"Ahoy Grasshopper!"

CONTEXT: Context is good. Mostly it is good because you get to laugh when things are not in it.  You know what I mean?

We all know where the BIG, tired of swimming, ergo, retired ships are? The ones we've put to bed?  You know. "Queen Mary," "Ol' Iron Sides," "Kon Tiki?"

But what ever happened to my Dad's 18 foot cabin cruiser? What happened to your Dad's ol' dinghy?

Do the little boats just get sold for scrap? How do we scratch our nostalgia?

Well America, I'm happy to report the little guys are still around. Just don't look for them in CONTEXT.

We discovered on our recent road trip? By chance really? The little boats have developed this marvelous self-deprecating humor? And as you peruse the pictures above?

Note they can show up just about anywhere, BUT in CONTEXT.

Anybody know where my Dad's cabin cruiser ended up? 

"Up the Lazy River....."

My conscience (aka sister Theda) is telling me to get back to this blogging business.

I'm discovering not a lot of people take the kind of driving vacation Peggy and I take in May and part of June. But I don't want this "sharing thing" to be a travelogue. You know, "then we went here, and this is what and who we saw?"

I don't plan on giving you almost anything in order? I'm just going to let some impressions pop up "willy nilly."

First? Shooting wildlife [photography] along the way in May and June illicits a revelation. Horoscopes can be of no use to, Oh, I'm guessing 90 percent of the Animal Kingdom.  Why?

Because you're either a Taurus or a Gemini!

"Say there! What's your sign?"

"Oh, you know!"

End of conversation. Its as if all forms of life stuffed ourselves in New York elevators in September?  And then the power went out?

 Look I know all about different gestation periods and "all that jazz." And believe me I know about rabbits. Its just a fun way to let your right brain take over for a while.

When we are in Australia in the early 90's? We get fascinated with "Mail Boats."

It's tough to imagine in the middle of our urbane existence that there are places on the planet where the only access to the outside world is by river boat?

Peggy, Rhonda and I take a day trip on one such boat up the Hawkesbury river near Sydney. Mail boats are actually more than what they say they are. True. They deliver the mail. But they also bring the newspaper, a bottle or two of milk, and probably most important?   Human contact.

So it would be hard to imagine such a thing here in this country? Wrong!

Start in Gold Beach, Oregon. Our eyes light up as we approach a motel six. We pass a sign inviting us to join the mail delivery up the Rogue River.

We make a reservation to a recording before hitting the sack. We are hoping the boat isn't full? Hoping they deliver mail on Sunday? Hoping they don't cancel trips when it's pouring down rain!

Answers at 6 a.m: "Boat not full. Don't deliver mail, but take crazy tourists up river anyway. When it rains the mail boat has a roof."

And in odd juxtaposition, the vehicle conveying the mail up stream to isolated America.  It's a "Jet Boat."

With no mail to deliver? We can likely make this 80 mileround trip in about an hour. But, ah, the rules of the river. Mail boats must slow down to the pace of an upstream rowboat when approaching salmon fisher persons.

My lasting impressions of salmon fisher persons are:

1.  They hide in their cabins if they haven't caught anything.

2.  If they've boated a biggie? They stand astern bouncing the catch up and down begging you to snap a picture.

3.  They are always eating.

Up a river without improved roads? You see herons, bald eagles, river otters, deer, wild turkey?  I have pictures of all of them, but you don't get to see them. Shooting wildlife [photography] from a jet boat in the rain is not very productive.

I do have shots of our midway destination? Agnes, Oregon.

The boat docks and sends up this 30 degree grade path to a resort about a half mile from downtown "Agnes."

In picture two?  At the picnic table? Picture a man of I'm guessing 55?  He is short in stature, maybe 5'7". His arms are lean but well defined.  The sun baked head hair is thin. It curls into thick ruffles as it blends with a full beard.  That sun has carved out character grooves all over his face and hands.

This is a man who has clearly made his way through life by way of the land.

"Howdy!"

"How ya?"

"Good. Live around here!"

"All 55 years of my life."

"Lumberjack?"

"While I could. Got to get creative to make a livin' now. We can't cut down any of these trees no more."

"Is that right?"

"Yep! Oh, they lets us cut up some of the dead stuff for firewood. That's about it anymore."

Oh, my little journalist heart is pumping.  I want this man's story, and I've got to walk a half mile back to the boat in 20 minutes.

So I'm just about to ask something like, "What's a typical day up here......"

All of sudden there is a rattling vibration near my subject.  I'm thinking for a few seconds I'm going to see some endangered snake pop up?

But I'm snapped back into the real world. From the back pocket of my lumberjack?  Mozart's Piano Concerto # 27.

Out comes the cell phone.

"You know I'd love to stay and chat? But I need to take this. Nice talking to you."

He's gone, and I have "miles to go before I sleep."

I didn't even get a chance to ask him his "sign!"  Seemed like a Capricorn to me.  

Good Ol Days

On this slow road trip we take? We get a chance to casually drop in on some old friends.  That's the kind of thing it was okay to do in the "Good Ol' Days." Wasn't it?

Heading North out of Los Angeles on 101 we find some way to ignore the horns and dirty looks. We let the speedometer drop below 60 m.p.h.?

Highway 5 is a North-South Drag Race between L.A. and San Francisco. Highway 1 is a slow, gorgeous, but treacherous route that mostly runs all along the ocean the length of the West Coast. U.S. 101 lies right in between the two. It has a few stoplights and speed bumps? But not many?

So for the casual traveler there are some really nice places that are just a blur as you head North? One of them is Ventura. Since we're going slow?

"Let's see now! Who do I know who lives in Ventura?"

That's Doug Rydbeck up there. He and his wife Donna live in Ventura. They own an ice cream store in Ojai, just east of Ventura.

Over the decades I've just screamed through Ventura and only driven through Ojai once.

Doug and I went to high school together. We loosely pretty much hung out with the same guys on the street.

Doug was highly envied by most males in our high school.  That's because he got to grow up living next door to Mary Ann Duda. I remember he got to occasionally walk her to school.  

I've known Doug lived in Ventura for the past twenty years, but just failed to slow down. Doug has really sort of invented slowing down.

In high school, and maybe one year of college years? Doug was one of the best junior golfers in the nation.  At that time he held three course records in the L.A. area.  I don't know if any of them stand...but I think I remember one of them to be in the low 60's? ( I'm sure he'll correct me if he reads this and I'm wrong.)

But Doug tells me there was something about all the tournament commotion he didn't like.  Instead, out of college, he spends several years just kickin' around Europe and Africa, just playing golf and finding ways to survive. 

He played a round with a head of state of one of the African nations. I think it was South Africa, but I'm not sure.

Doug settling in Ojai should be no surprise.  It's a bit of a golf and tennis Mecca. Doug still plays both games. 

He takes us on a tour of downtown. There is a free public tenniscourt where most of the major U.S. players over the past 50 years have played.  Their names are all on a plaque there.

Ojai, Doug characterizes, is where a lot of Hollywood celebrities like to hide out when they are not doing movies.  He plays golf with quite a few of them.

Jack Lemon, he reports, was one of his better ice cream customers. And they were golf buddies. (he told me Jack's favorite flavor, but I forget what it was.)

Ojai seems to attract a lot of people like Doug.  No one is surprised he just turns the joint over to a young employee [SEE PICTURE 2] . While we sit and chat out front for an hour? [SEE PICTURE 3].

No one seems to be in a hurry.

You can even get away with "jaywalking" on Main Street in Ojai. (That's pretty rare anywhere in California.)

Well, we go to dinner and Doug says stick around. Tommorrow morning I'll give you a tour of Ventura.  Hey, so we did.

[SEE PICTURES 4 AND 5]

I don't want this to sound like a sponsored travelogue.

But if you've been like us in the past? Slow Down! Stop and check Ventura out.  It has a wonderful artsy old  Historical Down Town. It has a beautiful old mission.  We loved all the shops, boats and restaurants on the harbor. We had a nice casual breakfast with Doug and Donna at one of them. ( I think I like it better than Santa Barbara.)

And, OH!  The Surf is pretty good in Ventura

So next time you're up that way? Stop in and say howdy to Doug in Ojai. It's the only ice cream shop in town. I doubt it'll get you a discount. But tell Doug?  

 "Paul Sent Me!"

If he asks, "Paul Who?"

Just say,"Rhino!"

 

 

Mustang Man

It's amazing what you can see when you Slow Down. It's not that simple anymore.

You have to get off the interstate. We do that a number of times on this trip.

In Utah? We down shift and spend an hour at an adoption pen for wild horses. But come on now!  Wild horses are just what you see in the movies, right? I mean, let's face it. These horses are penned up? They may not be trained, but they're not WILD!

So we are speeding along I-80 in Wyoming (everybody speeds on I-80 in Wyoming.). This time a little voice keeps telling me to get out of the fast lane.

I finally take some scary exit and head off onto a dirt road that leads to an oil exploration field. Now, I'm in search of an antelope that likes to pose for pictures.

But 90 percent of the time you get off on a dirt road people have been telling you to stay away from? You see more than you asked for. 

A rusted road sign dented by buckshot? It labels this BLM land. I'm sure I'm going to find that antelope. But before I do? Out here on the open range?

KABOOM! There in the sage brush is a feral horse, aka, MUSTANG. It's eyes are wild. It's  spirit is intact. It is in control of it's own fate. It is a true symbol of the West.

I'd like to take credit for that description? But I get these words from Luis Jimenez. Who is Luis Jimenez?

Luis Jimenez died this week in a pool of irony. I won't need to do much writing to convince you of that. But I need to add some character to this man of irony. I want you to appreciate him. You don't have to like him. Just appreciate him.

Luis Jimenez is an artist. I can't call him friend, although I'd like to. ( I'd have a beer with Luis) We do spend one day together. We are both working. I am reporting, and he is sculpting.

He is working on a model of a 32 foot high sculpture he's been commissioned to erect outside Denver International Airport.

I am here in his Hondo, New Mexico studio because Luis Jimenez is already five years behind on delivering a work of art he calls MUSTANG.

I'm here wondering what gives him the artistic gall to say, "hey, it'll be DONE when its DONE."  I mean he's already been paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for the piece.

I also come bearing complaints of airport employees about his late arriving design.  "BLUE HORSE! BULGING RED NEON LIGHT EYES!"

I rather enjoy his response at this point.

"I don't know Paul. When I take it up there it may be Pink!"

Can't you picture this skinny unwashed rebel in his Greenwich Village flat saying, "it IS what it IS."

When I was first exposed to the Luis Jimenez controversy? I was shown some oil paintings and lithographs showing characters in bars and dance halls clearly under the influence of social rebellion.

Well this must be the Luis Jimenez we've come to see? I'll paraprhase his response to that part of his reputation.

" I'm (self portrait) in each one of the paintings. I'm the guy at the end of the bar looking in? But not participating. I painted them all in a six month period after a breakup. It was my 'BLUE PERIOD!"

Well, HERE is the artist I spent the day with. Luis Jimenez is most likely the only artist in Hondo, New Mexico. There are no opium dens or studios with cots in the back. Luis dresses in casual "around the house" outfits I'm sure he orders out of a catalogue.

"It's a long way to town."

Luis is a family man. His wife and kids live in an abandoned school. It is great for entertaining. The school cafeteria houses a large southwest style kitchen meant for family meals and occasional entertaining. (Photographer Jim Weis and I enjoy a cup of coffee at a thick distressed wood table.)

"But clearly this man can care less about this Mustang thing?"

That would be hard to document since one of the few additions Luis has made to the school-house? He's put in a coral for a pet MUSTANG. He's got a live model to work with at will.

Thanks to the school structure? A large gathering area, maybe a small gym, is now his work space.  It's big enough so that he can bring his model right into the studio.

While there is evidence of other large public art pieces Luis is working on or finished? The MUSTANG dominates the space. There are MUSTANG images all over the place.

"So what's the deal? Can't this guy finish a piece of work?"

His bigger than life commissioned public art sculptures are done, delivered and on display all over the country.

 He is an art professor. He lectures all over the World.

"Well then what's he got against Denver?"

"Nothing," he says.

He makes no excuses, but some issues surface while we're in Hondo.

"I told them I had a lot of other commitments at the time of the commission."

Following an accident,  he becomes blind in one eye. That clearly sets him back.

"Transportation of a work of this size and complexity is going to be tough to arrange. It'll have to be done at a specific time of year. I don't have that figured out yet."

"They still don't have a platform built outside the airport for me to set the Mustang on."

Later on there is a big issue over airport operatives wanting to put the sculpture inside the terminal.

With lawyers involved the whole story will never be told. But the final chapter is in:

A piece of the Mustang sculpture Luis and two employees are lifting into place? It falls on Luis. It severes an artery in his leg. Luis Jimenez bleeds to death.

There will be some bean counters trying to work this all out on paper. (They should. That's a lot of money.)

There will be some art critics trying to balance their sympathy with relief a blue horse won't be coming to town. That's okay, too.

 I just thought you might like to know a little more about Luis Jimenez before we put the story to bed.

By the way? Found the Antelope. [PICTURE #2]  Had some unexpected wealth come my way? I think I might have asked Luis to sculpt it for me. I'd buy the beer.

Wild Life

Driving around with a camera in the Spring and early Summer gurantees you are going to be loaded with shots of wildlife.

Just let me give you a partial list: Deer, Antelope, Fox, Coyote....I'm interupted. I'll get back to you on this.

Good Old Days

In my last posting I talked about the escalating cost of housing in Seal Beach, a place I used to live? A place I couldn't afford to live today?

Well the picture above pretty much tells the rest of the story. NOT EVERY THING IN SEAL BEACH HAS CHANGED.

My young adulthood coincided with the "Age of Aquarius" generation. Seal Beach wasn't exactly Haight Ashbury or Greenwich Village. But neither was it Rockefeller Center or Wilshire Blvd.

Clothing Optional, I don't think was ever officially on the books in Seal Beach? But walking down Main street, May, 2006?  A visual memory surfaces from my deep subconscious.

Can there be involuntary voyeurism?

Walking in front of me this day long ago is a couple.

History will record them dressed as "Hippies,"

or "Flower Children."

He has long stringy hair to his shoulders. His pants are flared at the ankle. The pants are sporting random holes with denim strings hanging all about.

These pants have flowered paintings on them.  He has a tie dyed kitchen towel wrapped around his forehead and stringy locks. He is shirtless.

She has long braided hair, a ruffled peasant blouse (clearly she has burned all her bras), a flared un-ironed skirt with a little rope belt tying the ensemble together.

Both of them are bare footed.

Almost none of this description, however, is relevant?

That's because all of a sudden, right there on Main street, the REST OF THEIR BODY PARTS? Also become BARE.

Not more than twenty paces ahead of me? The two step over a little one foot high picket fence? On to a tiny patch of grass? Slide out of their garments?

If I describe the rest of it I won't get by the censors. Just engage your imagination and don't leave anything out.

I like to believe I learn something new every day. Well my recent trip to Seal Beach is no exception. I've talked about my friend Duane Laursen, retired science teacher, who twirls a rope in the Rose Parade every year?

He lives in  Seal Beach.

I've yet to tell you much about his wife Nancy. (I'll do a whole piece on her one of these days. Those of you who know Nancy will think this current revelation nuttin'.)

SEE PICTURE #2

Quick background. Nancy is very musical. She, Duane and I used to amaze strangers by breaking out in three part harmony singing the Oreo Cookie Jingle in random bars.  I think we might have even evoked applause once or twice.

Well anybody who has been around Nancy for a length of time is aware of this idiosyncrasy? It's where she hums show tunes the entire time she is having a sophisticated discussion with you. (some acquaintances are amused, some annoyed. )

Well, Peggy brings this up in our recent get together?

Nancy drops a bomb on us.

"That's not all I'm doing, you know?"

"Huh?"

"I am also playing the piano on my teeth!"

"No?"

"Yep! With my tongue."

Don't you wish you'd spent some time in Seal Beach? Too late now. You could never afford it.

(Recently heard from one of my students that the "Oreo" people just held a contest for a new jingle. Sad!)

So what's new?

We'll be home by the time anyone reads this. We are wrapping up a month long auto tour of the western states of the U.S.

Hey we hear ya! Gas prices at record highs? Travel dates include Memorial day weekend?  Yes there were days when we pay more to get between two motels than we pay to stay in them. But our eyes were open. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do when you can do it.

Between us we've been to most of the places we stop. We know a high  percentage of  the  people we stop to visit. But MY how some things do change. For instance?

The duplex I'm standing in front of there in Seal Beach, California?  I lived in the left side of it right out of college. My landlady, Mrs. Preeper, lived in the right side. A widow, even then, Mrs. Preeper would oft' times get lonely Oddly that was a blessing for the rest of us in the neighborhood. That's because Mrs. Preeper, when SAD? Would play some "mean" BLUES on her baby grand. 

And those BLUES would blend with the constant slapping of the waves on the beach THREE blocks away. GREAT MEMORIES.  I 'm told Mrs. Preeper died four years ago in her mid 90s.  And a current tenant says she was still pounding  out the BLUES on the ivory at the end.

As I look at the place? It hasn't changed much at all.  Some subtle peeping on my part shows the kitchen still has the marine paint job I contributed 40 years ago. 

But sometimes change sneaks up on you. You need to know that Mrs. Preeper felt really bad when she had to raise our rent to 90 dollars a month? Three blocks from the beach?

Well I loosely employ some journalistic probing and discover how lucky I was. A woman living in the duplex for the past nine years has never paid more than 750 dollars a month? Three blocks from the beach?

Well it turns out the party is finally over. Mrs. Preeper's family decides it's time to sell? Price? JUST A MERE ONE AND A HALF MILLION DOLLARS!

Apparently it closes

in about a week.

Oh, the long  time tenant? Well sure she can stick around, FOR NOW. That's if  she can come up with 2 grand a month. for the time being? Why time being? Because the new owner already has the duplex on the market. Price Tag? TWO MILLION DOLLARS.

FOR RENT: QUAINT LITTLE ONE BEDROOM, ONE BATH APARTMENT JUST THREE BLOCKS FROM  THE BEACH. JUST $$$$$$$ A MONTH FOR A GUARANTEED THREE MONTH LEASE. LIVE BLUES NOT INCLUDED.

"You know I've heard real estate prices in California are creeping up?"

That's one way to put it. More reflections to come.

Things Left to Do

A few years ago Peggy and I landed at Dulles International and did what few people do. Instead of proceeding East into the seat of Western civilization and political power  (D.C.) ?  We backed up West until we ended up in the STATE with the reputation of being the least intellectually, socially, cultured and politically advanced spot in the 50 states (W.V.)

Of course careful use of statistics, leaks, and testimonials? You could find arguments to  reverse these suppositions. But that begs the question, which is? Why DID we back up West?

It was because I'd never been to West Virginia.....and should I....for any reason whatsoever...run for public office? [ NO POSSIBILITY THAT WILL EVER HAPPEN]  I want to be able to say, " As I've traveled to every state in  this wondeful nation of ours, blah, blah, blah....vote for Paul.  West Virginia was my 50th state. Getting there was just one of those things that's been left to do.

One of the others I can now check off my list is following my instinct traveling through the Mojave Desert between Las Vegas and Los Angeles on I-15. Just south of the town of Baker, in a spot totally inhospitable to the human organism, is the sign you see above. Zzyzx Rd.

Like the clear majority of humankind making the pilgrimage between La La land and Sin City? I've always resisted the temptation to take the ZZYZX off ramp. Well, against all intellectual and social skill development, I DID it this time. I took some pictures to record what I saw.

I tried to imagine myself owning this place, sub dividing it, and convincing others to come live there with me.SEE PICTURES 2, 3, AND 4.

From all Peggy and I can see? ZZYZX  is nothing more than an off ramp?

Boy! Are we off the mark.

It turns out Zzyzx has a very colorful history and future. I find this out reading an article by Ross Eckler, in Word Ways, from 1996. This could be viewed as a cop out...but this is a  clear case of there is no way on Earth I can tell the story better than Ross.

 

http://wordways.com/zzyzx.htm

It turns out Zzyzx road is a four and a  half mile dirt road that leads to an actual place.  As a tease? Curtis Howe, a self proclaimed physician and methodist minister once broadcast from Zzyzx Springs at his own radiostation. "His special potion will cure all that ails you. Visit Howe at the Zzyzx hotel and hot springs."

And Today? Wonder where those black helicopters have been landing?

I'm wiser for the experience. And with Eckler's help there may be a way to document Zzyzx as a legal placement on your scrabble board? It's worth a shot.

To Be Fair!

Hello to Paul’s blog readers.  I have decided to preempt his blog for today.  I am his sister Brenda. 

You may have met me yesterday.  First I want to say that I DO have a great sense of humor, BUT…  Really those pictures!  Oprah gets to be air brushed, why not me?! All the stars get to pose for their photos, why not me?!

 

I have been having a great fantasy love affair with a man half my age and seeing those photos has forced me back into reality and now I know it can never happen…that is not funny! 

 

I have allowed Paul to use my archaic dial up internet system to do his blogs while here, missing extremely important phone calls and unable to make extremely important phone calls, because as you have learned from yesterday’s blog, I am a very hard worker and everything I do is extremely important, although, to make things perfectly clear, I am NOT competitive. 

 

I would gladly call any of my near and dear friends and have them confirm that any time I have beaten them at anything it has always been cheerfully done and with little competitive effort on my part…HEY, I just win.

 

Now, if I knew how to use his camera I would take some glam shots and prove to you all, not for competitive reasons mind you, just so you could see that those lovelies on the magazine covers have nothing on me when it comes to shapeliness and lack of wrinkles when the photos are done right.

 

[SEE PICTURE # 2]

 

Maybe I can get Peggy to take some proper photos just to prove my point, but then again I don’t think she knows enough about photoshop to do it correctly.  Of course, I am sure I could do it better than her but, you know, I have so many other very important things to do.

 

Well, I hope I have cleared up any misconceptions Paul may have given you yesterday.

 

P.S.  I am typing this in Word and realize that if Paul has the nerve to put this into his blog he will most likely fill it with typos.  Just know that I have done it perfectly (and I did it without spell check…I mean who really needs that?)

 

Thanks for hearing my side of it. 

 

One last thing… I would like to share a favorite quote from one of my favorite books…

 

“Enownment always means enowning an en-ownment.”  Heidegger

 

[Paul: "HUH?]

 

Sorry wrong one…

 

“…and the poor man had nothing much in the way of brains, so very often what he felt came out more clearly than what he meant to say.”

 

Dunstable Ramsey in Fifth Business by Robertson Davies.

 

[Paul: "Who reads Robertson Davies?"]