Baby watch VI, or otherwise titled SpongeBob at the Alberta

Thea and me watching SpongeBob SquarePants

As we are still waiting for the New Baby to make her/his appearance, here are a few photos from the Alberta to help pass the time. The Alberta is the quirky place we stayed last week while in Montana waiting for the baby to arrive. We had reserved one of the Alberta's tiny studio apartments but ended up swapping places with Baby Thea and her Mom as the room they had turned out to be a baby death trap caboose.


The ANNEX

We lucked out. We got the Burlington Northern at the Annex across the street. Okay it's a death trap but, that aside, for $35 a night (kitchen included!), it is the best deal in town. Plus Swami and Pete the Mule loved the window seat. (You can barely see Swami in this photo but, trust me, he can see you).

The Annex is the Great Falls version of Wonderland. It's funky as hell, but there is method in the madness, that is if being an "RV" park beats the building codes. In any case, it's a fun place in spite of also being a disaster waiting to happen, whether in the form of a big building code violations bust, someone breaks their neck slipping in the mud or the whole place just burns to the ground due to faulty wiring.

It looks like these truck cabs might even be available soon, unless the mattresses inside are just extra. But a word to the wise... if you want to stay at the Annex, schedule that Great Falls vacation sooner than later. No telling how long the magic will last.

However, I don't recommend the Burlington Northern if you are a baby or you plan to do the kind of drinking that leaves you crawling around the floor like one. One slip on these sharp metal stairs and you may lose a toe, a few teeth, or perhaps your head.

The Burlington Northern. Treacherous but cheap fun.
Hell, that should be our motto wherever we go.



Detail of fine decor.

Views from the front deck. I wished I could have peeked inside the other places but the Annex residents didn't seem the "howdy neighbor" type.

The lady in the Sweetheart Suite was especially standoffish. There is tinfoil on her window although clearly she has fashioned a few peep holes in it. Whenever I went out to the car for something she opened her door, looked around, then quickly shut it again all without making eye contact.

All in all, the Annex is a work in progress. I'm not sure the fire engine is quite ready for anyone to call it home but the old U Haul truck is.

This cabin is currently under construction. Judging by the truck load of logs they just dumped in front of it, we're guessing it will be transformed into an Abe Lincoln cabin on wheels.

Compared to the hairy bed Motel 6 in Ely, the Annex was a dream although Motel 6 really wasn't that bad. After spending the night there, I can happily report that it was quiet and, within reason, quiet trumps hairy.

Baby watch V

Mother Rabbit's Magic Lamp

With time and patience the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown.
~Chinese proverb~

Baby watch IV

The baby is now a full week "late". If she/he doesn't come by next Sunday, the doctor will induce labor. Unfortunately, we had to leave today as did Yasna and Vinko, Anita's sister and brother. They, and their mother, came all the way from Norway for the birth but, though she will stay a few more weeks, they were out of time. Bummer. Of course, what matters is that everything goes well and the baby is healthy but damn. We all really wanted to be there.

Mr. Lee and I made it to Elko Nevada this evening after 12 hours on the road and are spending the night at the Motel 6. It's a nasty place. The sheets are rumpled with hairs on them left from the last occupants or series of occupants. Who knows how many people have slept on them before us? Lovely, eh?

On the upside, I finished reading the Pisan Cantos aloud this afternoon as we drove south through Idaho on Hwy 93. At the same time we were roughly due west of Hailey, Pound's birthplace. Coincidence?

Excerpt from Ezra Pound's "Pisan Cantos," section LXXXI, read by the poet

"What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee
What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage
Whose world, or mine or theirs or is it of none?
First came the seen, then thus the palpable Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
What thou lovest well is thy true heritage
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee"

Baby watch lll

Still no baby. I thought maybe he/she was waiting for Friday the 13th but no such luck. We did have a helluva rain storm though and Gpa Lee and I got to babysit Baby Thea while everyone else (maternal grandma and grandpa, aunties and uncle, new mom and dad) went to the world famous Sip-n-dip Lounge, home of the Great Falls merman. We leave in the morning... baby or not :(

But the maternal grandparents are staying so at least there's that.

Baby watch ll

No baby yet. It's two days past the due date.

Baby watch

Kooskia Idaho, wide spot in the road between a mountain and a river.


We left home about 7 am this morning. It's a two day drive from where we live in Nevada to Great Falls Montana. Mr. Lee is driving and I am reading Pound's Pisan Cantos to us over the engine and road noise. The combination is mind altering. I nearly finished them before we got to Kooskia where we are staying the night in the town's only motel. Our youngest son and his wife are expecting their first child any day and, if we're lucky, we'll get to Great Falls before the Big Event.


Kooskia was very lovely this evening. Twilight made it seem more like a stage set than a "real" place.


We ate at the China Cafe, one of Kooskia's two restaurants. I highly recommend it. We had a surprisingly good vegetarian dinner there. Even the fortune cookies were delicious.


My fortune read: "A pleasant surprise is in store for you in the near future."

Reflections

Here are a few more photos from Chinatown in Oakland. It's nothing but I enjoy photographing the layered perspectives caught in window reflections.

Bottom of the Barrel

The most recent Bird Park member of note is a fellow named BoB (Bottom of the Barrel). You could say he fell from hell.

-----------------------------------

My guess is that BoB, being a feisty little dude with catlike bounce, managed to wiggle out of the talons of a passing hawk, fall from the sky and (luck upon luck) land in the soft dirt of the Bird Park. In any case, I found him chirping his long string of shrill prayers and curses from the woodpile at the top of his voice with excruciating, ear-rending fury. He became deathly still when I lifted the boards. I wish I'd remembered my camera but, for all the anxiety I caused, I tucked a few peanuts in and let him be.

This morning I heard what turned out to again be BoB, or more exactly the sound of his head hitting the locked lid of a barrel from the inside. It would have been BoB's Last Stand because, after clawing and wiggling his way into the barrel, he did not have the leverage to scratch and chew his way back out. Thump THUMP.



At first I didn't know where the sound was coming from. I looked out the window but, seeing only a few birds walking around, I went back to my computer. Thirty seconds later....

THUMP THUMP THUMP...

I leaned to the glass and looked up and down the way. Nothing. I sat back down.

THUMP THUMPTHUMP!!!

I looked again. Again...nothing.

Then, just as I was turning away I saw from the corner of my eye, the bird seed & crow kibble barrel rock wildly back and forth. This time I took my camera.



About 20 minutes after getting poured out of the barrel and scampering under the house, BoB sauntered back out into the Park for a leisurely sip from the pool.

Willy, the first Bird Park squirrel,
making the most of his brief tenure.

I don't know what happened to Willy but I do know that this is not the best place for fat little guys without wings. Even the cats are potential hawk snacks, the gods forbid. Those bastards better stay sharp. As we know, everybody is food for somebody.

Poetry: lost & found

I was dinking around online this morning, yeah searching for myself. So what? Who hasn't? Geeze.... the voices in my head are so rude! Anyway, I came up with this. I had not only forgotten I'd written it, I'd forgotten about the blog I posted it on (IndieWriters) and the google group of the same name. Well, I actually haven't forgotten about the google group of the same name. It just made for better sentence flow to add that. I haven't forgotten about the group but I never go there. But I'm not giving it up. It's a good and appropriate name, one I thoroughly identify with but it joins a host of other online entities I have launched and abandoned, space junk, ephemeral moons sharing my orbit. In my mind's eye they are covered with glittering space dust, a pretty sight out here where earth night fades into deep space.

Excerpt from an unfinished, unnamed collection

Reconstruction

One word, one sentence at a time I will reconstruct the story. I've written it before on countless scraps of paper. One word, one sentence at a time I will reconstruct the story. Forgive me. It is composed of a seemingly endless succession of beginnings. The original order of the words has been lost. I rely on you to supply the details. One word, one sentence at a time I will reconstruct the story. Forgive me. The original has been lost but I promise to stay true to its drift. That is not a matter of memory. It is a matter of being. One world at, one word at a time. Forgive me. The original version of this story does not exist. One word, one sentence at a time, this is its drift. This is the drift. The notes are scattered. No. Not scattered. The notes were never collected. Jotted. Scribbled. On scraps, in notebooks, on flaps. They have never been collected. They have seldom been re-read. Or read. The words, disjointed, have been set down and abandon. No, not abandon. There is much thinking between them, the phrases, the paragraph and elimination of words. And ideas. "Why?" I am telling a story. Build the house. Paint it later. And later still introduce the particulars. Each letter reverberates but ... I digress.

asha

Rant revisited

Cartoon by Gary Larson


Last week I went on a rant about the old saying, "write about what you know", blasting people who cling to the idea as though it were their salvation, stray and be lost forevah. Anyway, once again I overdid it because I did not give much of a nod to the times when sticking to what you know results in smoking hot writing so I'm back, hashing it out. It's what we do out here along the language barrier, hash things out. And I don't expect this will be the end of it either but then ending it is not the point, is it?

The point is, can I say that? The point is... I doubt anyone who has given it half a thought believes that subject is any more than a place to start. Otherwise, why bother? It's what you do with it that matters, and more importantly, what you let it do to you, where you let it take you that makes the difference.

And not to belabor the point but, on the flip side, those of us who think that rules are made to be broken need to keep in mind that there are no guarantees breaking them will automatically lead to extraordinary writing.

But back to the thing about sticking to what you know...

Here's a guy who has put it together. He writes about what he knows and kicks ass. He is a teacher/performance poet who bills himself as the man who "wants to create one thousand new teachers". I found his video at a Reno Spoken Views site but I don't know if he ever read here in Reno. My friend, if you haven't heard Taylor Mali before, you are in for a treat...

Spoken Views

Here are a few photos from the Spoken Views event in Reno the other night. I read just fine. I know how to deliver a line. I don't shirk. I don't mumble. It's just that lowering the page and talking directly to the audience freaks me out. Always has and I've been doing this for years. Reading in public almost invariability increases my sense of isolation. I'm a very shy person. People who know me might argue that but, in fact, I am seldom comfortable in public.

So this time I picked a poem that has two voices and promised myself I'd ask someone to read with me. The regulars at Spoken Views are very competent performers. Many, I reasoned, can easily do a cold read so maybe I can just ask for a volunteer at the beginning of my set? That way I don't have to actually talk to anyone beforehand. I've only been once before, and I'm older than most, but what the hell? They claim they welcome "readers from all walks of life, young & old". I decided to take 'm at their word.

As it went, the kid sitting next to me struck up a conversation before the show started. It was his first time at Spoken Views and, though he wrote poetry, he'd never read in public. I asked if he'd like to read with me. It seemed like the right thing to do. He said "sure". That's him in the tangerine colored shirt. Gabino. Really nice guy.

In all, I read three poems. Gabino joined me for the final one. He did great. A real champ. I still pretty much panicked once I got on stage but I doubt anyone noticed and guarantee no one cared. Of course, I obsessed well into the next day about how I could have better introduced our little one minute ad hoc multi-voiced experiment. Next time...

Sharron Angle runs from reporters

Because I live in Nevada, I find teabagger idiot Sharron Angle's bid to unseat our Senator Harry Reid rather annoying. So here's a news clip of Nevada's very own little Sarah Palin clone running away from reporters after her "news conference" yesterday. These ladies just can't take heat. No problem. Like my mama said, "If you can't take the heat get out of the fucking kitchen". Good idea. RUN, SHARRON, RUN! God forbid you should be accountable for anything you say.

Stardate -312451.7040525113, Bird Park update

I have a terrible habit of rewriting posts after I publish them. I had to start this one just to pull myself off of the last. No wonder a novel takes years. And while I'm on the subject, thanks to those who responded to my mumblings about needing readers for my "manuscript" though, to be accurate, I was more thinking out loud than recruiting. I am not anywhere near letting other people read that gaggle of words, but I will keep your generous offers in mind should I ever manage to develop the thing past blobhood. I find it invaluable to hear my writing through different ears.

In other news, Mr. Lee saw Baby Q. and his parents yesterday. That's the little fellow who nearly drown about a week ago. I guess he can now fly now. Wonderful. There is a young quail couple in the park as I write this but I don't see a baby with them. I hope he's still okay. It's a treat having a family around as quail don't hang out in the Bird Park much during July. Seems this place is more their spring fling single's bar than nursery. A huge group mixes it up here then but disappear when things get serious. Too bad. Quail are the most fun to watch.


But, even without them, the Bird Park is plenty busy. There's the chummy pool party pigeon set, nimble melodious red wing blackbirds, shrewd daring starlings, tiny cute sparrows, hilariously cantankerous finches, sundry drop-ins and lots of swank skiddish magpie and a big family of noisy spindle-legged juvenile crows, plus mom and maybe dad, who are very cool in an edgy kind of way. The young ones hop and dash after their parents chortling and squawking for handouts and, when they get the brush, chase each other. Crows are smart and long-lived so I'm thinking the parents are probably card carrying members of the Park scene. Makes sense as they are unusually tolerant of me, sometimes simply hoping up on the fence when I come out. One fellow in particular greets me with a lot of sweet talk. It doesn't take much to get a treat and he knows it.

The biggest change is that Snooky, the scrawny blue-eyed Siamese who recently adopted our next door neighbor Dwayne, has claimed the lonely shade of the quail's abandoned lilac bushes bar as her own. She's not a punk like the two little gangstas who hunt here but try telling that to the birds. She chills the mood. Snooky appeared this spring after Clarance the Bastard (and I mean Bastard with the greatest affection) died in his arms. And Dwayne is dying so what should I do? Chase off his one bright light in a smoke gray twilight? Snooky is welcome.

Stardate calculator

Thea Bell update

Baby Thea

I haven't posted many photos of Baby Thea and now, at 14 months, she suddenly is not a baby anymore, she's Thea Belle. This is all going way too fast if you ask me. Anyway, I thought I'd better do a little catch up because it's quite clear that keeping up with Thea Belle is a full time job. These photos are from a recent graduation party for two of her cousins and an uncle.

Thea Belle

gettin' down


in her little brown dress.


Good thing cousin Dillon


is now a lawyer.


A lady always


needs someone


to watch her back.