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A Cleat in Time


There comes a time in every man's life and I've had many of them.

-- Casey Stengel

I am not a big resolution person. I don't make dramatic changes in my life or lifestyle. 'A line in the sand' always seemed a fairly impermanent metaphor for taking any sort of critical moral stand. Minor tweaks or slight course corrections seem to work better for my phlegmatic demeanor.

However, I have had friends argue that the above analysis flies in the face of certain realities, not the least of which are my fairly frequent employment changes and my fluid homestead history. Add to that I have just added a six month undomiciled meander to my life record.

Pondering this last evening while meditating in a damp San Francisco garden, I was reminded of a dream I had during what passes for a life crisis in my world. This was back in the mid 90's. The dream involved a sailing metaphor. For the sailors in the audience, I am not one. I am not a boater of any sort, so I do not know from whence this imagery arose, but it did.

I felt at that time that I had spent a number of years a bit adrift. I had a job and several serial relationships but there really was no direction in my life. I wasn't headed anywhere in particular. In the dream I was alone on a single masted sailboat with the large sail untrimmed and lolling in the wind. I caste a single line out to a cleat. I felt as if I got just a bit of trim into the sail I could or would begin to navigate the course of my life, instead of skimming around the surface at the behest of whatever wind might blow. Now mind you, these "winds" were providing me with a fairly interesting life at that time but a bit too directionless.


So, feeling directionless again are we? Well, no. I have learned how to use those life lines and cosmic cleats to bring some dynamic tension into my life. The sense of purpose that I consciously laid aside during the last year, while I traveled about the country is slowing rising. I am already lining up both the mundane and the creative endeavors for the next several months. The lanyard is in hand and thankfully the youthful desire to grip and tug mightily is well suppressed.

Watch your head, we're coming about.


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Many Thanks Along the Way

I have just spent eight months on the road and most of that time I was not staying in hotels or motels but in the homes of many good friends. I want to sincerely thank every one of you for opening your doors, yours hearts and your homes to my vagabond ways. I enjoyed the variety of experiences at each and every stop and would not hesitate to encumber you with my presence again in the future.

Particular thanks to Randy, Gary and Cyndy, Bill and Kathy, Dan and Sue for not only inviting me to stay but also having the extreme good manners to pack up and leave. The only thing better than good friends would be good friends who offer you the shelter of their home and then go away.

Celebratory thanks are also in order to Pat, Bob and Holly, Jim and Mary Grace for timing their parties to coincide with my visits. The many meals at all stops were just too scruptious to mention but Bill, Pat, Mary Grace and Eric will be remembered for their culinary skills. Also the caterers in Virginia, the grill in Weed and the barbeque at Salt Lick in Austin.

To those who opened their homes for weeks at a stretch, I am gratefully indebited. To those I was only able to share a meal and a conversation, you too. The briefest of stops in the strangest of locations were like beacons into our past.

I learned the intricacies of the DVR at many different stops along the way. I became a fair to average Wii disc golf player and I observed various examples of Ipod, Bluetooth and other new techno devices both enthralling and frustrating their new owners. I even acquired my very first GPS to find my way from doorstep to doorstep. In all cases, I can honestly say to every one including myself: RTFM!

Thanks to David and Kim for opening their spare room on short notice. To all my old college friends in Kalamazoo, was great to see you, wish we had more time to talk. To the several dozen 'friends of friends' I met on my travels, twas nice to make your acquaintance, except for that one crazy woman in Florida. To those I saw but did not homestead with, was good to catch up and to those I missed along the way - I am not done traveling just yet.

Special thanks to the PokerBoyz for all the laughs in Biloxi, when are we doing that again? I would point out for the Boyz that I remain the only member to have met Becky, Rachel and Eric or to have seen and visited all but one of the PokerBoyz home turfs.

I would be remiss without sending cyber scritches to Midnight, Rascal, Matisse, Tigerr, Cat, Duffy, Jerome, Abra, Edmund, Crattchet, Blackie, Java and nuzzlin' my keyboard as I write this - Vlad.

What did I learn on this adventure? Well part of it I hope you will be reading in the book/story I am writing roughly based on the geography, if not the actuality, of the trip. Second, I came to realize on a much deeper level why people refer to me as their friend. I want each and every one of you to know that I value whatever interaction we had, I am humbled that you consider me that type of friend and you have more than repaid me with your friendship and camaraderie. Each and every one.

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Six Months of One, Half a Year of Another

It's a real, live, exact, calendariacly significant day. I officially began my trip on July 31st last year, I even blogged about it. That's the "when" of the story. Back then I imagined I would be extending my undomiciled existence for "five months or longer", well as of an hour ago I am back in the Bay Area (Oakland to be exact) and since this is where I will be staying for some unforeseeable time into the future, I guess it is time to declare the wandering aspect of this journey to be complete. There is still more to write, both here and in one of several stories I am working on. But for now the "Where Am I?" updates can abate. In the next couple of weeks I will be settling into an apartment in Berkeley and perhaps even clearing out my storage closet, perhaps.

A recap and acknowledgement of the trip will follow later this week. A full six months on the road has provided me with lots of writing juice and has made me much more aware of who and where I am in this newbie of a decade. For now --- I am as home as I can geographically imagine at this point on my personal segment of the time-space continuum.

Looking forward to who & what's next and reflecting on where I have just been. and, of course, there is . . . why?
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Not My Fault

For all of you flat-landers that is a picture of the San Andreas Fault, upon which I am resting tonight and which I have crossed and will recross several more times in the next 24 hours. I am putting all of that L.A. nonsense behind me as I have passed through the maws of the City of Angles and am now firmly pointed towards the City by the Bay.

I will say as my final word on L.A. 2010 - - - I was right. I spent many happy and productive years in the South Bay of Los Angeles but of all the places I have lived, this is clearly the one I cannot go home to. I felt out of touch and out of spirit both anticipating and actualizing the L.A. experience. I now remember feeling the same the several previous times I have been back since my move from Hermosa Beach to San Francisco in 1991.

Ah well, what's the loss of one megalopolis when there are so many. Besides we will be making the movie in Las Vegas not on a back lot in Burbank. So what's one little monster from L.A. amidst all the splendor that has been this journey so far. A few more days and I can unpack somewhere with a view of the Bay. And... I will turn my attention to posts with a bit more heft as some have requested; enough of this wallowing in the muck and mire of decades past.

You know... now that I ponder the lay of the land, maybe it is My fault.
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Welcome to L.A.

I have written before about the strange, quirky and upsetting film "Welcome to L.A.". My review and recommendation remains the same:

The most profoundly affecting movie I have ever experienced. This is not a recommendation, as most people who have seen it, really hate it. But I had a unique experience with this film and it has stayed with me for thirty years. Cast includes: Sissy Spacek, Keith Carradine, Sally Kellerman, Geraldine Chaplin, Harvey Keitel, Lauren Hutton, Richard Baskin and Denver Pyle. Robert Altman produced the film.

I am, however, seeing some connections to my current push/pull around visiting the City of Angels. I have delayed twice now and have finally decided to skip into the souther suburbs tomorrow for a lunch with old friends and a dinner with Audrey. Whether I last a full 24 hours or not remains to be seen.

There are a couple of story threads I really want to brush by to get the particulars smoothed out. But I would not be surprised if my next blog posts from somewhere north of the San Fernando Valley.

My left hand says get out of there,
My right says it doesn't matter anymore.
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There Must Be Someway Out of Here

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Can't Go Home Again. Yes you can! No you can't!!


"You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ... back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame ... back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time — back home to the escapes of Time and Memory." - Thomas Wolfe


I find myself in a strange, even uncomfortable place as I near the end of my journey. I have been "home" to Michigan (1948-1975 & 2000-2006) with no discomfort. I have seen family in new and old places and many friends in towns and cities throughout the country, all with relative ease and comfort. But as I approach Los Angeles my home for many years (1975-1991), I find it unwelcoming.

It's like a new pair of wool suit pants. Nothing feels right, movement is irritating and you really don't want to sit down. In fact, all you want to do is get away from the discomfort and move on. That, of course, was not my feel of L.A. when I lived there or I never would have stayed so long. The last several times I was in Hermosa, Redondo and Manhattan beaches I was just as uneasy. Maybe there is some truth to this "you can't go home again" stuff. Some places are best left in the past to hold memories but not to be revisited, resurrected or unearthed. Methinks the great L.A. basin is one of those places for me.

So I am going to make a quick pass through, grab a meal or two with old friends and get out of town and back up north where the temperatures are cooler and the earth for me, much warmer.
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