Los Padres National Forest - California

You can tell when a blogger's been busy. And nuthin' keeps me busier. See her in red at center right on her chaise.

That's Lopez Lake in the swale.

Beware the poison oak. It's been over a month and I'm STILL scratching my arms.

Kern River Valley, California

One sort of expects it with acid...the dissolution of comparatives...dissolving into oneness. I think I'm overdue for a dose.

I'd heard much about the beauty of the Kern River Valley. Also of bumper-to-bumper speed-demons hell-bent to get to the next event.

I was fortunate to discover a track up onto a beneficent hump of a hill where I made camp in the road. It was mid-April, traffic was light; no one came by; I snapped the photo below.

The light played across the landscape, acrost the mountain's shoulders and o'er the verdance of its neighbors lying gently beside it. I thought of The Salmon River in Idaho, and The Rhine. To be sure, this rivulet has its own prettiness, but it pales beside nobility. I was, after all, raised in a Mercedes.

At one point a pair of jets came low through the valley -- like teenagers with loud mufflers -- they made the left turn before running into the "hill" in the photo below.

There's a pall of domesticity. The twitter of a bird does naught but lend to the air of a wasteland; (one can imagine the trout on their ATVs, swilling Bud Light, getting fatter.) safe for those who prefer "no surprises."

I paid homage to how my (vast) experience can cast a sepia tone over the now. Recognizing the immediacy (be in the moment...havva nice day!) lends itself to satisfaction, but it's hard to ignore the feeling that the choreography is proscribed. It's a husk; no animism and little numinosity. A sucrulosic anemia that'd appeal to fans of Thomas Kincaide. (FREE GIFT WITH PURCHASE!!)

 I lasted two days.

Tres Alamos - North of Wickenburg

About halfway between Wickenburg and interstate 40 (up north) on highway 93, the Tres Alamos Wilderness beckoned. It's classic Mojave Desert. Beautiful in its starkness, especially when everything is celebrating Spring.

Has anyone ever captured the incredible lustre?!!

By mutual agreement, Yvonne and I cancelled our meetup.

I headed west.

Doing The Math

Maybe it's cuz I'm now the olde guy at the head of the group holding it up. Or maybe there're just more people out here. According to Technomadia it's the latter, but I'm finding it increasingly difficult to find places where I can piddle my way along without feeling like I'm to blame for everyone being late.

So with that in mind, all I'm gonna say is Arizona's the place to be at the moment. The cacti and creosote are blooming and temps are just about perfect. And since this is more of a Web Log, a reminder for me of where I was when, I gotta add that Rock House Grocery appears to have closed, but the folks across the street have some of the best water I've had in a long time.

Airing the Linen

Wickenburg Lit Fest

A fine presentation by Lynn Downey, former archivist for Levi Strauss on the history of the world-famous pants.

Some interesting crafts and an extensive selection of fifty-cent books at the PTA booksale.

Mark your calendars for next year.

Landsailing, Meandering

I made it to the America's Cup landsailing event at Ivanpah Lake in California. Billed as the Yachting Event of the Year, I was disappointed. The majority of "boats" could only, with generous beneficence, be called anything but dinghys. The few larger vessels lacked ornamentation, originality of design and generally added to the overall boredom. There was a nice breeze, but I only saw two women.

Fortunately, the third-annual Literary Festival in Wickenburg is next weekend.  Hope springeth eternal.

Requiem For An Artist - Vincent Distasio

It was a year ago today.

He was perenially annoyed!! He came from a family of long-lived folks; an uncle had recently begun considering his heirs at age 92. 

Vince made a real effort to take care of himself. He'd had both knees replaced, fifteen years apart, and although they told him NEVER to run, it would wear them out or break them, he loved to run and ran every few days around a field near his house.

He loved -- it's not too strong a term -- playing basketball and felt the same about riding his bicycle. In addition to riding it for exercise, he rode it everywhere to spite the oil companies. When necessary, he drove his 1972 AMC Hornet he'd bought new. He was lean without being skinny and we had a great time arm-wrestling in Flying Star on Coors last October. It was a draw...neither of us could "put the other down." He was pleasantly surprised as he lifted weights several times a week and although he knew I wasn't weak, I suspect he thought my weight gain had affected my strength. Of the literally thousands I worked with throughout the world, including the great UAE marketing company, Nakheel, Vince was the only one who became a friend.

Two other videos

In the early '60s, he married a German woman and moved to Cuba, New Mexico. In those days Anglos needed to be out of town by sundown. There he taught high-school science and cowboyed during the summers, herding cattle on horseback and fixing fence.

When I met him, in '93, his butcher shop had failed due to some kind of under-handed dealings by his business partner and he was working as a meat-cutter while caring for an aunt who had Alzheimer's.

Outside Fisher Gallery on Central Ave in Albuquerque, circa 1993

A true iconoclast, he set the bar for individuality, creative expression and knowing where to find a good bearclaw (doughnut).

This article on the Compassion & Choices website tells of his final days.

He crossed over last March. I miss him.