I See a Saw
8.22.26
Early this month I joined some friends for a birthday trip to The City on the ferry via Richmond. We had lunch, and coffee, and Varmint and I bailed on the big party, hung out and walked around, then ferried home early. It’s an adventure I should partake of more often.
In between and among festivals, camp outs, and cat-sitting, when I’m not living in my van in Canyon, I drop by my little studio apartment, sometime for a night or two! and sometimes just to water my garden. I’m playing music here and there, a jam and a set at the International Musical Saw Festival, fresh from three nights in Guerneville where we made hand crank ice cream, and got to play and sing a bit around the campfire. Darn if I can barely remember my repertoire, but when I do muscle memory takes over and it (usually) flows.
There were many critters, LB got a video of a deer swimming across the Russian River, greeting a heron hunting in the water plants on the other side. We saw ducks, an otter, a kingfisher, possibly an osprey, and the tiniest bats I have ever seen.
After one night at home in my own bed I drove down the coast to Felton/Roaring camp, where about 12 of us had a campfire in the parking lot, ate dinner and played some tunes. The crescent moon and Venus followed a beautiful sunset. After waking at around 5 AM I got up in the dark, made coffee and got sorted, then hung out to chat with three other people who spent the night and hiked my gear over to the hall at 8 AM. No one else was there so I positioned my amp and bass at the back of the stage and wandered about until the Blacklocks showed up and I could participate in some setup.
Thanks to my thrifting buddy for finding the awesome vintage dress! Art drove down on Sunday, and we had coffee and snacks to eat in the shade and got a nice photo or two in the bargain. Our set was before noon, all went well, and we caravanned back to Canyon to unload. It really was a treat to play again, and to see everyone, all the hugs and greetings were so welcoming.
Back in Canyon for a couple of nights, I heard great horned owls in the trees, one very close. The naughty raccoon came looking for more tasty snacks and an open window. Then I was off to the cat-sit to indulge in some urban adventures and quiet time reading in the upstairs room where lights twinkle on the little hill and the crows fly by on their way home for the night.
I’ll be home tomorrow. Heck, maybe I’ll spend some time there and sort out the chaos. The summer is ending, and the garden has gone wild.
Solsticial
June 23, 2025
It has been a long time . . . life is very strange lately, and I like it. I recently spent four days in Santa Rosa, visiting a human, and a dog who is enamored with me, shopping, making a pot roast, the usual. So happy to be home with my bed, my garden, my silence, my local routines.
I am seeing an acupuncturist, adjusting my diet, finally getting the diagnosis that concurs with my suspicion that my mercury fillings are the source of my tinnitus, ear infection, and leg discomfort. I am attempting to contact a recommended dentist to remove the leakiest of the three amalgam fillings that still remain. The dentist I am calling is Iranian–more’s the pity, with the war at fever pitch now.
I did a big detox, a fast, and was living on smoothies for a week. I returned to solid foods in anticipation of the Meadow Muffin, and thereupon helped kill three bottles of wine with my two invited guests on the first night. I also recall storming the stage with my Martin bass and jamming with Maaatt and another bass player for an hour that night. The next day Art and I played some of our repertoire, and Maaatt joined us to steamroll some Lost Hippies material. He takes all my vocal parts, so I can’t harmonize. If I do, he jumps the track and sings what I am singing. Ah well, just as well to be rid of it. On the Monday after, I went up on the bare stage alone, with my Martin, and sang a bunch of tunes while folks rolled wires and packed the sound gear away.
Art and I are getting on, as friends. We’ll play two festivals in August, the International Musical Saw Festival on the 10th, and the Cotati Accordion Festival with Greg on the 18th will pay for the gas it takes to get there. Oh yes, plus the yummy chicken BBQ lunch. I didn’t think there would be a time that I would be Okay with it again, but here we are.
There have been some odd dreams of late, as suggested by the current Jupiter/Neptune square. James had a wonderful NDE type dream of angel people who basically said, it’s all right, don’t worry. I had a dream about my studio at Howe Street. There was an actual ARTIST there (me??) taking up the full half of the two-car garage that I had 1/4 of, climbing over dog shit, furniture, paint cans and storage bins to access. An older (like me) guy, dramatic landscapes, must have been acrylics (or pastels?) because I don’t recall the smell of turps. There was a doorway, and a woodworker in the other half, so yay! Framing! and sawdust? I don’t recall that smell, either. Then we walked out to the street, which had become a road, overlooking the bridge through trees, and sparse traffic driving through knee high mist, with the City in the distance. At some point, he (me??) kissed me! Did I receive a blessing from the pastel gods?
I’m pining for those studios, sad to recall how appropriate both Howe Street and the Roofing House were for pastel dust, which I never realized. I had so much fun with my acrylics then, and just painting walls and building shelves and hanging lights and stenciling floors, all the prep work that goes into having a working space, only to be ejected, and abandoned. So frustrating. What can it all mean?
So I’m airing out my pastels, I bought some board to try, small panels that fit in a pouch I can carry about. I have a sheltered space and table in the garden to clear. There is so much junk I have been getting rid of lately, it’s groundbreaking, making space for me–even Steve’s circular saws and MAAP gas, out on the curb and snatched up in moments by someone who might actually use them. Not letting go of the jigsaw and Sawzall tho, yo.
So much time in the garden, and it’s feeling really settled. It’s all about letting things unfold, following the whim, letting the Crows be the birds in my garden, I can’t fight them. I put in two more raspberry plants, two more high bush blueberries, two thornless blackberries my neighbor had put on the street. I have cut the Insipid Pink Pearl back to three fruits, and there is more wood to take out to make room for the Pink Lady, which has its first apple this year. Every day I get out into the garden I make huge progress, with my worm box in place, and new attempts at weaving the patio chairs underway.
Another Oregon
November, 2024
I left home not very early on Monday, November 4, because AGAIN with the bad battery, AAA, and a replacement, under warranty. In fact, the same guy, Don, came to switch it out. I hosed the van off, stopped for gas, didn’t waste time at the carwash because I was going to stop at Varmint’s for coffee and to see the new foster kitten. I made it to Van Damme by 3:30 PM. I was heading for Jughandle, but the Ranger said there was no camping there. Just lucky I pulled in. $38 + $1 for a 5 minute shower.
In the morning I had wifi but no phone signal, so I emailed my safe arrival, and regrets that I would not be in town for dinner. There was a beach, a forest, a hike, and my little sanctuary. In Eureka I stopped at a thrift store and found a perfect shirt, and texted my cousin a song about it I made up on the spot. Up the coast at 5 PM I had a guy riding my bumper, so I turned in at Humbug Mountain campground, where the nice camp host brought me a bowl of chicken and pasta in homemade tomato sauce, and I gave him one of the large pink tomatoes I had bought at a farm stand. Camp site $18, free showers, plus a snack. Only drawback, I had to sleep with an eye mask to block out the light shining through the curtain.
By Wednesday afternoon I hadn’t dawdled long enough, my cousin was not yet home. I had driven all the way to Pacific City and could not find camping, so I turned around and headed south, past Lincoln City to Beverly Beach. I hiked all around and took the first photographs of the trip. What a beautiful campground, with a big marsh in the middle, $21. More than half of it was closed for the winter, and it took some backtracking to locate the open (free?) showers.
Up the coast again, I stopped at a little antique store in Bay City where two little chairs sat on the sidewalk, $19 each and I considered I would (not) be able to put them in the van and still camp at my cousins’. I decided to risk it, and they were still there when I drove back five days later. I also bought a little graniteware pitcher for heating coffee, as well as the cashmere scarf in a thrift store in Lincoln City.
My cousin texted that they were home, so I headed up to Hammond. I spent five days there, and hiked through nearby Fort Stevens almost every day. The herd of Elk were sometimes tricky to navigate around. My cousin has vast quantities of family memorabilia, old photos and documents, and I found some surprising information and filled a memory card with files to sort through and try to remember who was who. On Veteran’s Day I drove to Astoria and wandered through thrift and antique stores, found some gift items, and brought home dinner from Mo’s for everybody.
Then I was off to my Sister’s for a few days, which turned into an extra week when a huge storm, a “bomb cyclone” came through. I spent days doing five 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles, fixing my sister’s gate, and navigating around the electrical installation that had delayed my trip since before October. One day we drove to Depoe Bay to see the king tide splashing over the sea wall, and to eat chowder.
There was still a bit of storm on my return trip down the coast, but I made good time, camping at Floras Lake, and Standish-Hickey, which was empty except for the camp host and me, and some deer. I was home Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and enjoyed the holiday curled up in bed with a nice steak.
Perspective
7.26.24
I sat on a bug, or a spider, or a bee nest, and I have a big red spot on my azz. When I get up in the morning I wander to the dining room to get coffee, and find myself in line for oatmeal, or french toast, or eggs and bacon. I yield, and eat, and chat with my classsmates, but I’m fregging deaf. There is a pastel class going on, and the pieces displayed by the patio door are wonderful. I’d like to do that.
Wifi is also wonderfully absent here, so I will post this when I get home. I keep my phone off, and when I turn it on, there is 7:27. It’s a magical YES.
At Yuba Pass for what was supposed to be a Very Sad and Alarming view of the effects of Climate Change, and a campground that has been closed due to falling trees–i only saw the wonderful thick stands of new baby trees filling the open spaces where the old guard had fallen. A visceral picture of the terrible beetle infestation, and not enough freezes, but maybe youth will win. The wind howled and a falling branch told us we were out of our league, and it was Very Scary, so we skittered back down the trail. There was cell phone service up there, and I got 14 texts asking please won’t I send money to support the latest political dog and pony show–aaak, no. I am not looking forward to going back to that mess.
It’s so warm, I brought a lot of clothes for the possibility of chill, not much for the sunny days and warm nights here. I sleep on top of the down comforter most nights, with the pop-top up for ventilation. Even swimming a bit, tho it is not my comfort zone I get out there.
I’m extremely pleased with the work i have done, going from picky-detaily to fast blasts with a big brush. I have my colors sorted, and having this tight schedule- up and out by 9 AM, is quite refreshing. A hike, a sit-down, a chat, some painting, swimming, lunch, more painting, then back to camp for dinner. The food is so good, but meat is scarce, and not a potato to be seen. Outdoor showers in the dark, and a good sleep across the bridge in my little tree pocket by the creek.
Leaving tomorrow–It’s all downhill from here.
reading: The Coming Storm, Bruce Catton
Laws Field guide to the Sierra Nevada by John Muir Laws with 2700 illustrations!
Texas!
4.17.24
Over the weekend we spent mornings hanging out at Central Market where Grif likes to go for coffee and a breakfast taco. At RADIO there is coffee, beer, food trucks, more tacos, and grackles, one of my all time favorite birds. On Monday after watching the cloudy eclipse from Grif’s back balcony we went to the open mic at Bhodi’s Hideaway, where no one (else) shows up to play, and did a two hour showcase, minus a beer break for a Pinthouse Brewery Electric Jellyfish hazy IPA. We mostly did songs one or the other of us barely knew, plus some oldies we miraculously remember after 15?? years.
We went to see friends perform at a hotel cafe and a winery, took home some Rudy’s BBQ, walked around a bit, listened to music. We met Grif’s old room mate for more tacos back at RADIO, with heat lightening and pouring rain coming in. I slept on his couch a couple nights, then decided I was happier and cooler at home in my van, with the lightening and soothing sounds of a hail storm!
Austin is so green, water and little lakes everywhere, and the for miles around hiways are bounded by wide swaths of wildflowers, pink Indian Paintbrush, Bluebonnets, Blanket Flower, and yellows, yellows, yellows everywhere. On the way out I hit the road early and drove west via Rt 71, marveling frequently that I might have been driving on sketchy tires at 75 MPH, thanking my lucky star or two. Wednesday night I ended up at a rest stop near Roswell by a quirk of my electronic navigator. Steve would approve. I stopped to pick up some provisions, planning to hunker at another rest stop on I-40/66, when a local suggested I turn toward the free campground at El Morro National Monument. I ended up staying there for two nights. It is designated a #3 Dark Sky site, with the “enthusiastic support” of neighboring communities, and the Zuni Pueblo.
The hike was closed due to a washout, but just hanging out, reconfiguring my string and solar lights, cleaning, sorting, puttering, and reading Bruce Catton’s The Coming Fury made for a perfect day. Slowly thinning out the excess, the van is overly-outfitted for two people and dinner guests, with cribbage, dominoes, books, multiple cups, plates, glasses, candles–when what I really use is three coffee mugs, two forks, a frying pan, coffee pot and a spoon. I haven’t touched my art supplies. No WiFi for days, no access to email, and my inverter won’t charge the laptop. I did watch a youtube video on my old iphone 6, by gosh. How cool is that.
Then it was back to Gallup where I decided not to wait in line at Jerry’s Cafe, another recommendation by a local, maybe some other time. I had errands to run, then headed west to see how far along I could get. I wanted to hit that taco stand in Seligman again, and there I got a burrito bowl made to order, refritos, cheese on top please, then rice, carnitas, hatch chilis, mexicorn, jalapenos, and crema: perfection. It took three days to finish it off. I made it to Mojave NP that night, almost no thanks to the wacky app that put me at the Goffs 4×4 entrance via Bullhead City, 47 minutes out of my way on a Saturday night. Luckily Mojave is a relatively unsung park, not crowded, and there I decided to stay another night rather than join the Sunday rush home. Why go back to street-sweeping day? I moved to site #17 up the hill and watched as folks packed and left to go finish their taxes, or the retired jeepers maybe heading further into the desert. Westina stalled while re-parking, and as she does after a short drive, would not start, and it turned out she found a better vantage than I had planned, 360 views, unobstructed out each window. Relaxed and rejuvenated, I woke at dawn to finish the long bleak drive back to dreary civilization, traffic, my beloved home, and the tasseling box elder out my window.
Arizona!
March 24, 2018
Just back! from a 2000- mile, ten-day trip–Berkeley to Needles–theBenson! Kartchner Caverns! Tombstone! El Dorado!! Tucson, my old neighborhood and thrashing grounds. I almost expected to see my 23-window 1957 VW van there . . . Tucson Mountain Park and the Phyrroloxias and Phainopeplas . . .
A yummy lunch somewhat reminiscent of meals I remember from back then. Glorious sunsets and sunrises, mystical moons and mountainscapes. Hotsprings and scruffy campsites. New bushings and a smoothly operating roller door. All is good.
