“Vista,” for his view out the window.
Snapped this morning from the living room. Smudge, whose early roots are from the streets of downtown L.A., is still trying to decide what these creatures are and whether they chase hubcaps.on take me aha ringtonealltel ringtone wirelessfree 20 vx6000 ringtone lgj a arringtonalltel ringtone kyocera3310 nokia mms ringtonecollege accringtonringtone free download alltel Map
Row, row, row your dinghy.
Someone on my beach has yet to answer the question…
A tune for this cute little heartbreaker.
An adorable neighbor was hanging out this afternoon on my dead-end road, awaiting handouts. No dummy; at about 5 months old or so, this kit has learned that of the handful of people who live along our sparsely populated stretch, one will give her a little dog food and the other will offer crackers. Fearless and too trusting for her own good, she trotted right up to me and gently took one of the latter from my fingers, then another, and another, never nipping. If she likes cat food, she’ll be in luck when she shows up in our driveway.
Hmm.
There are so many hummingbirds here that I’m beginning to have a hard time keeping up with their demands. Like junkies, they buzz around looking for the next fix and harrass me when I dare to walk too close and invade their space. I am losing count of the number of times I’ve refilled the sugar water, and I’ve only been here two weeks. More artistic feeders, hooks and stands worthy of this inspired environment are on their way via ferry to my doorstep, but for now an old studio stool and traditional feeder suffice. The birds couldn’t care less about the decor and furnishings; this restaurant is apparently one of the most popular in the area. I’m keeping the paramedics number close at hand, as I dole out works to every thin pointy beak on the block and watch as they risk falling into little diabetic comas. For some like me, being a dealer has its responsibilities.
Friday music.
Every day is a Friday here, in so many ways…. I shot this at nearly 8:00 pm at dinner outside overlooking the harbor. The western sun was so bright I actually had to keep my sunglasses on.
How Hollywood of me.
Light– the abundance of it, and, alternately, the lack of it– is a big thing up here. In the two weeks or so since I’ve settled on the island, I still haven’t gotten used to the short nights: it’s not fully dark until long after 10pm, and it begins to get light again around 3:30am. And we’re still weeks away from the longest day of the year. There’s so much to do each day that I work, as I always have, until 5 am, but then I find myself rising again three or four hours later. Each afternoon around 4 or 5pm, I crash for an hour, exhausted, then get up and start again. Charles calls this my “Alaska Brain” syndrome, triggered by almost endless light. I call it my “just moved in and need to get everything set up instantly despite the fact that it’s impossible” syndrome. We’re both right.
Tonight is one of those famous June blue moons, and as I type this I’m watching the orb arc slowly across the sky, filtered through the seaside forest that surrounds me. It is not blue; just bright white. Thanks to the 48 degree latitude, I can see this traveler just above eye level from my desk all night long, making its journey east to west. It better hurry, or the oncoming sun will collide with it.
Hoping things don’t go “boom.”
Oh, and I forgot to mention: looming over my little beach and behind Turn Island (forefront) is a volcano! The impressive Mount Baker, about 60 miles to the northeast (closer than Seattle) and nearly 11,000 feet, is a snow-capped jewel of the Cascades. But large as it is, it hides from view even in excellent weather. Not today.
The two photos below were snapped around sunset yesterday, and this one above was taken early this afternoon. It’s interesting to see the difference on two clear days.
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Day’s end on calm waters.
The view from my neighborhood beach, a quick stroll from the new house.
Wow.
Ooooh.
Ahhhhhh.
Much more on this as the ratio of cardboard boxes to free blogging time shifts. For now, I can tell you that having just purchased a beautiful tandem kayak, I’m very eager to hop in and explore these waters and coves. To the right in the photo above is Turn Island:
A few paddle strokes away, and a protected wildlife preserve. Lovely.
I still can’t believe my good luck to have ended up on this part of the island. It happened quite by accident: last month, we had looked at another house in the area and wandered down to this beach to bemoan the fact that while the property was gorgeous, the house itself was way too much of a long-term project. Visions of the movie “The Money Pit” danced in our heads, and Charles and I stared out at these waters and decided that we’d be foolish to take on too much, when we both have lots of “real life” work to do. As we drove back up the road somewhat disheartened, we spotted a “for sale by owner” sign posted on a tree. We followed it, and saw the house from which I now type. Within a day we were in escrow.
My creative tide pools are growing impatient with being slightly ignored while I make sense out of the studio and find locations for things that fit fine in the Malibu house but defy physics here. Yet the process of putting down roots in a new home is no different than that of deriving the initial theme for a new piece. I sense that with time, my tangible things and my intangible notes will all be back in alignment.
Music for wherever the home chakra might be.
Moses and Smudge have figured out that this place is not just another in a long string of motels, but HOME. Housekeeping here leaves much to be desired, however, as does the cardboard box-themed decor. Chaos abounds as we attempt to put all our stuff from the previous place into this new place, but these guys are thankfully oblivious. I wish my knees, feet and hands were. I’ve had more exercise in the past few days from unpacking and shuttling heavy things to various spots than I’ve had in years, not to mention stubbed toes and other indignant bruises. We joined the gym in town, but at this rate I’ll need to rest up and recuperate before I can lift weights with no purpose of transportation or organization.
Smudge saw his very first large mammal today, and was riveted. Having been rescued six years ago from the streets of downtown Los Angeles, he had no clue what it was. Black tail deer are everywhere on our densely wooded property; they have no predators on the island. Throughout each day I see them on the other side of the picture window when I’m showering or in the studio setting things up, and this afternoon I was able to say hello in person, when one strolled by as I was leaving the shed. He didn’t bolt, he just stood there with beautiful eyes and looked at me, ears perked. I stayed still and spoke quietly, and he resumed eating the brush while I resumed searching for the box that held my ample collection of field guides, so I might know just what flora and fauna this magical forest of shore pines, cedars, firs and alders contains. Two days ago a mother and her days-old fawn were here, and it was so lovely that I almost cried.
There are thousands of trees around this house on all sides, with a filtered view of the water across the way. The first night we were here, Charles and I sat in amazement at our great fortune to be the caretakers of this small piece of the planet. But today began with mixed emotions: four decent-size trees had to be felled because their roots were beginning to take hold of our septic tank, and it would be the tank that would lose this tug of war. Several professional opinions determined that there was no other option, but we felt terrible: we had purchased these acres to be stewards of the land and protectors of every growing thing on it; this felt somehow hypocritical. Yet the new clearing now allows sunshine to reach other trees that needed it, and the circle of photosynthetic life goes on. Plus, we got an added bonus: a terrific yard in front of the glass-walled living room, before the woods begin and a little trail wanders off through parts I’m eager to explore. I apologized to the trees we sacrificed, and thanked the ones who will benefit as I do, from the gift of space and light.
Prelude to serenity.
Not as fabulous a photo as this port deserves, but this was shot on the fly yesterday through the window of Downrigger’s after another very good meal there, in my eagerness to show at least a glimpse of Friday Harbor, my new local hangout.
I’ve felt like the WiFi diaspora the past few days, roaming cafe to cafe for some connectivity while our services are getting set up at the new house. The very reason Charles and I can live here is because our businesses are largely run on the web, so it’s been a bit of a juggling act to keep things going this week on the road in the midst of this happy chaos. As long as I keep scribbling notes and publishing the music, it doesn’t matter where in the world I am. But it does matter that I return calls and emails and send out files on time!
Case in point: just this week, as I wandered up the coast in my blissful unplugged state, CDs with pieces of mine on them were released from three very different parts of the globe: a trio from Spain’s Grand Canary Islands released “Elegy” on Crystal Records, a duo from Rome released “Slip” on DC Records and a disc with a short electronic piece of mine on it is coming out from New York City. I have never met nor spoken to the ensembles in Europe but have enjoyed emails back and forth, answering a few questions here and there. But have I had time to update my website and include links and info on where to buy the discs? Of course not. Until later this week, at which point the commerce end of what I do for a living can catch up to the art end of what I do for a life.
Lack of connection is not a bad thing, actually. Especially when you live in a place so quiet, you can hear the air between the wings of the dragonflies and eagles as they swoop by. Stay tuned for more on this…
Prelude to a new life phase.
Any musician could have blogged their tour with photos of scenery and drunken post-show debauchery. Ours has had an acceptable amount of both. Yet few blogs, if any, have shown the ordeals of the road through the eyes of the silent, dedicated, resigned warriors: house cats on the move.
As I see it, I’ve filled a necessary void.
Ok, maybe not. But at least Charles and I have remained charmed and amused by sharing road life with creatures who are not naturally suited to suitcase living.
1200 miles and a few quick stop-off visits to northwest friends later, the ferry from Anacortes deposited us onto the shores of San Juan Island this afternoon, and we drove straight off the ramp to the quaint office of the title company: a wooden bungalow tucked between the airstrip and the little league ball field. We signed all the papers and closed escrow on a home that we think will nuture great love and creativity for years to come, and deposited ourselves, our dinner and a couple of bottles of good wine in a local hotel we’ve enjoyed several times before as re-con tourists. Tonight though, was different: we are here, for real, permanently, on a one-way ticket. If we had any doubts, viewing our still-California-plated car in the driveway and our still-California- I.D.-tagged kitties on the bed made it very clear: this island is now our home. We have landed.
We move into our new digs this weekend and begin the perplexing process of asking the oft-unanswered question: “What the heck DID I pack in this box??”. 220 cartons of books, CDs, rocks, shells, wine glasses and plastic dinos later, answers may be revealed. For now, we simply say, “Ahhhhhhh.”
Just like Mo and Smudge, seen here chillin’ in Motel Number Four of a four-part series.
Relaxed and ready for the road tomorrow.
Another town, another cheap motel. Hey, that’s the fun of road trips! At least, that’s definitely what Smudge and Moses have discovered. Proof here, from motel number three in a series of four, somewhere near an I-5 off-ramp in Olympia, Washington. Yes, today was monumental: we made it out of California and into our new home state. Wow. I’m not quite certain whether we’ll need passports and inoculations, but I’m up for anything.
Less than a year ago, Charles and I came to the realization that we no longer belonged in southern California. That doesn’t mean that we didn’t love every inch of our beachside mobilehome or our sea-top sailboat (our wheel estate and our keel estate, so to speak). Anyone reading this blog for the past year and a half knows just how deeply connected I am to the natural offerings of Malibu and Santa Barbara. And I passionately adore my local friends, many of whom are really extended family. But we just didn’t love much of what surrounds these incredibly beautiful anchors of our fortunate life.
The past four years have seen a marked change in Los Angeles, and a new tipping point has been reached that pushes toward a full range of tenuous stresses, from the human creation of inescapable traffic gridlock, to nature’s creation of drought and a year-round fire season, to a high cost of living in a place that felt as though it might be shortening the very life span we were striving to improve. I think I’ve got at least one or two more decent pieces in me; I’d like to be around until the ink dries.
Not many couples have the freedom in their work lives to be able to spin the globe and ask, “where in the world would we like to live?”. After a few spins and explorations, the San Juan Islands became the clear choice. As long as we’ve got electricity and an internet connection, Charles (a software developer, energy healer, fine cook and talented house cat wrangler) and I can live anywhere in the world. As I sit here happily typing at the faux wood desktop in Cheap Motel Three Of Four on the cusp of moving into our new home, I’m still stunned by the joy and alacrity of our decision. When we were on the island last month, it already felt like home and flying back to L.A. seemed very odd. That’s a sure sign to me of good tidings to come.
As for Mo and Smudge, well, it’s looking like they may be really disappointed that their grand tour of cheesy motels will be coming to an end. Coaxing them into the beautiful new house might be very hard, now that they’re into the groove of life on the road. Like all the jazzers who’ve landed in places like this before them, they are two cool cats.
Silly, happy road trip music.
You just never know the true essence of your feline companions, or the keeness of your assaulted sense of hearing, until you take them on a 1200 mile road trip.
MeeeooooooooOOOWW!!
Oh, so pitiful.
Charles and I must actually be even more blessed that we already knew. The first, nearly intolerable couple of hours of prison uprising protest calls upon our final departure from Malibu on Monday night have been followed by a full day and night of calmness, sleep and even purring.
I type this from a Quality Inn motel near the California/Oregon border, after a long, long day of driving and some great Szechuan take-out for dinner. The scenery through the middle part of the Golden State is, uh… pretty drab. With the current drought, the golden state is more ashen gray these days, and the dry heat even in mid May is uncomfortably intense. There’s not a great deal of visual interest on the I-5, unless you enjoy counting big rigs and experiencing the weather systems they create unto themselves when they pass each other on a two lane highway going 78 MPH. But none of this mattered, because we celebrated the act of heading north, all four of us together, to a place with green and moisture and serene beauty.
Besides, Moses and Smudge have discovered that they like road trips and LOVE motel living. After they finished pawing over the brochure literature for local attractions, they opened each of the mini shampoo, conditioner and moisturizers and fought over who got to wear the shower cap. We hope they won’t be dissaponted on Friday when they sleep in their new house. We sure won’t be.
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