Young Hippies

After a long day of doing nothing (those are the longest days of course), I settled into bed rather late; about 7:30pm. I had one elbow down, and was about to ease the other half of my body onto the bed, when a car pulled up and parked at the bus stop/u-turn point across the road. The car was there when I fell asleep and it was there in the morning when I went to town. A red Jeep Cherokee. Newer than mine, and from New York. Lic# EJL1303. Duly noted.
Returning from town they were still there, but this time there were people moving around the Jeep. I parked and entered the house. Heated coffee, and went upstairs to view the squatters from behind the mirrors. I was on my first cup of coffee when they approached the shack; a tall woman, not heavy, but not thin either with long, dark, red hair and a child hanging from a wide band of cloth slung around her neck and over her shoulder: a kind of circular hammock the child hung in. The child, a cute little red headed baby girl that was eight months old I would later find out, was adept at holding on to that cloth as a young chimp. A man, at least ten feet behind the woman, with a full beard and wearing a cap with ear muffs he had pulled over his ears, was carrying a small bag with paper handles that, when he got closer, I could see contained four one pound packages of butter and some mushrooms in a cardbord package under cellophane.
I said,"Good morning. What can I do for you folks today?"
The woman smiled and said,"We were looking for a barter."
I smiled and replied that there wasn't a thing in the world that I needed except 380 rounds for my Sig Sauer and shotgun shells (I had planned on driving to Grants Pass and buying both, along with a case of clay pigeons, before they had appeared on my doorstep). Then I asked what they had to trade, and what they wanted.
The woman smiled and said, "How about some coffee? We have butter and mushrooms."
I considered her request. Hot coffee, after sleeping in a car, probably sounded wonderful to her.
It was a moment of decision. I had no interest in bartering, but I thought I would hear their story and invited them in for coffee. The flip side of the decision was to send them down the road. The baby was the deciding factor. I brought them into the warmth and shelter of the stove room in the shack. I sat them down, served them coffee, asked their names, and then asked how they came to sleep in the Jeep across the road (I couldn't help the touch of Seuss).
Their story was a 'friend' had told them that Happy Camp was an old hippie settlement where, if they just went and hung out, they would be invited into a commune or a community, or find their dreams of nirvana or something... and so they were on their way to Happy Camp.
Happy Camp Road starts one mile down the road from my house at what is locally called 'four corners'; a crossing of Takilma Road where Happy Camp Road becomes Waldo Road. I live one mile up from four corners. Happy Camp is thirty seven miles farther south across the border, in California. I know the sign at four corners reads 'Road Open', but as this young couple found out, the road is only plowed to the snow park which is just eleven miles past my house. The road is impassable during the winter months. That was how they came to be sleeping across the street.
I asked where they got the butter. Neither answered
I asked how they came to be in Oregon via New York. Several times the young man got lost in his dialogue descibing the trials and tribulations of being young and aimless and wanting more, without opportunity. At times he made no sense in his words. The two of them had been together since New Year's Eve. She had escaped a musician that hit her, and he a woman now in a cult, who wouldn't have sex for purposes other than propagation of the species. Somewhere there had been a settlement, and he had bought a Jeep, and they had been on their way to her mother's in eastern Washington before Happy Camp had come up...
I tried to steer them right; I explained that Happy Camp was a defunct logging town, heavily influenced by the Indian Reservation where (my impression was) people were neither friendly nor open, and usually didn't like strangers. I went further though and described Takilma. The small community on the south side of Hope Mountain, on the opposite side of the ridge from me. Takilma, an old hippie settlement with an alternative lifestyle community where (if there was a place in this area) these psuedo-hippies would be welcome. It's only a mile and a half from me and I explained twice how to get there. I told them of the community school where they might get help.
They made no move to leave. They were comfortable. I looked at both of them. I knew they were scared to death. Finding our way in the world can be terrifying. My heart went out to them. Maybe they needed to learn about 'work'. I knew they would have been happy to move right in. I stood and escorted them out. As the mother held the doorjam, and lowered her foot down the long step from my doorway to the ground, I noticed the baby under her arm; the baby's legs around the mothers back, still holding to that circular cloth for dear life. The baby understood. I had the feeling she was already learning to take care of herself.
I wanted to rescue them. I hope they rescue themselves. I remember it was not that long ago I had to rescue myself.
It only takes yourself, most of the time.

Days of Rain

Cabin fever season. I haven't left the house for two days. The dog and I had dinner about 13:45 today and I'll probably be in bed about 16:00. The dog only gets up to eat or 'go'. After days of rain, the creek behind the house is a bubbling torrent, polishing the rocks at it's bottom where it has eaten the soft topsoil away and now races downhill. Opening the door to the shack one is greeted with the sound of water gurgling by, and it is both pleasant and reassuring. I like the sound of the rain on the roof too! Cozy! Until the water torture affect comes into play.
The shack is completely closed up inside now, meaning the inside walls are built too, and the insulation is no longer showing. Where the rough edges of the boards meet I've used expanding foam insulation for the chinking. Not only is it attractive, but everyday the place has gotten one step closer to being as 'tight as an egg'. I have to be careful not to overfill the wood burning stove or the house gets too hot.
The rain continues to fall steadily. The creek widens and narrows with the fluctuations in the rainfall, and today the waterfalls have been at their full 12 inches. I need a life. I tried to have one, but the Kings are the worst team in the NBA.
It's a shame we can't know that when we agree to buy "NBA Pass". The hated Lakers are winners again. Life is so unfair. Of course, after the referee went to jail and (beforehand) admitted the 2001 playoffs were rigged (you know the hated Lakers were 'supposed' to win), thus robbing the Kings of their championship, I can't believe in the NBA anymore. It might as well be big time wrestling. Commissioner Stern should be tarred and feathered. Really!
The rain has stopped for a moment. The storm, or this storm, must need to take a breath. The Weather Channel says rain for another five days. I am afraid that life in the mountains is too slow for this urbanite. Is the redwood tree, stationary with nothing to worry about save sun and rain and nutrients in the soil, content to observe the world from its platform for thousands of years? It would be a thousand year torture to me. Thus, not having a thousand years, I no longer feel I have time to hermit in the mountains.
I looked at a large trimaran for the second time last week. I'm not getting any younger, it may be time to see the world. I'm not kidding. Every day I wake up and think, "life is so wonderful ...and so finite." There could never be enough time to share with my sons. There isn't now, and it decreases everyday. I need more freedom to be able to spend more time with you both.

Nietzsche vs Me‏

One might invent such a fable, and yet he still would not have adequately illustrated how miserable, how shadowy and transient, how aimless and arbitrary the human intellect looks within nature. ~Nietzsche

...the individual life cycle on this planet is so brief in relation to the cycles of the Universe, it is hard to believe our very existence could be significant without feeling like I'm flattering mankind. (The Cygnus Rift 12Jan09) ~Me

And when it is all over with the human intellect, nothing will have happened. For this intellect has no additional mission which would lead it beyond human life. Rather, it is human, and only its possessor and begetter takes it so solemnly-as though the world's axis turned within it. ~Nietzsche

Man is just one of the dancers. The song will change.
If one considers the age of the Earth (also the brevity of human history in relation to that age) and current predictions for the future, it is hard not to conclude that man's time will soon be over; even if it takes another 10,000 years. Life on the surface of this planet is very fragile. Ask a crocodile.
Which brings us to Earth Day. The Earth doesn't need any help. 'Man's Survival Day' is what we should be talking about. The Earth will continue to spin for as long as you can contemplate where space ends. (Earth Day 22Apr08) ~Me

The pride connected with knowing and sensing lies like a blinding fog over the eyes and senses of men, thus deceiving them concerning the value of existence. For this pride contains within itself the most flattering estimation of the value of knowing. Deception is the most general effect of such pride, but even its most particular effects contain within themselves something of the same deceitful character. ~Nietzsche

Long past the realities of mere survival in a small, small, small world, industrialized man lives in the fantasy that he'll fix 'it' when necessary. Kind of like taking up religion when one learns they have a terminal illness; industrialized man stops smoking when he has lung cancer. Gas hits $4 a gallon, and then he buys a smaller truck. People will quit driving when the ice-caps melt and the roads are flooded. Then it'll be motorboats, but the guy behind the wheel won't care if people are drowning in a flood halfway across the world if he doesn't know them. Man don't care about man. Man cares about 'himself'! (Earth Day 22Apr08) ~Me

How am I doing so far?

Taken for Another Ride

As another 17,000 American troops prepare to leave for Afghanistan, I think the new president should look past his own ego and remember how he won, not just that he won. He promised to bring the troops home! Not continue the same ride down 'oil interests' avenue in southern Afghanistan. Do the American people have any influence at all?
To act like it is anything else (ie. chasing Osama, the War on Terror, human rights concerns) is pure smoke and mirrors. It is a war of occupation for oil profits. The pipeline route is through the south. The problems are in the south. The opium is there, too. Remember a year ago?
"I see the the U.S. Army has built a base at 8000 ft in the mountains between Afghanistan and Pakistan. It's a well fortified castle with helicopter pads, big guns etc. A command center high in the mountains for the war on terrorism.
This reminds me of the boot camp mentality, "If we're going to fight them, lets do it at their house; burn their land; kill their women and children." This is all good and fine I guess and I agree. But is this border patrol really necessary when I can't afford it? If we elect not to defend the Afghanistan border might there be enough money to defend America's borders? And dare I say it? Isn't it enough to keep our southern borders open and get The Cut there, rather then control the poppy fields?" (The News 08Dec07)
President Obama is supposed to be the guy who was ending these imperialistic adventures that are wasting American blood and bankrupting the country.
President Obama, loved and viewed by the world as a President who would stop American aggression, is sending another 17,000 troops into a country the US has already occupied for seven years. A country in which 82% of the people don't want US present. Troops could stay another 5 years. What the hell did we have an election for? Who the hell does he think he's kidding? We didn't need those bases in the first place. Now we need more troops? It is out and out oil policy.
President Obama should understand that first and foremost the American people were dissatisfied with the Bush administration because of the wars. So, first and foremost, the troops should return home. Unfortunately, we need to save ourselves. Not the world or UnoCal. I'm much more afraid of what's coming across the Mexican border than terrorists on Afghanistan's.
Crassly speaking, with satellite and spy technology being what it is, we could probably bomb most threats to the US in Afghanistan. What are we guarding with bases? Pipeline routes?
I remember when the Russians went into Afghanistan. They were us, and we are them. Kind of a 'Magical Mystery Tour', huh? In other words, 'same old bullshit, same old rock and roll'.
I would bet the nickel in the mountain I live on that American families who have a member in harms way would rather have them home saving their own country instead of defending oil dreams.
There is no excuse (NONE!) to prolong these wars in the Middle East.
Bring the troops Home now.

Nothing

The weather is changing here today. The warm sunshine and tease of spring is being replaced by a north wind, black clouds, cold rain and dropping temperatures. Winter is returning for the latter half of February. The driveway is returning to mud. Wood consumption is rising quickly.
Finally, California may get some rain. More importantly, the mountains on the California-Oregon border are getting snow. My property needs the water.
Watching CNN today, I see that citizens that have lost their homes are protesting in front of the homes of CEOs of various lending institutions guilty of predatory lending. The idea is to 'personalize' the victims to the culprit. Remember this desperate day; the victims are forecasting an attitude and frustration that is going to explode nationwide.
As one friend put it, "This $900 billion give away is the grease that will send this fine country into the big black shit hole. The poor will be in the streets looting. The folks with anything left will retreat." Predatory Bankers better hide now. It would appear when the guillotines are dragged out their heads will be the first to roll.
If this was China, their greed and crimes would have already brought death. Maybe we can learn something from our Pacific rim partners. Misuse of public trust and power should be punishable by death. We wouldn't have to kill many politicians before Washington straightened itself out. Think if we killed just a few and all of the lobbyists.
It's only the beginning, too. As the race downhill proceeds (like a snowball) people will get angrier, hungrier, more unsatisfied. Public unrest is coming. Tax-payer revolt is coming. The ball gets bigger and rolls faster every day.
Americans have lived fat and sassy, and will not be satisfied by a simple subsistence survival. For awhile everybody had money, and everyone got a taste of having a little wealth; watch how we revolt against being poor.
And why shouldn't we? It's the people's money keeping the whole system afloat. Why don't the people now own the system? The banks, the automakers, insurance, housing, They should all be the people's now, and so should their profits! The privatization of profits and socialization of losses is plain robbery. These bailouts are just continuations of the robbery. A few heads should roll, literally. No, a lot of heads should roll.
As the house of cards falls the terror from within will begin. Eventually there will be no good or bad guys; people will fear both the government and the enemies of the state. I guess the retreat part comes into play about then.
The world is changing. America can no longer afford to support the rest of the world with her unbridled consumption, just as America cannot afford to police the rest of the world. Maybe it's time we focused on saving ourselves.
The sky is black now. Snow is starting to fall, swirling in the winds, carrying the latest storm into southern Oregon. It's late in the afternoon. The sky will only darken, the day become night, and the cold deepen before the storm passes.

The Roadmonster

How can I make this page make me a bazillionaaaire so I can do all the talk shows and really tell some stories. I like the idea of being richer.
I was riding my Motorcycle the other day and stopped at the market. Leaving my wallet locked in the trunk of the bike, at the register I had only the change in my pocket to pay for my purchase. As I fished for change wondering if would have to get my ATM card from the bike, a young blond women behind me tried to give me $5. I guess I was dressed for the occasion; my 'riding' pants are Air Force flight overalls. Wearing them over jeans with a down Jacket and a hooded sweatshirt, I looked like I 'live' in the elements. I guess my appearance, coupled with me counting my change, led her to believe I was broke and prompted her to offer me the $5. The little sweetheart.
Putting my hand up, I protested, "Oh, no thank you, I have money. I appreciate your kindness, though, thank you." I joked and said, "Hey, didn't you try to lend me money before?"
Again she extended the money.
Again I protested, "Thank you but really, I have money. I'm a millionaire." Everybody's jaw dropped.
"You're a millionaire?", she asked, incredulously.
The fact I broke a tooth earlier in the week and have a gap in my smile where you can see the bridgework didn't help matters either.
"Oh yeah," I said. "Can't you tell?"
"You're a millionaire?" she asked again as she finished bagging her groceries and was leaving.
No. Not unless we count benefits and pension over the rest of my life. As I straddled my 23 year old classic red Goldwing, the Roadmonster, still smiling about the young woman's kindness in the store, I wondered when I would see her again, and how I would appear.
I roared by the Chevron, (the only Chevron in town) and there she was, and I knew that I looked the same, but on the red and chrome blur of the Roadmonster, my appearance was totally different.
Anyway, I could be richer. I could be poorer. Shoulda, woulda, coulda pudding. I couldn't be more me, and as long as one is happy with who they are, without lying to themselves... The whole game is played between the ears!
Be Happy.
I'll worry about being richer in about 2 million hits.

I Could Return

Craig's List has a small house on a third of an acre on 67th street, two blocks from my old compound.

FOR SALE for $125k. That is a $150k difference from my California property selling price 2 and a 1/2 years ago. All the money that was needed to finance all the good and bad choices, extravagance and excess, substance abuse and self abuse that I packed into 20 years. Well, almost enough. Twenty years is a long time.
Now being of moderate income and having sold my residence in the city to retire in the mountains of southern Oregon, I never thought affording a house again in that city in the valley where the two rivers meet (especially one at least as good as the last) would be possible. It would appear, however, that returning to purchase equal or better housing at this point is entirely feasible.
That wouldn't look good to all the people who have read my various posts predicting flood and future deserts for the Valley (not that what others think carries great influence for me; I have watched others "think" while I have lived my entire life). Somewhere between locking yourself in a safe room and running headlong into the train, there is a style for everyone's life.
The winner shares the most love, has the most fun, and lives the fullest life (in my opinion). Since I am still enjoying life and living fully, there in itself is the argument for me. Though it would be better if I was most loved.
Part of me would love to own a home in California again. I love southern Oregon too though. Croco-dog likes the Shack and property.
Anyway, as luck would have it (only luck and the Housing Market moved me at the right time; enabling me to both catch the wave and return with the swell gone), I could return to California and buy a residence. The perk is bills paid, debt resolved, mortgage owed, systems cleaned, and adventure lived; I would be way ahead. Think of what I could have done if I had been on top of the game.
Choices.