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Lady of the lake, version #938

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Chance to breathe

I haven't written in a while. My mind is actually pretty full. There is a lot I could write right now and a lot that can also be left unsaid. I guess I will have to feel my way through. See what sticks. Thanks to everybody for the wonderful cards and condolences. Thank you Melanie for planting 25 trees in Lake Tahoe in my father's honor.

It has been a whir the last few weeks. Little time to process, I was thrown into two shows, first Del Mar and then up to Hillsborough in San Francisco. Life and the mortgages go on.

Probably a good thing, I reckon, to get on with life and not necessarily dwell, although I suppose that is okay to do too. Not like anybody ever gives you a manual for these sorts of things.

Shows went well, I was very lucky. Bought and sold some very lovely things, pictures of which I think I will post if I get the time.

Shared some nice time with quite a lot of people, lots of old friends. Many of my customers are getting older too, like I am, we are all mostly dealing with the same crap. Shared some lovely meals, wish I felt like going there now and describing them but I don't. A very expensive Indian meal at My Spice that didn't quite work although the company was top shelf.

I had a positively awful stay at a motel that I obtained gratis from Hotels.com, the Stone Villa in San Mateo. Get what you pay for. Filthy "deluxe" breakfast room, replete with sad looking loaves of white kirkland bread strewn about the trash and spilled milk that littered both the counter and floor, a protruding but well hidden platform on a bed that reached out and bit me on the leg, probably leaving a permanent gash.

Switched to the airport Westin. Rest of the trip was hunk dory.


Typically after a show to San Francisco I head out to Clovis to see my father but that is no longer in the cards. My buddy Vlad Smythe and his lovely wife Natasha, the former and I enjoying a forty year friendship, invited me to spend the night with them in Monterey and then the next day Vlad and I ventured down to Big Sur to spend a day relaxing and taking it all in. His suggestion. Off the gerbil wheel for a moment. My buddy took the day off, which I really appreciate.

Vlad and I were born months apart the same year, we have in many ways led a parallel life, definitely had the same influences, watched all the same dumb commercials and television shows, his dad was an ABC muckety muck.

We both loved Fred MacMurray in Follow me boys, Car 54, East Side kids. Both watched Wonderama and Metromedia.

Were at the same baseball game when Willie Mays hit the ball out of the park on his second at bat when he went back to play for the mets at the end of his career. Both played the guitar and loved the beautiful dulcet sounds of one Jerry Garcia.

Vlad is an archivist, creator of one of the most amazing music libraries in our world, he has a very discerning eye and ear.

We rekindled our friendship about 20 years ago and I got to watch their kids grow up, both of whom I love. Love them all, one of the many friendships in my life that have only gotten stronger with time.

Natasha told me that one of her peeves is people that say heighth, she says that there is no such word. Too tired to check, I will believe her. She is a teacher, after all. Beautiful and gracious.


I brought my old camera with me down the coast. Tough to take a bad shot in these parts, almost too easy, like shooting big game at the zoo.

I hate making perfect picture postcards so I flattened a couple of these like the lovely early 20th Century woodcuts that I like to buy and sell. Take flack from the photographers but from where I come from everything is fair game.

I started as a fine art painter, turned graphic artist, one stroke letterer and sign painter. Had to stop when I lost a good portion of my bladder and left kidney and had to take pictures to get my compositional rocks off. But the painter still lurks and is dying to emerge one day, hopefully soon. Health be damned, I need a fucking brush in my hand.



We hiked around Point Lobos, an absolutely perfect day and then headed down to the beach at Pfeiffer, Vlad knowing the exact unmarked road on which to drive down on.


It has been so long since Leslie and I had been up here, forgot how gorgeous it was.




I have used the time after my father's death in an interesting way. In the immediate aftermath, I called up one or two people that I had hurt in recent years and apologized, including Kerry. I take responsibility for overreacting and being an asshole sometimes and in some cases, had been totally out of line. The intensity of a close relative passing gave me the strength to make amends and try to reset the table personally. But enough heavy shit.

Vlad and I went to Ventana and had lunch. Charcuterie and a nice salmon salad. I think I had a coke. Vlad went to the men's room and I looked at the bar. What the fuck. Ordered a Jameson. Things sort of rolled along from there.

River Inn for bloody marys. Then another place for the same, where we were treated to a large blue whale on her journey north with child in tow.

I was starting to get hammered at this point but in a very nice way. Just a great, magic day with a pal. Wish that I could have shared the experience with my wife. We desperately need a vacation together, deserve one anyway. Need Kauai.

Who doesn't?

We ended up having beers at a locals hang in Monterey, eating sand dabs and calamari and drinking beer. My pal said it was about time I loosened up and took my panties off. Got to get down once in a while. Got home fast the next day, escaped traffic and the radar.



I got to go. A friend says that a hawk nest has collapsed and we may need to try to save the baby. Any volunteers?

Finishing up, drove to Los Angeles yesterday, did all  kinds of business, than back to Carlsbad, not home until ten. I have been and am just killing it and am looking forward to a chance to breathe. Going to do my best to take my time putting my shop back together. Going to chill out.


2 comments:

Blue Heron said...

Alerted by Kerry B that Heighth is a word, albeit archaic.

http://spellingtrouble.blogspot.com/2013/03/heighth.html

Max Hall said...

I like the woodcut technique. Glad I'm not to educated to appreciate it.