TGIFF!

20 things I'd NEVER say

Ok, this started out as a comment at Kim’s. So here’s the setup: What’s 20 things you’d never say! Tagging no one, but play if you like!

1. "Sure, I'll take a pay cut! You’re the best!"
2. "You want to give me a smokin' blow job? No fucking way!"
3. "I'll have the veal."
4. "Yes sir!"
5. "Yes ma'am!"
6. "Father, forgive me for I have sinned!"
7. "Yes I charged that as a business expense, but that's not really true."
8. "I hate dogs."
9. "There is no way I'd go to the extreme to meet another blogger!"
10. "I don't need a camera anymore, you take it!"
11. "Write, smite! Writing's for pussies."
12. "Long, slow sex on a Caribbean getaway? Have you lost your mind?"
13. "Too bad Bush doesn't get a 3rd term!"
14. "I'd nevah puke at the thought of #13."
15. "I think nuns are the coolest evah!"
16. "Nope, that priest never touched me!"
17. "GAH! Tequila! There’s a worm in there!"
18. "You couldn't force me into climbing that mountain."
19. "Isn't Laura Bush the sexiest evah?"
20. "Hell yes, the Pope is infallible."

LMAO!!!!!

HAPPY THURSDAY and have fun!!!!

Uh oh! 1500 miles, Coastline Drive, lost in space and Carl Jr.

Ever make one of those supremely crazy decisions only to have it wave its fickle little finger in your face? Well listen up peeps – fate is a capricious mistress.

Months of planning had gone into the road trip that I was supposed to be taking RIGHT NOW; yet the decision to not put the house on the market this fall left the trip plans in a pile of damp ashes. Ok! Plan “B” then. A few days R&R in San Francisco and hopefully meeting up with several of you during that time; all fine well and good until (watch the finger!) a family crisis emerges on the east coast. Scrap plan “B” and plan “C” was to do nothing and not go at all. Text messages, phone calls and e-mails all went out scraping the plan. *pout* Mind you I needed to get out of the house and get some perspective. I woke to a text message that put the game on again, only highly modified, last minute and mostly nutz. Checked flights and still doable, fly down in the morning and return that evening – compressed time at best and ruled out meeting anyone else other than Muse and her roommate, who were there on vacation, and Varla Vixen, my creator. Flight confirmed and I’m all fat, dumb and happy…until I have this nagging little nano-thought stomping around in my head to check the flight again. FUCK!!!!!! (watch the birdie finger wag!) The date was supposed to be the 22nd and I was booked to fly the following Friday, the 29th. Expedia was gracious enough regarding the cancellation, but the airline was not going to let me pass without paying the “troll” – DOH! Oh well, everything was already in play, no canceling now.

It was a beautiful day to fly, weather in San Francisco was perfect and meeting Muse was everything I expected and then some. Just seeing her smile was worth the trip – worth the 18 month wait. It was good to see her laugh after all the trauma she’s been through as of late. A decision was made to visit a few wineries north of SF so a meandering drive along the Coastline Drive came to be, though we never made the wineries – the trip truncated by time constraints given my flight schedule and dinner. Meanwhile we are trying to figure out how and where to hook up with Varla who was deep in a project at school. Dinner reservations blown, it became plans “B”, “C” and “D” the more we found ourselves lost in the city and the approaching night. My departure time was approaching like an F-18 to a carrier deck and plan “Z” went into effect after we retrieved Varla from the street while parked in a bus lane, as it was crystal clear that dinner was no longer a viable option. I’m reluctant to give up my time with Muse and her roommate, but our good sense won and we retrieved Varla’s truck and left the girls to find a restaurant and dinner. Varla and I decide there is only enough time for fast food and the trip to the airport and a Carl Jr. was all that was available and quick. We had a good laugh about flying 750 miles to visit for an hour and eat at a fast food restaurant, but you know what? The whole day was so worth the time and the effort on everyone’s part to make it happen. Spur of the moment, sure. Crazy, you betcha. Worth it, absofuckinglutely!

Meteoric ______!

Watching the black ground below with my head resting against the window of the plane, seeing only the occasional light of some lone homestead or farm, I roll my eyes up and realize I can see the stars with an amazing clarity. I had the seat to myself and put my feet up and lay on my side, looking upward toward the heavens and the multitude of lights in the distance. I could hear someone softly snoring in the seat behind me and I strain to see more of the night sky, wishing I could render the skin of the plane invisible as we left the lights of the Bay Area behind.

My thoughts drifted back to the first night spent in the open sky of Montana in a wayside pull out along US 2 – at 2 am there is little traffic, save a lone semi or the odd pickup. The sky was alive with light, pulsing and blinking and I gained a far greater understanding of how the Milky Way got its name. We climbed on the top of the coach and claimed a spot not already taken by the various rooftop appliances and grab bars – there were no bad seats in this house. Our efforts were rewarded with an incredible meteor shower and John Denver’s line in “Rocky Mountain High” about it raining fire in the sky was never as appropriate as it was that night. Some were quick, almost quicker than the eye can detect and then there were the long arcing meteors that left a trail in the sky and on the retinas.

I remember my mom talking about the meteor showers in Montana and how they would sometimes drive 20 miles away from the Fort Peck Dam site to lose the lights. I knew then why her face always lit up when she talked about those glorious nights a million miles from nowhere – a welcome respite from the rough and tumble life of the construction town in the 30’s.

I was jerked back into the present when the stewardess asked if I wanted another pillow, which I gladly accepted. There was still the faint penumbra over the Pacific that was fading fast and I felt my mood crashing with the light’s demise. I continued to watch the night sky intently as we slipped along the coastline in our silver cocoon and began to wonder how our lives get so complex. What happened to those days of innocence and wonder? What happened to those days where your actions were just that, your actions and not laden with such potential for consequence? I long some days for that innocence of youth and wonder disheartened at how quickly we all want to grow past it and later mourn its passing. That youth, like a meteor, streaks across our skies and we are left with a retinal memory of its passing; fading as the years pass.

I sigh and stare at the night for a while longer; rewarded for my attention as the night gave up several meteors in quick succession - little flashes - life. I smiled wanly and turned from the window looking for a new diversion.

Molecular moment

Idly, but rhythmically, playing a tune that was born on a night just like tonight; adding a grace note, changing a walk to another key just to see what, if at all, works – stopping only momentarily and taking mental note of what I had just done. Missing a note as the hammer strikes a sour note and I wince, both inwardly and outwardly. The flow is broken and I know that sleep is beginning to overcome my busy mind and I rest the hammers in my lap and stare at the odd assortment of papers, tuner, headphones, lens cap corralling a guitar pick, lens hood and a speaker that all litter the small table beside the dulcimer. Each item on the table takes on a surreal quality that I don’t fully comprehend and I struggle to understand this phenomenon. My eyes drift slowly left to the desk and to the dulcimer on the right and there is a numinous quality to all that I’m seeing – a pulse in each and every item, yet diaphanous in its visage.

I realize that I am looking at the room with my eyes closed – not through the slits but through the lids. I continue to look around the room and wonder if this is a lucid dream or am I awake, but I don’t want the event to pass. I’m fascinated by the subtle life in what is normally considered to be inanimate objects - molecular breathing. I reach for it, both visually and physically, but its visage becomes very dark. To continue to see I had to open my eyes and I was loathe to do that; preferring the visual and mental quiet - finally.

So what makes your dog salivate?

...besides the obvious – meat!

20 Bufflevations:

• Avocado


• Gummy Bears


• String cheese


• Peanut butter ANYTHING


• Popcorn


• Blueberries


• Blackberries


• Apples – best right off the tree


• Broccoli


• His allergy shot (‘cause he gets a treat afterward)


• Yogurt


• Cottage cheese


• Pizza bones


• Cereal bowls (the remains)


• Did I mention AVOCADO???


• Ice cream


• Tomatoes (especially if he picks them off the vine)


• Any package that crinkles


• Chocolate (THAT HE CANNOT HAVE – HASN’T TASTED - HOW DOES HE KNOW?))


• Perhaps I didn’t mention AVOCADOS

So...what are the things that brings your pooch in from the great outdoors - the one you "thought" was fast asleep and you could open that package or door? Hmmmm?

Pickin' the fly shit out of the pepper

Several good questions have been posed both on and off line regarding the photo from the last post, so I thought I’d just deconstruct the photo a little and drill down to some details. You can enlarge each of the photos.

? Where's the smoke?
It appears they were washing the windows of the AFD Headquarters building. No person in the window to the left of the washer.
Notice, too, the bas relief detail of the AFDHQ building – pretty intricate detail for a public service building, huh?

? The ladder truck?
AFD #1 of course! Notice the AFD HQ moniker above the door.

Interesting is that the car in front of the ladder truck belongs to the chief and if you look closely at the tag you’ll see a vanity tag that says…”CHIEF”!

? There was a question raised about the dark color of the brick as opposed to the building next to it?
Typical to the southeast the AFDHQ was constructed of red clay brick and the building next to it is the Rich's department store basement annex (the annex was an early outlet store for the department store). Rich's was constructed of another common southern brick which was almost white in color. On the top of the Rich's building is their water tower and that is the cooling tower for the store to the right of it.

Apparently dad took the shot just because they were cleaning the windows with the ladder truck.

HAPPY MONDAY

Vintage graffiti

While scanning some negatives from my dad's days as a news photographer I ran across this interesting detail of the Camel girl. The year is 1949 and the photo was taken in Atlanta. Top is the original photo and below is the detail. He never noticed it before! You can click on the pics to enlarge!

HAPPY WEEKEND YA'LL

Picture this! ('cause I got nuthin' else)

MY MOOD - 'NUFF SAID!

A HAPPIER DAY

More from the floorboard archive - or - the unveiling of Lois

Well Faith and Begorrah, another intact note to Lois! I’m more convinced than ever that all these girls were in a typing class. The time frame is probably pre-‘41 since the last street cars in Seattle were taken out of service in mid-’41 and the trackless trolleys were usually referred to as buses or trolleys. Another bit of trivia I discovered was that the first spiral bound notebooks were released in 1934. Also in the walls were pamphlets calling for “total conscription” of the nation to support the looming war – sound familiar?

So, enjoy Lois and her catty retinue and Happy Tuesday!

Talking walls

So far I’ve found bedpans, porn and bottles containing mysterious substances in this 86 year old house. The list has now grown to include the items found in the wall of what was once a young lady’s bedroom or perhaps it was simply an attic space that was her private space a.k.a. smoking loge by the attic window. So there are now many half smoked remnants of Camel cigarettes, a pin cushion, many torn up and undecipherable notes, political campaign calling cards, a variety of crudely rendered naughty drawings and the remains of a variety of “French postcards”. The item that was the most intact was the note pictured below and is quite dated given the mention of "streetcars". It was interesting how similar it was to notes we’d found cleaning out our girl's spaces. Some things never change. You can click on the photo to increase it's size and readability.

Intervention

“Everyone on earth has a treasure that awaits him” his heart said. “We, people’s hearts, seldom say much about those treasures, because people no longer want to go in search of them. We speak of them only to children. Later, we simply let life proceed, in its own direction, toward its own fate. But, unfortunately, very few follow the path laid out for them – the path to their Personal Legends, and to happiness. Most people see the world as a threatening place, and, because they do, the world turns out, indeed, to be a threatening place.
“So, we, their hearts, speak more and more softly. We never stop speaking out, but we begin to hope that our words won’t be heard: we don’t want people to suffer because they don’t follow their hearts.”

Excerpt from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

If you haven’t read The Alchemist it is a worthy read - a modern fable about following your dream. We were cleaning out the basement and I was walking with a pile of book discards to the truck. I stumbled over Taylor, who was lying peacefully on the front walk, and the books tumbled out of my arms. When I started picking them back up again a book fell off the top, back to the ground. The book was The Alchemist and I picked it up to thumb though it. The page that I opened it to was the page the above excerpt was on. I put the book to the side and carried the rest to the truck. The strangeness continues since no one remembers buying the book, much less bringing it home. It was already fluffy, probably from some late night dunk in the bath water and it isn’t like any of us to purchase a “pre-fluffed” book – we all manage that quite well TYVM. The book has spoken to my heart at a time that it needed conversation.

Happy Thursday and Happy Reading!

Elevation + water + dog Nirvana + dog stocks = good ride

Let's get outta here.
Ok. Where?
Don't know. Flip a coin? North or South?
Heads!
Your choice then!
South!
K! Got gas?

So we end up here!

Tipsoo Lake at Chinook Pass - 5430'

a very happy dog!!! ('cept the leash - but park rules and all that!)

...all mine!!!!

dog bliss!!!!!

dogs in stocks ... jk!!!
They were quite happy and having quite the convo with the Buffledog!!

Where's Fortitude?

The rivulets of sweat were coursing down the back of my neck soaking the neckline of the t-shirt and I reached back to stem the flow with the overused kerchief retrieved from the cargo pants. My left hand slid over the fabric of the shirt brushing away the debris. The shirt, once a deep forest green was now the indistinguishable color of mud, dirt and gravel in the weak light of the carbide lamp. It was proud dirt, proudly earned and proudly worn. I removed my gloves and reached into the military surplus shoulder bag and after a few fumbling moments I pulled out the map. Eyes following the worn and smudged lines defining passages and dead ends and settled on the area that I suspected I was in. I had been here before - a year before and now the lay of the rock was becoming familiar once again. There was the sound of water dripping, rhythmic and hard against the stone and I listened for the sounds of the rest of my party. Removing my helmet I once again wiped the sweat from my forehead and the back of my neck, immediately wishing that I had brought a wool hat. I shivered in the cool, damp air and shook the shiver hard to dispel its power. I lay back against the wall of stone and stared intently at the miniscule opening at the base of the opposite wall, a dark stain just above the old stream bed. I shone the lamp on the map again and contemplated the dotted line representing the passage beyond the opening and the question mark rose in my mind as clearly as it did on the page, defining the passage as unexplored. I closed my eyes to the murky light and checked the level of my fortitude.

I heard the crunch of the gravel underfoot and knew my party had arrived.

“Today’s the day isn’t it?” Fay asked as she settled in beside me.
“Yes” I offered without conviction.
“Sure?”
“Yes” with more strength this time.

We were joined by several others and shutting my eyes I rested my head against the stone. I became aware of Fay and that sweet, earthy scent that can only be produced by the mix of a woman, exertion and attraction. I drifted with that for a moment and she asked if I really wanted to do this. I murmured that I did and opened my eyes to the small opening again. She squeezed my forearm in silent confirmation and encouragement, that conversation that can happen between partners when words fail. Without preamble and further discussion, I shucked all but my helmet, canteen, a light stick and the muddy clothes on my back. I got on my belly in the old stream bed and placing the helmet in front of me I began to move forward, acting on the supposition that had been in discussion for over a year. The passage veered off to the left and I continued to pull forward with what little I could use of my arms and push, inch by inch with my feet. The passage got somewhat tighter and breathing deeply was no longer an option; however, the little bit of the crawl I could see past the helmet looked wider but I could not judge the height. The section I was in was simply tight and my mind kept going to a full body treatment of a personal lubricant. Turning my head to the side my chin scraped across the gravel and I pushed ahead, mostly blind except for my hands and fingers defining the space ahead – alternately touching the stream bed and the ceiling to judge the opening. It was all I could do to keep the rising panic at bay, saving it for a far more appropriate circumstance. This was one time I was supremely glad that I was so thin.

Inch by bloody inch, moving small rocks out of the way and hoping that this crawl would end soon – my fortitude was leaking – fast! Fortunately the passage opened up for a bit and I was able to move with more freedom the last 10 of the 29 feet. Rotating my frame onto my right side I was having to slither along and around a narrower part of the passage – not tight so much as awkward. Suddenly there was a shift in the reflected light and I realized that the squeeze was over and I unfolded into a room the size of a double garage. The ceiling was domed and it was festooned with formations as was the floor. I stopped before I completely exited the crawl and checked for footprints or anything else that would suggest another previous explorer. There were none. This room was mine; mine to name, mine to map, mine to simply sit back and know that I was very likely the first human who had gazed upon these walls, these formations. It was not a beautifully decorated room, but the formations that were there were undisturbed and were a grand contrast to the wanton destruction of the entry into the cave – the graffiti and the trash left behind by those who do not truly treasure the wonders that are these caves dotting the mountainsides.

I screamed back that I was through and that the thinnest of the party could come on. Fay and one of the 4 remaining cavers made it through the crawl, as I had pushed some impediments out of the way. For a time though I was able to sit back, douse the lamp and enjoy a few moments of blissful solitude. There was no light and no sound for a few moments. The pounding of my heart was apparent and my breathing was raspy from the exertion, but I found peace – even if it was just for a moment. It is a moment solid in its recall for now. There is no darkness as complete as the darkness of a cave, or anything else as silent. It was magnificent.

So…why did I tell you this tale? I think it started with the cacophony of urban noise that seems to be in over abundance these days – sirens, back-up beepers, traffic and noisy neighbors. I was remembering how much I love the silence and then it morphed into this. However, as I was writing it I realized that it’s a near perfect allegory for the way I feel these days…inch by bloody fucking inch I’m moving along, checking my fortitude. Some days I cannot even envision what is beyond the edge of the weak lamp light and there are days the passage is tight enough to induce panic. I can only hope the room on the other end will at least be decorated.