Thursday, August 28, 2014


I stare at the clouds and patches of blue sky above the corridor of pines. Hello and good-bye worlds on my way somewhere else, the place that does not exist.

I review my collection of jigsaw days, looking for today. Monday? No. The day after Wednesday following Tuesday dinner with friends. The guy on the radio says it's the 28th.

And now it's night. Eight hundred miles in 12 hours. The cicada are wonderful here. I could stay with them forever but not in this motel. Not in Jackson. Not in Mississippi.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Eating through America

We leave in the morning. The last day is always crazy and I'm pretty sure this one will be no exception, especially as at the moment, I'm writing a blog post instead of packing though, for the record, I'm also packing. Much to do. We really moved in this year, but leave we will, because we must and it will be early tomorrow morning. As usual, M. Lee has tossed down the gauntlet, 6 AM. I will be ready. It's not much of a competition though. He is, by nature, organized and linear. I am, by nature, disorganized and lateral. But, I'm not really "disorganized". My organizing principal is inclusive and improvisational and his is boom, boom, boom DONE.

But, however we pack, tomorrow will be a long grind, about 12 hours on the road. M. Lee plans these trans-America trips with dinner in mind. Being vegetarian, it is very challenging. For us, most of America is a culinary wasteland but he a master at ferreting out a nightly oasis.

Tomorrow night we'll stop in Jackson, Mississippi (I still love spelling that word.... M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I) and eat at Cool Al's. I look forward to it. It's a burger joint but Al lives up to his legendary cool. There are some great veggie, even vegan, burgers on the menu and I loves me his sweet sweet potato fries, plus the atmosphere is, well it's atmospheric, and I love that too. Friday night is the trip's foodie highlight. Strange as it is, we're making a special detour to Dallas, Texas because one of our all-time favorite veggie restaurants is there, Kalachandji's, and we are willing to drive 12 hours tomorrow just to include it in our itinerary. Otherwise, like they say, "If I owned Texas and Hell, I'd rent out Texas and live in Hell", except I'd visit Hell to eat at Kalachandji's, which we will do on Friday night.

After that the food thing gets a bit sketchy. Saturday night in Albuquerque, New Mexico, if we find nothing better, we'll grab some banh mi sandwiches at the Vietnamese bakery, Banh Mi Coda, a regular stop. And Sunday night, Vegas, baby! where, if the slots don't get you, the food will. Heart attack city. But there are a options. We'll probably go to our fallback vegan Chinese place, don't remember the name at the moment. Then home on Sunday. Unpack and repack on Monday and Tuesday we'll head to Portland to meet the new baby about to be born.

Monday, August 25, 2014

Evening Gulf report

photo by asha

They are gone. At the moment they are somewhere in the air returning to Oregon and the very lonely rest of them... sister, Dad, brother, the dingbat dogs, aunts, uncles, cousins, Ms. Willy Nelson the capital "c" Cat, the good grandma and grandpa, friends and a world that needs them and has missed them the five weeks they were here with us on Alligator Creek. The house feels empty, the Gulf feels empty but there is a good breeze here on the screen porch, enough to set wind chimes rustling and Frida's pineapple palm tree whispering. On Thursday we will begin our trans-America trek back to Oregon to await, with everyone else, the arrival of Leo and Frank's new brother or sister but not tonight.

photo by asha

Friday, August 22, 2014

Fish brain

Ideas dart in and out of my mind like fish, a flash of silver and they're gone. It's very frustrating. I grab for one, notice another out of the corner of my eye and miss both, leaving me empty-handed and empty-headed. Like now.

posted from Bloggeroid

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Midnight again?

Summer is slipping by. We leave Florida in one week.

Manatee in the Gulf

Damn. I've barely made note.

Egret contemplating the sea

This is how it is...

Stump at Stump Pass

...and how it goes.

Thea on the Gulf of Mexico

Saturday, August 16, 2014

As thunder rolls

As the humidity climbs, Sonny holds forth on the screen porch and thunder rumbles in the clouds floating under a bright blue sky. Gpa Lee and Ms. Thea have settled into a rainy day marathon video extravaganza and Kristiana is moving thousands of photos from one device to another, freeing up gigabytes and gigabytes of memory and I, spurred on by Roy's comment about "the third thing", will attempt to decipher all of Helium's comments in the video I just posted.

In the meantime, here is another video. It is for amusement purposes only although it does remind me of what goes on in my head when I sit down "to write". After one of these sessions, I am always amazed if there is anything left on the page. M. Lee turned me on to cyriak so, if you also find it disturbing, blame him.


Ok. Here is it, although I'm not sure about Helium's final comment. And, of course, who really knows what Strindberg's forgotten third thing was, although I think Roy's guess is probably right, dingoes.

Strindberg and Helium at the Beach, Helium's comments:







Purtifiiiiied caaaaaarcaaaaaass

final comment (??????)

Sonny is still talking. Currently he's ranting about how "the sonovabitch's door was open" and god knows what else and I am drenched sitting here in the


Strindberg and Helium at the Beach

As I'm at the beach a lot these days, I thought I'd post this episode of Strindberg and Helium, a couple of my favorite guys. In other news, it's begun raining again this morning. That may sound like a downer but it's not. I don't know how the rest of Florida is doing, but it has been unseasonably dry here on the Gulf. Yesterday's all day rain and house rattling thunder was very welcome. This morning's rain in very fluky. It's partly sunny and raining like crazy in the front of the house and sunny in the back, then suddenly we are hit by wild wild rain.

Saturday, August 9, 2014


The term came out of one of those word jazz sessions Kristiana, M. Lee and I were having the other day, at my expense. At the time it was FiveOWriMo. Later I changed it to FiveOWriteO or its colloquial fiveowriteo. Of course, both are based on the now famous NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) which has, over the years, kicked a significant number of people off their duffs to take the plunge, resulting in huge gobs and boatloads of words getting launched during the month of November and some manuscripts actually becoming published works of whatever. Even I managed to assemble 50,000 words one November spurred on by the collective frenzy. Don't ask. The deal with FiveOWriteO is to write for five minutes everyday, one day at a time. Of course, a commitment to write five, f-i-v-e,  5 little minutes a day will only be of interest to individuals suffering from writer's block, which includes me. "Writers write, Owen" . Smirk all you like, writer's block is a drag. So, of course, the important thing about a FiveOWriteO is the word "write" because write is a verb.

And yes, I've been telling myself for years to set a daily time and write. I used to tell myself to write four hours a day. When I failed at that I lowered the time to two hours a day, that became one, then one half-hour, which worked until it didn't.

I've been doing my fiveowriteo for about a month now and have gotten quite attached to this little morning interlude. God, that must sound so pathetic. I am embarrassed to discuss it, even here, but now Roy at Blogorahma has upped the stakes and started occasionally posting his five minutes worth (thanks a lot, Roy). His, of course, are good. Mine are not and they are really short but, these days, I'm grateful to be writing at all so, in the spirit of fun and fair play, I am posting this morning's fiveowriteo.

It's hard to make a beginning without a starting point. I do not have one. I start over and over from the middle of nowhere. Is it some kind of twisted snobbery to forego a beginning? A foundation? An idea? The spiral continues its twist. Over and over, Billy (Collins) starts at his window. It is not his privilege alone, something he himself makes abundantly clear. "The poets are at their windows." And I am at mine only, for now, my window is the screen porch.
I am sitting in my screen porch. It is morning. The black birds are at work on the peanuts and seeds. It is 2:26 PM in Addis Ababa. I have never been to Addis Ababa but have wondered about it since I was a child. It's storybook name did, and does, require it have narrow, winding, sand-colored, not streets, but passageways opening occasionally into markets or bazaars alive with people, animals, wares and food of every description and ablaze with color and sweltering in the shade of makeshift canopies and tents and throbbing with a cacophony of voices and music and people looking down on the scene from their tiny balconys leaning out from the surrounding sand-colored buildings and all this, childhood and Addis Ababa, far, far away from Alligator Creek and the dive-bombing black birds who have, in the time it took to go there and come back, snatched all the peanuts from under Frida Kahlo the Squirrel's memorial pineapple palm tree before the squirrels get any because they just arrived late again.

Friday by Roy deGregory
Monday by Billy Collins

Thursday, August 7, 2014


Currently, we are wildly busy trailing after our five year-old granddaughter, Thea. We spend a lot of time at the beach as it's the best place to get the wiggles out. She adores the water, won't even come out long enough to eat her sandwich at lunchtime and Grandpa bobs right along with her. I swear she's half fish and he's 3/4 kid. Okay. I've got tons of photos to edit and post and blog posst in the works but no time. Ok. Gotta go have fun.