You Knew That

First published in 1956, an amazing translation by Sylvia-Monica von Kospoth in collaboration with Estelle R. Healey, I had to chuckle at the mention of the Western mans' view that: "Nothing is more opposed to the modern Western ideal of beauty than the big belly." (p.54, Inner Traditions, Vermont). Their turn to feel the SHAME women have suffered for eons!

Durckheim makes fascinating the uses, implications and attitudes that surround the term and gives examples of the role of hara and how it pervades nearly every aspect of Japanese culture. And to top it off, he shows how it's an integral element of the Western mind...in spite of their denial.

                                               Enjoy!

                                  (As only a German could! And let's hear it for von Kospoth!!)

Hara, Overlanding & Onanism

I once ventured into the North Rim Visitor Center. There, like a Duane Hanson sculpture,

Image gleaned from Artnet

a motionless couple stood -- as if transfixed by a TV -- in front of the map that showed how many miles it was from there to elsewheres.

I'd just hiked from the south rim and upon entering, immediately went into shell-shock. And then, with wonderful irony, the alienation was furthered by the young ranger behind the counter launching into a vituperative excoriative -- obviously wrought from long-repressed exasperation -- of  those who "weren't there yet." All they wanted to know, she said, was how many hours it was gonna take.

I once got an example of what she meant when a man proudly told how they, he and his wife (More likely just he, as he, always drives.), had made it all the way from Albuquerque to Kingman, a distance of 471 miles, in one day. At the time, I'd happened, that very day, to beat my record of 25 miles with a totally-smug twelve and a half.

In Overlanding it's about, "Isn't this a gorgeous spot?" and, likely uttered when walking, the maybe-even unspoken, "Let's go see what's over there!"



Hara: The Vital Center of Man
(Durckheim, 1956, Inner Traditions, Vermont)
pp 101-103

"To begin with, man regards the instinctive consciousness as the opposite of the mind, for he knows as yet nothing of a development from the pre-personal, via the personal, to the supra-personal, wherein each stage pre-supposes and includes the preceding one. He sees, at first, only a succession of mutually exclusive forms of consciousness through which he ascends from his instinctive nature, through entanglement in personal feelings, to the height of rational thinking, clear and free from the shackles of instinctive as well as of emotional attachments. The development of the human being as a totality appears, from the viewpoint of the rational I as follows: first the mastery of the instinctive drives, then overcoming the limitations of the subjective I, and finally the ascent to the real "objective" morally developed I. On this scheme his striving should result in his being the master of his instincts and the servant of his mind or spirit in the realm of his heart. But actually something quite different appears. Out of his heart's need it may one day dawn on him that his connection with the Ground of Being which he has regarded as merely Nature's dangerous dark work is ruining the wholeness of his life. In the same way he may realize that in orienting himself upwards by the sole strength of his mind, which lifts his conceptual thinking into a guiding principle, he is missing the truth of life.  And one day the moment may come when the sufferer will perceive something beyond the boundaries of his shrunken understanding which opens up a new horizon. If he takes this experience seriously he will soon doubt the trustworthiness of his three-pronged scheme of development. The distinction of Below, Middle and Above in the sense of that lower body, heart and head symbolize merely the instinct-bound, the worldly, and the rationally-fixed consciousness, will no longer satisfy him. For now it will be obvious that the way nature, soul and mind have been understood is merely the way in which the whole pattern of life has been reflected in the mirror of the I.

When the little I withdraws and its working pattern is no longer the sole guide to the recognition of reality, life will disclose new horizons, gain new dimensions, increase in breadth, height, and depth. Those formulae in which man perceived his reality as three-fold and arising from nature, will indeed recur as a pyramid of concepts, but then they will have a new meaning and a broader base. The region of the heart, as the medium of endurance and self-proving in the world will still hold a central position. But like nature below and mind above the heart region itself will gain a wider significance.  Nature, soul and mind will no longer be separate, self sufficient spheres, but pointers to a supernatural whole. In the total experience of a wider life, instinctive nature, supporting the I from below, expands in Great Nature. The confined and suffering soul, enmeshed in its subjectivity, deepens into the Great Soul. And the mind, chained to the intellectually comprehensible, is lifted to the level of Universal Consciousness."


Yah! Sehr Gut! Nicely put, don' chew tink?

TMI WARNIN' !  Sie may wanna schtopp here und readen sie about onanism before continuingk.








I try and start and/or end my day (sometimes both!) with an onanistic orgy  And having recently discovered I may be a carrier of HPV (There's not a test for men and supposedly we ALL have it, and though it may have been from another, SHE tested positive.) I decided to morph my Tantric practice to include it, onanism, that is. Fortunately, Durkheim mentions that practice is fundamental to finding and sustaining hara. So, now I call it practicing. But it's the process, dontchyaknow?

Here's a link to Lokita & Steve Carter's The Breath of Love videos (under PRODUCTS on their website). The three videos provide an overview, quick-step, and extended, step-by-step guide to a Tantric session; both are clothed (well, Steve is in shorts and no shirt) and the exercises are of a fundamental rather than advanced nature, but are detailed enough to provide years of "practice." At least, they have for me. Their website.

And then there's this tidbit...

From: The Way of Transformation(London: Allen & Unwin, 1971)...

"The person who, being truly on the Way, falls upon hard times in the world, will not, as a consequence, turn to that friend who offers him refuge and comfort and encourages his old self to survive. Rather, he will seek out someone who will faithfully and inexorably help him to risk himself, so that he may endure the suffering and pass courageously through it, thus making of it a 'raft that leads to the far shore.'

"Only to the extent that a person exposes himself willingly over and over again to annihilation, can that which is indestructible arise within him.

"In this lies the dignity of daring.

"Thus, the aim of practice is not to develop an attitude which allows a man to acquire a state of harmony and peace wherein nothing can ever trouble him. On the contrary, practice should teach him to let himself be assaulted, perturbed, moved, insulted, broke and battered--that is to say, it should enable him to dare to let go his futile hankering after harmony, sure ease of pain, and a comfortable life in order that he may discover, in doing battle with the forces that oppose him, that which awaits him beyond the world of opposites.

"The first necessity is that we should have the courage to face life and encounter all that is most perilous in the world.

"When this is possible, meditation itself becomes the means by which we accept and welcome the demons which arise from the unconscious--a process very different from the practice of concentration on some objects as a protection against such forces. Only if we venture repeatedly through zones of annihilation, can our contact with what is Divine, with what is beyond annihilation, become firm and stable.

"The more a person learns whole-heartedly to confront a world and way of living that threatens him with isolation, the more are the depths of the Ground of Being revealed and the possibilities of new life and Becoming opened for him."

(Karlfried Graf von Durckheim, "The Way of Transformation," pp. 107-8)

And yuh know what? It's bullshit. Confrontation is for egoists. Ignore the world and there's no threat of anything; isolation is the dread of sheep. What Leary said still applies, "Tune in, turn on, drop out."

But I do feel sorry for the polar bears.

Never Say I Won't Buy My Friends

Passing through Holbrook scanning the globe for water, I espied the Glacier Dispensor in front of the Circle K.

Rian Beckwith was making movements that indicated officialdom at work; I hesitated.

Encouraging me to place my jug, he hit the GO button for 5 gallons while saying, "Never say I won't buy my friends."

His generosity included not only a $5.00 gift card, but he lowered the price-per-gallon on the machine to $0.25/gallon.

Thank You, Rian!!!

And Glacier/Primo too!

(At most Circle Ks)

Painted Desert Ranger Cabin - VROB

It was unavoidable, I had to take Interstate 40. So, to make lemonade, I 'cided to explore some of the exits I'd skipped in previous years.


Although I didn't go in to Stewart's, I couldn't resist the insouciant smile...

Piddling into the outback came this sign...

Their website

82 miles west of Gallup, New Mexico at EXIT 303, although the road required a bit of caution here and there, The Schvoog (2008 Honda FIT) managed it.

At the park boundary sign we knew we'd "made it"....into the wilds, that is.

An area of badlands...

With its own Camel Rock...

Other beauties...this one with highlights.

Artifacts both old...

and new...

Orlando Mina - Tour Guide

Passing through Chinle, Arizona last May, we moseyed over to the Pinzgauer shop at Thunderbird Lodge. Orlando had just, a couple of days earlier, narrowly escaped drowning when his truck all but disappeared into a deep hole. We got to see a photo (since lost) of the tail-end of it sticking up out of the river with Orlando about 20 feet behind it on his way to attach a winch cable.

Yesterday, Friday, I decided to stop by the shop and see if Orlando was there. He was! And proceeded to tell the story.

There were several trucks returning from a tour and no one had told him about the hole. When he plunged in he managed to get out through the window and helped his 12 passengers to safety. Several of the other trucks behind him, avoiding the hole, took his passengers while two others stayed to help.

Holding onto the front bumper, Orlando managed to attach winch cables from the two trucks. During the attempt one of the cables broke, an accident that makes a sound similar to a bullet passing nearby...and can easily cut a person in half.

The current was flowing so hard that while holding onto the bumper to attach the cables he was pushed into a horizontal position. It wasn't until their supervisor arrived with a third truck and winch that they finally managed to pull it out.

It took only two months to get the truck cleaned up and running again.

Mina (pronounced: My-nuh) sounded unusual so, you know, being German and of insatiable cur'tiosity, I asked about his heritage. He thinks his family is originally from south of Brazil but his Dad is from Santa Domingo Pueblo and his Mom is from Jeddito, Arizona.

The shop is behind the Thunderbird Lodge and across from the campground. Orlando said he wouldn't mind if you came to hear it first-hand.

Please tell him Hello for me.

Iveco

It was at the library in Blanding. I'd never seen an Iveco before so stopped to admire.

The young woman riding shotgun had an interesting accent and was able to understand my English enough to, when asked, spell the name of the vehicle.

The driver, who looked about the same age as her, had long straight hair that hung down past his shoulders. For once, I didn't "hold" them; simply bid them Happy Travels and climbed back into The Schvoog.

I saw them pull in at the Exxon and thought to tell them about the great showers available there for only $2.50.....or was it $5.00? But I just went on.

Blanding Adventure

Leaving camp yesterday morning, I tore off the front bumper getting through the ditch next to the road. (see prev blogpost)



In town I stopped at Eric's place for propane.

When he asked how things were going I told him. In spite of my whining about being poor, he darn near insisted I go see Ivan at CARRSHOP. 

At CARRSHOP, 

two young men said Ivan was away but would be back soon. I decided to risk it and explained the situation. The next thing I knew, Jackson, in the white t-shirt, and Braxton, in black, 

were going to town on the car as if their lives depended on it. 

Over the next twenty minutes I watched as they power-sawed off a bolt that someone else had put in before and was impeding their progress. It was amazing to watch a team who really know their stuff.

Ivan showed up just as they finished. 

When I asked about payment Ivan referred me back to the two. In the interests of helping them make some REAL money next time, I'll not disclose what we settled on. But The Scvoog is now, once again, proudly sporting his frontice piece.

Good As New

And we're thinking mayyyyyyybe of staying off "the dirt."

Mil Gras, guys!

Time To Head South

Temps dropped 20 degrees overnight. I'd hoped to spend several days near Fry Canyon, but I'm a cold wuss. Thus, I'll head for Globe, Arizona where temps are projected to be around 80 and 40 at night.

Though the area around Globe is blanketed in a haze of exhaust from huge trucks that haul ore out of the nearby mine, the diverse topography, plant life and presence of flowing water combine to entice explorers to endure for at least a short while.

And Phoebe's motor is at the rebuilders. So, it won't be MUCH longer until she's ready. And though The Schvoog has done his best, his bumper, held on with plastic tabs, came off this morning as we exited camp.

Coming Loose

The dip between the main road and the two-track did it in.

Fortunately, I was able to fit it into the FIT. I'm thinking of tying it to the roof to add to the overall affect...until I find a couch.

Fin - End

I could always refer to my journal, but it's not searchable. On the 1st we celebrated the culmination of three years; and parted a few days ago with finality. But I couldn't stop myself from, last night, asking once more.




This morning, bounded on each side by a flower emoji she replied:


                                                                              .Fin.

Just below The Twist

Soft-boiled...NOT Poached

The Care & Feeding of Princessi

Chapter 436

The egg should be submerged in the water prior to igniting the flame. Set flame at medium.

Elev: 4,326' - 5 min 23 secs.

Elev: 4,276' - 5 min 18 secs.

Elev: 4,192' - 5 min 04 secs.

Elev: 4,005' - 4 min 53 secs.




FROM quora.com:

A poached egg and a soft-boiled egg are cooked in conceptually the same way -- both in gently boiling water; one with the shell and the other without the shell. Since the soft-boiled egg is cooked in its shell, it obviously will take on the shape of the shell as the egg whites coagulate.

To Sheep or Not to Sheep

This Brainpickings blogpost

https://www.brainpickings.org/2014/07/21/creativity-and-mental-illness/

is on the question of whether creativity is "informed" by mental illness.

To save you from reading...here's the crux of the biscuit:

"Andreasen considers the unique psychoemotional constitution of the highly creative person, both its blessing and its curse:

Many personality characteristics of creative people … make them more vulnerable, including openness to new experiences, a tolerance for ambiguity, and an approach to life and the world that is relatively free of preconceptions. This flexibility permits them to perceive things in a fresh and novel way, which is an important basis for creativity. But it also means that their inner world is complex, ambiguous, and filled with shades of gray rather than black and white. It is a world filled with many questions and few easy answers. While less creative people can quickly respond to situations based on what they have been told by people in authority — parents, teachers, pastors, rabbis, or priests — the creative person lives in a more fluid and nebulous world. He or she may have to confront criticism or rejection for being too questioning, or too unconventional. Such traits can lead to feelings of depression or social alienation. A highly original person may seem odd or strange to others. Too much openness means living on the edge. Sometimes the person may drop over the edge… into depression, mania, or perhaps schizophrenia."

The interesting point to me, rather than mental illness, is the impact of criticism, rejection and being perceived as "too strange." 

While our culture lauds individuality from one side of it's mouth, it is ever-ready to designate and, commonly, derogate those who're TOO strange. But what piques my interest is: what makes our egos so susceptible to ridicule? As we, the TOO different, designate, disdain and ridicule the "sheep" doing what they're told, we reel in self-abnegation if they look cross-eyed at us? 

I've always been "different." In Montana the word has a strange tinge that inclined me to perceive it as a synonym for qweer. One day, at the checkout, the young lady asked why my left eye is colored. I explained that the coloration was scar tissue from an accident and that it had resulted in blindness. She then, with what might have felt to her, post-inquiry, as a faux pas, commented, "It's okay to be different." 

This came across as a bit disingenuous. Montana is recognized as a holding pen for a heavily-weighted (adverb preCEEDs the noun) population of homogeneous survivalists, xenophobes and guys in gray t-shirts and khaki shorts. (Although I don't dress like everyone else, I don't think my attire is flamboyant. And yet, I attract attention.)

But I wish you could have seen the look on her face when I pointed out that SHE was different. That of the thousands of checkers who've looked at me whilst handing me my change, she was the first and one-and-only who'd asked about my eye. Quickly reassuring her "It's GOOD to be different," I nearly laughed aloud, watching, as she wrangled the cognitive dissonance of being "one of us."

These days, in Montana and when occasion arises, I remind them "It's only relevant if you want to date the person."

Bluff Arts Film Festival - Friday Evening

At 1:00 p.m., after an INTENSE (and exhausting) discussion about the vicissitudes of multiple relationships and in anticipation of attending the Film Festival in the evening, I managed to DRAG myself into the sun and wash my hair & upper body. (Clean undies and socks will do for the rest.)

The view up Butler Wash is to die for. We're camped on the 2nd bench above the crik. And to stand here with the heat of the sun and the chill of the approaching Fall evident in the breeze, clean hair, freshly shaved, toweling with magnificent purple from thrift shop for indigent seniors.....

\

 I've everything one needs ('cept love-making) to feel alive!

The Film Fest was comprised of four:

Night Sky
About an observatory at Torrey, Utah and the Dark Sky movement.

Chip Thomas
An eight-minute documentary on the artist/physician in which he describes how he came to the reservation, his interest and treatment of the Dine with uranium mining-related illnesses, learning of their ways and gaining trust and then, rather than just having his photographs in galleries, started doing his large murals for everyone to see. Afterward he fielded questions from the M.C.

Sweetheart Dancers
The story of two Native-American men who choreographed their own "Sweethearts" dance and entered into contests at pow-wows. Sweetheart dances have been, traditionally, for male and female couples, but in true Native-American fashion, it took only a year before the tradition was modified, at least at one place, to include partners in long-term relationships.


Escape
About the psychological and physical abuse suffered by two teenaged best friends, one who is gay and the other smart and shy. After the movie, Smart & Shy and another actress talked about how things hadn't changed much since the making of the movie. Smart & Shy is now a senior ignoring the lucrative offers from Hollywood and planning, instead, to attend college. But many of the others had moved on; had children; died; gone to prison; and, as is the case on many reservations, otherwise fallen by the wayside.

Bluff Arts Festival - Day One

Our interaction (almost COMPLETELY conversational) is exhausting! Yesterday we took an EXHAUSTING stroll on the slickrock in which I massaged her shoulders and back for about ten minutes. Later, we moved camp...which, after loading up, required airing down to get through the deep sand and then, of course, airing back up at the highway. And then, of course, we had to DISCUSS the location of camp as she'd chosen a spot right next to the road and what with everyone coming from around the world to the Arts Festival.....we finally moved up onto the bench above the main road where we established territorial rights at the end of the deadend. We were both so EXHAUSTED we could hardly sleep.

After nap (that's a formally-recognized time, altho its specific varies), we went into town where, unable to bring ourselves to spend $30.00 each for steak dinner at the Cottonwood Steakhouse, she got a slice of pizza and I bought the fixins' for bologna sandwiches. 

Then, as the sun and clouds did their sundown best, we strolled the Tiki torch-lit promenahd to the open area by the riverside where we heard three authors read. The best was a recording of Ellen Maloy reading: Guests.

We then strolled back, spent a few minutes accessing The Web on the library's wifi and returned to camp.

All-in-all, a lovely evening.

The Norman Maclean Reader

Perched on the first bench less than 100 feet below the mesa top, I've a view of several miles of the western face of Comb Ridge. Now, at a few minutes past midnight, with a full moon only a few days away, this next-to-last sentence (prior to well-wishes) in a letter from Maclean to his friend Bob Utley, struck a chord, "A teacher soon learns to save himself by treating the mediocre gently and briefly."

It is with those we trust (and love) that we can be direct and have confidence they'll recognize the origin of the intent.

It was a long day of discussion about misunderstandings and the complications of sustaining multiple relationships. But we closed with expressions of gladness at once again being in each other's company.

We Made It

Normally a two-day trip with an overnight at the Chinle C.G. (dogs! noisy mufflers, and always a few shots, which sometimes quiet the dogs, from atop the hill).

THIS time I took a diff route. In the throes it seemed fine, but this morning I'm recognizing the sound -- analogously (fortunately, not the REAL thing) -- of a battery in need of replacement or charge......uuuuUUUUUGGGggg; uuuuuuuUUUGGGGgggh.

Comb Ridge in morning shadow with the La Sals (still sans snow thank god!) in back.

Schvoogie, or, The Schvoog (2008 Honda FIT), so named because for-all-the-world he looked, to Ms. Cook, like a house-slipper. He's perennially shod with snow tires so he's at the ready when the skies of Albuq let loose and the cats (she's a cat-sitter) MUST BE FED.

Aired down to 15 pds, we skimmed acroost the grasping sands chortling in mad delight. He's a lo-hangin' chariot tho and bumped ass as we leapt the two-inch berm betwixt the main road and the two-trak that leads to the Stationwagon camp - named for the time when - in our early Spring trip - she loaned the truck and was forced to get by.

But here we are again. At least we think we are. She arrived several days ago and is camped up the road somewhere. We're within texting range tho!

Calle de Comodo

Following upon the prev post, now Scraping Bottom in the afternoon of this day before departure, we re-interpreted Comodo as commode.

And then, to add to the surreality, at the cat-sitting client's home...a validation of the inference.

Availing myself of "the facilities," I was Entranced!

Solidity!

Craftsmanship!

Who could ask for more!

Skid Marks

She was once a next-door neighbor. He, a guitarist, single and, at the time, eligible, lived acrosst the street. Then he moved acrosst tuh our side, in with her.

Upwardly mobile, they bought one of the high-ceilinged places on the West side. It was hard to tell the homes apart and they joked about Stepfordville (wherever *that* is).

After 25 years he met a woman at work. As she detailed the reasons for the divorce, it was the "skid marks" that seemed to have really been the issue. Quoting herself she said,"Wipe yer ass, you fool!"

Can you imagine? 25 years of stink-butt! And she musta been doin' his laundry too!

I, ummm, occasionally have "accidents" but admit to being raised in a household that maintained "A clean twidget (see blogpost) was next to godliness." Thus, I invite you to submit photos to mfh20502000@yahoo.com (all zeros left of @ symbol) or post them where-ever and send a link.

And may you never be smitten unawares. 

(She stopped by after not having visited in several years)

On the Tantra Trail

As I've mentioned numerous times over the past several years, thanks to Jozien Keijzer, I have become a devotee of Margot Anand. (It was Jozien who, disdaining Margot's book as too technique-oriented, sent it to me.) Anand's work led to The Function of the Orgasm (link is to a 38-page pdf) by Wilhelm Reich who led to Bronisław Malinowski and his trilogy about the Trobriand islanders.

I have yet to discern the connection (perhaps someone can enlighten me?) between Reich's work and the Trobriand peoples, but I suspect it has to do with the islanders' sexual practices. (Haven't had time to read what with Cook's sciatica and all the cat-sitting.)

But this morning's delving took me to the first pages offered on Amazon of the first volume (of the trilogy), Argonauts of the Western Pacific.

What I found striking is Malinowski's comment (on p.5) about the (white) folks already on the island: "Here were men who had lived for years in the place with constant opportunities of observing the natives and communicating with them, and who yet hardly knew one thing about them really well. How could I therefore in a few months or a year, hope to overtake and go beyond them? Moreover, the manner in which my white informants spoke about the natives and put their views was, naturally, that of untrained minds, unaccustomed to formulate their thoughts with any degree of consistency and precision. And they were for the most part, naturally enough, full of the biased and pre-judeged opinions inevitable in the average practical man, whether administrator, missionary, or trader, yet so strongly repulsive to a mind striving after the objective, scientific view of things. The habit of treating with a self-satisfied frivolity what is really serious to the ethnographer; the cheap rating of what to him is a scientific treasure, that is to say, the native's cultural and mental peculiarities and independence -- these features, so well known in the inferior amateur's writing, I found in the tone of the majority of white residents."

Although I've never thot of myself of scientific bent, (albeit, according to Good Luck Duck by virtue of being a polyamorist I DO qualify as qweer...a form, I'll propose, of bent-ittude), Malinoski's description brought to mind the Bud Lite & Big Tires folk in their gray t-shirts and khaki shorts.

I'm also intrigued by the recent adoption of the beard affect. Hit youstuh be a signature sign of beatniks and poets (think Allen Ginsberg). Wha' happint?

Once More unto the 2008

Estimated repair time for Phoebe is two weeks. Now LOOOONG past my ability to cope with a city, I'll move into the 2008 FIT Monday (Michelle needs chauffeuring until her brother Steve gets here) and make the best of it. At least it has snow tires with some sidewall so it's SLIGHTLY more capable than the 2015 which has 16-inch wheels, latest fashion tires with no sidewall and thus, no clearance.

Got Dr. Lin's art piece ready to mail (see: Seeing, Oct 7). That and hinges on the stove lid are the remaining tasks.

Art mailed Thurs. 10/10

Decisions, Decisions

Phoebe's head gasket is leaking. That means the head is warped. He said he'd need to confer with his machine shop guy, but we're probably looking at around $3k. The machinist is going in for surgery on his hands later this week so it may be a while before he can get to it.

A remanufactured motor, IF there's one to be had, might be around $6k, installed. Of course, there's no way to know how "good" the remanufacture is. It might, as in some cases, come with a nationwide warranty (yeah, right) of 100,000 miles. Whereas, if By the Book rebuilds it -- while I get a known rebuilder, it only comes with a one-year warranty and any issues would have to be fixed by them....here in ABQ.

I just put $2.2k into the radiator, heater-core and u-joint. At 230,000 miles it's hard to know how long the rest of her'll last. She SEEMS in pretty good shape; she only burns half a quart of oil every six weeks.

Michelle's sciatica is getting worse. I committed to staying until it's better....not that I can leave, what with Phoebe laid up and all, but no one can care for her (which her?) the way I can. Besides, the FITS can't even handle the Ojito Wilderness, fairly mild stuff compared to what we usually do.

It's Chinese Curse time. Fascinating!!

I'll have another martini, please. Dry.

Seeing

"You MUST see Topanga Canyon," he said.

I was let out in front of the grocery store, which shared the small strip mall with an alternative therapy practitioner's office and a gift shop. It was, and based on the scene in David Crosby's recent movie, is still, the hub of the universe.

Standing there wondering what to do next, I was hailed from the end of the walk by none other than Panama Red, the leader of a troop of "Lost Boys" who had a camp on the mountainside near Twin Poles swimming hole. It was they who turned me on to the bounty available from the dumpsters behind grocery stores.

Later that summer I visited my Mom in El Paso. I arrived to find the refrigerator empty and no money for food. My brother and sister were too young to be aware of the situation, but my sister took note as, over the following two days, I filled the refrigerator so full you had to push the door closed. My "findings" included milk, cottage cheese, blocks of cheddar cheese (with maybe a scrim of mold), all manner of vegetables, and the prize: a solidly frozen (when found), four-pound chuck roast, the basis of a grand meal for all.

Last September I went to Stanford Eye Institute to consult with Dr. Lin about a cornea transplant. Several previous consultants had been encouraging (income!). Dr. Lin however, after inquiring about my lifestyle, explained that a cornea transplant is similar to any other organ transplant and requires the life-long taking of anti-rejection drugs. And, based on my living conditions, with it's proximity to pathogens (dirt), he declined to perform the operation. He was sympathetic though and allowed as how if ever I took up residence in a place that was relatively germ-free, he'd be happy to do the deed. The cataract on my right eye was no problem and over the next ten days, with eyesight in one eye restored, I acquired a renewed lease on my nomadicism.

Since that time, I've had an eye out (get it? -- one-eyed...an eye) for a "Thank You" for Dr. Lin. Passing through Mancos, Colorado the other day (August 24 blogpost) I espied (an act of seeing) the calligraphy of Beth Wheeler. After a phone conversation about what I had in mind we reached an agreement and when I passed through a few weeks ago her husband Herb, who owns a frame shop, and I spent an hour designing the frame. He said he'd call in a few days with the amount. I was atop a mountain taking in a nearly 360-degree vista when the phone rang. "$750.00," he said, "including the art."

An involuntary gasp escaped. Embarrassed by my reaction -- I'd dealt in art that sold in the thousands -- I reminded myself of the priceless gift I was, at that very moment, enjoying to its hilt.

In our conversation Beth had mentioned monthly pilgrimages to Albuquerque for treatment of ovarian cancer. She and Herb stay at a motel near the hospital, mostly, I suspect, for the convenience of proximity. I know they're not wealthy; the money would help defray some of their expenses. I took another gander at the magnificent view (and a deep breath) and said, "Yes!"

Herb Folsom & Beth Wheeler

The top word is Sight, as in the physical capacity.

The bottom word is Seeing.

I have no idea what the cost of materials for the frame were; I'm speculating they might even be as much as half; it's a work of art in itself. These days that might be enough to half-fill a refrigerator. It might cover the cost of the motel for a few days.

But when I had the gallery and worked with the media on a day-to-day basis, I discovered how infrequently people say thank you. And Dr. Lin deserves a BIG thank you...not least for saving me from the annoyance of having to have my left eye removed after the transplant went bad.

Her doctor describes ovarian cancer as "smart;" it quickly finds a way around the current treatment. This week she'll start a new regimen -- to be administered every two weeks -- instead of once a month. They'll bring the finished piece for Dr. Lin on Tuesday or Wednesday. (Mailed 10/10)

I've always been grateful for having SEEN Topanga Canyon. Without sight I couldn't have gleaned from those dumpsters. And I'd never have been able to run a gallery and help keep those artists from having to take jobs. And the view from that mountaintop the other day will stay with me for the rest of my life. And I'm eager to see Beth and Herb.

China Mountain - Late-breaking News

This just in from Northeast Nevada. SNOW on China Mountain.

China Mountain is at the south end of The Granites. The Granites are about 15 miles south of the Idaho-Nevada border on the east side of highway 93.

Maybe this is the year to check out Chiang Mai.

Economics

Years ago I complained -- after four months of calling the neighbor at 10:30 at night to please quiet his dogs -- to the city. He's been taking revenge ever since. To avoid the harassment, both vocal (derisive yells, barks & "mews") and minor vandalisms (nails in tires), when visiting Michelle I stay in motels.

This time I lucked into a series of bungalows owned by Charey Fox who -- tho I had to move a couple of times when they were let to AirBnb tenants -- rented them to me at rates almost as low as Motel 6. The neighborhood is quiet and has a friendly ambiance much diff from the drug dealers who'd taken up residence at the Extended Stay Inn where I stayed before. But finding parts for Phoebe has become problematic and once found they have to be shipped. In the past my visits have been a week to ten days, an expense, but not THAT bad. However, this "extended stay," now over a month, has resulted in a significant increase on the VISA.

Yesterday I took a long drive out to one of the new suburbs west of Bernalillo. I noticed a rumble-with-vibration that indicated Phoebe's new u-joint wasn't happy. Daniel at By The Book said to bring her by and as we neared the shop her temperature gauge climbed toward the red, the problem that took nearly four weeks (we thot) to solve. Finding new parts that fit, in this case a heater core and radiator (Daniel tried four radiators), is part of the challenge of maintaining an older vehicle.

Anticipating departure, I've spent the last few nights at Michelle's. Last night it rained all night and into the morning.  The dog's owners, apparently not completely uncaring of the dog, kept it in. So we had peace THIS morning.

I've been leaving in the mornings with Michelle to help with the cat-sitting so am away while the dog barks all day and also get to miss out on the cat-calls and car alarms. Although I'm grateful for their partial incentive that helped encourage me to nomadicism, I can't say as much for the nearly $1,000.00 in rent for this extended stay. I'd hoped to leave today or tomorrow.

Gene Dominguez

Met with Gene from 2:00 to 3:30. It was interesting but didn't feel as if it had any effect.

She got involved with Grandmother at age 55. She's now 67.

We may try another approach later this month.

One Month in Albuquerque As of Today

Just to keep track...

Michelle was in so much pain from the sciatica we went --  Sunday -- to an Urgent Care Center where the P.A. prescribed flexeril. It wasn' until she was (supposedly) overdosing on it at 20 milligrams that she finally felt some relief.

Monday afternoon Dr. Chee (Navajo at UNMH) prescribed Tramadol and ordered x-rays which we got that afternoon. The x-rays showed nothing amiss.

Tuesday we met with Dr. Purcaro, chiropractor & Shiatsu master whose one-hour (generously extended) treatment didn't help.

Today, Wednesday, now having taken the Tramadol as prescribed for two days, we have learned that it does nothing -- at least when taken as prescribed.

The packet of info about sciatica and Piriformis syndrome (similar to sciatica) -- with included DVD -- arrived today in the mail. The company also sells supplements.

When I left Michelle to attend to some errands of my own, she had to resume driving herself to her cat-sitting appointments. She immediately realized her pain was a direct result of the 2015 Honda FIT's seat.

This evening Karen called and said her sister Kay, who recently celebrated her 80th birthday, had a small stroke and lost use of her right leg. She'll be in a rehab facility for two weeks. Hopefully, by then she'll have recovered enough to come/go home.

Karen and her son Robin had driven over -- from Nevada -- to celebrate Kay's birthday so were there to help her to the E.R. in Eureka (she was unable to get out of bed by herself).

Tomorrow I meet with Jean Dominguez, a Shamaness in Rio Rancho.