Ratholm
11.5.22
Again with the Canyon Rats! A crazy scene when I went out to the wood pile and found three 5-gallon buckets of stickers I had carefully organized and placed on their sides so the water wouldn’t get in were EMPTY. Who would take them? Then I noticed a large tinker-toy-like assemblage on top of a nearby stack and realized the Wood Rats had taken them all and made a shelter. Oh shame, I didn’t get a photograph! before taking it all apart and whisking the buckets of sticks away in the square wheel cart for safe-keeping. It was quite spectacular. They must have been so happy to come upon a fine selection of sticks so conveniently left for them. Sorry guys! Off you go to the Woods.
I had to jump up and leave when Art started spreading Bondo on the music room floor. Oh dear, the smell! Sometimes I wish for a quiet, peaceful getaway. Quinn’s too-bright lights next door keep me awake nights. I have a hard enough time with the twitchy legs and all. There is so much light that I can make my way out to the parking lot and my van, tucked behind the big abandoned box truck, and attempt some sleeps there. Then I realize, Oh! I have a home!
I was mostly packed out anyway. Roofing House is buttoned up for the coming Rains. I brought my silk dress and Martin bass and books home for the winter. So here I am alone on a Saturday night, total peace and solitude in my tiny studio apartment with a private yard and a redwood tree. Except for, again, the bright freaking backdoor light of my nearest neighbors, which I have hidden behind a big ugly brown tarp hung from the trees.
We had heard that Huey White died in October, at 93 years old. Art called Al to touch base with him–his wife said Al had died in February! We had tried to take Al out to lunch last year but she wouldn’t let him go because Covid. Now he’s gone anyway. What a shame.
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