The rebuilding of Hob6iton

I really didn’t mean to do it, it just sort of happened. It was just some lose drywall tape and joint compound that was coming loose. I’ll just scrape this off and redo the joint and all will be right with this room again.

I didn’t plan on such a project in the most marginally useful room in the house. It was the room that housed Lois – you remember Lois don’t you? Poison typewriter, Camel smokin’, p*rn artist Lois? This is converted attic space that is size appropriate for hob6its. We’ve used it as a walk-in closet – ok, crawl-in closet, sheesh!

Ok, enough background! I’ll just start scraping here. Ooooh! That’s a lot of joint compound coming down! Scrape here, just a little bit…SHIT! So here I stand, with the center of the ceiling and all the insulation lying at my feet, on my feet, on my shoulders, on my slightly bruised head and my much bruised patience.

Thus began another strip it to the studs event and a way too long and too frustrating project - too long because it was interspersed with a myriad of other projects and too frustrating since 3/4th of the project was done either balled up or standing on my head. It’s not the smallest room in the house, but it was the most labor intensive. I basically built a room within a room with new framing on 3 walls and part of the ceiling.

I’m glad this one is behind me … and no jokes about coming out of the closet! I hope the hob6its are happy!

the obligatory "before" shot

and the "after"

HAPPY TUESDAY!
If ya can't be happy, fake it!

Even the game knows!

First, a Monday gander at a waiting Buffledog!

So we bit the bullet, bought the hype and sprung for the new “Here & Now Monopoly” game.


It took a bit getting used to, mostly surrounding all the zeros on the money – now you pass go and collect $2,000,000 instead of $200. It was fun getting used to the new names on the properties, names like Times Square instead of Boardwalk and we were all vying for Seattle’s Pioneer Square.

We played for 2 hours and called the game on account of yawns. Now usually 2 hours into a game and all the properties would have been purchased and the bloodbath would have begun in earnest; knives pulled and pistols loaded. Actually by the end of the 1st hour everything was purchased except one and by the end of the 2nd hour no one had landed on it and it remained up for grabs. Even the gods of Gamedom have a sense of politics. Here is the recalcitrant property -------->

Crosswired

We passed by an old drifter perched on the bus stop bench, can of malt liquor in his hand and a blank stare on his face. He was dressed in clothes that had long since lost their color and they seemed to be in lock step with his gray, scruffy beard, wizened face and balding pate. I felt no threat and Taylor gave him little notice, confirming the relative safety. Just as I thought he was going to sit quietly and not panhandle me he launched into the following mono-ramble and never waited for any reply:

What kind of dog is that?

Oh! I thought it might be a Saint!

I’m from Texas

Been there? Silly word “been”!

I used to live here – girlfriend was … er … is … yep that house over yonder

Never been married. No sir … almost … China Town … did you know I was shot in the heart?

That Russian was crazy … hot wired a car … Everett … yep, looking for drugs and women ... he couldn’t handle both … no sir … car full of cocaine … right here (points to his heart)

You in the service … in the war? No? Me either.

From Lubbock … Texas. Mhmmmm, you been down south?

Katrina, that’s just a mess … were you there?

I feel things. Yessir, my fingers – good! Opened that safe … you know what I found? Bush! Yep two letters! That was her name you know, Bush … hmmmm … China Town.

Nearly had it.

From Texas ………… FBI ……… found a set of keys in a Metro jacket … fuel key … didn’t give it to Metro, nosirree, gave to the FBI.

The FBI saved my life in Texas … just got out of prison, on parole … it was a sawed-off shotgun … they just broke in and took me into custody … never tell …

What time is it? Eleven? Don’t have my watch anymore. They just keep taking my stuff … tent … is it eleven?

Paper … I think North Korea … they had a missile aimed at Florida … moved here.

Family in South Carolina … Hutchins … my mother’s still in Germany … four times … married … she’s just like Elizabeth Taylor.

They owe me 8 thousand dollars … my father was … you know they wanted to put me in an institution … well I flew over the cuckoo’s nest like Jack Nicholson … fuck that … I ain’t taking none of them psychotropic drugs … take your money … dole it out a little at a time.

Father, mother … we all never got along … made me kinda schizophrenic … these fingers, they feel stuff … you live here long? Me, I’m from Texas.

Pipe Creek, used to run along here … that day there were seven of us … what time is it? Eleven?

I ain’t no historian, but I took history … and music in college … night clubs … go every now and then … play the piano …

Rachmaninoff …


Herbie Hancock …


We bid him adieu ... what can you say?

Safe home!?

Meteoric ______! *reprise*

I originally posted this as a guest of Lisa last month. So...for the lack of a post for today I decided to re-post it here for those of you who didn't see it earlier.

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 – after midnight there is little traffic, save a lone semi or the odd pickup, thus it was fairly quiet being so close to the highway. 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 and turned from the window looking for a new diversion.

Macro to micro!

Well, yesterday I gave you the macro view of the North Cascades and today I present a couple of micro views. Because of the low angle of the sun and the cooler temps the water droplets just seemed suspended in time and space. I’ve left these at a fairly high resolution and it’ll be worth the time to click on them to enlarge.


The 3rd photo is our gate guardian that reappeared after cleaning out the beds. The 4th was just perfect in the sun and too cool not to share!

HAPPY HUMP DAY!

Sunday wonders

The October itch to just “get out of Dodge” is never stronger than when the sun is out and the temps are relatively warm. One of our favorite drives this time of the year runs northeast out of Granite Falls and loops back around to Darrington. It’s called the Mountain-Loop Highway and takes you through Verlot, Silverton and Monte Cristo. When everyone else is struggling with traffic on US 2 across Stevens Pass, down through Tumwater Canyon and on to Leavenworth’s Octoberfest, there are very few who bother with the Mountain Loop Highway so traffic is minimal and the scenery is spectacular. Part of the road was damaged in some heavy storms and we could only go as far as the end of the pavement and the Glacier Peak trailhead, but it was a stellar drive none-the-less. The short hike up the Ice Caves Trail is worth the effort as well as stops along the river. The Buffledog was in heaven on the walks and acted quite the wood sprite – a very large wood sprite! The photos tell the rest!

HAPPY TUESDAY!

Elephant talk!

It was a gorgeous fall day, sunny with temps in the high 60s, and it was a perfect day to go visit the elephants before setting out on a long, meandering drive through the North Cascade Mountains. He knew when we parked where we were going and there is nothing more fun than watching 130 pounds of fur bounding across the park to go visit his friends that are bigger than his own self! The second photo is the elephant house and the pachyderm was hidden from view behind the foliage to the left and behind the rail. It was talking and Taylor was talking back! He was a happy pooch – can ya tell? Photos from the drive tomorrow!

update: this is a path that passes behind the backside of the Zoo - just so happens that the fence is so close to the elephant house! They won't let us in with the Buffledog :( so we take what we can get!

Ever wonder...

…what’s behind their eyes? What are our canine companions thinking?

Last night, while half watching some mindless entertainment on TV, the Buffledog was aggressively trying to gnaw at a spot on his hind quarters. It’s a seasonal issue with his winter coat coming in and is better under control with his allergy shots. He will stop when we get his attention, but you can tell he really wants to chew at it. He suddenly got up and sat down right in front of me, a smile on his face, looking like his big happy self and was looking at me square in the face. So I petted and rubbed on him for a while and sat back; he remained fixated. What does he want? I asked if he wanted to go out – nothing doing. It was obvious he wanted something and he was rooted to his spot. We were wishing he could talk.

I finally get up and head toward the kitchen and he follows me in there and sits again. “Want a treat,” I ask. I give him a couple of pieces of broccoli in lieu of biscuits – the boy loves his broccoli and carrots. He took them from my hand and then set them on the floor. Ok, I’m really perplexed and put the pieces in his bowl for later. I opened the pantry to grab a couple of sodas and he was right there, as close as he could possibly get and wagging his whole body with excitement. There is little in the pantry for him other than his kibble and the biscuits and his box of grooming stuff, so I offered him a biscuit. He put that on the floor too and remained fixated on something else. I’m running out of options here. I pick up his comb and his excitement went into overdrive! Voilà! The boy just wanted to be brushed – doh!

Don’t you wish they could talk?

Sliding into 90

update: the pic is dad (1918 or 1919) from one of my great-grandfather's glass plate negatives.

Friday the 13th. The general view of this day is with suspicion and superstition – not a good day for most. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that most view the day with a potential for the calamitous and catastrophic. The sky is falling and the rivers are turning red. Frankly I think it hilarious that there are no 13th floors or rooms numbered 13 and that 13 is often left out of numbering parcels of land or houses. How unfortunate it is that our lives are affected so by a superstition born in the Middle Ages.

Obviously I don’t feel that way. So, how did I escape this? Most importantly and uniquely, my dad was born on Friday the 13th and, despite my childhood view at times that he was the devil incarnate, he has brought far more good to the world than otherwise. I cannot even fathom feeling otherwise, much less feeling superstitious. October 13th, 1916 was his birth day and he is now 90 years young. I asked him how he felt about being 90 and he replied, “Well, give me a few days and maybe I can tell you.” Fair enough.

I began to think about all that has passed beneath his bridge; historical milestones that anyone with a general sense of history can reiterate. I shifted from the detached grandiose to far more mundane things; the thin things that make up his daily life, but layered together give his life substance and resonance. Some of his stories I’ve heard a hundred times, but if I’m listening I can hear something new, something I’ve not heard before. Working with him on the resurrection of his photos has brought up a slew of anecdotal information, some I’ll retain and some he will unfortunately take with him. I am, however, amazed at the level of detail with which he can recall things seemingly insignificant. Sometimes the level of detail will bore me to tears, as it does my siblings. Somewhere in those monologues, usually delivered after a Sunday dinner, was a diamond in the coal bin. I cannot tell you how often my sister, younger brother and I have wished we’d had a tape recorder going when he dropped one of those gems.

So now he’s 90 and living alone since mom died a few years ago. He’s made it this far fairly gracefully; although there have been seasons it has been with the grace of swans on ice. I can now sit back and think about his time and my time within it and be proud; not for a big, spectacular life, but remarkable for the layers of small things - and putting the kibosh on a superstition for Friday the 13th.

My day

Jack%Gets%Up ~ Leo%Kottke

Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed
And you crawl out of bed and you crawl out of bed
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And you look at the moon where the window is
And the stars shine, and the stars shine, and the stars shine
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And way down below in the sun belt
And the telephones, and the telephone, and the telephones
And you look out the moon where the window is
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And some of us breathe in the brown ground
Where the worms clown, where the worms clown, where the worms clown
Way down below in the sun belt
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And every night when you lay down
You fall flat, you fall flat, you fall flat
Some of us breathe in the brown ground
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

So we're all asleep in the same dream
In the snort fort, the snort fort, the snort fort
And every night when you lay down
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

Santa Claus modified snow peas
On the sun roofs, on the sun roofs, on the sun roofs
So we're asleep in the same dream
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

If you look in the mirror it's your father's face
And the thin grin, the thin grin, the thin grin
It's Santa Claus pulling up snow peas
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And there's tears in the bank and the credit card
In the back yard, in the back yard, in the back yard
If you look in the mirror it's your father's face
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And once in a while when the wind blows
And the heart whines, and the heart whines, and the heart whines
There's tears in the bank and a credit card
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

But there's lint in the pocket and a breath mint
Or a car key, or a car key, or a car key
Once in a while when the wind blows
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And your kid has a face like a walnut
From the ice cream, from the ice cream, from the ice cream
But there's lint in the pocket and a breath mint
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

Once in a while when the wind blows

I’m outta here for a few days – play nice – see ya next week!

Some verses from Leo*Kottke's Jack*Gets*Up (My*Father's*Face - 1989) - an odd song that I oddly identify with:

... ... ... ...

Santa Claus modified snow peas
On the sun roofs, on the sun roofs, on the sun roofs
So we're all asleep in the same dream
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

If you look in the mirror it's your father's face
And the thin grin, the thin grin, the thin grin
It's Santa Claus pulling up snow peas
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And there's tears in the bank and the credit card
In the back yard, in the back yard, in the back yard
If you look in the mirror it's your father's face
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

And once in a while when the wind blows
And the heart whines, and the heart whines, and the heart whines
There's tears in the bank and a credit card
Everyday in the morning when you get up and you crawl out of bed

... ... ... ...

Logo reminded me of one of my own post from 1-21-06 . Very apropos - I'm impressed that she remembered!

Hmmm…what’s the word? Hmmm…oh!...right…

...frenetic days! Oh, ok - BUSIERNHELL! Upcoming is another whirlwind tour of the east coast with stops in DC and Atlanta, but I have to shelve Austin and Albuquerque…the last two I’m not happy about AT ALL!

Last few days have been a frenzied tumble of financial wizardry, crashed computer (my beloved laptop), attention deficient relatives, scrambled plans and fried brains. Mmmmm…goulash! The gypsy will be proud.

BTW – if you have the itch to install a McAfee suite that contains SiteAdvisor, think twice before you tell it “NOT” to trust the first IP that shows up on reboot after install – it’s probably your own fucking computer trying to connect with the network – it pisses all over itself if you tell it that it is no longer a trusted site. You will then get the scenic tour through the Registry, the TCP/IP stack, the Nine Gates of Microsoft Support, Msinfo32, Netdiag utility, the mysteries of SP2 and land in a dogdamn Winsock. WTF is a winsock doing in my laptop? Do the bits and bytes need wind direction info to land properly?

update: the laptop is BACK!!!! After washing it's stinky little winsock it's a happy camper!!!

Alright all you bits and bytes, go hump a day, you got your Winsock back!

Art Walk

update (10-7): link in comments

Tonight is opening night! The artist is our youngest’ significant other and the work he has put out is nothing short of amazing. His work is beautiful, provocative, edgy and humorous with an overlay of whimsy. It is most interesting knowing an artist who is actually making it. Gone is the hollow, vacant, can’t rub two nickels together look. He actually smiles when he talks about his work! How wonderful is that????

He worked the room with the grace that only experience and confidence can bring – he and the youngest were in their element. Friends, artist and patrons filled the gallery with chatter and laughter and more than one accolade was overheard. I found it quite inspiring to be among so many creative and talented people. The air was charged with a quiet excitement – sensual in a way. He will do very well.

It was a good end to a tough week.

Some days you feel like a rat, some days you don't

Ah! The joys of urban living and abundant fruit! Seasonal changes, a smorgasbord of ripening fruit across three yards and the neighbor’s compost bin seem to beckon the little critters, “Come hither, come hither.” Blek!

Fortunately we have no breaches in the fortifications, but it was VERY disconcerting to look out on the deck and see Willard – little beady eyed, bewhiskered Willard! You could almost hear it say, “I’m very patient my sweet. Just you wait and see!” Damn-it-all – damn-it-Fall!

Oh! The raccoons have been very busy as well! The Buffledog and I saw a gang of six this morning exiting the briar patch! He was not pleased, but stayed on command. I now know what he has been raising hell about over the last couple of nights!

Another from the past

This is another of the negatives from dad’s days as a newspaper photographer. He took the call in the wee hours that there was a fire at the Winecoff Hotel. December 7th, 1946, Pearl Harbor Day and there were over 275 people in the hotel. 119 of them died that night in a 15 story building that was deemed “fireproof” with no fire escapes or sprinkler systems. It was a horrible night by all accounts and was captured by many on film, including Arnold Hardy’s famous Pulitzer Prize winning photo of a woman leaping to her imminent demise. This photo though captures the emotion and intensity of the firefighters battling an almost futile battle. There are four hoses feeding this pipe - it's understandable why it took so many to hold it. (the photo will enlarge if you click on it)

The tragedy that night caused major changes in building codes. It is unfortunate that so many had to perish to force the changes, but that seems to be the way of the world, doesn't it?

Glass walls

(Note: if it’s Monday and you are looking for me, I’ll be in New York City at LisaB’s - come visit!)

For many years, in between bouts of the insanity of corporate life and engineering, I spent time working in glass – stained, slumped, fused, etched and sand blasted. It was a medium that I could totally lose myself in for hours; that absolute immersion that could take me beyond the here and now and into another dimension entirely – 30 hour days were not infrequent. I would have different play lists for different aspects of the process and would often be so lost in the music and the work that folks would wander into the shop and be there for 30 minutes or longer before I even became aware of their presence. We had some resident weirdoes, Smiley Jack and Boomer that that I wrote about, but for the most part the visitors were merely interested in the work on display or just out of sheer curiosity of such a shop in a town that was afflicted with terminal dullness. The town cops were so used to my weird hours and penchant for leaving the door unlocked in the wee hours they regularly checked the door and set the latch to lock.

The huge work tables were arranged in such a way that they were the central focus of the fore-room whereas the design bench was hidden behind a glass wall constructed from an uncompleted restaurant room divider that the customer welshed on. It was several huge panels of water glass (a heavily textured glass in fairly random wave patterns) with some bas relief sand blasted nudes in the center of each panel – inspiration and seclusion in the same package. It was a place I could sit back and view the domain and those within, the ambiguity such that it was not distracting to whatever creative process that I happened to be in at the time. I think even now I construct mental walls the same way and that is disconcerting for some.

Clarity certainly has its place, but in the pursuit of some creative thought or process it is far, far better for me to ensconce myself in the comfort of those walls with their insubstantial, yet non-distracting vision. It was, and is now, always a shock to step out from behind the walls and into reality. I must admit there are times when the transition is not successful at first. I envy those artists who can switch back and forth with relative ease. In time I get there.

Today I sit behind the wall, don’t steal anything – karma’s a bitch.