Hang Me Up to Dry

It’s the start of a brand new year and I haven’t posted a blog since autumn. Is that better than posting even though I have nothing to say? I know Fred wouldn’t agree - I'm surprised he hasn't commented with a "there's nothing to see here...close it down". Sometimes it’s best to “leave `em wanting more’. I’ve been to the beach. I made ricotta cheese. I baked piles of Christmas cookies. I've dabbled with blog-fodder but the holidays were cold and wet and had thoughts that were mere seeds lacking warmth for germination. I haven’t formulated enough to write about them but maybe listing them will help them bear fruit:

• I have friends and relatives that are battling medical maladies of all sorts. It scares me. I hope I’ve been doing everything in my power to keep us healthy. I hear people question God’s plan in these matters but I believe that God has given us tools - he doesn’t force us to use them.

• I have acquaintances, that have survived their holidays grieving the loss of a loved one. One in particular has an amazing support system in place that allowed her to be non-traditional. She set aside the Christmas tree and instead took a small trip with friends and celebrated with a fancy dinner al fresco. She has plans for all of the important holidays in her near future to keep her mind busy and her heart distracted. I’m sure she will slowly get back into holiday mode but I think she’s dealing brilliantly and is so fortunate to have good friends in her life.

• I see couples in the cuddly and demonstrative phase of their relationships and sometime envy that excitement. Then I remember that my marriage has hung in when others packed it in. We may not lust openly but I like the fact that I’m still cuddling on the couch with the same guy after 35 years, even if we’re watching TV and not copping a feel under the blankets. Giving this up for a flash of excitement is unthinkable!

• I have an old relationships that leave me questioning WHY I keep trying? Not my marriage though it IS Mark who wonders why I keep trying. I’m not really sure. The communications are few and far between and, frankly, a drag. Just once, you’d like to hear something happy when you ask “howsit goin?”. As I’ve told the girls when old friendships turn sour, sometimes you just move apart and don’t have anything in common and I suppose that sometimes you have nothing BUT history. Is that enough? Should it be enough to maintain a friendship?

I leave you with a few pictures I’ve shot in the past few months. Maybe the new year will bring some inspiration to my sluggish brain.

East End Boys and West End Girls

Thursday, being a government holiday to honor Veterans, Mother Nature honored us all with a sunny November day. Maybe not warm but crisp and clear. I started the day with a brisk (both in speed and temp) early morning walk through my hood, shopped for groceries then, after consulting my list of things-to-do, decided to ignore all and take advantage of the clear sky to get out on a motorcycle ride. With Mark working on bikes and not often able to get out, I no longer own a bike but he had a fixer at the shop that was fixed and had offered its use to me so I thought it best to get a ride in while the weather held. I donned my boots, dug out my coat and gloves, dusted off (literally) my helmet and started thinking about where I would ride.

This bike is a little 800 cc Suzuki cruiser, black with silly buckhorn handlebars - a little laid-back and chopper-like for my taste but at least I could comfortably touch the ground. This is especially nice when I ride so seldom, at least I wouldn't have to worry about ground clearance while I adjusted and reminded myself how to ride. As often happens when I get out on these random rides, I'm a bit nervous in the anticipation then I climb on, head out the driveway and it all comes back. Except for a brief goober moment when I forgot to check for automatic signal canceling and rode 10 blocks of I Street with my blinker on, it all was second nature.

It felt so good to roll the throttle on - even the blast on the freeway, with no windshield to protect me from the chilly November air, was nice. I turned off at McKinleyville then headed through Fieldbrook, enjoying that stretch where the trees reach overhead and across the road. Had I done this ride a few weeks ago, those trees would have been a beautiful autumn canopy but now, just skeleton-like branches hang overhead. Damp road, chilly air but still, the collective smells of wet leaves, livestock and the smoke of woodstoves hit me square in the face and warmed me (figuratively anyway) as I imagined the people in their homes, huddled beside the fire as I rode past through the cold autumn air.

I headed into downtown Blue Lake and past the Mad River Brewery where I could smell the wet grain cooking as I aimed towards West End Road. I do love that area, which is why I always end up there on these little jaunts - so beautiful with the animals grazing at the edge of the road but SO narrow, I was grateful to be on a bike as cars passed going the other direction. Past sheep. Past horses. Then along the river on West End Road as I came out of the trees and headed into Arcata. As I returned to town on Old Arcata Road, my fingers became increasingly dysfunctional with cold, making it more difficult to manipulate the clutch and brake levers. I started thinking about wrapping my hands around a warm mug of Orange-Cinnamon tea, a sign that it must be time to head home.

Not a long ride but enough to make me appreciate where I live and even to think about the holiday and the Veterans who served that allowed me this ride in peace and relative safety. I say relative because, just blocks from the shop, I barely missed being hit. Some bitc.... PERSON traveling on E Street ran the light at 14th right in front of me and behind the van I was following. Truly, had I been going just a tiny bit faster, she would have hit me broadside instead of forcing me to grab every bit of brakes that Suzuki had to offer. I think she was a little confused when she realized everyone else going her way was stopped and maybe still doesn't realize how close she came to having me bounce across her windshield. Timing is everything. Just wasn't my time I suppose. So ended a lovely ride that will hold me until Mark has another fixer for me to play with. My to-do list is still waiting.

That's Why I'm Never Going Back to My Old School

Well I did not think the girl
Could be so cruel
And I'm never going back
To My Old School ~ Steely Dan

Probably one f the hardest lessons to share with your teenage kids is that, in the grand scheme of things, high school doesn't matter. I don't mean the education or the grades - obviously that's important. There will be people you will meet and hold dear to you through time but the social hierarchy that is "HIGH SCHOOL" (all caps, chiller font with foreboding strings attached) will become such a small part of your life that you'll wonder why you let them cause you such grief. My apologies to those of you who may have been cheerleaders or football players or homecoming queens who still feel those are the best years of your life. For some of us, dare I say MOST of us, they were not so.

At the time you live those years, you feel as they represent your life. Who you are and all you ever will be. Your life is dictated by those narrow parameters set years ago. You are categorized. The brains. The stoners. The geeks. The jocks....the rest of us. You vacillate between wanting to blend in and striving to be noticed but by the right people. If you were raised with rules and boundaries, you push against those boundaries, trying desperately to make a name for yourself among the crowds that are held in high esteem. What you don't realize is that those people will come out of high school and will be the little fish in the big pond of the real world.

When one's level of popularity is based on looks or athletic prowess, you never really learn to treat people well because you don't have to. Somehow, people hang around you even when you treat them like crap because, let's face it, they're afraid NOT to be your friend. High school is a small village where you really can't get away from the people that you don't like or that taunt and bully you. You may have to ride the bus with them or even live near them. You feel like your whole life will involve these people and don't realize that you can leave the village. Sure, some will become business people with some level of success based on their high school stature (if you're a fan of One Tree Hill, I'm talking Dan Scott, here), but in the end, most will spend their lives trying to be what they were in high school. You know what? There is just no real world equivalent of the homecoming queen and in the real world, if you're not a nice person people don't want to be around you.

As I've watched a number of the "It Gets Better" videos that are part of The Trevor Project, aimed at the kids who are being bullied because of their real or perceived sexual orientation, I've been reminded how it felt to be pushed around and scared at school. I won't give value to the the so-called friends that put me through those brief periods of fear or the ones that disappeared from my side when it was happening but I can only imagine how a teen going through years of this treatment would think that this represents what will be their life. How awful to think that suicide is the only way away from the pain. Guess what kids .... high school is NOTHING! I can't speak for coming out; I can only speak for coming into your own. - becoming who you are and being proud of who you are. Screw the people who don't like you or don't like who you are. You CAN get away from those people and find people who will take you for who you are.

And as a final note, I would like to apologize to Matthew Phillips. At Del Mar Middle School in Santa Cruz, Matt was that kid with goofy glasses, acne and high water pants. He was teased and I know I took part in laughing at him at least once. I remember it made me feel powerful to be on the other side of the taunts for a change. And it made me feel awful. I don't think I did it twice but still remember that one time. I am not proud that I didn't have the balls to stop other people. I am sorry Matt. I hope you came into your own, got tough, got rich and kicked a little bully ass.

The Summer Sun is Fading As The Year Grows Old

I love the fall. The covers of magazines in October and November with the golden leaves, the squash....everything in the bronze tones of the season. The Fall catalogs come filled with plaid, cable knits and corduroy. I've always felt drawn to the golden elements of my birth sign and, though Leo is a summer sign, the various traits of the Sun, fire, sunflowers.... are what drive me. I want to explore in the autumn months. Pumpkin patches. Autumn leaves. I want to wear sweaters even before it's cold. When I feel the first chill in the air, I crave a ride through the hills, a bowl of soup and freshly baked bread.

Some spousal manipulation garnered a trade: a drive for autumn colors in exchange for a day taking pictures at a motorcycle track day in Willows. Mark promised to pull over whenever I spotted a picture and was true to his word though it's painful for him to pull over just after he's managed to put the pass on two or three RVs only to have to pass them AGAIN, after I've taken a few photos. Our summer has kept the air so warm, I wasn't sure we'd find the colors I was looking for and, as it turned out, I was right. I suspect another two weeks will be needed to turn the leaves to reds and golds.

Since we were heading east, we went north on Highway 3 out of Weaverville, hoping the Trinity Alps might have seen a chill. Looking up to the trees coating the mountainsides, it's easy to see the changes are afoot but just barely - the hint of colors mottling the canopy is just barely visible. Areas near water, where the more easily manipulated deciduous trees reside, teased me with yellow. We stopped for a brew in Weed at the Mt. Shasta Brewing Company and found a fun crowd in there on a Sunday afternoon. Mark had the Abner Weed Amber Ale while I tried the Stout of Jefferson, a seasonal they had on tap. They knew we were visitors but, when I told them we were from Humboldt and were no strangers to microbrews, one local sighed and said... "you are SO blessed in Humboldt" and began to tell a story about a business trip, a surfboard and a waved that kicked his ass. Fun crowd. We left them discussing the scores of some sport we don't follow and headed out to I-5.The Thunderhill Raceway is in Willows, just a half-hour or so from Chico, so we trusted Victoria, the bitchy Brit in our GPS to guide us to the nearby Sierra Nevada Taproom. The place is enormous - a far cry from our Humboldt microbreweries with its tanks resembling grain towers on the roof. The food was tasty - Mark had a steak and I tried the Grilled Lamb Pizza on a crust you could watch them tossing in the open kitchen. The decor was gorgeous. We polished off our brews - I tried the Tumbler, a nice brown ale because I was drawn to the Autumnal scene on the label, and Mark had the Stout. We called it a night fairly early in preparation for 7:00 gate opening at the track. The wind was already gathering speed at 6:00 when we met Tom and Dan for breakfast.; not cold but the leaves were stirring which is never a good sign early in the day. As the sun came up, we gathered at the track gate, everyone scoping out what the other guy brought. Suzukis, Yamahas, Ducatis... all planning to turn their road-race bikes loose on the turns of the SCCA track. The people at Pacific Track Time run these track days allowing for three levels of riding, twenty-minute periods for each. Each group (in theory) would have four blocks before lunch then another four after. Although there is likely some unofficial racing going on, the intent is just to ride fast and get the yayas out. The wind made the riding, or at least the turning, difficult allowing at least two riders a helicopter ride to neighboring hospitals with injuries. The waits for the medical crews and air ambulances delayed the riding a bit but all in all, everyone had a great time.
The day got warm - brushing close to 90, I suspect which the wind cooled down only slightly. I spent my day wandering the track with my camera thinking how fun it would be out on the track, with no worries about traffic except for a few other bikes. Maybe one of these days I'll take the opportunity to let someone else take the pictures. For now, I still need to get back out to check out some autumn leaves.

It's the Time of the Season...

Posted on the wall above my desk at work: Multi-task: to screw up several things at the same time.

I am so frustrated with my lack of blog-posts. Not that I think you people (all three of you) are impatiently waiting for another fabulous missive from my direction but, lets face it, sometimes one stops looking when enough time passes. Someone (PT Barnum? Walt Disney?) is reported to have said "always leave them wanting more" and it seems a better choice than "write something....ANYthing, doesn't it? Truth is, nothing much has been happening in my life.

The pumpkin spiders are decorating my porch for the fall. The autumn is beginning to see more wear. I'm still wondering what happened to September, let alone July and August. The dismal summer weather wasn't really a problem for me. We've had some nice days and some dreary days but I haven't been cold. Perhaps it's because my internal temp is rising, documented by the bloodmobile when I donated last. I've been getting a wee bit warm. Not flashing though it's debatable whether I'm dealing with Mr. Gore's global flashing or "my own personal summah". Could be the days are just warm. Or I'm old.
Home improvement has not really progressed but it's a good news/bad news thing. Mark's business is doing well, leaving him too freaking tired to work pounding nails and screwing drywall once he gets home. Can't blame him because I'm the same way. Work. Sit with a cocktail. Eat dinner. Crash. Repeat. Until Saturday when I whittle through the list of do-mees I've made for myself, interspersed with entertainment of some sort. I'm somewhat ADD when it comes to entertaining myself. People asked me if I've been out paddling and I have - a bit. My few paddles have been around the bay. Alone except for one with Hope and Nick. Nothing spectacular. Truth is, alone is boring but it's better than not going. It seems that when Explore North Coast has planned paddles, I've got other plans. One of these days, the Cock Robin Island or Mad River paddles will be on a Saturday when I'm free. I don't venture out into unfamiliar territory on my own so I'm left to the familiar. *sigh* But I'm not a single-focus girl - I have other interests. When the weather is good, I want to walk on the beach and watch the surf and photograph the surfers. And I love to garden. Pick berries and make jam from them. And cook. I'm up early and going so as not to miss a moment of the day. I hate the down-time of waiting for company so go alone.

When the cold weather of fall and winter hits, my ADD doesn't go away but it shifts to indoor crafts and baking. Now that it's getting cooler - and AFTER I get my garden cleared and winterized - I'll make something out of the stones, beads and shells I've set aside for necklaces and earrings. I have plans to make more grocery bags. And get back to some sewing. While the bread rises.

My mind, this summer has been occupied with thoughts of my food and where it comes from, spurred by a viewing of Food, Inc, the Local Challenge thrown down by the Co-op and my one summer read, Plenty which is the CR/HSU Book of the Year. It's driving me a little crazy and would love to spend time driving around exploring the farms that produce the local foods I buy, much like they did in Plenty, but I don't care to go alone but don't have anyone to go with, so I don't. I didn't. Whine. Whine. Whine.

I've actually been considering a drive to Santa Cruz to attend my high school's homecoming football game. Why? Not sure but it sounds like it could be fun, or at least the drive down will be nice. High school was far from being my glory days and the people I will most likely see are not those who had any use for me in school. The ones I would like to see have no interest in reliving high school (ugh...*shudder*) so are no where to be found. I don't want to feel like I have to drink vast quantities so I can feel like having fun (THAT would be more like the high school days I remember...) though I wouldn't mind sneaking a flask into the game, cheer, reconnect. I'd also like to go visit my godmother and her huge and fabulous family. I wouldn't mind taking my kayak if I can find someone to act as a guide since it's been years since I've played around the old waterways.

My mind is still reeling with the things I want to do over the summer... and it's gone! What did I accomplish this summer? Zip. Zilch. Bupkus. I didn't travel. I didn't kayak enough. No major projects completed. I didn't drink too much. Or eat too much. Or exercise enough. Or sit too long. But I was SO busy, doing what, I can't recall. I canned some tuna (luckily it will taste better than the bland color would indicate. And, as a switch from canning whole tomatoes, I turned a HUGE quantity of tomatoes into a few tiny jars of tomato paste by cooking the hell of the puree. This was a new thing and I liked it so much, I've ordered up two lugs of tomatoes from the CR farm to do it again this week. I like learning new things. I took a wire-working class at Heartbead in Arcata which was fun and I'll probably join them again at the end of the month for another wire working class that will teach me how to encase the rocks and shells I've collected in wire to use as centerpieces for jewelry. That's something. But is it really enough to explain where the summer went?

It's Your Favorite Foreign Movie

Listen to them talk. For some these bikes represent the cool old bikes of the past. For many, these bikes are THEIR past. When I stroll around vintage motorcycle shows with my camera, I listen as well as look. The bench racing alone is worth the price of admission. This is time travel - holding tight to parts of the past, returning to visit them on occasion.

Look in the eyes of the old guy leaning on the cane as he gazes at the knucklehead Harley, remembering how he first learned to ride one just like it. Walk past the gray-bears standing in front of the Triumph and listen to the laughter as one recalls how he had one "just like that .... I chopped it". Or the guy tell the owner of the BSA that he learned to ride in the dirt on one just like it. "Man I wish I still had that bike..." These guys are not bikers but motorcyclists - they've ridden for the better part of their lives and still do. Motocross. Trials. Flattrack. They talk forks and ignitions and frames. They hunt through the swap booths and recognize pieces in a pile of seemingly worthless metal. They can spot a needed linkage for a Matchless at fifty paces. They walk straight across the grass to a booth because they recognize the rusty tank as the perfect replacement for the BSA they are restoring - the tank dented in a race long ago. You wouldn't recognize them by their attire because there is no uniform. No costume. But, as you weave through the bikes, you'll hear the words: "Oh my God, I had one of those"...over and over.

When the show was over on Saturday, some were in no hurry to leave but leaned on their pickups, listening to the Blues filtering across the bay. Their conversations started and stopped as the memories were compared. These are men for whom motorcycles represent as much of their history as the girls they loved. I suspect many were more nostalgic about the bikes.

Pick Up a Flat Rock and Skip It Across Green River

Pick up the rock, encircling it with your thumb and finger, holding it flat side parallel to the water. Stand sideways to the water. Squat slightly, pitching the rock across the surface of the water. Count the skips....

I was going through some vacation photos and realized how often my family ends up skipping rocks when we're on road trips. Maybe it's the still water that's so different from our crashing waves. The one above was taken at the base of Cape Enrage lighthouse in New Brunswick (eastern Canada). We climbed around the slate shoreline for quite a while while Mark and Glo skipped stones on the Bay of Fundy. Do kids learn how to skip rocks anymore? I was talking to co-workers the other day after more than a week of our e-mails being down...."What did people even DO without the internet?" Did you know you can play solitaire with CARDS? No way! What about 'football'...paper folded into a thick triangle and snapped through the finger "goal posts" of the opposing player? This red soil is on Prince Edward Island, northern province on the eastern side of Canada...land of Anne of Green Gables. Not many shells for mom but plenty of flat rocks for skipping.

What other skills are kids missing out on while watching TV and playing video games? Climbing trees? Playing hopscotch? We have to fix this. If we remember how, that is.