I got back on Wednesday after three weeks in Oregon visiting family. We unloaded the car and then I put a few peanuts out in the Bird Park. Good old Maggie, the 7 o'clock magpie. She showed up almost immediately. I love that bird. She's always appears with the 24 hours after I get home, even if I've been gone for months.
—William Moore— Murdered between the 9th & 14th of Dec. 1900
The next day Minerva the crow and her magpie partner appeared and, as I was watching them, it occurred to me that Minerva's companion doesn't have a name which is odd because they've been coming to the Bird Park together for years. He should have a name by now. For two days I couldn't come up with a thing then this afternoon, while strolling through the local graveyard, it came to me . . . Kafka, Kafka the magpie.
"For our honeymoon, Mr. Machine made a three ring binder with a detailed itinerary for each day, including not just attractions to visit and where we were staying each night, but also the mileage we would need to drive each day, alternate routes, alternate attractions in case of bad weather, options for eating, and places en route to buy souvenirs and snacks. It was more than 50 pages long for our two week trip, and was organized in a three ring binder and tabbed with section dividers.
"He sent the word document to his parents, so that they could admire it, and their first (loving) comment was that he had a typo on the first page."
-- joyceanmachine -- courtesy of M. Lee
Day One
- shortcut, outback Nevada -
The road is always a risk, best laid plans and all that but actually the grueling shortcut turned out to be one of the best parts of the day. We saw wild horses and donkeys grazing in the desert hills plus several coyotes and—later—one jackrabbit scampering through the sagebrush.
Wild horses in Nevada desert
The temperature was 108° by the time we got to Vegas and lunch at Sweet Tomatoes buffet. It was freaky sitting a table away from a couple of macho idiots exercising Open Carry. By the time we crossed over into Arizona, the temperature had climbed to a sizzling 116°.
Well we're home and, as per, Maggie the 7 o'clock Magpie just dropped in for breakfast. First day, as usual. That's my girl. So far it's just her. She took one peanut and flew off but she must have gone off to tell the rest of the tidings because they all just arrived plus a few grackles, the Dove couple and a beautiful Northern Flicker with red underwings. Home again.
And, now that we're home, I'm hoping to get some writing done. It seems impossible when we're in Portland. Kids consume the time. I don't even have have the energy to do a blog post when we're there, yet I goad the Deconstructionist for letting her blog go dormant. It's been 10 months since her last post. However, I hear mumbling coming from her direction. I suspect a new entry is in the works.
Friday's wild storm had gusts up to 90 miles an hour and, between the valley and Lake Tahoe, left 21,000 people without power, some until Sunday. And that night, after the wind knocked down sections of the fence between our houses, it also brought Roxie crying to our door. She's my neighbor's so-called "outside" dog. I realize she's a hardy mix but he left after the storm began and left her out in it, as usual. Don't get me started on "outside" dogs. I will never agree with people who think dogs should live outside, whatever the weather. Fine. Wolves do it but they live in packs and have dens. Dogs are domesticated creatures who also need a pack and a den. Anyone sitting warm and cozy in their fat while their dog huddles alone outside in the rain and cold is an asshole. So, even though her paws were caked with mud, we let her in.
Uninvited guest and the magpies are pissed
And about 2 am we let her back back out again. We had to. She was pacing and whining and beginning to howl. Her "owner" barely interacts with her, so she's basically feral. She doesn't even wag. We felt bad but didn't lose any sleep over it. It's just the way it had to be.
Morning guest. Roxie at the door
Five sections of fence are down and Roxie is still wandering around the three yards that are now open to each other. Fine by me but the birds don't like it. Yesterday morning, she ate most of their kibble and was back at the sliding door begging to come in, even throwing herself at the glass, I handed her some dog treats through the door then closed it again. Sometimes, life's a bitch.
Nobody's at the Bird Park at the moment. A hawk scared everybody off so it's just an empty gray day here in Nevada, this after Tuesday's lovely, though unseasonable, spring day. I was immediately out in the yard preparing a new flower bed. After my neighbor Dwayne and his wife were rousted out of their house last year by their son Tom, there have been a lot of changes next door and, in my opinion, some for the better. For one thing, Tom cut down the poorly aspens along the property line and pulled out the rangy juniper that hogged all the morning light leaving me with a new, thin strip of space to plant. I feel rich. It not only gets morning light but all day light.
Invisible Theatre conference
Yellow Swami is back after a grueling year
in Cambodia and here at Invisible Theater
we couldn't be happier.
Don't get me wrong, we all miss Dwayne. He was a great guy, a true bon vivant. The first year we moved here he was trying out sobriety. It was his finest hour. After he went back to drinking we watched his light slowly go out. There were still a few good years when he and Clarence the cat continued to hold their garage court. When the door was up, we'd stroll over. Clarence would meow a cheery hello and Dwayne held forth. It was always fun to visit them. When he went back to drinking the bitterness set in like a final night, then came the cancer, then the horrible years of chemo and booze before his son Tom finally forced the two of them out of the house and into senior care, where they belonged. It got tricky. When Tom mentioned moving, Dwayne threatened to shoot him. They had always had a horrible relationship. That's when Tom came over and asked me to help distract his dad while he removed all the weapons from the house, which I did. When Dwayne saw his guns go out the door, he turned to me like a growling wolf and said, "Traitor. Get out of my house". Those are the last words he ever spoke to me. Within the year he was dead.
Chiang Mai at night Andre Govia, one of my favorite photographers "liked" this on my flickr account so I am stoked.
The birds just returned to the Bird Park so I guess the coast is clear. Maggie Magpie is out there too. She and her mate basically hang around all day. The rest of the tiding leave right after gobbling breakfast. And to our delight, the quail, finch, sparrows, a few mourning doves, some blackbirds and even a few crows (probably Minerva and friends) showed up about a day after we returned. I suspect that at least the quail stayed even after we left in October. Seems Suki, Dwayne's cat after Clarence died, disappeared sometime in the fall. I like to think some kindly person, sick of seeing her huddling all winter in the cold and snow, gave her a home. Other than Tom, those of us in Suki's little support group, miss her but the upshot is that the Bird Park has returned to sanctuary status. Other than the occasional passing hawk but, of course, they don't stay long.
We got back to Nevada this afternoon, we meaning yellow Swami, coral Swami, Andy, Minerva, M. Lee and I. We're all back. It's been five months. Everyone here at the Invisible Theatre is ecstatic that Swami is home! Who would have guessed he'd be returning with us? He's a little battered and rumpled. The way he says, "Cambodia! Woo!" gives me the shivers. Who wouldn't be a little rumpled after that? But still, wonders really do never cease.
It's smoky in Susanville. There's a forest fire somewhere nearby but, so far, no indication of road closures.
Burning Man, Black Rock Desert, Nevada ~ photo source: Time.com
We've seen lots of Burners on the road today, even though Burning Man ended three days ago. We figure they must be members of the enormous volunteer crew that are the heart of the event. Like everyone returning from Black Rock, they are easy to spot. They look like ghosts. They, their vehicles and ragtag bikes (including the tires), are chalky white with playa dust. The Prius ahead of us says it all but not a glitzy 'magic" Burner art car way . The license plate simply says 1TRIBE.
Elko, Nevada and the sweet smell of desert sage after the rain. Elko is a friendly town. The billboard about 50 north of town welcomes visitors to . . . Elko Nevada, City of Paved Streets. According to Yelp there are no decent restaurants in Elko, especially for vegetarians, so tonight it's dinner at Denny's to split a $2 stack of pancakes and a veggie burger... a delicious $8 dinner for two.
Before leaving Oregon, Hwy. 140 makes one last perilous climb then enters Nevada in the middle of the Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge. The last time we took this route we were swamped by a cattle drive. Today we zipped along, crossed the state line just after noon and were soon greeted by dark clouds, rain, hail and, to our dismay, discovered that the very excellent wild hot springs by Denio were cold and nearly dry. Damn. We were hoping for a quick dip.
Cliven Bundy. This guy is an embarrassment to the great state of Nevada. I live in Nevada and, contrary to what FOX News would you believe, we are not all racist idiot squatter hicks like Cliven.
We've spent a lot of time in the Nevada interior where guys like Bundy "run" their cattle. Trust me. It's animal abuse to abandon them to the desert. In their effort to survive in this harsh environment, the poor cows chew vital, shade-giving willows to the ground turning our precious few rivers into stinking fields of shit and muck. Boneheads like Bundy joke about how this threatens already endangered species. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner Bundy and his dim-wit brethren die off, the better.
When Life magazine named Nevada's Hwy. 50 the "Loneliest Road in America" back in 1986 its uninitiated urban editors meant it as an insult. They missed it all, the terrestrial beauty, the staggering silence and untamed sky. We took Hwy. 50 east this morning and, having spent a lot of summers past exploring the Great Basin, it was sweet like coming home. It is a place to disappear in. But today was not a time for that. Today was Day One of our cross-country road trip. Our first main stop will be New Vrindaban, West Virginia, two nights. I lived there many years ago. I am going back to reclaim my ghosts.
Spring is a crazy time. Last night's ominous sky brought this morning's snow and a hungry morning in the Bird Park. The leftover vegan "tuna" chunks were a big hit.
I spent the weekend at the Circus Circus hotel in Reno attending a conference. Naturally, I managed to squeeze in a photo safari.
Midway wild things eyes on you.
I'm not without a certain amount of guilt as M. Lee was home working on the floors. Hey, I'm not a total flake. He won't let me help. Trust me. I've offered but before I left, I did manage to get my office emptied out (miracle) and when I was gone M. Lee put the refrigerator back in the kitchen and the toilet back in the bathroom.
Office in parts
Now all the crap from our offices is in the middle of the living room and today he's applying the last four coats of polyurethane to those floors so they should be done by tomorrow.
All work
All play.
You don't have to rub it in.
I am already suffering monstrous guilt.
Ps. Roy, you mentioned putting a joke penny in the floor so M. Lee passed this along for your viewing pleasure. Crazy ass penny floors.
Cirque du Soleil's O turned out to be every bit as spectacular and amazing as it's claimed to be. Dazzling. Impossible. Thrilling. Wonderful. Okay the narrative, the love lost and found story, is almost totally eclipsed by the spectacle. Or was it found? I don't know. It didn't matter. The show is, simply put, fantastic. Yes, tickets are really expensive, but it's incredibly expensive to produce and the level of performance is world class so they earn it. While it didn't linger like a play would, it is a circus after all, I would not hesitate to recommend O to anyone wanting a something special evening. OTOH, do I think this fabulous spectacle is worth the millions and millions of gallons of water? All due respect to the artists but...no.
Anyway, next time you're in Vegas, check out Big Elvis. Pete Vallee is a very talented guy who does a free show daily, 2 to 4, at Harrah's on the Strip. So far, he's logged over 7,000 performances. It's a sweet, sad, fun show. If you're in the neighborhood, check him out. He's worth it.
This unedited excerpt is a peek into what I think of as a true Las Vegas moment. The sound guy has trouble cueing up the signature song Big Elvis wants to treat us to so he pulls "Sweet Carolina" out of the hat. Then, just as he rocks into "All Shook Up", my battery runs out. I had another one but M. Lee and his mom were already looking for an escape. The music was so loud. They offered to wait on the street but it seemed more fitting, more respectful to The King and the Forces That Be, to leave something on the table. I hope Pete has better luck than Elvis. I hear he's on a diet and down to 450 lbs. That's something.
So tomorrow we go to Vegas. It's been awhile. M. Lee's mom is taking us to see the Cirque du Soleil at the Bellagio. The show is billed as an "aquatic masterpiece of surrealism and theatrical romance". Naturally, I'm conflicted. How can it be otherwise? Las Vegas squanders water at the expense of all surrounding natural life. It's beyond frivolous. It's insane. Too bad it's not a crime. Someday it probably will be. After the water wars. Plus, I don't have clothes for an event like this. But I'll enjoy it, even in jeans. I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. But still I will go. And anyway, how can I turn down my dear mother-in-outlaw? They say the show is really fabulous. A "life changing event". I'm sure the wild mountain lion cubs living 50 miles due north of the stage would agree.
The Shipping Squirrel enjoying Squirrel Appreciation Day.
Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day
and Inauguration Day for the President of the United States
but let's not forget the little people.
Today is also National Squirrel Appreciation Day.
So get a bag of nuts and head over the your local park.
Time to spread the love!
Even as the days grow colder, Michigan H. Frog, aka Henry, is still alive outside my window croaking. I'm amazed. God, I wish I could find the poor fellow and bring him in. He'd have to live in a terrarium but I'd make it comfy and he'd be warm.
We will be spending a couple of weeks in Oregon with the family. Thea Bella, being three years-old now and quite expert on her balance bike, gets a real bike this year. Amazon already delivered it but M. Lee will put it together when we get there. Mr. Leo, being two, is still working on his balance bike so we have some other new toys and warm duds for him and we have some stylish new threads for Baby Frank. As for the floor, the bedroom is done and looks great. We won't put the room back together until we get back. Then on to another section of the house. This is M. Lee's winter project. In the end, the front room will be an art studio which we will share. It's definitely worth the mess and wait.
Paper floor update. The first room is done and looks great.
The inter-tubes are strangely quiet these days about the upcoming End of the Mayan Calendar a.k.a. End of the World, Friday December 21, 2012. I guess people are a bit burnt out after all the uproar last year when May 21, 2011, otherwise known as Judgement Day, came and went. It was a huge letdown for the evangelical community who assured the world that the "Bible Guarantees It" . We saw the billboards all through Texas advertising it. Anyway, today being the only day this century that gets to be triple 12s, I had to post something so here's what's happening in my neck of the desert.
We are currently in an uproar here. M. Lee is in the process of tearing up all the carpet and all the linoleum in the house and replacing it with paper. Yes. Paper. As in découpage, papier-mâché aka paper mache. Mon Dieu! Paper? How is that possible?! No problemo. It will be under 12 coats of polyurethane.
I assume the small chairs in the lobby are for
the ghost children who are said to haunt the hotel.
But this time it's the last time. At least for now. I'm really going to miss this place. It's been a long run.
Main Street at night.
But the Mizpah is (finally) open so, for this last and final trip, we've got a room there. It's a good farewell. I've been photographing the place for years while it was closed and shuttered. I never thought I'd actually get inside, much less stay there.
Open at last.
We're on the 5th floor, right next to the room of the Lady in Red. As the story goes, she was strangled just outside our door. That was in the 1920s and ever since people have reported that she still walks the hallways and occasionally leaves a pearl from her broken necklace on a pillow. No disrespect, but I'll let you know if anything strange happens.
