Winter in Sacramento

Winter is harsh, and it is harsh here as well; record lows for this region. Banana trees appear to be dying. Orange trees are a bit more hardy, but we have draped our little ones in holiday lights and plastic to keep them warm and frost-free through the night. Winter seems to have more mystique here. Real cold is largely an unknown phenomenon here. However people jump at the opportunity to put on warm snuggly clothing. I guess people need winter whether they have it or not.

The holiday lighting around here is quite interesting. Some of it quite lurid, like the huge inflatable snow globes with, what look like carcasses, hanging in them, swaying back and forth as the wind blows. ...and some of it quite pretty, like the blue plastic imitation icicles which people hang from their gutters, or the zillions of sparkly lights of all colors that twinkle all over some neighborhoods. I've only seen a single religious display, and nothing of the garishness commonly seen in New Haven.

There is a certain magic in winter, in the drama of the darkest coldest season. Atomic and molecular vibration slows, and the snow muffles any sound. The eerie cold stillness dominates. Yet life continues, in subterfuge, hidden away. It's our warm little secret. Tomorrow evening is the winter solstice. After that the days will get longer. The warmth of the Sun will increase, and the joy of life will once again burst into dominance. That drama is so apparent in New Haven, as the town is shuttered and nearly dead when the university closes for winter break. Here in Sacramento, people struggle to create that drama. They long for that magic. It gives meaning to the abundant sun.

I'd like to end this holiday navel gazing with best wishes to everyone, big and small, for a joyous and magical winter solstice season.

Vacation's over...

Now get back to work!!!

Ok. Ok. I'm starting Monday.

I still haven't finished documenting our big journey, and now I'm gonna have even less time and attention for this blog.

The real problem is, I'm having too much fun here...
...Biking around.
...Making our home homey
...Exploring Sac, and the river, and Berkley, and...
...Searching for a job. I guess I'm done with that one.

I'll try to stay in touch. Really I will. If I don't, however, a li'l nudge from you all wouldn't be unwelcome.

:)

Another threshold crossed

Well, we did it. We are now officially californians in the most californian way.

We went to the DMV this morning and got our California driver's licenses and I transferred my vehicle registration over to California. Since Lily bought her car here, it was already a cali car. Now we are all cali cars and drivers.

Yay!

Ola Sacramento!

Quite some time ago I adopted a policy against apology. I don't give them and I don't accept them, at least in principle.

This entry is a rather belated greeting, as we arrived here 14 days ago, two weeks ago, on the 15th, pretty much as we had planned. Our household belongings, traveling separately in a moving van, didn't arrive until the 16th. That was both fortunate and unfortunate. More about our abysmal experiences with All In One Moving later.

Cody, and the approach to Yellowstone

It was pretty dreary as we hightailed it outa Worland. It was not too long before we rolled into Cody, Wyoming, so named because it was the home of Buffalo Bill Cody. Yeah, Yeah, big deal.

As we rolled westward along the North Fork Highway, out of the town of Cody, and into mountains, however, the landscape began to change. We were winding through a narrow mountain pass, along the Shoshone river. The wind was whippin' and the river, which was more like a brook, was a long way down. We went through a short tunnel, and when we came out we were looking at the Buffalo Bill Reservoir. We pulled over and discovered that we were at the Buffalo Bill Dam.

It was freezin' ass cold, and very windy, so we didn't stay long. Continuing west along the North Fork Highway we rolled through Wapiti, and as land began to take on a spirit of it's own. We were approaching Yellowstone.

Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, Ten Sleep ...

After the badlands we headed north, stopping for a very pleasant breakfast in Rapid City. Our waitress was pathologically nice.

Then onwards towards Mount Rushmore, and the Crazy Horse National Monument. It was raining softly as we headed back out on the road towards Wyoming.

As our little vehicle climbed high into the mountains, the dreary drizzle began to clear, and the air grew colder; more crisp and clear. We found ourselves in a most serene and beautiful place; Ten Sleep Canyon. As we emerged from the canyon, late in the afternoon, we came upon the tiny little town of Ten Sleep, Wyoming, population 287.

By early evening we were rolling into Worland, Wyoming, and figured that we wouldn't reach anyplace more likely to have lodging anytime soon. We stopped at the Motel 8, and Sheryl found out where the cheapest place in town was, and we went there. It was cheap in every sense of the word. The sign sez it all. I think T & C means Town and Country. That's us.

South Dakota

We didn't cross the border into South Dakota until well after dusk. We stopped in Sioux falls to eat dinner, and sleep at a friendly Motel 6. Motel 6 is generally fairly pet friendly, but this one even offered little green poo poo bags. After a fairly lurid breakfast, we were back on the road.

After western Minnesota, the landscape of eastern South Dakota was pretty interesting, but still quite flat. We followed the endless parade of signs to "Wall Drug", just because we didn't know any better. Wall Drug is your standard tired old tourist trap. We had a late lunch there and moved on, ...south to the badlands.

The badlands was absolutely breathtaking. Stark naked beauty.Quiet, humble, but windy and bustling with life and activity, if you listen and watch. We encountered a big old bison. Buffalos are more like cattle, think water buffalo. This was a big tatonka, majestic, sweet, and sad. To me, he spoke of the majesty of this great land, despoiled and discarded by..., well, by us.

There were prairie dogs. Fairly well camouflaged, they made themselves known by their cute, little squeaks, which, upon closer listening, were more evocative of the cry of the hawk. Quite communal, these busy little characters, worked and played well together, sharing space, but not food. There were warnings that they were carriers of the plague, which, I assume, meant the bubonic plague. Not desiring to be adorned by buboes, we kept our distance. Cute but deadly.

The context for all of this, the badlands themselves, sang softly, and danced lightly, in the sun. Large on a scale well outside the realm of common experience; intense, unforgiving, unwavering, but sweet and generous with their own beauty. These lands demand respect, but also encourage joy. It is a holy place. This is our holy land. The holy land of the new world.

By the way, these videos, and more, as well as links to still pictures, can be found at YouTube by searching for "unconxio.us".

Minneapolis

We continued southward and westward, past the not-so-great lakes of Wisconsin. We stopped for the night at Rice Lake, Wisconsin, and dined at the Roman lounge there. Surprisingly, the spaghetti and pizza was not draped with american cheese food product, like all the breakfast items were.

Aside from Rice Lake it was all pretty rural, with each town boundary marked by a sign stating the tiny population, many less than 100. It was pretty much the same as we drove past the not-so-great lakes of southeastern Minnesota, finally making Minneapolis, where we hung out, and had dinner with Sheryl's delightful cousin Chrystopher, and her daughter, Lisa.

Minneapolis is a really cool city. Pity it's so cold in the winter. Thursday morning after a fun breakfast at a somewhat punkish diner, Sheryl and I took a bike ride around the University section of the city. It's extremely bike friendly, and, despite hosting the RNC that week, quite progressive, which is more than I can say for Sac. The food was downright decent, a welcome relief from cheese food product laden eats of the more rural areas.

That afternoon, after tying up some of the dangling loose ends of the lives we left behind, we were on our way, past more of the not-so-great lakes of Minnesota, into the flat desolation of western Minnesota. It's a big state, and from what we could tell, most of it is occupied by acre upon acre of cornfields. As far as the eye could see, corn, corn, corn. Not much traffic, the odd semi here and there. Pretty desolate. It's gotta be pretty rough in the winter.

U.P.

After Niagra falls we made the mistake of trying to take a shortcut across Ontario, and spent most of that evening in Homeland Security Hell. We shook it off, however, and made our way to Michigan's upper peninsula, over the magnificent Mackinac Island Bridge, and arriving late that afternoon. We stayed in the charming town of St. Ignatius, self-described as a drinking town with a fishing problem. As we wended our way across the beautiful U.P. we learned about pasties; little meat and vegetable pies popularized by the Welsh miners who were hearty enough to populate this area, and marveled at the fact that this was a fresh water shoreline. The great lakes are fuckin' HUGE.

My only previous experience with one of the great lakes was in Cleveland, not the country's most attractive great lakes shore. The Northern Shores of Lakes Michigan and Huron, along Mackinac Island, are quite beautiful, and fairly deserted. Looking out onto the lake water, it seemed like looking out over the ocean. I guess that's why they call 'em the great lakes.

Niagra

The hotel was quite the retro dumpy experience. After showers, shaving, etc. we were disappointed to find only old pathetic coffee in tiny styrofoam cups. We packed our bags back into the xterra, this time via the back seat, as the rear lid was blocked by our bikes, and beat a hasty retreat.

We pulled off in a place called Weedsport, to seek breakfast. Being the Sunday before labor day, it was really quiet. We stopped at Arnold's Family Restaurant, and had a normative diner breakfast. However, the table where we were sitting was right under the HVAC system which was emitting some sort of ultra low frequency vibrations which made us all want to leave as soon as we could.

After a small eternity of dreary driving through upstate New York, we finally made it to Niagra Falls. As we approached the city we could see the mist rising from the center the city, even form a couple of miles, or so, away. It looked like a massive radiator or boiler malfunction. Allegedly the native american word Niagra means noisy river, or noisy water, heap big noise, or something like that. It certainly seemed apropos.

Being that it was Labor Day weekend, the place was packed. Awash with tourists, immigrants, and all the rest of the Great American Melting Pot, it was still quite a spectacle. We did not opt to stand in line for hours and wear little blue or yellow raincoats, but settled for the more distant, and pedestrian experience. We still got a little wet though. Check out the video...

Departure.

Poor Zoe, playing the role of the dog on this trip, had to stay the night in the car, but the next morning Lily appeared, and let her into the basement of the inn. Thanks to both Lily and Elizabeth, a fine breakfast was provided. We went back to Edwards Street, cleaned the apartment, got our deposit back, and settled up with Matt. We packed the XTerra with our bags; clothes and toiletries we would need while traveling, a vacuum cleaner and some tools, so we could clean and set up our new home on arrival, a few small items that hadn't been packed, like the pimp cup and my sword. With the sculling oars tied to the roof rack, in an aerodynamic sort of way, and our three bikes hanging on for dear life by the bike rack on the back, we were configured for the next two weeks of travel, and by evening we were on our way.

We stopped for our final New Haven area dinner at the Hamden Taco Bell, and used their WiFi and our MacBook to make a reservation at the dumpiest motel we could find in Syracuse, New York. As we rolled through western Mass., it started to drizzle. We got to the motel shortly before midnight, and were easily able to sneak Zoe into the room.

Moving Day

The entire trip portion of this blog is not much of a chronicle, as I really haven't had the time to chronicle events as they unfolded. Not much of a reporter, I, but things are as they are. Thanks, however, to the flexibility of blogspot, I can post-date these entries and make this blog appear to actually be a blog. I'm actually writing this on 2008 Oct 9, but, hey, if Steve Jobs can back date his stock options, I can back date my blog entries.

So... Moving Day, 2008 August 29th; now the journey really gets under way. We already had over three times the number of boxes we had estimated. I had figured 50 banana boxes. We had 173 boxes of varying sizes, most of them banana boxes or bigger. So, I called ahead and warned the movers.

The guys arrived at 9:30 or so with two trucks and proceeded to stuff our stuff into their, apparently, rented trucks. At the end of the day our "stuffs" was gone, and we were left in our empty apartment with some left over pottery, an unopened watermelon, an unopened bottle of some bubbly stuff, a huge mess to clean, a few stalwart friends, my daughter, Tova, a huge moving bill, only partially paid, and neither the resources, nor the inclination to do anything.

As Lily and her friends drifted away, we cajoled Kenny and Nancy, our downstairs neighbors, into adopting the last remaining contents of our refrigerator and pantry, as well as the abandoned pottery. John and Cis showed up with a pair of sculling oars, and we sat down on a ratty old dog blanket on the deck to open the champagne and raise a toast; to being unemployed and homeless. We talked and smoked, and finally opened the watermelon with the only implement we could find; a pair of scissors. Tova provided more wine, we talked and smoked until we couldn't talk or smoke anymore. Tova and I, and then John and Cis, said our final farewells, and I carted Sheryl off to the inn, where a clean soft bed awaited us courtesy of Elizabeth, and Lily, here former loyal employee.

Adios to all that...

Adios; go with God.; Go be with God; Go! Into Oblivion!;

Last nite I relinquished some of my past, my baggage. It was after a sumptuous dinner of fried/grilled ribeye, garnished with a deglazed wine and fresh tomato sauce, on a bed of arugula, fresh from our garden, with sliced fresh beets, from our garden, and chilled green peas, fresh from our garden, washed down with a nice 2003 Montepulciano d'Abruzzo from Cantina Zaccagnini that Tova gave me. I was feeling privileged, exquisitely fortunate, sitting across the table from Sheryl; my very own sleepy beauty.

Suddenly feeling somewhat antsy, I got one of those urges. I abandoned Sheryl, and hotfooted it down into the basement, and dragged out the plastic mail crate that contained my old bank statements and the shoebox of old love letters. Earlier we had unearthed an ancient rusted steel barrel from the depths of the backyard jungle, and translocated it to the center of the backyard. I deposited the mail crate there.

When I returned, Sheryl was cleaning up, and I felt guilty. We talked, and I did what I could to make it right. When she was ready, I grabbed the Kingston charcoal lighter fluid, and a book of matches. Sheryl folded up the big yellow butterfly chair, and into the backyard we went.

I crinkled up a bunch of bank papers, enough to cover the sticks and other debris at the bottom of the barrel, doused it in enough lighter fluid to alarm Sheryl, place the lighter fluid can a safe distance away, lit a match and tossed it in.

The fire took off right away, I began crinkling more bank papers, and feeding it fairly continuously. Sheryl was seated in her butterfly throne, not too close, but not too far. When I threw in the shoebox she objected. She thought I should take it all apart and crinkle each document. I didn't want to get that close to it. I wanted to banish it from my life, forever more.

It took a while, but the box slowly began to burn, and I had plenty of bank statements, cancelled checks, business correspondences, and other useless, but dangerous documents, which I dutifully fed to the flaming beast. I momentarily thought, now and then, about recording it somehow, a photograph, or video. But, I didn't.

It was much like any steel drum fire. Except for the fuel. As it appeared to be dying, Sheryl stepped in and stirred the ashes revealing volumes of unburnt pages, which went up fairly quickly. I could see the handwritten script as the flames chewed through it, too fast to read the passion they carried so long ago, but slowly enough to remember the final parting blessing of the very last missive; Stay in Love.

I have. I am. I will.

Fixi Kruza

Yeah, I know, I haven't been around much lately. Hell, it's summer, and in addition to that, I've been jettin'bout on my new Fixi Kruza. I'm really liking this thing.

It comes from fairly humble beginnings; Lexy, recycler extrordinaire, as well as a good friend, passed along to me, an old Royce Union 12 speed, built around 20 years ago, using some of the heaviest materials known to man. The frame is small; 17 or 19 inches, which works well for me. It was originally intended for use in El Lextal, our Smellington to Hamden bike tour, which, unfortunately, has been canceled for this year, since xTal has gone and tore up her ACL bouncing on Lexy's trampoline.

I had planned to make it a fixi pretty much right from the get go. I've been watching Al, and then Lily, gettin' hooked on fixi. After riding Lily's old fixi, I knew that I would have to have one too. The key piece is the rear wheel; a 700c x35 rim on double fixed gear hub, built by Chris of Spoke and Wheel in Bridgeport.

This one is definitely a cruiser though. The chain ring, which is original equipment, is huge; 52 teeth, and the cog I'm using has only 13. That's a pedal to wheel revolution ratio of 1:4. That's 4 wheel revolutions for every full pedal cycle. It's slow when the light turns green, but it picks up speed fast. The seat is a plush Specialized Body Geometry plus, sitting atop an Avenir suspension seat post. The handlebars are Soma Noah's Arc, with 2 inches missing from each end, hangin' off of a Avenir adjustable stem, sittin' as high as it can go. The pedals are Wellgo Fixed gear pedals, with MKS toe clips, and no straps; which is how I like it. It's comfy enough for long flat rides in the country, and the high gear ratio makes it a fast commuting machine.

I've been riding without skull protection, but Sheryl's recent spill, and subsequent hospital time, scared me. I won't be doin' much night ridin', until I get a helmet, and some blinky lights.

Bendecir

Hay un cierto dulzor suave por la noche aquí. Su espesor, y un poco pegajosas. Puede oír en el lejano sonido de la ciudad central; cómo se hace sordo. Incluso los coches van por en la calle abajo. La carretera, I-91, no está lejos. Se trata de "una bestia poderosa que duerme nunca". A pesar de que el tráfico es menos denso en la noche, todavía es bastante coherente. De vez en cuando, una ruidosa moto paseos a través de la sonosphere, suavizado su sonido y por la forma de espesor, y sucia, aunque angelical, manos de la noche. Se trata de un regalo, este lugar, en esta ocasión. Este nuevo cielo, como se llama.

Standin' on the edge of gettin' it on, gettin' it on.

I think that was George Clinton, someone please correct me if I'm wrong. ...and no it's not Bill or Hillary's brother.

In any case, that's where we are. ...and in this case the we is the royal we; Sheryl and I, and, hopefully, Lily, as we prepare, mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and financially for our journey westward.

My nominal internet home will be going down while we make the transition, and I will probably not get around to arranging alternative hosting during our transition. So this is most likely gonna be it.

Here is where we'll leave our breadcrumbs, postcards, and souvenirs. Our goodbyes and our hellos.

I'm sitting in my tiny little office, at work, listening to Lucinda Williams singing...
come out west and see
the best that it can be
and though you won't stay permanently
come out west and see.

climb up on a rock
and stretch out in the sun
and close your eyes and let
your imagination run.

...

who knows what the future holds
or where the cards may fall
but if you don't come out west and see
you'll never know at all.

That pretty much sums it up. That, and the way Sheryl lit up when we stepped out of the Sacramento airport into the warm California dusk.

By the way; today is Lily's birthday. ...and it's a happy one.

Before we go, however, we must have a good bye party, and we will.
You'll be there won't you? Good. If the lord of our land, as we refer to Matt, has his way, the backyard will be dug up and full of construction happening on his new income generating apartment units.

Don't get me wrong. Matt has a perfectly legitimate right to use his land to generate income and provide housing for Yale grad students. I fully support his right. I also know and believe that he, in fact, has an obligation to his family to exercise that right. However, it's sad that it will occur at the expense of our sweet little back yard eco sub-system. But that's progress.

Just like the Sacred Heart Masters, our summer rowing situation. It was sweet, really sweet, for the past five years. We got to row, learn to row, fall into the Housie, jump into the Housie, love the Housie, and be revolted by the Housie. We rowed up to the Dam, and down to the ocean. But it's done now. John and Cis need to make progress. They need to move on. ...forward, onward. I enthusiastically support they and their endeavors, I love them both, and I wouldn't want it any other way. Still it's sad that we can't all row together this summer.

However, there are rowing opportunities in Sac, like the River City Rowing Club. In fact Sac is loaded with opportunities for us. That's why we're heading out. As I often say to my daughter, Tova, "if yer not breakin' any eggs, yer not makin' a cake."

come out west and see...