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. It is bitterly sad and painful but I will let go, I don’t need to live in the friendless dark damp and cold. 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.

Is there anything I can learn here? I was so destabilized, I thought I, we, were building something, I put so much–time, money, heart, belief–into what seemed to be a future. Now in the Now I find myself trying to build something alone, no idea what the plan is. Maybe just need to peel away the dead skin, and there I am.

I kept going back to fix it, to see what was left. My life in Canyon, my little studio there, my van parked in a quiet pocket where I could curl up and read a book, a rare treat I have trouble achieving now. Even there someone shaved the legs of the trees in the name of fire safety, laying bare a collapsing hillside. I still go back to the little fantasy island in my head, but I park my van on the street now, not level; exposed, not private. There used to be a lush curbside stand of redwoods out there, too, too bad.

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.

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.

9.3.23

Lots of weather going on, none of it here. Just painting clouds with watercolor.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.