework
11.30.2023
I think too much. It upsets people. What I say, what I don’t say. It upset grade school teachers and other hierarchical thinkers. I could read, I liked words, I knew some math, I was not good at erasing. My Dad was a Lithographer. I got an F in coloring because I tried mixing CMYK with RYB crayons. My Mom was a nascent poet and we submitted her poem as my homework. I thought it odd, but it made her happy. I wanted to know things. I asked the wrong questions. I irked people with agendas. I used to rock and sing to assuage my discomfort. I lucked out. We were too poor to have psychiatrists at school.
I am a Horizontalist. I remember the days of the ubiquitous bumper sticker that said “Question Authority”. For me it is/was not just a bumper sticker, but a call to arms, or at least, to smirk.
Recent years have brought up a lot of soul searching. I’m skilled at the Irish Goodbye. It’s not every day and every event that I can breeze through and socialize. I want to get out and be public, but sometimes I revert, I lurk, it’s too much. It’s the same down up down, maybe not as far down, maybe a different kind of up. Maybe I’ll crash out, recover, figure out what the trigger was. Maybe not. Not even knowing I felt trapped in the unease, returning to my possum holm to check for bite marks and splinters. Are those teeth marks yours? Or mine?
Look at that. I made my parents proud. I made them allies. The sun is out, the convo is too loud, I have to go for a walk.
leaves in the gutter, late november 2023
it’s goodbye
11.11.23
Stepping over another threshold. I have a plan: Stability, Frugality, Resilience, Self Reliance. My broken ankle made me cautious. I spent every day that summer drawing, learning to tell a story. I’m not trying to keep up with a world spinning out of control. I have a different set of priorities. It’s just a splinter in my aura, I have my memories, I can rewrite. I win again.
I hung on too long. I literally haven’t been there for over a year, save a brief stealth run to scrounge my acrylic paint and brushes. The last full entry in the studio log was October 2022, when I painted and stenciled the floor with the rat-chew blue. I stayed too long, accidently caught up in creative bliss.
Abraham Hicks talks about how as a child you carry all the sparkly light of creation within you and the Dull Gray World wants to drug you to sleep. I learned how to speak, how to answer, to sit in a chair and shut up. I just won’t.
Echoes of Howe Street, how I was suddenly just done. Okay, on to the next adventure.
Octember
102723
Just wandering these days. Someone said I have no goals, no ambitions. Not true, I try to sleep through the night, sometimes do. Another painting class, a couple of gigs, a couple of open mics. It’s comfortable, not a challenge. I am drawing most every day, but it isn’t resolving into much I can photograph. Hands, feet, basic forms and shading, crows, yes. Enjoying the used sketchbooks I have gleaned from various thrift stores, scrappy and stained with resolutions from new years long past.
I write too much, then read it, trying to make sense of it, regurgitating the same meal over and over. It’s not pretty. The Artist’s Way recommends one write three pages every morning, and I returned to that practice while I was on the road. I am beginning to get a flow going, but often drivel about what I did yesterday, what i’ll do tomorrow.
Lots of creative interludes, though. Rewiring a chandelier, sorting photographs, more clever repairs with Sugru. I’m longing to get back on the road. One thing I don’t have is a level, private place to park the van. I truly miss my old life in many ways, but there are simple pleasures here, too. Indoor plumbing. . steak and applesauce. Coffee with whipping cream.
The sound of an owl in the redwood tree some nights. Five crows frantically harassing a big hawk that landed there. Monarchs searching for the milkweed that I planted but have yet to sprout. I brought home bags of free compost and filled the scrap wood planter bed. Maybe I’ll have carrots next year.
In Kensington
10.13.23
I’m actually in El Cerrito, but the little hill is kinda far away, and the Pub and Circus are right out my window. Plus, the weather app keeps telling me I’m in Kensington. Plus, I like the way it sounds. I’m here to feed ducks and put them away at night, and there is a cat, but he only comes to be fed, then disappears. Things are wonky, and the eclipse is imminent. I brought my fake Fender bass and a toy amp, I’ve been pulling out 3 or 4 old tunes every day to see if I remember them. Yup.
Not finding the solitude I planned for. Every day a hike, a visit, the Farmer’s Market, the little store, a trip to town to get my costumes and gear for the gig at the festival, an unexpected rehearsal.
Not much time for painting, so I am learning to paint faster and not belabor so much. I bought a watercolor block on my way back from Sheridan, I had been wanting to try the 10mm x 25mm landscape format, and the bright pink cover was a must have. When I got around to opening it, I was shocked! to see black paper! It took me a couple days to get sorted out–I was sort of disappointed, I had a plan. So, okay. I’ve painted on black before, I like black paper. Black gesso used to be a thing I did. I searched out my gouache and came up with a photo from a old calendar to paint.
So, when it was done I cut it off the block, and what? Oops! White paper! It has been a very long time since I bought a watercolor block, I don’t recall the bonus black cover sheet. Now I am faced with the same challenge. White paper! Funny! Another pivot. I was sort of disappointed. I had a plan . . LOL.
Close to home
10.1.23
Back from the long drive. Some lovely stops along the way–before and after braving the thick smoke blowing west from the Anvil Fire–visible on the horizon over Floras Lake. Near Scotia I found a funky, sweet little campground in a stump forest. Definitely a change of season, chilly mornings and lovely nights for sleeping.
The trip to Oregon was spectacular, no further vehicular foibles, save the struggle to keep sufficient air in my tires. My neighbor loaned me a charger/compressor/inverter thing, and it took me a couple of tries (couldn’t figure out where I put the owner’s manual) to figure out how the digital air compressor worked. It had to cycle and check the pressure, then the button either needed to or did not need to be pushed again for the tires to fill. Very cool feature, the digital meter you set to the psi you need (65#), and it stores it, and shuts off automatically. Neat.
On the edge of October I have some local hangouts I have been/will be occupying. I went back to Varmint’s Garage and spent three nights and three days. Late Sunday for a 4 AM wakeup and drive to the surgery, then back–several delays had us home by about 3 on Monday. I’ll be spending a weekend about an hour up north for Open Studios and Margaritas; plus more thrifting, I suppose. Then a few days at home before I go to Duck-sit and catch some true solitude, and ponder where my next trip will take us.
As predicted I cut loose two extraneous sleeping bags, a duvet cover, a life vest, some cd’s. Snatched up a faux rattlesnake motorcycle jacket, a hat, two handblown red drinking glasses. I also picked up a couple of Sheffield pewter drinking flagons, inscribed in Gaelic, in case I find myself at another brew-friendly campout someday. I cut an inch more off my hair, too. It was driving me nutty how it stuck to the back of my neck. Someone said you can tell how bad a breakup was by how short you cut your hair. Not as bad as 1979 when I cut it to the depth of my fingers against my scalp. But I was a drummer then, those were different times, as was the world I stepped into.
Letting Go
9.21.23
autumnal equinox. Eight years ago today! I lost my baby brother. Now the light southward shifts again. Am I coming out of my oblivion? Guess I don’t need that hidey hole no more. I will let go, the barking of dogs chased the owls away. The lights in the night feigned security, but drove me mad. It was open sky and the trees that made me feel safe, and solitude, and silence, and the flitting of bats overhead at cocktail hour.
My little studio there, where I could putter for hours; my van parked in a quiet pocket where I could curl up and read a book. Someone shaved the legs of the trees in the name of fire safety, laying bare a collapsing hillside. I park my van on the street now, not so level. There used to be a lush curbside stand of redwoods here, too, too bad. Things change. Move along.
I think I’ll hit the road, heading home, looking for a patch of forest to sleep under, and a drive-thru double cappuccino. Not a bad plan.
Up the Road
9.12.23
Taking off again. First I hand- and machine-finished my cowbox to carry clothes in the van while I was getting an idiot check at the mechanic–that was a bargain, it turns out. Just a loose battery cable, but in my blind spot up the road it could have been a disaster. I got some gorgeous eggs I didn’t have time to eat before I left, so I decided to take them along for the ride.
Dawdled up the coast to the campout at the Hog Farm where I was the Hermit at the Edge of the Wood. In the heat, I didn’t want to pull in too early. There were utility trucks parked in front of the entrance signs, so I drove back and forth and got stuck on a side road before they drove away and I found it.
So much good food, imbibement, excellent dj’s, bits of chat here and there, friendly folks; the accommodations over all were pleasant. The first day my activity tracker logged five miles. There were friendly lizards someone brought over from the woodpile that hung out chilling on the bar.
I put in three strenuous hours on the dance floor. Many calories expended, and alcohol (mostly mead) burned off–some of it while lugging an unnecessary tent, sleeping bags, chair, water, back to the van. At nights from my perch at the end of the meadow I could see the Milky Way.
Sunday morning I got a somewhat early start. I made coffee, gave thanks to the enormous Oak that shaded me, and continued on to Honeyman State Park, mostly empty post-holiday. A glorious dark night, a bit of rain around dawn, so I hurried to shift the tents and sleeping bags and other nonsense I thought I might need . . . to put the top down so it wouldn’t get wet. Over packed, over prepared, continuing North. Hope to shed some excess as I go. Probably pick up more as I go, as well.
woo woo landscape update
8.21.23
Well heck, it’s Stevie’s 75th birthday. I turned on my old PC to look for some music I have there, and the screen saver (remember those?) is all my old digital photographs from 2005 on. So many dear friends gone, it breaks my heart, but there are beautiful memories, wonderful trips, that brought us to this place. Gigs and travels and friendship, what bliss, what a perfect life we had.
Meanwhile I touched up the little landscape from the watercolor workshop, signed it, framed it and gave it to James for his birthday. He liked it so much, so I am glad to have someone enjoy it. I didn’t get a photo of it in the frame, but this is the final version. I added a wisp of sky and tiny trees to make the upper edge make sense. It’s stunning how that little change turned the hard upper edge into a flowing horizon. I also had to cut a bit off the sides- The watercolor block is 11×15″; try framing that, guys.
Sugru and clouds
8.19.23
A productive week- I’ve been wanting to do this since I got the van. There are 1/2″ gaps in the bumper on the edges of the tables and the counter. Long ago I had a Sugru package insert that showed the formula to make the exact color, 25% black and 75% orange, I think. I was unable to find single packets, I was unable to find orange. This week I tracked down a set with BROWN, black, gray, green, and white. I mixed 1/2 packet of black into the brown to get a passable color, and love the result. I also wrapped a screw to replace a missing knurble that holds the sliding door curtain in place. Hope it holds.
And another class that I started and got stuck on the first lesson, I’ll get back to it Monday.
walking much
8.12.23
Continuing my walks around town, I decided to see how far Market Hall is. A mere 1.7 miles to the south and east, with many a new delight along the way. Stopping into a junk/antique store, I immediately came upon an astonishing display of synchro-serendipity, not unlike finding the rabbit painting at my sister’s house. She and I have another shared memory, in addition to my uncle Frank’s Victrola in my grandmother’s attic where i recall dancing to “Dardanella” when I was 3, running to turn the crank to hear it again.
When I was little, and she was still at home (maybe the reason she left!) I had a little record player with a mirrored cylinder that reflected pictures on a record like a flip book. My favorite- the only one I remember- was “the little white duck”. I used to play it over and over, to see the little green frog hop, hop, hop off the lily pad. The B side was the little engine that could. I can see it in memory, but the tune did not stick forever in my brain like a tape worm.
So what is the first thing I see when I walk into the little antique junk store?
In the original box, by the way. With a replacement mirror thingy. No, I didn’t drop $100. I could have, but really, I have no room for another box.
A rewarding walk over all, 3.4 miles, with a free cat, koi, and helpful graffiti, plus a piece of cake and some cream for all tomorrow’s coffee.
Fallow Summer
8.5.23
I spent nearly a week house sitting. It was a sublime, quiet, peaceful mystery, as if I were at a beach house or a b&b, and my only task was to read and feed birds and take naps and fill pages in my journal. I added end-papers from an image I found online for a course in designing patterns for children. A challenge to find the base color and build up the image, took two days.
I’m not painting much. I have not got settled in from all my travels. Here at home I am still unpacking from Oregon, there is barely a spot not covered with papers and debris. The place I stayed was so serene, with two small white tables without distraction–I snuck out for one event, a guided meditation watercolor workshop with the woo woos. I painted a bit of a tree scape, a sort of remote viewing of a piece of property I went to visit later in the week on the Russian River. The two projects fed each other.
I have eschewed the festivals this summer, and when home I spend time in the garden. I built a planter bed from inherited lumber, not quite sure where I am going to want it to be, over by the fence near the roses, or closer to the hose bibb, so I don’t forget to water. Then I need to start collecting leaves and soil and compost.
I will go on another camp out or two before the rains come, likely even take my bass–I’m just not ready to emerge from my cocoon. Don’t know if I will ever be.
Leaving Willamina
7.13.23
Home at last. It has been a full month since i left.
Two days of driving past beaches and redwoods, looking to return to the coastal trip I intended in the first place, but more than anything just wanting to get home. About halfway I boondocked a dark trailhead parking lot with no discernible NO CAMPING sign. Up at dawn, I made coffee, drove to the nearby rest stop for indoor plumbing, a cat bath with cold water and a wet towel. Then on to Brookings, gas, grocery outlet (blue eggs! Marin Sun Farms beef!), a drive-thru cappuccino, and back on the road.
So sorry to go–I didn’t spend enough time at the museum. Never made it back to taste more of the brilliant clear red cherries. That color will always make me think of that splendid little town, a balm to my soul. In 2017, then again last year, neither did i get out and walk little roads and alleys or partake of the flavor and color of the place. Among the neighbors, three sheep, a pig or two, a couple of ducks. Strikingly absent, the sound of jet planes overhead. Not on any flightpath except barn swallows and doves, and a few crows.
My eyes are tired, and I am instantly back to my familiar wake-up time of 8 AM. The urban sprawl and traffic–Santa Rosa, the bayshore freeway, all the towers and chaos replacing what once was MY little town, so hard to bear. It’s quiet here in my studio, the redwood tree and the box elder, and all my garden (how did the tomato plants survive? a mystery neighbor) all welcome me back. Back on concrete, but there is a kind of peace here.
Rabbit holes
7.4.23
Such strange times. I am adrift, in irons, so to speak. No plans, no direction home. I paid my rent, talked to the bank, got some things shifted. I have nowhere to be but here.
There are Westfalia mechanics somewhere nearby. I had a scary stall-out down south on a narrow, winding road; helpful strangers, Cal trans workers, CHP Officer Keller came and directed traffic until I opened the engine hatch and snugged something down that had gotten shaken loose. Westy started right up, and I found a place to pull over and sit for a while. It was recommended I turn back for the last, best, biggest town. Spirit said keep on, and that was the right call. I was on the road at 7:30 AM, and it was now nearly 10, so I took the lesson kindly–don’t rush, don’t push. What makes you happy? Head for the coast. As soon as I crossed the state line I saw a cat rescue/thrift store, and had to make three sketchy turns to get to it. I bought a CD that wouldn’t play, a shirt that turned out to itch, and a pair of excellent unworn earth origins boots. (“Do not put shoes on the floor, the cats pee on them”) Good deal.
I decided to spend another night camping rather that push again. Crazy winds on the coast. I picked up a stuffed whale shark and some chowder on the last leg. Got to my sister’s place on Thursday around noon, cool, chance of rain, so we burned some old tax files in the fire pit. Sorting through her stuff, she gave me a drawing she had made years ago–the Rabbits! I have a vivid memory of it, from childhood, had recently spoken of it to a couple of friends. I had no idea it could materialize here, now.
We went to look at the place she is moving to- a wood stove, and cool faux river stones painted on plywood. She trimmed my hair. We went to the beach where we had scattered Mom’s ashes all those years ago, then I took her to dinner. Wow, my first beer in . . . I don’t even know how long. It’s good to be home.
Willa Wonta
6.25.23
Moving house here, to another town. Much downsizing, so i am inheriting a few mementoes. Paintbrushes and palette knives that belonged to my father. His wood-grained leather wallet, a few now-useless silver certificates. Photos from the 1950’s, slides through the 80’s. Holding these old things is oddly less than satisfying. Glad to see a painting I did while a student at CCAC, smaller than I remember.
My cousin reiterates a thought I have had–we grew up in the Best Times–the weather, the cars, the Beatles and their wake, All the Bands. Little stores, neighborhoods, fireflies, kids playing outside until the street lights came on. I used to walk my dog at 2 AM. I couldn’t sleep, it was cool and quiet, and I could see in the dark.
I’m ready to hit the road again, but waiting to finish what I started here, to get everyone tucked in and safe before I go.
Half-Christmas it is, as my sister points out, her favorite show pre-empted for bad Disney movies, perhaps hoping to jump-start a crashing retail market. Who needs things, tho? This house full of “collectables”, mostly destined for the thrift store. We are all over-saturated, stores everywhere closing down and derelict. I can take a few things, if they are precious, if I promise to weed my closet ferociously when I get home. Everything I need I already have three of, and no room for more.
Trinidad
6.15.23
What strange serendipity, my uncontrollable need to travel north exactly locking into my sister’s need to move house. While I headed up the coast, the only campsite was very spendy, and I was required to book two nights. Quite cool and damp, time to read and acclimate, and I met a neighbor for a chat and coffee around the campfire. Day two, okay, I’ll stay. The sign at the campground said BEACH 1 MI. That turned out to be a 1-mile drive to a 2-mile hike, or a steep climb down to the cove. I was on foot, didn’t want to risk the sketchy climb. Bear safes, spooky woods, steep cliffs, I was on the path alone until I turned and headed back to camp, meeting a dozen people who seemingly knew where they were going. 4.5 miles, never made it to the beach, a bag of trash I picked up on the road, and a hot shower back at camp, it’s all good.
Heads up, there will soon be blueberries.
Hit the Road
6.12.23
Time to go. Last week I dragged home some resin chairs I found on the street, cleaned them up a bit, finished with leftover blue spray paint. They turned out great, a big hit. I left them at the woo woo cafe we meet at on Wednesday mornings, where there aren’t enough chairs.
This weekend I covered the yellow IKEA box seat with remnants of faux Holstein fabric I used to re-up-holster the Eastlake chair. I’ll use it to store extra clothes in the Westfalia. A final task was to wait for the crazy pink Epiphyllum to open, somewhat. By morning it was full blast. See you later. I’m outta here.
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