Emerging mushrooms.
The desert is full of surprises.

The other Fremont culture...Las Vegas.

Desert storm at 11,000 feet.

Wild West

We're back from our camping trip along the Utah/Nevada border. We nearly bagged a 12,000 ft peak in Utah but turned back because of rain, hail, high winds and lightning. It was hard quitting so near the summit. Getting that far required a 5,000 ft. elevation gain over the final three miles of the six mile hike. That was hard to give up but around 11,000 ft, watching lightning strikes on the lower slopes, we decided that being on the ridge wasn't in our best interest.

When we got to Nevada, we picked a camp that turned out to be the site of an old Indian camp or village. The area as littered with broken arrow heads, tools and pottery shards. We even found a mono and metate (grinding stones). Judging by the type of pottery, they were probably Fremont Indians. They lived in the area from about about 500 AD until the thirteen century then, along with the Anasazi, mysteriously disappeared. We took GPS readings to map site and will pass them on to the BLM. Of course, neither one of us are into reporting things to the government but this kind of information helps protect wilderness.

As far as wildlife sightings, we saw a small herd of wild horses out on the basin floor. Also, a couple of mustangs crossed our path in the mountains but they didn't notice us. A local rabbit did... first. She tried waiting us out but suddenly panicked and nearly ran into me as she shot by. She scared me as much as I scared her. In camp, our hosts were Eddy Lizard who lived in the old fire ring and an owl who lived in a nearby tree and only stirred in the evening to hunt.

After eight days out, we went to Las Vegas. The Plaza, in the other Fremont district, always has a cheap-o deal going on (if you ask about it) so we got a room for $27 and stayed for three nights. Sorry. No titillating wins or losses to report. We did watch the Democratic Convention in the evening. I thought that was a win. Kerry did rather well, IMHO. Other than that, there was a heat wave in progress, with temperatures up to 109, but it didn’t bother us too much being desert rats in an air-conditioned jeep.

Weekend report

For most of the weekend, ash from the Waterfall Fire drifted through the air but the writer's conference was terrific anyway. It was great spending time with a bunch of other writers. And I came away with some new ideas for a project I'm working on. Also After Hours turned out really well, in spite of last minute problems. It’s clear the Printer's Devils have it in for me. But I managed to wrench a few copies out, which is enough for the moment.

We're leaving in the morning for a couple of weeks of camping in central Nevada. Lee's been planning the trip for several days now and has a tentative plan but we'll see how it goes. Wild lands are not predictable places.

As for Plonk? I think he’s been staying away because of the crows. They take over so, for now, no more Triflitos. Ah the drama!

Triflitos and the Mystery of Plonk's Disappearance Solved.

"Triflitos, un cereal con alto valor Nutritiva" it says on the box. We have a bit left over from Mexico so I've been putting it out for the birds. The crows love it. I tried getting a photo for you this morning and sat with my coffee, camera, pen and favorite notebook, the one I've been looking for all my life. I found it in Mexico but I've since seen it here in the good ol' USofA. It's the perfect size, with a binding just big enough to slip a pen in., plus it's good paper that doesn't curl when you write on it and perforated pages thus sparing one from the age old dilemma... to trim or not to trim. Like I say, I've been waiting but crows are not dummies. They saw me sitting at the window. I might as well have been jumping up and down and waving red flags at them. I gave up and when I came back in an hour, they'd devoured the entire pile. Crafty pigs!

The heartbreak is that Plonk hasn't been by to enjoy la gran diferencia. I say "heartbreak" because Dwayne told me that Plonk is hanging out as his place. He's not off hatching a family. He's defected! The little bastard. I asked Dwayne to look out for him when we were in Mexico but I'M HOME NOW, PLONK! But no. He now prefers Dwayne's. They have a damn wild life park over there. I think it's the peanuts. I've got to get some peanuts. And the real bird baths. Yes, plural. So many birds hang out over there that it's become a local hunting ground. Eagles and hawks stop by and grab some unsuspecting feaster from time to time. They even have a squirrel. In the desert, this is a big deal.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't be feeding deer or any other mammal. It's not fair to them. They become tame then someone walks up and slits their throat. But Plonk! How could he do this to me? After I rescued him from rush hour traffic and gave him a new start in life. Some homing pigeon. Home until a better one comes along, eh Plonk?

But I should be working on my zine. The book sale is on Saturday and I'm going to be busy working at the conference right up to it. I've got the front cover printed. It looks great. Yesterday I printed out all the poems and selected most of the photos and worked them in. Today I have to do the paste up...mmmmmmmm...gotta go.

After Hours

That's the name of the zine I'm taking to the writer's conference this weekend. I'm putting it together right now. Well, I'm taking a break from putting it together right now. I'm using things I've already written so I'm just doing layout. I hate doing layout. Doesn't agree with me. I'm printing it on some paper I bought way back when I had my letterpress. Been cleaning up my office and it just has to go. It's extra nice. Too nice. The kind of nice that creeps me out. It puts too much emphasis on an insignificant detail. The letterpress days were not that great all around and this paper has followed me around ever since, reminding me of it. In those days, I'd go to the office, do battle with type fonts, composing sticks, brass and coppers (for spacing between words)and after an hour or so, decide I needed a drink. As often as not, I'd get blinding drunk and call it a day..or night. I finally sold the damn thing, three presses in all, two huge cases of fonts, tools. My marriage ended (a good thing) and then my life took another turn for the worse and then a long, slow turn for the better. I'm still in that turn and hope to be for the rest of my days.

There's an old letterpress at the Brewery Arts Center where the Ash Canyon poets meet on Friday nights. The center said it still works we could use the it, if we want to. Bill Cowee and I got pretty excited about the idea. He'd like to do broadsides and I have ink or grease paint or some kind of gunk in my veins so it sounded good to me too. BUT, when I looked at all the tiny, tiny fonts...the press was used by a newspaper...and all the paraphernalia, it all came back to me. Fussy and tedious as doing layout in Word is, the difference between printing with a letterpress and a computer is the difference between sticking needles in your eyes and stepping barefoot on thumbtacks.

Yes, I know. Why Word? It's a really bad program to publish with. Well, after all this time, I still haven't gotten around to making the switch to something like PageMaker...so Word it is. One more time.

Also, I made oatmeal raisen cookies for my son today and mailed them off to Fort Bliss. I hope they bring a little sweetness to his day.

Grrrrr......

Damn! It's late and I'm rummy. I was answering a comment made to my last post but ended up deleting it and my reply. ARG! I'm going to bed. Asia, I hope you re-post your delightful comment.

Ps. You are the latest recipient of the coveted Vlorbik Award. Imagine a standing ovation.

Bird Park Babies and Other Writers

A third generation of bird babies is currently enjoying my bird park. Compared to their parents and grandparents, they are a distinctly relaxed bunch. But back then times were hard. I put out only one seed tube and a pie plate full of water which I considered a bird bath. The birds felt otherwise. I surrounded it with (what I considered) beautiful rocks that I'd found in the desert. I waited and waited but no birds ever went near it. It took me half of that summer to accept the fact that they hated the damn thing. Okay! So I still have a few character defects to work out.

Last year was the beginning of the Golden Age. First off, I got rid of the rocks. That turned the evil configuration into a simple bowl of water. Crows started softening bread in it and even the earliest bird ran over for a drink after landing. And about a hundred sunflowers volunteered, growing to different heights depending of how much water each one got. Several produced their own seed but even the most spindly, dwarf provided a perch. For anyone under six inches tall, a lovely green maze replaced the moonscape. Birds swayed on the tiniest branches and called it good. And after Plonk arrived, I started put seed out in earnest.

Speaking of Plonk, he and his girl friend haven't been around for a couple of weeks. They hung out at Dwayne and Thera's while we were in Mexico but came over as soon as we got home. I'm guessing right now they're busy sitting on some eggs. I hope so. I've never seen a baby pigeon. Have you?

But getting back to the third generation bird park babies. They are the first ones with parents brought here by their parents. You get the picture. For them, the place is a paradise that's been around forever. Sometimes after they've eaten, they just hang out as though the world is a safe place. Really lovely. Well, that's the big news. Now I have to get back to work. I'm throwing together a quick poetry zine to sell at the Juniper Creek Writer's Conference which is happening next weekend in Carson City. Also, this afternoon a bunch of us are meeting at Ellen's to stuff the packets for the event. I'm grateful I've found some other writers here. Otherwise, Nevada would be a pretty lonely place.

Riverside Weddings and Stranger Angels

John, Anita and the boys. 

My son called tonight. He's leaving tomorrow, along with the rest of his National Guard unit, for a few months training in Texas, then they are off to Iraq. We just got back today from visiting them. All totaled, the drive was longer than if we'd gone from Guatemala straight through to Canada. We'd have done it if we'd had to drive from the fucking moon. It was great seeing them. We stayed a day and a half, which was about right. We took John and his wife Anita out to dinner, saw Touching the Void (excellent), went on a short hike and spent a lot of time watching their kittens play. They're a pair of homeless little brothers J&A rescued from the animal shelter. John's official deployment orders arrived while we were there and he read them aloud to the three of us. I'm glad we there to absorb a bit of that moment!

John has been in the Guard since 1998 and was supposed to be out this October. Of course, Bush is chasing down everyone he can to help bail him out of this bullshit invasion of Iraq. Anyway... John and Anita have been together since high school, class of 2000. They were co-captains of their high school cross-country teams, honor students, planted trees, helped coach and tutor kids. They are attractive, sweet, smart, healthy, kind and civic-minded. After John got back from six months overseas with the Guard, they moved to Montana. That was a year ago. They just got residence status and are enrolled at the university for fall quarter. They were also planning to get married soon, a nice, old fashioned wedding, but when John got his deployment notification they decided to have a quick civil ceremony and save the "real" wedding until after he gets home. They got married in Oregon, in our old home town, in the park, by the river. We were in Mexico.

I'm really bleary-eyed at the moment but I just want to tell you one quick story. It helps. I'm still rattled with fear over all this. John told me he and Anita went out to dinner tonight and at the table next to them two couples where having a heated discussion about Fahrenheit 9/11 (which I saw and liked very much). After the huffy Republicans left John leaned over, smiled and said, "Hey, you should straighten your friend out ." A brief conversation followed during which John mentioned he was beginning his deployment in the morning. Later, when he went to pay the bill, he found out that the guy he'd been talking with had already paid it. You may say a small act of kindness but it blessed the evening for them. Like a good omen it lifted their spirits and cheered their hearts. And mine. Thank you.

George Bush: armchair psychopath

George Bush, armchair psychopath, waiting bringing his packet of lies to the United Nations in an effort to persuade them to back his invasion of Iraq.

Tropic of Cancer and Calf

Mexico to Montana

We're back in Nevada but only temporarily. We're leaving for Montana next week to see my son off. His National Guard unit has been deployed to Iraq. Damn this government! Because of these neo-conservative republicans (read: Corporate/Nazi Scum) we are already in the tar pit up to our tits and these bastards keep sending more people and more money...to clean up the mess they made. This election, Bush and his cronies have GOT to go!!!

This is my son's second tour of duty over seas as it is for many of the others. In all, forty-five hundred people are going from the Oregon/Idaho/Montana area, an event which is being conveniently ignored by the media whores. If you supported the war in the beginning, okay. The Washington War Lords got one over on you. They are experts in provoking and manipulating fear and confusion. And they are very scientific about they way they present their ideas and so-called facts. One thing I find amusing about them is their compulsive use of "patriotic" backdrops for media appearances but then what do I know? And hell, it doesn't hurt their cause that they are cold-blooded liars. But as the old saying goes, "The first time, shame on you. The second time, shame on me." The Bush Machine hijacked the first election. Don't let it happen again. Even if you're not a democrat, vote democrat this time. We can sort the rest out later.

Fuzzy Day and Romance - Oaxaca City

Today was Fuzzy Day at Gigante. A fuzzy purple muff surrounded the monitor in the bag check stand and a matching fuzzy, purple sleeve covered the long neck of the microphone used to broadcast shopping specials. In spite of the heat, all the cashiers were wearing fuzzy, red vests. I probably missed other fuzzy delights but we weren’t in the supermarket very long. The only reason we were there at all was that we went to the open-air market with Lolita. She goes every Tuesday and Friday. We also went with her last Friday. You have to get there early because things are picked over pretty fast. Lolita always throws in the Gigante for good measure and we just follow along. It’s a good system. In a mere hour and a half and a few pesos, she gets days worth of fruit and vegetables plus takes advantage of the store specials and is back home before it gets too hot. And again, the bus ride was delightful. Last week a blind, off-key musician passionately serenaded the bus for a block then took up a collection and disembarked. I think most people paid just happy to be rid of him. This week’s entertainment was a fat, middle-aged woman in high heals and white stretch pants that revealed the dimples in her meaty backside. Her blouse was the best part of the ensemble. It was a brilliant pink little number made of a flimsy, cheesecloth type material. It had a gathered scooped neck so its thin, soft folds lay obediently in the ravine between her very round, large breasts, frothed gaily around the rest of her but was sensibly anchored on the bottom by pink satin ribbon. It defined creamy romance.

I realize I risk being accused of racial stereotyping here but I'm going to say it anyway. As far as I can tell Mexicans love (among other things) martyrs, revolutions, holidays, parades, fireworks, clowns, glitz, glamour, food, drink and noise. But most of all, it seems they love romance. Or at least the teenagers do. That’s no surprise of course, but this is a Catholic country with old world values. Courtship is supposed to be governed by strict rules. The result is whenever they get away from scrutiny they nuzzle; to and from school, church and work, on every street, in every park, on bridges, benches, propped against trees, cars and walls, down alleys, at bus stops, on busses and highway dividers, in stores, restaurants and parking lots they are layered and twisted together, melted in their combined heat. I left out a lot of locations but you’d safe imagining them just about anywhere, entwined like creepers, cooing like doves, picking through each other eyebrows like monkeys. Sometimes I feel like chuckling lewdly and muttering, “Hey, get a room, for Christ’s sake and ours” but I don´t know Spanish well enough to sound cool and besides, I’m trying to act more mature these days. However, if you think mine is a heartless overreaction, come and see for yourself.

According to The Church, marriage is the only proper place for expression of such passion and consequently, wedding shops abound in Mexico. Some streets have several in a row. Mannequins wearing formal white, lace and bejeweled gowns, surrounded by their inert little bridesmaids, crowd the store windows, a testimony to The State of Holy Matrimony. Everyone knows that even The Virgin herself reveres The Bride. If a girl can’t be a saint or a nun, the next best thing is being a wife. In this light, the pink blouse is both promise and proof that, one way or another, you can have it all.

Roller Skate Skinny

I just stumbled on a great blog, Roller Skate Skinny. It´s fresh, honest, intelligent, real and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny. Do yourself a favor and check it out, oh and leave a comment. Everybody likes a nod of encouragement now and then and this girl certainly deserves one.

Sunday night

Still in Oaxaca. I´m in the process of getting some dental work done that I can´t afford in the states. Ever since we crossed the border, I´ve been working on a new poem called the Book of Images. It´s not done and will undoubtedly change ten thousand times more but tomorrow night I´m going to read a couple of excerpts from it at a write´s group that meets here once a month. I hear things differently when other people are listening.

Rainy Season in Mexico and other rants

Seems the rainy season has arrived a month early but you won't hear any complaints from me. The temperature is still perfect. The rain is a relief. It cleans the air, which is really bad in Mexico. I love Mexico and am furious at it in the same breath. If you're from Mexico, what's up the all the trash E*V*E*R*Y*W*H*E*R*E? Don't you guys even see it? It blows my mind. Do you think good, old Mother Nature can just wave a wand and it will magically disappear? And the air pollution. I mean, what's up with that? Your country is a paradise and you shit all over it. And Mexico City? Holy god!

But don't get me wrong. I love Mexico. It's an exotic, fragile place and the people I've met are friendly, direct and real. I'm sorry for you the US is so near by, the Big Polluters, the World Stink Pot. Our government is run by a bunch of war craven bullies with the world's largest cache of weapons of mass destruction at their disposal. Some neighbors!

So, the internet cafe is closing now. G'night.

Oaxaca City

We've been in Oaxaca about a week now and Mexico for a month over all. We have a small apartment on the balcony overlooking a community courtyard stuffed with hundreds of potted plants and two huge, old fruit trees that grow far above the building. Mexico is truly an exotic place, a must visit. We drove down through the colonial, mountain route because it was Samana Santa (Easter week), a national holiday which runs a week then turns into spring break for another week. Don't travel during Samana Santa unless you already have reservations and plan to stay in one place. It was a mad house. We would have driven down the pacific coast but didn't want to deal with the crowds. The mountain cities were crowded as well but not as bad as the coast. We just weren't up for sharing the beaches with mariachi bands and little kids selling Chicklets. It gave us a chance to see internal Mexico though and I'm glad we did it this way now. I feel like I've seen a lot of the country for the short time I've been here.

We came into Oaxaca via the mountain route from Veracruz. It's an incredibly lovely, steep road over peaks up to about 9000 feet at their highest. The only problem is the Mexican drivers are insanely dangerous, even on nice, wide highways. On narrow, mountain roads it's anybodies guess what will happen. Busses pass busses on uphill curves and it's all uphill curves to Oaxaca. The worst part was over the sea level farm lands outside of Veracruz. It's a short distance but pure madness. The road is choked with sugar cane trucks which aren't merely trucks, they are trucks pulling sometimes 4 or 5 trailers with ten foot high racks which are stuffed twenty, maybe thirty foot high piles of sugar cane. The road has two lanes and is muddy and narrow but at any point, there were 2 to 6 lanes of traffic made up of cane trucks, busses, taxi cabs, pedestrians, bicycles, burro carts, hand carts, and us.

So far I've taken over 3000 pictures so will be posting a few on my website when I get the chance. We're still settling in here. We found the cool internet cafe a couple of days ago and they're letting us bring our laptop here and plug into their connection for half the cost of using one of their computers... .50 an hour. Great deal. Eventually, I'll try uploading to my website.

Yesterday we visited 4 ruins in the valley, some whose origins date back about 3000 years. This place is full of pyramids. I photographed one site right along the road in a plowed field, part of it had a damn telephone pole sticking out of the middle of it. Currently I have pyramid fever and suspect that every mound is a possible pyramid.

Tuxtepec

We´ve been in Mexico about 3 weeks now and are currently in the city of Tuxtepec which is in the state of Oaxaca.
We´re leaving for Oaxaca City in the morning. I´d write more but I'm on a funky connection and it´s taking too much time. In brief, our big adventure yesterday was getting two traffic tickets. One was fair. We did run the red light leaving Veracruz, even though we were completely in the flow of traffic I figure we got tagged as the rich gringos, which is a real drag. The second ticket was completely bogus. We were simply pulled out of traffic and given a ticket. It was all for the bribe, very friendly, very everyday in Mexico. The cops stood around chatting and laughing during the "negoiation".

Yahoo maps

North 0.1 miles > east 0.1 miles > north 0.2 miles > west 1.1 > south 809.78 miles through the briefly green California spring. The animals lazing on the velvet green knolls and grassy ravines north of San Francisco look like citizens of forever. We creep through the beginnings of LA's rush hour and, although Yahoo's a bit off on the mileage, we reach San Diego about 12 hours after starting out and found our way to the night's motel. Tomorrow we're getting some last minute work done on the Jeep then taking off again. Next stop, Tuscon Arizona en route to Mexico.

Oregon, ready or not

We finally launched, at least partially. We're in Oregon saying hi and good-bye to family and getting some last minute trip related things done. I can't begin to go over the hubbub since my last post here but it was, in a word, frenzy. Not that I spent the entire time preparing for the road. Knowing forced withdrawal was immanent, I was busy cramming in as much computer time as possibe. We leave for San Diego on Monday, 5 am. Then Mexico.

Leaving Reno

Leaving Reno in the sun's long rays. To our left, the western range still harbors remnants of snow. Above its peaks, an armada of wedge shaped clouds is sailing east. To our right, our shadow flails in the roadside sage . Soon it will be dark and the thing will be absorbed. A phantom beginning, only the ahead will tell the story. Mexico. Sometimes you have to go north to get south.

Trip

I should be packing, getting ready for this journey, but here I sit writing to you, the occasional wayfarer stumbling by in the theoretical future. It's kind of crazy. The curling pages of my 5 x 8 yellow pad sits by my side ready to catch whatever "must do" flits through my head. I'm not the legal type. The 8 X 10 yellow legal pad is too much for me. The 5 x 8s are okay though. Cheap. So far, I've crossed out 2 items. Not a good start. Mr. Lee is slashing through his lists. He has 3 full size legal pads for 3 different categories. In fact he just breezed by with the latest update. He just got off the phone with Rich from Lofty Shelters. Rich is the owner. We bought our tent from him about a year ago. It's great. A real money saver in the long run, but like any gear, it's the accessories that bite you in the ass. We needed a spare handle. We lost ours on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere Utah last summer and, if we hadn't found it via a seriously serious back track crawl over several miles of dirt road rimming steep cliffs over which anything that falls...disappears....our trip would have been over. The handle is the key. It cranks up the tent. Losing the handle is like losing the keys to your car. No. Worse. A vehicle can be hotwired. Losing the handle to the tent is the end. Pry the tent open and that's it. Kaput. No tent. Even driving would be fucked. So a new handle is on the way and Mr. Lee gets to check one off his Jeep list. Me? I've just burned another 20 minutes writing this. And why? For what? Okay. I've gotta stop. Back to work.

The Early Bird and Mexico

Okay, let's get one thing straight here. I'm not actually afraid to go to Mexico. No really. No more than I'm afraid to get up in the morning. I have to admit, getting up in the morning has been a problem in the past. A big problem. But that was then and this is not then... and getting up is not such a problem. In fact, I'm generally pretty enthusiastic these mornings and have been for a good long time. I won't get into it here but trust me when I say I do know what it's like living under the covers, literally. Anyway that's enough to bring me around to the other half of my duel topic, the Early Bird.

The Early Bird in my tiny world happens to be a Magpie. I doubt you've heard but I consider myself quite fortunate on this account. If I'm up earlier enough and quiet enough, there is often a solitary magpie having breakfast in my bird park (read "dirt back yard") before anyone else gets there. Even during the recent snows, there was the one set of big claw prints weaving through the snow, following the seed trail buried below. As a child, the adults made a point of what they assured me was F*A*C*T. The early bird always gets the worm. This is another myth I have lived to witness reality prove otherwise. At least here, the Early Bird here doesn't generally get the best part of the meal. Why? Because she's too early. I put out the goodies... the scraps of bread, new seed, the occasional lump of moldy quiche or cheese and break the water in the ice after she's come and gone. Is there a lesson in this? Sure. Why not? I can squeeze a lesson out of just about anything, even for the Early Bird. Eat breakfast twice.

Reluctant Traveler

We're leaving for Mexico in two weeks, Oaxaca City to be exact, which is located in the mountains of Oaxaca. The plan is to meander through Mexico, camping as much as possible along the way, stay in Oaxaca City for a month and then perhaps drift down into Guatemala or go to Belize for a bit but that depends on how we (I) am doing. This is something I wouldn't be doing on my own, first because I couldn't afford it and second because I'm lazy and a chicken. Lee is the mastermind. A lot of people would be ecstatic over an adventure like this but me? I tremble and groan. I'm pathetic. Ah well. I've lived through the worst of times I guess I can survive a little kick ass fun. Lee is an angel and I, well I am one strange bird.