.............and leaves paint their seasonal masterpiece daily until Winter when grey consumes all. ( Shorter days 30AUG09)
The leaves have all hit the ground. In the end their bright colors desert them and they fall in the rain brown like the earth from which they grew. The grey of winter takes over Happy Camp road this time of year. No longer passable through the mountains and into California, traffic consists of visitors to the snow park eleven miles up the road whom return in grey cars covered with road spray, and my few neighbors.
Grey clouds cover the sky. The Sun don't shine, the birds don't fly. Blue is not a color now but an emotion.
Fog obliterates the view until only the closest trees stand distinct in their grey outlines. The surrounding ridges, furthest first, nearest last, have been swallowed .
On the north side of the ridge, at Bradland, direct sunlight will only reach the cabin for three hours a day, from Mid-November to Mid-February. The Grey of the shade.
Soon, grey snow will creep down from the higher altitudes to make it's seasonal two week appearance , and then retreat with the winter solstice and longer days. Winter's grey will be most dominant then; Colorless, Cabin fevered, lonely, secluded, Greeeeeey. Soon, but not now , Now it's Thanksgiving and time to be grateful for another year and rewards reaped with it.
I'm grateful the truck still runs, the house is built, the toilet is working, I'm healthy and maybe fit, my new teeth fit, that the world is still spinning, that the money goes to the bank, that the Chinese are still underwriting us, and I can still speak Chinese. I'm grateful for a whole bunch of other shit that I don't need to publicly acknowledge. AND... I'm most grateful that the miracle of life is still being enjoyed by all of you. HAPPY THANKSGIVING
Showing posts with label Summer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Summer. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The Earth
The first thing I gotta know is why are all the planets round? The Moon is round.The Sun is round.
Why aren't there any square planets? Even rectangular? I mean MASS seems to take every other shape; why are the planets, moons, suns all round? Galileo, Columbus, they questioned the earths squareness and proved themselves right; making history in the proces. So I say, "The secret to the universe is the secret of why is everything round." Firstly, I was thinking about the Earth though. I was thinking about how the Earth and the other planets go around the Sun (SEE, there it is again). I was thinking that as the Sun burns, it must lose weight so, inevitably, it's suction would decrease and the planets, one by one, starting with planet #9 (Pluto, Uranus?) would drift off and be lost in space. This is nothing to be alarmed about; the Earth has no idea where it is in relation to 'outer-space' anyway. Lost from where? As long as Earth kept spinning, (keeping the atmosphere around it, right?) the Earth could be like the biggest cruise ship ever! Never mind the heating problems. Spaceball. Stellar road trip. Why does the Earth spin? The spinning is necessary, but who thought of making the place spin to retain it's excretions and create atmosphere?
I was thinking about the Black hole thing too. I don't understand how we could be sucked into a hole though. I mean we revolve around the Sun because of its mass. When the mass is burned until consumed won't we be free of the pull? There shouldn't be any vacuum created when the Sun collapses, right? So... what's up? I think it's Pinball Earth. And then what? It's all such a delicate balance of things. Maybe we'll end up somewhere where there are square planets. But, today's burning questions are, 'Why are the planets and moons and suns ALL round?' And spinning. Are they all spinning? Are the answers to these questions known?
Forget the Black hole stuff. I don't understand it so it can't be real. I know people who solves life's questions like that so I thought I'd try it. Doesn't work for me though. Still thinking...
Why aren't there any square planets? Even rectangular? I mean MASS seems to take every other shape; why are the planets, moons, suns all round? Galileo, Columbus, they questioned the earths squareness and proved themselves right; making history in the proces. So I say, "The secret to the universe is the secret of why is everything round." Firstly, I was thinking about the Earth though. I was thinking about how the Earth and the other planets go around the Sun (SEE, there it is again). I was thinking that as the Sun burns, it must lose weight so, inevitably, it's suction would decrease and the planets, one by one, starting with planet #9 (Pluto, Uranus?) would drift off and be lost in space. This is nothing to be alarmed about; the Earth has no idea where it is in relation to 'outer-space' anyway. Lost from where? As long as Earth kept spinning, (keeping the atmosphere around it, right?) the Earth could be like the biggest cruise ship ever! Never mind the heating problems. Spaceball. Stellar road trip. Why does the Earth spin? The spinning is necessary, but who thought of making the place spin to retain it's excretions and create atmosphere?
I was thinking about the Black hole thing too. I don't understand how we could be sucked into a hole though. I mean we revolve around the Sun because of its mass. When the mass is burned until consumed won't we be free of the pull? There shouldn't be any vacuum created when the Sun collapses, right? So... what's up? I think it's Pinball Earth. And then what? It's all such a delicate balance of things. Maybe we'll end up somewhere where there are square planets. But, today's burning questions are, 'Why are the planets and moons and suns ALL round?' And spinning. Are they all spinning? Are the answers to these questions known?
Forget the Black hole stuff. I don't understand it so it can't be real. I know people who solves life's questions like that so I thought I'd try it. Doesn't work for me though. Still thinking...
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The Chevron Incident
Sons and Friends,The Road through the mountains to my Shack is open again. The last of the snow blocking the road has melted away and the scenic route from the Northern California Redwoods through the Southern Oregon mountains is now open. The logging trucks, rolling by my house daily now, are laden with the BIG trees from somewhere back, up in the mountain forest above. Motorcyclists seeking the Scenic route are no longer passing by the Shack twice; finding out the hard way the route was closed. I'll be worn out by the end of the day, watching the extra traffic go by. Actually, I have postponed my Spring work until Summer and now must get busy. The result of being idle. Life is Wonderful, Every Miserable Moment. But first, a man has to live and escape the routine occasionally. I was in that California city in the valley where the two rivers meet for four days last week. Saw friends, played Poker and won, rode the motorcycle. It was all good. The motorcycle gets 40Mpg on the Highway. The RoadMonster. I filled up on the Oregon side first. Gas was $3.89 a gallon. It jumped $0.20 cents in Northern California, and when I got to that river city, then it was $4.29 a gallon for Regular, except ...... Thursday morning I pulled into Chevron. I was on my way to get a comfortable hotel room when I stopped for gas. As I swung my right leg over the Motorcycle and dismounted, I was face to face with the pump. It read-
20.00 DOLLARS
5.83 GALLONS
As I turned towards the store\cashier I started doing the math and two steps later I realized; That ain't 4.29 a gallon! Then I looked again. The prices read REGULAR 4.29 / PLUS 3.39 / PREMIUM 4.51 across the pumps. Like they do, you know? There are twelve pumps at this Chevron. Two rows of six. Three to a side. They were mostly full. I walked up to the gentlemen in front of me. I asked him if he noticed the PLUS was a dollar cheaper than the sign advertised. He looked at me and responded,"Yeah, I noticed that. Probably a mistake , huh?" I responded, "Yeah, probably,.... maybe I'll tell the clerks inside... after I fill up, of course." We laughed.
I noticed he was filling up with PLUS, too. I say 'too' because on the way into the store to give the clerk my twenty dollar bill, I took note that EVERYBODY was pumping PLUS into their cars. As I filled The RoadMonster (yes, it occurred to me that my windfall wasn't as big as some but, I didn't mention the price on the pump to the clerks), a large 1980's type, big ol' wide, true-gas-hog of a Cadillac pulled in on the other side of the pump. As the youngish driver of the car stepped out I said, "Hey.... the PLUS is selling a dollar cheaper on the pump then it's advertised on the sign." He looked at me and said, "Huh?" It didn't take much explaining for him to get the gist of things pretty quick though; He was filling up with PLUS too when I hung up the pump and went in to get my change. CHANGE from a twenty after filling up my motorcycle. Unheard of since forever! On the way out, at the pump nearest the door, I saw this fella hit the regular button as I walked by. So I stopped him and explained the situation. He couldn't see the price of the gas though; when he hit the regular button the price of the other two grades quit lighting up so he couldn't see their prices. You know... like they do. But he shut the pump off and, when the other prices were lit and showing, he picked the PLUS too. I felt like Santa Claus. I was Paul Revere running around that gas station telling everybody about PLUS! A self-exiled Californian returned from the mountains of Southern Oregon, Informer of the Exploited, Carrier of Good News, Enlightener of those within my reach... Let the Seller Beware! I did have a moral moment though. I reflected to a gentleman in a suit as he filled his Explorer with PLUS, "...all these otherwise honest, hard-working people don't seem to have any reservation about taking advantage of an obvious mistake." He replied, "Chevron can afford it." So I called my friend Gary; He lives nearby. I called Sandy, she works nearby. Chevron can afford it. Let the Seller Beware. It was their pump. As I drove away, I saw the guy in the suit step around the pump and converse with the stranger on the other side, something about PLUS, I think. It was a happy group that morning. Sandy went by an hour later, Plus was 4.39 a gallon.
Maybe the clerks noticed, or maybe a sympathizer showed up. Regardless, though it was not planned, and we were not to blame, there was a moment that morning; a moment of opportunity to conspire and be secretive, a moment to fight back and be offensive, rather than helpless and at the hands of the profiteers. And I was Proud to share The Chevron Incident with my fellow Americans who, doubtlessly, are indicative of the resentment and attitude of the whole Population: Let The Seller Beware... Revolution is only a mistake away. I can hear Jefferson Airplane now. TakeStock ! (Catchy Name, huh?)
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
City-Lag
The frost on the ground is barely surviving in the warmth of a coming rainstorm. The thick fog that covers Illinois valley, a fog I normally look down upon like a white sea from my perch on the mountain, slowly is crawling up sleepy valley canyon, veiling the world with a sheer nightgown of mist. High thin clouds, pink in the morning sun, will soon give way to thick, dark clouds and rain .The slow, beautiful, serene world of the mountains.
Compared to the stimulation and excitement of the city; the fast paced, twelve lane highways at rush hour, fast food, all night everything, all those people trying to squeeze as much life as possible out of every moment as they scramble full speed through their daily routine. It is understandable why returning to the mountains can result in city-lag (society is not always really such a rat race).
Our next door neighbor in California, Darryl, had rats infesting the whole neighborhood from their base in the boxed-in eaves on his garage; one summer evening just before dark I watched them from the roof of the house exit from a hole in the eave and gather on the roof of his carport. It was like a Disney movie; old fat rats walking slowly and sniffing, young rats wrestling, playing, and all the rats in their prime racing from the carport roof to the pecan tree. It's limbs overhanging the roof, and all of the rats streaking through the neighborhood via the trees. It was a commune, not a society.
The ant world is more of a society, with the hill as the city. One ant out on an adventure, sees the sun going down and decides to head home. As he returns to the hill, other ants returning from their day join him. The closer they get to the hill, the more ants there are, until their lines get thicker, multi-directional, full of worker ants, foragers, scouts etc. The ant speed of movement increases proportionately in their distance from the hill. Suddenly there is a hurry. Movement more purposeful and straight. There is more control and supervision, larger enforcement ants and traffic direction, more societal requirements. The door is crazy. Ants bumping into each other. Ants bringing in leaves. Ants everywhere. Move or get walked on. There is no time to wander back and forth looking for grasshopper limbs, no time to explore cracks; one might get in the way, or an enforcer ant could get the wrong impression.
First of course is the drop in blood pressure and the natural lull after the rush. The senses relax without the constant radars up that are necessary in the city. Secondly is the realization that the party is over and it's back to cooking for oneself (two more weeks and it's Webber time). The convenience of fast food and restaurants, a poor man's fantasy. Reality can be depressing. Another realization is it's hard to be lazy in the mountains: find and cut firewood, move large rocks onto the driveway and crush them with a sledgehammer, keep the fire in the stove burning.
City-lag is like being lazy; depressing to know there are lots of things to do and all work! Work isn't exciting like the city. It's work, but without the work I'm bored. The city was fun. Fun takes money. Money takes work.
Finally, normally the second or third night back, you sleep fourteen or fifteen hours and wake up with your senses running at mountain speed. Akin to four or five deep breaths after a fast dash."There's no hurry now." The return to a world unobstructed with urban sprawl and strip-malls, devoid of traffic and people, and nary a neighbor I can see. I've been back nine days and not been once approached by a panhandler. The only company I've had is a friend and the neighbor's dogs on their passing stroll to the school bus stop. Plenty to sniff there before returning home. The good life.
My friend showed up two days after my return from the city. He works at the hardware store. He arrived with a six-pack of Corona and a bottle of Clamato juice. He loves my glass-shack. The shack has a certain lure to the cowboying, frontier male in all of us.
My friend owes a large mortgage, is 52, and has 28 years left on his mortgage. If not for his wife (I hear that a lot), he'd prefer to live in a shack next to the national forest, and own it in five years. He would like to retire in ten years. "Ten years is a long time," I tell him, "but something will happen. Have faith."
The evening view is spectacular. Still suffering from city-lag, as he talks I feel better; I remember to count my blessings. I think about that commercial, "You don't need a nip and tuck, you need a plan." Oregon has been my plan for twenty years. I'm here. At 51 I'm comfortable. The pace and relaxed state is good for me.
The city-lag releases it's grip. The clamato-beer is good. My friend leaves and I'm grateful for the visit. Suddenly, I remember with earnest again that life is wonderful, every miserable moment.
Be happy.
Compared to the stimulation and excitement of the city; the fast paced, twelve lane highways at rush hour, fast food, all night everything, all those people trying to squeeze as much life as possible out of every moment as they scramble full speed through their daily routine. It is understandable why returning to the mountains can result in city-lag (society is not always really such a rat race).
Our next door neighbor in California, Darryl, had rats infesting the whole neighborhood from their base in the boxed-in eaves on his garage; one summer evening just before dark I watched them from the roof of the house exit from a hole in the eave and gather on the roof of his carport. It was like a Disney movie; old fat rats walking slowly and sniffing, young rats wrestling, playing, and all the rats in their prime racing from the carport roof to the pecan tree. It's limbs overhanging the roof, and all of the rats streaking through the neighborhood via the trees. It was a commune, not a society.
The ant world is more of a society, with the hill as the city. One ant out on an adventure, sees the sun going down and decides to head home. As he returns to the hill, other ants returning from their day join him. The closer they get to the hill, the more ants there are, until their lines get thicker, multi-directional, full of worker ants, foragers, scouts etc. The ant speed of movement increases proportionately in their distance from the hill. Suddenly there is a hurry. Movement more purposeful and straight. There is more control and supervision, larger enforcement ants and traffic direction, more societal requirements. The door is crazy. Ants bumping into each other. Ants bringing in leaves. Ants everywhere. Move or get walked on. There is no time to wander back and forth looking for grasshopper limbs, no time to explore cracks; one might get in the way, or an enforcer ant could get the wrong impression.
First of course is the drop in blood pressure and the natural lull after the rush. The senses relax without the constant radars up that are necessary in the city. Secondly is the realization that the party is over and it's back to cooking for oneself (two more weeks and it's Webber time). The convenience of fast food and restaurants, a poor man's fantasy. Reality can be depressing. Another realization is it's hard to be lazy in the mountains: find and cut firewood, move large rocks onto the driveway and crush them with a sledgehammer, keep the fire in the stove burning.
City-lag is like being lazy; depressing to know there are lots of things to do and all work! Work isn't exciting like the city. It's work, but without the work I'm bored. The city was fun. Fun takes money. Money takes work.
Finally, normally the second or third night back, you sleep fourteen or fifteen hours and wake up with your senses running at mountain speed. Akin to four or five deep breaths after a fast dash."There's no hurry now." The return to a world unobstructed with urban sprawl and strip-malls, devoid of traffic and people, and nary a neighbor I can see. I've been back nine days and not been once approached by a panhandler. The only company I've had is a friend and the neighbor's dogs on their passing stroll to the school bus stop. Plenty to sniff there before returning home. The good life.
My friend showed up two days after my return from the city. He works at the hardware store. He arrived with a six-pack of Corona and a bottle of Clamato juice. He loves my glass-shack. The shack has a certain lure to the cowboying, frontier male in all of us.
My friend owes a large mortgage, is 52, and has 28 years left on his mortgage. If not for his wife (I hear that a lot), he'd prefer to live in a shack next to the national forest, and own it in five years. He would like to retire in ten years. "Ten years is a long time," I tell him, "but something will happen. Have faith."
The evening view is spectacular. Still suffering from city-lag, as he talks I feel better; I remember to count my blessings. I think about that commercial, "You don't need a nip and tuck, you need a plan." Oregon has been my plan for twenty years. I'm here. At 51 I'm comfortable. The pace and relaxed state is good for me.
The city-lag releases it's grip. The clamato-beer is good. My friend leaves and I'm grateful for the visit. Suddenly, I remember with earnest again that life is wonderful, every miserable moment.
Be happy.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
10 Days til Payday
Ten days till payday and the question is: Is there enough money to eat, and buy materials? Or just enough money for materials? And inextricably intertwined with the first two questions is the third: How many days can a man comfortably go hungry? Normally the second day I want to eat. If I'm told I can't eat for twelve hours, or like the night before, I'm starving upon receipt of the words. Anyway, this is about Materials not colondoscopies. (cool word , huh? is it misspelled?)
Lack of materials is why I have time this morning to write. I was sitting upstairs after breakfast, having a bowl and wondering what jail would be like, when I realized I should be dreaming about having materials to build endlessly. Then I started dreaming of the Winchester Hearst Castle I could build up here. But, alas, I had to admit to myself if I had the money for endless materials, I'd be riding around the country on my motorcycle, drinking in bars, eating in restaurants, living the good life, being lazy and having fun... You know, like all of you do!
Then I started thinking about jail again. I could work out religiously and maybe get a tattoo. If I got really buffed and strong, I'd have the thorns inked around my upper arms to accentuate their size. Get a teardrop. Maybe do the spider web tattoo around my elbows.
No, after deep soul searching, 'been there done that' is something I don't want to say about being arrested or jailed. I better think of Good things lest my energy manifest thought to reality. Is President Bush still in Italy plotting 'The End of Days' with the Pope and the Secret Society of the Jesuits?
Everything is wonderful. It's Friday the Thirteenth and this letter is to remind all of you that life is wonderful, every miserable moment.' And don't forget it and life will be wonderful, and you will be happy. Rejoice in every moment that you're still getting yours.
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