Aloha Dear Ones,
Again I notice that time has slipped past and a new season has crept up into the early mornings . It's welcome , even though we had no real summer heat (we're having our hottest days right now, a few days after the fall equinox ). My tomatoes are slowly ripening, the beans have been producing well for a few weeks and the Juncos have come back to feed on the nyjer seed scattered on the ground by the piggy sparrows feeding at the tube feeder hanging outside , under a wooden trellis, directly visible through my dining room window.
The Dark Eyed Juncos are an elegant bird bird in my eyes. Not fancy, not loud, but beautifully dressed in chestnut brown, black and grays- dressed for the season, with a loose, musical trill, and a "snack"sound as it's call. They're ground feeders, and now, since our alpha cat has gone on past his allotted 9 lives and into kitty heaven, have safe occupation of the deck and shelf on the trellis. The mornings are filled with various bird calls and the whoosh of the occasional car passing . Early in the morning the cows parade by, stopping for a while to peruse the fence line for whatever green thing that can be eaten- and they eat anything green!
It is so peaceful that I forget my past busy weeks, chauffeuring folks to hotels, winery s, and airports. It's been hectic , minimal hours of sleep at times, delayed flights, canceled runs, and stressed drivers. It seems like months ago that I watched, with my wife and son, a pair of red tailed hawks trying to drive a pair of golden eagles from their territory (they couldn't) on the hill behind the house. But with the fall comes quieter times, fewer runs, and a return to the snug inside of our little Nicasio home, fire burning in the fire place, the spectacular show the fall skies put on- box car sized cumulus clouds , the high, wispy cirrus- "mares tails", and the "bed sheets"-cirrostratus clouds that can hint at rain.
The heritage apples are almost ready. Our few remaining Japanese pumpkins (gophers) are as orange as they will get- turned into curry in a black, earthenware pot that will bake slowly in the oven. Then we'll harvest the tomatoes- regardless of color- and clean up and tend the kale and chard, plant some garlic, and hunker down for winter.
We'll have the birds migrating. The crows are gathering , and soon the starlings will be collecting in trees, making more noise than I like hearing, before they head off to plague some other locale. The gray whales will start appearing off the Point Reyes lighthouse on their way back to Mexican waters. Fall.
Enjoy the seasons change. Stop and look out into the sky and be entertained. Take the wool sweaters out of storage and stock up on good red wine. Find a good book and sit outside to read it. Relocate your umbrella. Write a letter; a real letter, and if you can, walk to the post office, buy a stamp from a real postal clerk, and mail it . You will feel better for the effort and the recipient of your letter will be tickled. Roast something. A pumpkin, a turkey, a leg of lamb. Put plenty of garlic on and in it. Garlic is goodness. String the herbs you've grown in your garden and hang them in the kitchen within easy reach. You have grown herbs, haven't you? You do have a garden. Or some large terra cotta pots with cherry tomatoes or basil-right? If not, this is your hint for the coming year- grow things. It's good for your karma; and the planet. Have some friends over for dinner and plan an outing in December. Have at least one morning a week when you can stay in bed and extra hour and talk to your sweetie. If your sweetie isn't there, talk to the birds outside your window. Then, breathe deep and get on with the day.
Much Love
Monday, September 27, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
Charl and Mere
Aloha Dear Ones,
I'm beginning to realize that my blog entries are on island time. I seem not to be a frantic blogger. Those of you who know me well likely recognize the pattern, if not the motif; slow and easy. I've been thinking about that lately, the aspect of slow and easy and how I've finally come to accept that fact of who I am in that regard. I'm comfortable with it now. For years I thought I was just plain lazy (which I well may be, but that's a different subject entirely), but really, it's not that. I just take a while to warm up. So in figuring that all out I thought I'd give you some background on where it all came from. It's biography. Personal history. Fond memory, for the most part, working it's way to the present.
I know my parents through old pictures, vivid memories, visceral identity, God, and magic. Magic is my term for all I can't explain or reason; even if someone , somewhere, has an explanation, scientific or logical, that i never heard or imagined. Oh, yes, and then there's imagination. Where did that come from? The older I get the more I believe things that were once , in my mind anyway, nonsense. I now prefer to look at science as just another way of thinking, not THE way of thinking. It's really been quite liberating, but perhaps, it's just that I've finally come to realize that there are more ways of looking at things, and, though my brother Kevin and I disagree, there is no absolute truth. So what I want to write about tonight is where I think my thought process has come from (as if I really have a clue).
My Mom met my Dad in new York sometime in the 1940's. She was a payroll clerk for Pan American Airways in Manhattan. Dad was a young flight engineer on the old Boeing flying boats. They met and fell in love- Lord I'd love to have been a fly on the wall; she black Irish, he the reserved son of a French Canadian chauffeur and a red haired Bavarian. Talk about magic. I am of a generation that was conceived during and after horrific worldwide calamity. We are now more than a generation past our parents ages then, yet I often feel so innocent to their experiences. I'm 63 and I still feel like a child at times. Take a look at some pictures of the pilots of WWII bombers and fighters- obviously young, yet somehow possessing a maturity that no longer automatically comes with age now. Our parents.
My Mom, Mere, is the heart force- she instilled in us a universal adherence for the acceptance of others-she did it by loving everyone. I'm not saying she liked everyone, but, with the conviction of her faith, she believed, and taught us, to extent a hand of welcome to everyone- whether or not you remained in her good graces depended upon your behavior; but, with her, I believe, even if you screwed up she gives you the benefit of the doubt. She inherently knows that once you truly engage someone and show interest in who they are, the beauty of a soul shines through. Ours was the house that was descended upon by legions of friends and family; it was home. I can say more in that vein, but it would take much more time, perhaps a book , to chronicle that.
Charl, Charles, my Dad, was the rock- in more ways than one. While we lived our lives in the melody of our mothers heart, we learned the ropes of reality through my Dads routine and beat. No- he didn't beat us, he never laid a hand on us- it was his steady uniformity that gave us a view of order that was much different than Mere's. He was about the practicalities, the sweeping and maintenance , the rhythm. Together they produced the harmony that produced some fine people, if I don't say so myself. And I do.
I am part of a large, special, wonderful family. I have been blessed with that. One of my greatest pleasures in life has been to share that family with others, not out of pride(though I do feel that), but out of the belief that we are all better people when we realize that we are one big family, diverse, not perfect, but believing that love is by far, the most potent force in the world.
Much Love,
Buzz
I'm beginning to realize that my blog entries are on island time. I seem not to be a frantic blogger. Those of you who know me well likely recognize the pattern, if not the motif; slow and easy. I've been thinking about that lately, the aspect of slow and easy and how I've finally come to accept that fact of who I am in that regard. I'm comfortable with it now. For years I thought I was just plain lazy (which I well may be, but that's a different subject entirely), but really, it's not that. I just take a while to warm up. So in figuring that all out I thought I'd give you some background on where it all came from. It's biography. Personal history. Fond memory, for the most part, working it's way to the present.
I know my parents through old pictures, vivid memories, visceral identity, God, and magic. Magic is my term for all I can't explain or reason; even if someone , somewhere, has an explanation, scientific or logical, that i never heard or imagined. Oh, yes, and then there's imagination. Where did that come from? The older I get the more I believe things that were once , in my mind anyway, nonsense. I now prefer to look at science as just another way of thinking, not THE way of thinking. It's really been quite liberating, but perhaps, it's just that I've finally come to realize that there are more ways of looking at things, and, though my brother Kevin and I disagree, there is no absolute truth. So what I want to write about tonight is where I think my thought process has come from (as if I really have a clue).
My Mom met my Dad in new York sometime in the 1940's. She was a payroll clerk for Pan American Airways in Manhattan. Dad was a young flight engineer on the old Boeing flying boats. They met and fell in love- Lord I'd love to have been a fly on the wall; she black Irish, he the reserved son of a French Canadian chauffeur and a red haired Bavarian. Talk about magic. I am of a generation that was conceived during and after horrific worldwide calamity. We are now more than a generation past our parents ages then, yet I often feel so innocent to their experiences. I'm 63 and I still feel like a child at times. Take a look at some pictures of the pilots of WWII bombers and fighters- obviously young, yet somehow possessing a maturity that no longer automatically comes with age now. Our parents.
My Mom, Mere, is the heart force- she instilled in us a universal adherence for the acceptance of others-she did it by loving everyone. I'm not saying she liked everyone, but, with the conviction of her faith, she believed, and taught us, to extent a hand of welcome to everyone- whether or not you remained in her good graces depended upon your behavior; but, with her, I believe, even if you screwed up she gives you the benefit of the doubt. She inherently knows that once you truly engage someone and show interest in who they are, the beauty of a soul shines through. Ours was the house that was descended upon by legions of friends and family; it was home. I can say more in that vein, but it would take much more time, perhaps a book , to chronicle that.
Charl, Charles, my Dad, was the rock- in more ways than one. While we lived our lives in the melody of our mothers heart, we learned the ropes of reality through my Dads routine and beat. No- he didn't beat us, he never laid a hand on us- it was his steady uniformity that gave us a view of order that was much different than Mere's. He was about the practicalities, the sweeping and maintenance , the rhythm. Together they produced the harmony that produced some fine people, if I don't say so myself. And I do.
I am part of a large, special, wonderful family. I have been blessed with that. One of my greatest pleasures in life has been to share that family with others, not out of pride(though I do feel that), but out of the belief that we are all better people when we realize that we are one big family, diverse, not perfect, but believing that love is by far, the most potent force in the world.
Much Love,
Buzz
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Well, I'm doing what I have hated doing in the past, but have done so , none the less- writing while somewhat inebriated. In the past it's been mostly poetry, that in reading , really makes me ill. But since this is BLOGGING there are no rules, per say.
And the font, how's that? It's a bit like printing, isn't it? I'm such a dull normal in computer knowledge that merely being able to change fonts is monumental for me (even knowing what a font is becomes monumental). At any rate, it's the first time in about a month I've written anything, and if I'm a writer I'm supposed to be writing- so I'm writing (must be the wine talking, I'm much more polite sober).
Several things have occurred in the past month that are not only noteworthy, but profound in the most personal of ways. A dear friend of ours passed away suddenly and it produced the most unexpected of emotions in me. I got mad. I know grief covers a spectrum of emotions, but anger wasn't in my playbook as far as grief was concerned until recently. What can I say? It pissed me off royally that she could pass without us- my wife and I- without letting us comfort her , or at least help her in her journey. It was odd that feeling, I couldn't reconcile my feelings with the situation, but I now feel that anger is just another part of losing a loved one- they're gone and we're here to deal with the emotions. But isn't that the freedom that death deals? The end, of the deceased, of the weight of emotion, pain, fear and hurt? What do you think? For me there is the love and support I feel towards her spouse, who must now sift through all her material possessions, perhaps reliving times and places through them, or, if so graced, will see them as just what must be sorted, processed, given away, or sold , without emotion, and with as little physical effort as possible.
And in thinking of life; my efforts in the garden have been slowed due to the coolest(coldest is too harsh and tempting of the fates) summer in 4 decades. The chard and crook neck squash have been admirable, the tomatoes have not yet known the color red. The gopher- in spite of an introduced gopher snake- has randomly consumed the roots of several plants , ranging from marigolds, jalapeno peppers, zinnias, and our most beautiful Italian parsley(actually , our only Italian parsley- we'd been using it for over a month). So perhaps a jihad against gophers. Can someone tell me there usefulness in the ecologic chain?
One thing has become very apparent to me; the world is in flux, in fluid motion, and that we think we can control Mother Nature's realm is illusion of the highest form. What best we need to do is sleep quietly at night and work with awareness during the day. And thank God, or who you wish, for the chance just to be here.
I know this might sound simplistic to some, but believe me (because I'm not running for office), a daily simple act of kindness to another; a gesture to and assistance for the maintenance of the earth, a pause to realize where you are, will feed your soul, the planet, and set into motion more than you can imagine.
Much Love
And the font, how's that? It's a bit like printing, isn't it? I'm such a dull normal in computer knowledge that merely being able to change fonts is monumental for me (even knowing what a font is becomes monumental). At any rate, it's the first time in about a month I've written anything, and if I'm a writer I'm supposed to be writing- so I'm writing (must be the wine talking, I'm much more polite sober).
Several things have occurred in the past month that are not only noteworthy, but profound in the most personal of ways. A dear friend of ours passed away suddenly and it produced the most unexpected of emotions in me. I got mad. I know grief covers a spectrum of emotions, but anger wasn't in my playbook as far as grief was concerned until recently. What can I say? It pissed me off royally that she could pass without us- my wife and I- without letting us comfort her , or at least help her in her journey. It was odd that feeling, I couldn't reconcile my feelings with the situation, but I now feel that anger is just another part of losing a loved one- they're gone and we're here to deal with the emotions. But isn't that the freedom that death deals? The end, of the deceased, of the weight of emotion, pain, fear and hurt? What do you think? For me there is the love and support I feel towards her spouse, who must now sift through all her material possessions, perhaps reliving times and places through them, or, if so graced, will see them as just what must be sorted, processed, given away, or sold , without emotion, and with as little physical effort as possible.
And in thinking of life; my efforts in the garden have been slowed due to the coolest(coldest is too harsh and tempting of the fates) summer in 4 decades. The chard and crook neck squash have been admirable, the tomatoes have not yet known the color red. The gopher- in spite of an introduced gopher snake- has randomly consumed the roots of several plants , ranging from marigolds, jalapeno peppers, zinnias, and our most beautiful Italian parsley(actually , our only Italian parsley- we'd been using it for over a month). So perhaps a jihad against gophers. Can someone tell me there usefulness in the ecologic chain?
One thing has become very apparent to me; the world is in flux, in fluid motion, and that we think we can control Mother Nature's realm is illusion of the highest form. What best we need to do is sleep quietly at night and work with awareness during the day. And thank God, or who you wish, for the chance just to be here.
I know this might sound simplistic to some, but believe me (because I'm not running for office), a daily simple act of kindness to another; a gesture to and assistance for the maintenance of the earth, a pause to realize where you are, will feed your soul, the planet, and set into motion more than you can imagine.
Much Love
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Going to the Potty in the County Jail
Aloha Dear Ones,
As I awake to real time , I see that I've not posted anything for weeks. I've not been asleep all that time, but perhaps, more than anything, I've been preoccupied with tending my little garden and having concerns with the little finches and sparrows (I don't really give a shit about the sparrows-the little interlopers) that have been driving into the windows of my kitchen/living room. It wouldn't be a problem if the windows were open, but theses babies are 4'x4' fixed jobs and let's face it, birds aren't made for headbutts , especially when they're butting plate glass. I try to concentrate on the garden.
You know, it was a very natural thing for me to start the seed, till the earth, and plant the garden. It was as natural a thing to do as sneeze, or take a nap- in this instance . Historically I've been the one to do the gross manual labor of growing things; building the planters, hauling the manure, watering when and where I'm told. This was my virgin exposure to the sensuality of the soil, to starting the seed and seeing it make it's way through the compost and reach for the sunlight. And it's crazy, you know, I've been talking to the little things, baby talk and encouraging words, to the Thai basil (which I transplanted and is not doing as well as its cousins I put in planters in the back corner flower garden-the garden that is vibrant with lilies and fever-few, iris and sweet pea, honeysuckle and a lone, acrobatic rhododendron). Perhaps I should try speaking Thai to it as best I can, the street Thai I learned in the service in 1968; saying "sway mock, puying, by layo, bylayo"( which roughly translate to ; "very pretty girl, go , go ". Maybe that very thought is killing it- language cancer, translated by an idiot. Who knows? I have a gopher problem as well, but unless you have a proven solution, never mind.
But , of course, we all have a much bigger problem than that, don't we? We have the earth, vomiting into the ocean, the digested residue of it's past history and we were the ones who tickled its throat. Of course, in many ways , our personal guilt can only be gauged as if we were questioned about slavery- with the exception that most of us drive cars and make use of petro- chemicals in more forms that we're even aware of- let's face it- it's in damn near everything. So is it us to blame, BP, the endless and senseless bowels of government, or the inherent hunger for money that grows in our world wide corporate monkey, the gleam for gold that turns to green, that ends in the black brown syrup of oil that powers our cars and fouls our waters?
We have become numb at this point, to the devastation. It has become a political issue, which makes it a long, drawn out affair and won't do a thing for the critters and fisher folk and the soothing , primal, age old sound of waves, washing up on sands that will now be stained for years and years to come.
Now is the time to plant our gardens and write the congressmen and women, perhaps take to the streets again; drive less, and damn it, take care to tend our garden!
The title of this blog came from one of my Kathy's 1st grade students, on overhearing one of his father's albums playing in his workshop. It seemed appropriate somehow.
Much Love,
Buzz
As I awake to real time , I see that I've not posted anything for weeks. I've not been asleep all that time, but perhaps, more than anything, I've been preoccupied with tending my little garden and having concerns with the little finches and sparrows (I don't really give a shit about the sparrows-the little interlopers) that have been driving into the windows of my kitchen/living room. It wouldn't be a problem if the windows were open, but theses babies are 4'x4' fixed jobs and let's face it, birds aren't made for headbutts , especially when they're butting plate glass. I try to concentrate on the garden.
You know, it was a very natural thing for me to start the seed, till the earth, and plant the garden. It was as natural a thing to do as sneeze, or take a nap- in this instance . Historically I've been the one to do the gross manual labor of growing things; building the planters, hauling the manure, watering when and where I'm told. This was my virgin exposure to the sensuality of the soil, to starting the seed and seeing it make it's way through the compost and reach for the sunlight. And it's crazy, you know, I've been talking to the little things, baby talk and encouraging words, to the Thai basil (which I transplanted and is not doing as well as its cousins I put in planters in the back corner flower garden-the garden that is vibrant with lilies and fever-few, iris and sweet pea, honeysuckle and a lone, acrobatic rhododendron). Perhaps I should try speaking Thai to it as best I can, the street Thai I learned in the service in 1968; saying "sway mock, puying, by layo, bylayo"( which roughly translate to ; "very pretty girl, go , go ". Maybe that very thought is killing it- language cancer, translated by an idiot. Who knows? I have a gopher problem as well, but unless you have a proven solution, never mind.
But , of course, we all have a much bigger problem than that, don't we? We have the earth, vomiting into the ocean, the digested residue of it's past history and we were the ones who tickled its throat. Of course, in many ways , our personal guilt can only be gauged as if we were questioned about slavery- with the exception that most of us drive cars and make use of petro- chemicals in more forms that we're even aware of- let's face it- it's in damn near everything. So is it us to blame, BP, the endless and senseless bowels of government, or the inherent hunger for money that grows in our world wide corporate monkey, the gleam for gold that turns to green, that ends in the black brown syrup of oil that powers our cars and fouls our waters?
We have become numb at this point, to the devastation. It has become a political issue, which makes it a long, drawn out affair and won't do a thing for the critters and fisher folk and the soothing , primal, age old sound of waves, washing up on sands that will now be stained for years and years to come.
Now is the time to plant our gardens and write the congressmen and women, perhaps take to the streets again; drive less, and damn it, take care to tend our garden!
The title of this blog came from one of my Kathy's 1st grade students, on overhearing one of his father's albums playing in his workshop. It seemed appropriate somehow.
Much Love,
Buzz
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Is there no real hope for mankind?
Al;oha dear ones,
So much has been swirling around the cosmos lately. Aside from the obvious, catastrophic oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico (oh, it must be Mexico's problem), likely double dip recession (we can't call it the "Great Depression", that one was already used; let's just call it the "Boomer Depression", that a bit more appropriate), and, lest we forget, the passing of Dennis Hopper (not an insect).
There. Hit a couple of good ones? I know. I could have mentioned Gary Coleman, midterm primary elections, and the bishop of Arizona excommunicating one of the few remaining real Christians, but I'm barely human in many respects and I know you'll be able to deal with that. So let me proceed.
I'm dealing with all the negative by doing the only thing I can think of that won't affect anyone in a bad way. I'm not commenting on Elton John singing at Rush Limbaugh's 4th wedding?!?! I'm not caring if Kim Jong Ill is sinking South Koreas ships... hell, I don't even care if Al and Tipper are splitting up. I'm just planting my garden. With flowers and chard and tomatoes and herbs and squashes of various color and shape. I've even planted quinoa. And peppers- hot and sweet. The garden is the antidote to FaceBook and the Wall Street Journal online. It gets many more miles to the gallon than my car. I'm not breaking any laws. The birds seem to like it; but I'm hell on snails. I'm not going to sell what I grow. I won't speculate on it- it may all be eaten by critters before I get a chance to taste it. But I'm doing it because when I get my hands intro the dirt, the earth, I lose track of time and I don't fret. I get such a sense of belonging , as though this is exactly what I should be doing at this time- there is no contradiction. I see the earthworms and smell the the perfume of the soil. The sun warms my back. There is no way that I'm doing anything harmful at that very point in time. It is something so serene that I recall a multitude of places at other times when I felt just the same...totally and simply at peace.
There is much to be concerned with at present. We have a man made ecological disaster spewing from the depths of the ocean. Peoples concerns should be just this: use every means possible to stem the leak, and, when that has been done, stop the the process that would allow this to happen again. This spill is an ocean borne Chernobyl . We will not know the extent of it's destruction for decades. I pray that we will learn form this, but with all the finger pointing and political posturing taking place, I have doubts.
But this much is certain; we need to get back to the garden. We need to dirty our hands and feel the earth. We need to to taste the fruit of what we grow and take the time to reflect on what we have done and what we can do; and then , my friends, we must do it.
Much Love
So much has been swirling around the cosmos lately. Aside from the obvious, catastrophic oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico (oh, it must be Mexico's problem), likely double dip recession (we can't call it the "Great Depression", that one was already used; let's just call it the "Boomer Depression", that a bit more appropriate), and, lest we forget, the passing of Dennis Hopper (not an insect).
There. Hit a couple of good ones? I know. I could have mentioned Gary Coleman, midterm primary elections, and the bishop of Arizona excommunicating one of the few remaining real Christians, but I'm barely human in many respects and I know you'll be able to deal with that. So let me proceed.
I'm dealing with all the negative by doing the only thing I can think of that won't affect anyone in a bad way. I'm not commenting on Elton John singing at Rush Limbaugh's 4th wedding?!?! I'm not caring if Kim Jong Ill is sinking South Koreas ships... hell, I don't even care if Al and Tipper are splitting up. I'm just planting my garden. With flowers and chard and tomatoes and herbs and squashes of various color and shape. I've even planted quinoa. And peppers- hot and sweet. The garden is the antidote to FaceBook and the Wall Street Journal online. It gets many more miles to the gallon than my car. I'm not breaking any laws. The birds seem to like it; but I'm hell on snails. I'm not going to sell what I grow. I won't speculate on it- it may all be eaten by critters before I get a chance to taste it. But I'm doing it because when I get my hands intro the dirt, the earth, I lose track of time and I don't fret. I get such a sense of belonging , as though this is exactly what I should be doing at this time- there is no contradiction. I see the earthworms and smell the the perfume of the soil. The sun warms my back. There is no way that I'm doing anything harmful at that very point in time. It is something so serene that I recall a multitude of places at other times when I felt just the same...totally and simply at peace.
There is much to be concerned with at present. We have a man made ecological disaster spewing from the depths of the ocean. Peoples concerns should be just this: use every means possible to stem the leak, and, when that has been done, stop the the process that would allow this to happen again. This spill is an ocean borne Chernobyl . We will not know the extent of it's destruction for decades. I pray that we will learn form this, but with all the finger pointing and political posturing taking place, I have doubts.
But this much is certain; we need to get back to the garden. We need to dirty our hands and feel the earth. We need to to taste the fruit of what we grow and take the time to reflect on what we have done and what we can do; and then , my friends, we must do it.
Much Love
Sunday, May 16, 2010
cow pies and milk shakes
Dearest Francis,
It seems like a while since I spoke with you last, so I decided to write you an E- notie and let you know whats been going on out here, not that a lot has taken place, but only that the world is still turning and I'm still moving- yes, I'm still moving. I feels lovely.
I just got back from a short trip up to Salem ,Oregon, where the Alpha was exchanged for the Escort and gladness prevailed throughout the land. Actually, the Alpha's alternator crapped out just as I was getting within spitting distance of the Oregon border (you don't even need a passport), just north of Yreka (no, I don't know why they spell it that way either). That was mid afternoon on Mother's Day, and a rainy one at that. But all was not lost, because my brother in Salem, Tony, is a serious gear head, rebuilds cars and has his own car transport trailer and drove 5 hours the next morning when we proceeded to push said Alpha up onto the trailer and drove away, up Hwy.5 to beautiful Salem and a dinner of taco pie which we put asunder with the ease of a large dogs eating pork chops...or something like that. I did some drywall repair for him and pasted some Black Jack roof tar on some porous spots around some skylights. After about a week, I drove back down here in the Escort and was delighted to calculate that I got 37 mpg!!! Delighted might not be the correct word- I was happier than a pig in shit (I'm making a lot of pork references here , aren't I?). It's a delightful 1997 little station wagon, no frills, no thrills, just you and your backpack from one place to another (maybe some groceries, a tool box, a cooler, some water bottles, a tent, and several maps as well- oh, it has a roof rack as well- my silver transport machine!!)
How was your trip? Your hop in the truck and sleep in the camper one. Where did you stay? Did you go to Capital Reef ? Was there any ripe fruit? That last question was only applicable if you went to Cap Reef, of course, although I'm sure there was fresh fruit available other places. I'm just fond of picking fresh fruit from trees in national parks and not getting arrested for it. I also like hot showers in park campgrounds, but they seem to be a rare commodity. Does your camper have a shower? I know there are those little nifty black solar bag shower things that you can hang from something and get a dandy splash from. And if you have a shower unit in your camper i would love to know where in the hell it was , because I can't imagine you, Francis, having room to take a shower in side a camper- a sponge bath yes. Oh well, I guess that's not really that important if the cab of the truck is air conditioned and Deb has a head cold and you have splashed yourself liberally with Dominica bay rum (I can get some for you-cheaper than a solar shower!).
The subject caption above has to do the absurdity of of words we use and how someone reading them, who didn't share our mother tongue as a first language , might think you could go to any cafe and order them up.
Just to let you know; I'm sharing this E-notie with the millions who are reading my blog. It's address is: clippercharles.blogspot.com .
I've only just begun to write things for it and don't even know if this notie itself will actually be transported to the site, but the future is as bright as that tiny sliver of moon that Kath and I saw peeking at us in the sky last night. Be comforted, Francis, all is quiet on the western front. Just be glad you're not an oyster in Louisiana (I guess it's never good to be an oyster there).
Much Love,
Francis
It seems like a while since I spoke with you last, so I decided to write you an E- notie and let you know whats been going on out here, not that a lot has taken place, but only that the world is still turning and I'm still moving- yes, I'm still moving. I feels lovely.
I just got back from a short trip up to Salem ,Oregon, where the Alpha was exchanged for the Escort and gladness prevailed throughout the land. Actually, the Alpha's alternator crapped out just as I was getting within spitting distance of the Oregon border (you don't even need a passport), just north of Yreka (no, I don't know why they spell it that way either). That was mid afternoon on Mother's Day, and a rainy one at that. But all was not lost, because my brother in Salem, Tony, is a serious gear head, rebuilds cars and has his own car transport trailer and drove 5 hours the next morning when we proceeded to push said Alpha up onto the trailer and drove away, up Hwy.5 to beautiful Salem and a dinner of taco pie which we put asunder with the ease of a large dogs eating pork chops...or something like that. I did some drywall repair for him and pasted some Black Jack roof tar on some porous spots around some skylights. After about a week, I drove back down here in the Escort and was delighted to calculate that I got 37 mpg!!! Delighted might not be the correct word- I was happier than a pig in shit (I'm making a lot of pork references here , aren't I?). It's a delightful 1997 little station wagon, no frills, no thrills, just you and your backpack from one place to another (maybe some groceries, a tool box, a cooler, some water bottles, a tent, and several maps as well- oh, it has a roof rack as well- my silver transport machine!!)
How was your trip? Your hop in the truck and sleep in the camper one. Where did you stay? Did you go to Capital Reef ? Was there any ripe fruit? That last question was only applicable if you went to Cap Reef, of course, although I'm sure there was fresh fruit available other places. I'm just fond of picking fresh fruit from trees in national parks and not getting arrested for it. I also like hot showers in park campgrounds, but they seem to be a rare commodity. Does your camper have a shower? I know there are those little nifty black solar bag shower things that you can hang from something and get a dandy splash from. And if you have a shower unit in your camper i would love to know where in the hell it was , because I can't imagine you, Francis, having room to take a shower in side a camper- a sponge bath yes. Oh well, I guess that's not really that important if the cab of the truck is air conditioned and Deb has a head cold and you have splashed yourself liberally with Dominica bay rum (I can get some for you-cheaper than a solar shower!).
The subject caption above has to do the absurdity of of words we use and how someone reading them, who didn't share our mother tongue as a first language , might think you could go to any cafe and order them up.
Just to let you know; I'm sharing this E-notie with the millions who are reading my blog. It's address is: clippercharles.blogspot.com .
I've only just begun to write things for it and don't even know if this notie itself will actually be transported to the site, but the future is as bright as that tiny sliver of moon that Kath and I saw peeking at us in the sky last night. Be comforted, Francis, all is quiet on the western front. Just be glad you're not an oyster in Louisiana (I guess it's never good to be an oyster there).
Much Love,
Francis
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Bens of the Hour
Well I think it would be fair to say that with we are having quite a spring time. Basketball playoffs, zany politics, and football spring training looming. Oh. Except for Ben Rothlisberger. Poor Ben has been chastised for bad decisions made during the off season. Make a few mistakes, and wham bam (no pun intended), the press is all up in your stuff and you have to apologize and you lose several million dollars. Not knowing the details, I won't judge him, but perhaps he should stay away from bars for a bit. I personally think he hasn't been the same Ben since his motorcycle accident. But perhaps he should keep his pecker in his pants in public places.
Ben Nelson is another story. Here's a dick who's out in public all the time and apparently hasn't lost a dime. He's not a team player like Ben R. I can't say as the Democrats bill on bank reform is any more perfect than the Health Care bill, but when you're the only guy on your team not to vote on it's passage because one part of it (the retro-active restrictions on derivatives) and your state is home to one of the biggest power players in that game, and you happen to have a bunch of stock in the guy's company, well, really. To be fair to Ben N., his spokesman said that wouldn't interfere with the senator's decisions. Oh my! Perhaps we could dig a little deeper into Sen. Nelson's past and discover- a motorcycle accident? No, this guy is more like an arrogant train wreck. Isn't this the same Sen. Nelson who had to be "bribed" by the administration to vote for the health care bill?
Somehow I think Ben R. got more punishment for screwing fewer people. And who's career is going to suffer the most?
Team sports just aren't what they used to be.
Ben Nelson is another story. Here's a dick who's out in public all the time and apparently hasn't lost a dime. He's not a team player like Ben R. I can't say as the Democrats bill on bank reform is any more perfect than the Health Care bill, but when you're the only guy on your team not to vote on it's passage because one part of it (the retro-active restrictions on derivatives) and your state is home to one of the biggest power players in that game, and you happen to have a bunch of stock in the guy's company, well, really. To be fair to Ben N., his spokesman said that wouldn't interfere with the senator's decisions. Oh my! Perhaps we could dig a little deeper into Sen. Nelson's past and discover- a motorcycle accident? No, this guy is more like an arrogant train wreck. Isn't this the same Sen. Nelson who had to be "bribed" by the administration to vote for the health care bill?
Somehow I think Ben R. got more punishment for screwing fewer people. And who's career is going to suffer the most?
Team sports just aren't what they used to be.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Because of a Lao Tzu quote my Mother sent
O.K.-So a hike in the elk preserve was a nice idea, but a 7 mile hike did a number on my joints. Man, I am out of shape. It was quite a hike though.
The wildflowers are just about at their peak right now. The trails and pathways are clogged with them in some places, especially out towards the point. I think I had a religious experience, or at least, one worthy of Salvadore Dali. I lean towards the Dali. A lot of thistle and ankle biting nettle as well, again , mostly the last mile or two from the point. It was hard to follow the trail in some spots because of the overgrowth. Overall, it was stunning.
The elk were grazing lazily and some were lying on their sides, looking full and content. They were quick to notice you, but seemed unconcerned as to their safety- I mean , they're on a PRESERVE right? Anyway, they looked fat and happy and couldn't care a fig that I was there.
Along the way I encountered a few others; a hermit, an angel (possibly of Death), God the Father, and the ghosts of Christmas past and future, and a pair of ominous ravens. Not bad for one hit off the pipe I'd say.
The Hermit was sitting on the leeward side of a rock formation and sitting absolutely still. I thought he was a rock before I made out the hooded sweatshirt he was wearing and noticed the rock has a beard. I just back tracked and made it up the trail to the next unoccupied rock formation and took a piss. Hooded , quiet people always get me a little jittery- I keep waiting for the gunshot. You also, can never tell about hermits.
The Angel was all together different and has had me thinking ever since she announced here presence behind me (so as not to scare the shit out of me when she passed). I was well into the "flower forest" and the trail was winding and hard to follow. It widened a bit and that when I heard her(the Angel) say, "Hello. I'm here. Didn't want to startle you", to which I thanked her as she passed me. Her walking gait was about what my jogging gait is and she quickly outdistanced me, but not before I noticed her superbly toned , lean body, and perfect blond pony tail. She had black running tights, a light yellow fleece top, running shoes, and those sporty , wrap around kind of sunglasses. Of course my imagination runs wild. Why not? Out in the middle of nowhere, gorgeous day, no one else around-I thought (I was to meet God the Father soon after that), and a beautiful young woman with a sparkling smile and perfect body. It's a disease, my imagination. And of course it being springtime and me not yet feeling the effects of a long hike, glorious visions of making love to a goddess, rolling around in the flowers (this , also , before I discovered the stinging nettles and thistle growing all about the place), her cries of passion and satisfaction playing beautifully in my mind. And I had that in my head as I trapesd along on my merry way until a bend in the trail widened and there was the Angel kneeling down , closely examining one of the dusty gray thistles. So I stopped and looked at it too and she pointed out a fuzzy brown and black caterpillar and asked if I knew what it was . I blubbered out that I hadn't a clue, but we continued to look at the creature and both commented on what a beautiful day it was. And , dammit, as strongly as the dreams of lust and frolic had grabbed me, a very noticeable calm overcame me and I felt overwhelmed by the beauty of it all; the sky, the flowers, the lovely girl , the fuzzy brown and black creature crawling on the thistle leaf- there was a purity to it all and it felt , well,...it felt like heaven. That's when I realized that I was having a religious experience- an epiphany, that's the word for it. I felt everything all at once. It was soothing and peaceful. The sun felt perfectly warm on my back. And I knew that the Angel would ask me for water.
Well, the Angel took off once again and I continued along. The trail widened and up just a ways ahead, coming my way , not more than 5 minutes from my epiphany, an elderly gent in a wind parka, floppy brimmed hat and walking staff (one of those collapsible jobs) slowly made his way along the path. He seemed just the sort of person who might have been hiking this way season after season, so I asked him if it was always this overgrown and he told me he had never seen it this lush. I mentioned the stinging nettles elevated perfectly to ankles and he said, "Yes. Aren't they lovely", or something close to that. I commented on the black and brown fuzzies, saying that the colors were the same as a monarch butterfly's, but he said no, the monarchs were still in Mexico and were weeks away from getting here. It was a bit confusing- I was looking at caterpillars and he was talking butterfly s but I saw the connection, hazy as it was. He said goodbye and shuffled off and all I could think was that there goes God and he had ever so slight a English accent. God the Father, staff and all, letting me know that the monarchs were on their way and stinging nettles were beautiful.
This was developing into a great day. I contemplated my two way nature, the carnal and the divine. Were they in conflict or merely in flux? Yes, the day was becoming more than just a cardio workout and rapidly reaching the profound. The birds were singing. I could hear bees buzzing and the fragrance of the flowers was perfuming the air. The further I walked (somewhere, in the back of my mind was something telling me the walk back was going to be long) the more wild and vibrant the air became; the deeper my thoughts became. Was the Angel the Angel of Death (bear with me- this is my imagination we're dealing with), leading me out the the end of my life? I mean, the trail was certainly heavenly. Hadn't I spoken with God the Father just minutes ago? A heart attack on a spring day, walking along a flowered trail? If I wasn't having a religious experience, it was certainly a Wizard of Oz flashback. You often hear about "being in the moment", or "being present", or the great 60's re joiner,"be here now"- well I was right there; like the crystal still, slow motion moments that occur during an accident, or the survey of a scene in nature that consumes all your attention effortlessly.
I made it up and on to the point just a bit later. The wind was blowing pretty good, so I took my hat off to keep it from blowing into the mouth of Tomales Bay. I took out my binoculars and scanned 360 degrees around me and noticed the Angel was down at the precarious very end of the point, 400yards away, standing at the edge , looking out onto the Pacific. I have a fear of standing near the edge of great heights, so I had something akin to fear and admiration for her, but just the same, I moved back from the edge and made my way to a spot where I felt comfortable looking out on the ocean. By this time I noticed a few other couples at various locations around the headland. One had a tripod and the husband(?) was shooting pictures with a telephoto lens. Another couple was making there way back from the point, satisfied looks on there faces. Angel came back up from the point and stopped and chatted with me for awhile.It brought things back into a more contemporary plane. Angel's name was Amy and she had just graduated from college and was waiting to start a job, but was taking a month off. Her boyfriend works for the forest service and she had been staying with him out by the lighthouse in employee housing- another really stunning locale. We talked for about 20 minutes. Just before she left, she asked if she could have a drink of my water. Wondrous.
As I started back I realized how far I had walked. It had taken me about two and a half hours to make it out to the point. I had been stopping all over the place taking pictures and admiring the views. For a while I took off my glasses and looked at the natural world unaided. Though slightly unfocused , the shapes and colors were softer and slightly muted, but the sensation was comfortable and I'll try doing it more often.It seemed to lessen the soreness in my feet that started on my way back. When I passed the "Ravens Roost" (self named) the two birds merely croaked a bit in my direction and went on with preening their feathers. They had checked me out carefully when I passed on my way outbound, now I was yesterdays news.
I walked into the Pierce Ranch, which was where the trail began. It had been a privately owned dairy ranch at one time, and very well maintained over the years. A fairly large compound, with a large hay barn, two dairy's, a school house, bunk house , and a modest ranch house, still occupied, all set in a flat, open meadow. The buildings are all painted white and are sturdily, but simply built- Shaker-like in feeling. It's a very peaceful place and i happened to be there on a very beautiful spring day.
You know, I've been having some doubts about my faith lately. I'm not a church goer, nor a follower of a particular philosophy, but my Catholic upbringing and experiences along my life have given me a belief in a supreme being that gives me comfort and doesn't require me to do anything more drastic than to be true to myself. I flounder about with that one rule at times. It's much tougher than going to church on Sundays or following the liturgical calender . Since my Dad passed away, one year ago this April 30th, I have been both totally encompassed with and doubting my belief. I have always had my prayers answered, not always in the way I wanted or expected, but always answered. And this feeling of losing faith wasn't an abrupt thing, it was more like losing a tan, I kind of remembered it and liked when I had it, but it seemed to fade away. I had made up my mind to pray when I remembered to, to try to be as thankful and grateful for what I had and where I was and hoped to get the "feeling" back. Yesterday was an answer, and as my God has done in the past, the answer was not what I might have imagined, but was more imaginative and vivid than I expected and I hope to let it play on my head for a while.
As my good friend, Dick Gardner , has repeatedly told me, "Life is a gift". So be it. Much Love to you.
.
The wildflowers are just about at their peak right now. The trails and pathways are clogged with them in some places, especially out towards the point. I think I had a religious experience, or at least, one worthy of Salvadore Dali. I lean towards the Dali. A lot of thistle and ankle biting nettle as well, again , mostly the last mile or two from the point. It was hard to follow the trail in some spots because of the overgrowth. Overall, it was stunning.
The elk were grazing lazily and some were lying on their sides, looking full and content. They were quick to notice you, but seemed unconcerned as to their safety- I mean , they're on a PRESERVE right? Anyway, they looked fat and happy and couldn't care a fig that I was there.
Along the way I encountered a few others; a hermit, an angel (possibly of Death), God the Father, and the ghosts of Christmas past and future, and a pair of ominous ravens. Not bad for one hit off the pipe I'd say.
The Hermit was sitting on the leeward side of a rock formation and sitting absolutely still. I thought he was a rock before I made out the hooded sweatshirt he was wearing and noticed the rock has a beard. I just back tracked and made it up the trail to the next unoccupied rock formation and took a piss. Hooded , quiet people always get me a little jittery- I keep waiting for the gunshot. You also, can never tell about hermits.
The Angel was all together different and has had me thinking ever since she announced here presence behind me (so as not to scare the shit out of me when she passed). I was well into the "flower forest" and the trail was winding and hard to follow. It widened a bit and that when I heard her(the Angel) say, "Hello. I'm here. Didn't want to startle you", to which I thanked her as she passed me. Her walking gait was about what my jogging gait is and she quickly outdistanced me, but not before I noticed her superbly toned , lean body, and perfect blond pony tail. She had black running tights, a light yellow fleece top, running shoes, and those sporty , wrap around kind of sunglasses. Of course my imagination runs wild. Why not? Out in the middle of nowhere, gorgeous day, no one else around-I thought (I was to meet God the Father soon after that), and a beautiful young woman with a sparkling smile and perfect body. It's a disease, my imagination. And of course it being springtime and me not yet feeling the effects of a long hike, glorious visions of making love to a goddess, rolling around in the flowers (this , also , before I discovered the stinging nettles and thistle growing all about the place), her cries of passion and satisfaction playing beautifully in my mind. And I had that in my head as I trapesd along on my merry way until a bend in the trail widened and there was the Angel kneeling down , closely examining one of the dusty gray thistles. So I stopped and looked at it too and she pointed out a fuzzy brown and black caterpillar and asked if I knew what it was . I blubbered out that I hadn't a clue, but we continued to look at the creature and both commented on what a beautiful day it was. And , dammit, as strongly as the dreams of lust and frolic had grabbed me, a very noticeable calm overcame me and I felt overwhelmed by the beauty of it all; the sky, the flowers, the lovely girl , the fuzzy brown and black creature crawling on the thistle leaf- there was a purity to it all and it felt , well,...it felt like heaven. That's when I realized that I was having a religious experience- an epiphany, that's the word for it. I felt everything all at once. It was soothing and peaceful. The sun felt perfectly warm on my back. And I knew that the Angel would ask me for water.
Well, the Angel took off once again and I continued along. The trail widened and up just a ways ahead, coming my way , not more than 5 minutes from my epiphany, an elderly gent in a wind parka, floppy brimmed hat and walking staff (one of those collapsible jobs) slowly made his way along the path. He seemed just the sort of person who might have been hiking this way season after season, so I asked him if it was always this overgrown and he told me he had never seen it this lush. I mentioned the stinging nettles elevated perfectly to ankles and he said, "Yes. Aren't they lovely", or something close to that. I commented on the black and brown fuzzies, saying that the colors were the same as a monarch butterfly's, but he said no, the monarchs were still in Mexico and were weeks away from getting here. It was a bit confusing- I was looking at caterpillars and he was talking butterfly s but I saw the connection, hazy as it was. He said goodbye and shuffled off and all I could think was that there goes God and he had ever so slight a English accent. God the Father, staff and all, letting me know that the monarchs were on their way and stinging nettles were beautiful.
This was developing into a great day. I contemplated my two way nature, the carnal and the divine. Were they in conflict or merely in flux? Yes, the day was becoming more than just a cardio workout and rapidly reaching the profound. The birds were singing. I could hear bees buzzing and the fragrance of the flowers was perfuming the air. The further I walked (somewhere, in the back of my mind was something telling me the walk back was going to be long) the more wild and vibrant the air became; the deeper my thoughts became. Was the Angel the Angel of Death (bear with me- this is my imagination we're dealing with), leading me out the the end of my life? I mean, the trail was certainly heavenly. Hadn't I spoken with God the Father just minutes ago? A heart attack on a spring day, walking along a flowered trail? If I wasn't having a religious experience, it was certainly a Wizard of Oz flashback. You often hear about "being in the moment", or "being present", or the great 60's re joiner,"be here now"- well I was right there; like the crystal still, slow motion moments that occur during an accident, or the survey of a scene in nature that consumes all your attention effortlessly.
I made it up and on to the point just a bit later. The wind was blowing pretty good, so I took my hat off to keep it from blowing into the mouth of Tomales Bay. I took out my binoculars and scanned 360 degrees around me and noticed the Angel was down at the precarious very end of the point, 400yards away, standing at the edge , looking out onto the Pacific. I have a fear of standing near the edge of great heights, so I had something akin to fear and admiration for her, but just the same, I moved back from the edge and made my way to a spot where I felt comfortable looking out on the ocean. By this time I noticed a few other couples at various locations around the headland. One had a tripod and the husband(?) was shooting pictures with a telephoto lens. Another couple was making there way back from the point, satisfied looks on there faces. Angel came back up from the point and stopped and chatted with me for awhile.It brought things back into a more contemporary plane. Angel's name was Amy and she had just graduated from college and was waiting to start a job, but was taking a month off. Her boyfriend works for the forest service and she had been staying with him out by the lighthouse in employee housing- another really stunning locale. We talked for about 20 minutes. Just before she left, she asked if she could have a drink of my water. Wondrous.
As I started back I realized how far I had walked. It had taken me about two and a half hours to make it out to the point. I had been stopping all over the place taking pictures and admiring the views. For a while I took off my glasses and looked at the natural world unaided. Though slightly unfocused , the shapes and colors were softer and slightly muted, but the sensation was comfortable and I'll try doing it more often.It seemed to lessen the soreness in my feet that started on my way back. When I passed the "Ravens Roost" (self named) the two birds merely croaked a bit in my direction and went on with preening their feathers. They had checked me out carefully when I passed on my way outbound, now I was yesterdays news.
I walked into the Pierce Ranch, which was where the trail began. It had been a privately owned dairy ranch at one time, and very well maintained over the years. A fairly large compound, with a large hay barn, two dairy's, a school house, bunk house , and a modest ranch house, still occupied, all set in a flat, open meadow. The buildings are all painted white and are sturdily, but simply built- Shaker-like in feeling. It's a very peaceful place and i happened to be there on a very beautiful spring day.
You know, I've been having some doubts about my faith lately. I'm not a church goer, nor a follower of a particular philosophy, but my Catholic upbringing and experiences along my life have given me a belief in a supreme being that gives me comfort and doesn't require me to do anything more drastic than to be true to myself. I flounder about with that one rule at times. It's much tougher than going to church on Sundays or following the liturgical calender . Since my Dad passed away, one year ago this April 30th, I have been both totally encompassed with and doubting my belief. I have always had my prayers answered, not always in the way I wanted or expected, but always answered. And this feeling of losing faith wasn't an abrupt thing, it was more like losing a tan, I kind of remembered it and liked when I had it, but it seemed to fade away. I had made up my mind to pray when I remembered to, to try to be as thankful and grateful for what I had and where I was and hoped to get the "feeling" back. Yesterday was an answer, and as my God has done in the past, the answer was not what I might have imagined, but was more imaginative and vivid than I expected and I hope to let it play on my head for a while.
As my good friend, Dick Gardner , has repeatedly told me, "Life is a gift". So be it. Much Love to you.
.
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