The Mizpah at last

I'm just back from my spring trip to the lovely semi-ghost town of Tonopah Nevada. 

The desk clerk told us they sometimes hear
children talking who are not there. That made
the strange miniature furniture look really eerie.

The big news this year is that the Mizpah Hotel has finally re-opened.

Last year...outside in.

I've been photographing the place through the windows for years.

Now I finally got in.

This year...inside out.

There have been other changes around town as well.

That photo I found a few years ago of the guy posing with a beer is gone.

Gone....

It was in the cave/cabin on the floor with all the junk so, for safekeeping, I stashed it between some stones in the rock face of the "cabin". However, this spring it was gone so another face disappears into Tonopah's fading past. Also, the abandoned tailor's shack up the street that still housed some wonderful antique equipment is gone.

Little remained of tailor's
shop from days gone by.

I'm hoping the museum folks rescued the equipment. I don't think it was in the rubble but then I didn't dig around.

Tailor shop today, collapsed and gone.

And, as I mentioned before, the little store Hippies of Tonopah is gone, not the building itself, but Hippy. Graffiti inside reads "Ur Gay". So much for love in diversity. 

But no time to mourn to past.

The ghosts of Tonopah Present haunt us even now...

Goblin of the Fifth Floor

...not only the goblin that accosted us as we explored the hotel...

The Lady in Red

...but the ghost the Lady in Red herself. Legend has it that she was stabbed to death by a jealous lover in the hallway outside of her room, 502, and haunts the hotel to this day. Naturally, we tried reserving her room for our stay next fall but it was already booked. But we will be in room 501. Close enough. I'm already spooked. The building itself is morose and vaguely threatening. I was happy to get back down to the lobby and glad to re-emerge back out under the blue desert sky.

I posted more photos of the Mizpah here.

New Madhuban

Going through papers on my desk this afternoon, I came across some things I wrote years ago that I'd been thinking about, and forgetting to, do something with. As you might guess, I wrote it during a particularly difficult time in my life. Anyway, I'm posting an excerpt here and at Anna Sadhorse.

New Madhuban
West Virginia


this forest,    
planted for a loaf of bread
and a dollar a day, 
is a solemn place
the hill it has taken possession of
drops sharply
to a holler     too steep for pasture
a place where small skeletons   slowly turn to stone
this is a good place to be alone

the sun seldom finds entry to this grove
is a stranger here     off his path  
from a world that does not exist
his probing beams
only deepen the darkness
and threaten to ignite the brittle trees

one may only be here carefully    
this forest has no need of company
birds know it   they do not nest
or sing among its spiney branches
there is no undergrowth   
nothing pierces the needle mat

and the pines themselves
have shed their lower branches
becoming heartless    
pitch steeped trunks with shattered limbs
they offer no place to rest
who comes here must stand alone
who comes here to dream must dream
indifferent as the dead


asha
West Virginia, 1975 - Excerpt from Sunday Feast

Trees were planted in this area during America's Great Depression of the 1930's as part the New Deal.

First dance

My niece Maren's wedding last month in Portland was a very sweet affair.

Maren, Thea and Mama

Uncle Papa Jim conducted the ceremony. Before meeting and marrying my sister, he was a fourth year novice at a Catholic monastery so priestly duties are natural for him.

He did choke up though when it came to the part where he put Maren's hand in Drew's. For a moment, we all held our breath.

Papa Jack, Mister Leo, Jeannette and Uncle Papa Jim

Unfortunately, I'm one of those crappy amateur photographers who waves the camera around in the air and hopes for the best. It's like trying to catch a swarm of butterflies with a bucket. I took a lot of photos but, unfortunately, these are about as clear as any of them get.

Big Girl Thea teaching cousin Leo to dance

Penny Robin meets Mme. Chanceuse

Adrienne Rich

So sorry to see you go. 

"We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear"

—

Adrienne Rich, "Diving into the Wreck" (excerpt)

May 16, 1929 – March 27, 2012

Minerva & the outdoor crows

Minerva & the outdoor crows, a photo by ashabot on Flickr.

Watching you watching me watch you.

Old friends and familiar places

We're currently in Southern Oregon, en-route to Portland Wednesday for a wedding next Saturday. My niece is getting married. We left Nevada a week early in order to attend the Celebration of Life for a friend who recently died. And I've been visiting friends everyday since and will again tomorrow. I lived in Ashland for years and have never made friends like these anywhere else. It's home in a very special way. This trip I reconnected with three people in particular that I was estranged from when we moved to Nevada 11 years ago. It's not just a case of absence making the heart grow fonder, at least with two of them. It is that we realize now that if you love someone tell them before it's too late.

2 chiens jouent La Valse des Puces au piano AKA The Flea Waltz

Two dogs play the Flea Waltz on the piano!

Coffee with Old Robin

It was barely light this morning when I put breakfast out in the Bird Park but Old Robin was already there enjoying an apple. What's very cool is that she didn't fly away when I opened the door. She hopped off a bit but then turned to watch as I filled the water and scattered the goodies. That was about 15 minutes ago.

We're now on the third shift although the demographics have changed at bit. The crows are back, sometimes even beating the magpies to the table but, for today at least, Old Robin gets the Early Bird Award. Otherwise, and every morning, the crows and magpies swoop in first then, about 10 minutes later, the grackles arrive along with a smattering of starlings. That order is fixed. At least so far, Old Robin's presence is seasonal and intermittent. And, of course, the quail make their appearance at some point, a few pigeons drop in, including a lovely couple of mourning doves and last, but of course not least, the finches arrive. They are here on and off all day and the quail who come and go in waves. Lately Old Robin has been around a good part of the day, along with a second robin she chases off, to no avail. And, yes, the Seven O'clock Magpie checks in through the day on a regular basis. She is the most loyal of all.

And, while I'm on the subject Bird Park wonders and special events, yesterday at dawn a crow watched me silently from the peak of old Dick's house as I put the food out. I heard his talons click on the roof as he dropped down from the sky but I pretended I didn't notice and he didn't get scared off. Woo-hoo.

So that's it for now. If you're a regular here, you've probably read similar rundowns before. Sorry about that. I just felt the need to write some words and this is what's happening outside my window. At this point, everyone has come and are already gone except for Old Robin who has all the apples to herself again and she is taking her time. She's at that last cup of coffee part of breakfast when you're full but want to stretch the moment out as long as possible before launching into the day. And so am I. Well, I haven't had my oatmeal yet but it is time for one last cup of coffee. So, have a nice day. Good chatting with you.