Cold Cruising, Rocks, and Storybooks  

 

What we started with

Work on the stone has been a little sketchy this week. It has been cold (for So Cal) so I'm not getting out to the table until late in the morning. Too, I've been trying to get out on the bike more often. At this advanced age one falls out of shape very quickly.  The local bike path is nearly finished, so now I can get in a good twelve mile cruise every day, or two without having to ride on  any major surface streets.  

It's not as though I'm working to a deadline, or anything, but taking that cruise slows everything down. It means either getting a late start on the art, or an putting an early ending to the work sessions. 

Here's where we left off last week. 

I opened up the cone a little farther. Now, the job is working  that flat, suction cup face into the irregular curves of a blossom. I'm retaining as much of the ragged, "natural" shape of the rock as I can.  If rocks bloomed this would be the flower.

Sun. 2/19/23

Got together with the bike gang, Saturday, for twenty six  miles on the fat tires. We rode the Santa Ana river from right around Angel Stadium, down to just a couple miles short of the beach. I hadn't been on this stretch of the river trail since the late 1970's. Back then, I'd take my single speed Schwinn Spitfire out in the morning,  cruise my way down to Anaheim, and pick up the Santa Ana River Trail right there at Angel Stadium. I'd ride the trail all the way down to Huntington, then slog it back home up Beach Boulevard for total of just over fifty miles.

Saturday's ride covered about half that distance. I rode all day on the Santa Ana Trail expecting to see some small thing that would light up a memory. It has all changed. There was nothing familiar at all. And twenty five miles in the cold and wind just kicked my ass. I've been flopped all day today.

 I finished up CS Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia the other day. I was sad to see the series come to an end, and not just because of the sad ending of the World of Narnia.

 Turning an eye to the ongoing mess of news, current events, and commentary is just disheartening. Too much exposure to it brings on this free-floating sense of dismay.  I still look through the bookmarks every morning, but I'm reading less and less. I quickly reach a point where my eyes glaze out of focus, and my attention just evaporates. I return to the same conclusion: The world as we knew it ended with Trump's "two weeks to flatten the curve" speech. The covid panic may have abated, but that was only the first shot in this war.

"The world is in a bad way, my man, and bound to be worse before it mends; ..." 

And so it is, and all signs point to the worsening.  I don't have the four or five centuries to wait it out. I doubt if I have two decades. My generation will not see an end to it in our lifetimes. And there is not a whole heck of a lot we can do about any of it.  Accept what you cannot change; change what you can, and all that. I can change my focus. I can turn away. Reading is a way out, and  CS Lewis was on my bookshelf.

 Reading Narnia was just plain fun. And, at first  it seemed like it would be fun to write about it. But I had barely touched the keyboard, when I got time-jacked straight back to Cal State Fullerton, where the penalty for reading any piece of literature was five type-written pages minimum.  Or worse, a final exam bluebook prompt: 

Discuss the theme of Redemption in CS Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia. Compare and contrast similar themes in the work of two other authors from this semester's reading list.

That's pushing forty years ago.  Even so, that routine killed off any interest I had in books or reading for a very long time. As soon as I hit the keyboard I found myself trying to write term paper prose. I'm not going to do it. I'll make a few notes on what I enjoyed, and why.

The Chronicles of Narnia provided me with a most welcome escape, but the magic of Narnia was not  the magic of talking animals, or witches' spells. In Narnia,  Evil can be directly confronted fought, and, with great effort,  defeated. The avatar of God can speak to us directly. That there could be a place where there was no history for thousands of years sounds pretty good to this old bastard.

But. Getting back to that redemption thing. I like the broad brush with which Lewis paints his characters. I liked the way that  his heroes: Edmund, in particular, start out as perfect little shits, yet grow to become worthy kings. It's a good lesson for the young, and a good reminder for the aged, like myself.  At seventy years, it is quite easy to look back through your resume, and find stuff that makes you wince, and cringe. It is comforting to be reminded that the Lion is forgiving to those who own their wrongs, and change their ways. I try.

And I like the way that Lewis reminds us that not all will be redeemed. The blind dwarfs in the last book have chosen their lot. They sit at a sumptuous feast in the glory of fresh air and a warm sum. Yet they believe them selves confined to eating garbage in a lightless stable. Those who have ears hear the music of Creation. Others, like Uncle Andrew,  hear only unpleasant noise: 

[Uncle Andrew] had disliked the song very Much. It made him think and feel things he did not want to think and feel.

 This resonated with me. I can recall the time when any mention of Christianity just gave me the creeps and the willies. That time is past, and I have become a Believer, albeit feral.

I don't know if there is anything more to say. But treating a story like a dead bird bird on dissection tray just gives me the creeps and the willies.

And now, thanks to the cruel, and remorseless taunts of Will, and Julie, I've embarked on that grim voyage aboard the Pequod, and I'm laboring beneath Ahab's scowl, and Ishmael's verbosity. All goofing aside, here. I'm about halfway through Moby Dick. It isn't nearly the monster I remember, and (don't tell anyone) It's actually a heck of a good story. Maybe some notes on The Whale, next week.

 Chisel and Drill

 

Tue, 2/7/23

I reached the point where I have a clear separation between the bulb that lies flat along the base, and the mouth of the large irregular cone that will rest atop the bulb. 

 

 

Now to address that big flat oval face.

 

 

 I got out the big drill, put the 5/8" masonry bit in the chuck, and bored down about three and a half inches into the face of the cone. Time to break out the point chisels. My chisel-fu gets stronger with each project. Here's where we are as of Wednesday afternoon.

The next task will be pushing the walls of that cone thinner, and then we'll take the flatness out of the front rim of the cone.   I took another bite with the drill, chiseled out more material, and started shaping in the irregular curves with the cabinet rasp.

 

Thu. 2/9/23

 I'm an early riser, but 2:30 is too damned early for even me. Had an early visit with the doc today, and got Mary's car in for service. Doctor visit was OK. All the numbers are very good, and the echo test on the heart showed nothing amiss. Mary's car is another matter. It's thrashed.

But  a night without much sleep was just what I did not need. I'm draggin' it. I couldn't work up the juice to get the tools out, but I did finish Chronicles of Narnia today.

I'm sad that it's over. I haven't had so much fun with a series of books in a very long time. More on this in a post somewhere down the line...

 

Fri. 2/10/23

 I hadn't been on the Roadster in a while, so I polished it up for Saturday's ride, and put in a about eight miles on the local bike trail. It felt good.

But Saturday was cold, and windy.  

 

Newport Harbor.

We left the fancy dress bikes home.  I am a wimp when it comes to cold. I'm skinny, and I chill easily. I have to prep for a sixty degree day the way most people gear up for the snow. I was ready for the cold, and it paid off. Sometimes fighting a little wind and cold is actually fun. I think it's called "invigorating" or something.

Sunday, 2/12

 

I founded the So Cal RatRod Ride eleven years ago, and a year later three of us founded RatRod Riders B/C. This was when the "Outlaw Bicycle Clubs" were just catching fire. I'm leaving out names, because I am the only one of the three founders remaining in the club. We were there for the first OBC gathering in Las Vegas, and our monthly ride drew dozens of participants. 

 

We used to roll a pretty darn impressive pack through the Huntington and Newport Beach bike paths. We did a few parades, and threw some giant parties. But all things change, do they not? A bunch of clubs came and went. The scene gradually evolved into sort of a custom bike show circuit. The various builders do come up with some gorgeous machines, but most of the customs are show queens: impractical, heavy, tough to ride. 

Most of the club rides became more focused on the bar stops than the bike path. Lots and lots of people ride with bluetooth stereos. Many have "sound bike" trailers with big ass speakers, and they play them loud. As a group, we slowly fell away from the big gatherings. It just wasn't fun to drive an hour or more out to a ride, and then spend most of the day standing around waiting for everyone to get done drinking.

We don't do stereos or bar stops. Last thing any of us wants on a bike ride is being stuck behind someone blasting rap, or heavy metal.  Dave and Russ don't smoke,  but the rest of us enjoy our weed. One life's sweet little pleasures is to catch a buzz, and take in the peace and quiet of a long slow cruise along the coast. Our rides run in the 15-20 mile range, with a couple of 'safety meetings' and a lunch break where we can find cheap food.  So, of course, attendance at our  event fell away. We mostly stopped going to their rides, and they mostly stopped stopped coming to ours. The club has become a small, tight family. We do our own thing, and it is good. Even so, we have our 'fancy-go-to-meetin' bikes as well as our daily riders. We're still in touch with the rest of the scene. 

 

Dave, and Troy went up to Simi Saturday to show off Dave's custom. Check this baby out:

And that's about it for this week. I do want to get around to talking about The Chronicles of Narnia, and also about Life, the Universe, and Everything, in a subsequent post. Oh, and Moby Dick, too. No foolin', I really started it again, and you know what? I'm enjoying the heck out of it.

Really!

 On Days After Rain

 

Friday, 2/3/23

We got a break from the rain this week, but it's been cold, for So Cal- 46 degrees this morning. It's  sunny and clear, but the temps are hanging in the 60's. Buddy the Cat is back to being his noisy self, and I'm much grateful for that.  I got a little work done on the stone.

 

I did not have great ambitions on this project, but I like how it's turning out.  After the Aerodyne project I wanted an easy, free form, improvisational exercise, sort of make-it-up-as-I-go-along. 

  

I wanted a break after taking exact measurements, and working to a plan.  

 

 

 

I'm pleased with the flower-like form that's emerging from this odd wedge of stone, but between the crappy weather, and my dull, flat humor, the project is lurching along in starts and stalls. Whether you plan it all ahead, or plan it as you go, you still gotta' plan. Can't get anywhere if you don't know where you want to go. So, I'm taking some long sit-and-stare sessions before chowing into this much farther.

I just nuked several paragraphs of dark, and melancholy musings about death, the purpose of Life, and the nature of cyber friendships. VanderLeun is gone. We have all been very fortunate to have been a part of the event that was American Digest. But it's over. The community will dissolve in time. Some of us will stay in touch in the way we do with our on-line friends. We'll lose touch with others. That's just how it goes. I do not want to lose touch with the group, but I'm not looking to replace the time I spent there with another site, another host, another community. Truth to tell, I am sick of internet, and bone weary of the passing world. I'm going to tune out, and turn to other things.

 Remember books? Odd how things get started. A couple weeks back I had to take Mary to Kaiser for cataract surgery. It  meant several hours sitting and waiting in the truck, or somewhere on the Kaiser campus. No fun.  I got the great idea that a book would be just the thing. Haven't read one in a while. On my bookshelf I had a new, unopened, and unabridged copy of The Chronicles of Narnia. All the books in one big volume. I had never read them. Why not?

The books have been a blessing during this episode of low spirits. Lewis is an easy read. There is depth enough to the stories to keep them from becoming idle entertainment, but you don't need to do a line by line exegesis on them to suss out the hidden meanings. And I love his absolutely horrid English brats. 

This is reading for escape; escape is fine with me right now.  I remember when I was in the fifth grade, devouring Tom Swift Junior books, and getting completely absorbed into that science fiction world that surely I'd live to see by the time I was eighteen. I really wish I'd have found the  Chronicles of Narnia back then.  

And right now? Believe me, if could walk through a gateway into Narnia... but of course, I'm much too old for that. Once you reach a certain age you can no longer cross through the portals.  And in much the same way, once you reach a certain age you can delight in the stories, appreciate them from many points and perspectives, but you can't be absorbed into the world of Narnia in the way you could when you were crossing the line between single, and double digit birthdays.  There is no going back, and no going through. Even so, I count myself fortunate that I can still feel a little wistful about it. The fires aren't out just yet.

Sunday, 2/5/23

Today started cold, wet, and rainy. And being the first Sunday of the month it was Cyclone Coaster day.  February is "Bring a Lady" for the monthly antique and classic ride. Everyone brings out their best girls' bike for the ride. I was going to bring the 1956 Schwinn Starlet.

 But like I said, it was cold and raining, so I brought the 1961 Rat bike instead.

 The rain let up before I got to the freeway. It was cold and crappy when I got to Long Beach, but I dressed for the cold. I always go down early, and park in Belmont shore, a couple of miles away from  where we meet up for the ride. I found a parking place (not always easy) Got the truck locked, and rolled down Bayshore to take a pit stop before hitting the bike path. Path was empty. I hit a wake n' bake and took a quiet dreamy cruise in the early morning haze.

By the time I reached the meet up, the sun was out. Penny, Troy, Russ, and Dave were all there. All in all, some  twenty, or thirty folks showed up for the event. By the time we rolled it was too warm for the heavy coat.  By the time we stopped for lunch it was like this.

(HT Penny for the pic)

This made for a wonderful day. But no Cyclone Coaster ride is complete for us until we make our last stop on the bike path for an ice cream at the Batman catering truck. Between the time that we ordered our ice cream, and finished the cones the wind rose up sharp, cold, and stiff.

Now wind can be your best friend or a nasty adversary on a bike ride. It depends entirely on which way the wind is blowing, relative to one's direction of travel. Riding with a tail wind is one of those sweet little pleasures that make life worth living.  Once you're at speed with the wind the ride is effortless and quiet. The air around you is so still you could light a smoke with a paper match. It feels like flying. I had about three and a half miles of it, and it was good. Traffic going home was light and fast.

Mary had pork and onion stew on the stove when I got home. She served it up in sourdough bread bowls. After dinner, a hot shower, and a bite on the bong, I sat in the green chair with a cup of hot coffee, and the book. Buddy the Cat hopped up in my lap to read along. There is much to be grateful for.

 

 

 

  Days Between Rain

Dockweiler

Last Thursday, the 26th, I noticed that Buddy the Cat was was limping, favoring his left hind leg. Friday, the 27th,  I had my bestest ol' pal in the world at the vet.  County Line opens at 7:30. I was on the phone with them at 7:29, and in the office two hours later.

It scares me how much I love that silly beast.

When we lose a loved one, the grief and shock hit so hard that it leaves us numb. It's like a protective shield that rises in the face of devastating truth. Sometimes the first phase of it is a strange giddiness, almost euphoria, like a hit of speed to keep you from crashing out. The true pain leaks out slowly over many, many days.

There is no such shield with the loss of a pet. The pain is immediate, intense, and overwhelming. I've been reduced to a sobbing child more than once  by it. But the doc said Buddy the Cat will be OK. He's eleven years old. It looks like he didn't quite make a jump up, and fell on his butt; sore, but not injured. 

 Friday evening I got the news that Gerard VanderLeun had passed away. I knew it was imminent; nonetheless, it's a blow that still has me numb.

 Our lives are defined by love. The depth of love I feel for my wife, my friends, and family, and my pets is terrifying. There are times when I think I'd rather lose my own life than go through the pain of losing any one of them. The loss of our dear friend Gerard, has hammered this home like a nail through the flesh.

I had promised Troy,  president of our bicycle gang, that we could carpool out to Redondo Beach for a club ride 9:30 Saturday morning. Otherwise, I'd have stayed home. The South Bay beaches are a long, and often miserable drive from here. Troy got over to the house around 8:00 am. We loaded up the bikes, drove over to Molcasalsa for breakfast burritos ($2.39!) and hit the  freeway. National Weather Service had Redondo at 61 degrees for the day, with  clouds and wind. Penny, and Dave were  waiting for us on a side street off Coast Highway. We bundled up, and prepared to give ourselves Hard Core Prizes for a cold, windy ride.

Our coats were off within the hour. Friday had been cold and shitty.  Saturday was a jewel. Temps were somewhere in the mid seventies, the air as clear as January. Most people were out in shorts. Everyone was grabbing a chance to get out before the next storm rolled in, Sunday. We rode from Redondo north through Hermosa, Manhattan, and then the bleak Dockweiler, right under the take-off zone from LAX. 

Dockweiler

HT Penny for the pics.

We stopped at opulent Marina Del Rey. Time was, we'd have have continued up into Venice beach, and Santa Monica. Venice used to be crazy fun, but that was then. Time was. Now it's just dirty, depressing, and dangerous. We cleared just under thirty miles for the day. Not bad for old farts on fat tire bikes.

Sunday morning was cold and rainy. The cat was not OK.

When I turned on the coffee, Sunday morning, Buddy was in the living room, huddled under the coffee table. Didn't meow. Didn't want no fish. He doesn't usually sit on my lap in the morning.  I picked him up and sat in the big chair. He didn't object, just flopped, listless in my lap. I held the old cat close, and felt the pit drop out of my gut. Gerard is gone. American Digest is over, and the internet is a desert. And now, the cat? I just sat there in the dark, and wept. I had to wait for Mary to get up before I got my first cup. 

Let's end this rather pointless post on a positive note. This morning as I got out of bed, Ol' Buddy was clawing away at the rug in the hallway. He chased me into the kitchen, meow, meow, meow until he got his fish. Looks like he's going to be OK. We have cold, and rain again today, but by the end of the week I should be able to get back to the stone. Life goes on, right?

JWM

 

 

 Overdue

Wed./1/25/23

We're almost through January. Today is Wednesday, the 25th, and, thanks to the first rainy winter we've had in years, it's the first day in weeks that I've been able to get back to the stone.  It's like exercise; I feel like I'm getting back on a workout schedule after three weeks of sitting on my ass watching television, and eating pizza. 

So, I'm going at it slowly. The task right now is to correct the illusion that the figure leans too much to the left side, (or right, depending). The figure doesn't really lean, but I needed to cut some material away so it seems to balance better. Here's what I'm starting out with this morning:

 

 seems to lean...

 Here's where I left off this afternoon:

lean corrected

Work continues. The next challenge will be dealing with that very flat face in front, but that won't happen for many sessions. Truth to tell, the work just feels like work right now. I don't have much in the way of creative energy, and my spirits are hitting a deep, deep low.

........

Not many people stop by this blog, and that is entirely OK with me. I don't offer much in the way of entertainment, like posting music videos, or links to outrages and oddities around the internet.  I don't see any point in jumping into politics, and current events. Too many others already do this, and they do it way better than I could. I guess, you could call this a vanity project, or something. I don't know.

 

This new year started for me with a feeling of apprehension. I felt it over at our friends' house New Year's Eve, like we were entering a season of darkness, and loss. A bad moon risin', as the song goes. Suzie asked me about resolutions, or, more realistically, hopes for the year ahead. I answered that my only hope and prayer for the year was that we all make it safely to the next one. That hope got blindsided fast with the news about Gerard VanderLeun.

 I'm going to assume that anyone who stops by here is familiar with Gerard VanderLeun's site, American Digest. Gerard is a treasure. His site is, hands down, the finest thing on line. He is among the great storytellers of all time. He is the Poet Laureate of the internet. He has been a host, a teacher, and a friend to a great many of us.

Imagine going to school every day, only the school was so much fun that you couldn't wait to get there in the morning, and once you arrived you never wanted class to end. And for over twenty years, it didn't. Every day Gerard had something new. Every day something you didn't know before. Every day something to make you laugh, weep, think deeply, or wax furious. 

Not to mention some of the finest poetry in our language. 

The comments section on AD has become a family. Ghostsniper, Casey, Julie, Mike Seyles, Mike Austin, Dirk, Joan of Arrgh, to name just a very few have become...

 

Have become what?

Relationships like this are something new in the world. We individual participants are literally scattered all over the planet. We gather at one"location" that isn't really a place. We trade notes on line in comment boxes, typing out our thoughts, and opinions on news, or human interest items. We write a bit here and there about our personal lives. Other than a tiny icon, there is nothing to distinguish one commenter from another. A post from Julie looks just like a post from Casey: same font, same spelling, no pictures. A post is pure thought, stripped of any visual, or vocal cues. We know the writers only by their content, and style on the keyboard.

And yet, we quickly get an impression of the personality behind the post. In time, commenters come to life in much the same way we meet, and get to know people in the flesh.  We develop friendships with people we've never seen, and probably never will. There are people on line whom I've known for years, and who have known me for as long, yet we could meet by chance in person, perhaps even carry on a good conversation, and part never knowing who it was we met.

There have been times when I wondered if there is any point in it. Why do this?

I can go back to when I first got a computer, and went on the internet in 2003. I had no way of knowing it, but all the views I held on politics, culture, and religion were about to get overturned, and I was about to get launched on the spiritual journey. Almost all I thought I knew would turn out to be false. I was drawn slowly, but inescapably into the orbit of Christianity, even though I had neither the desire, nor intention to do so. I have become a Believer, a Christian, albeit feral, and unchurched.

No one tried to convert me. People sitting at their desktops writing their thoughts, beliefs, arguments, experiences, effected all the change. The Holy Spirit will employ whatever medium it can as a vector: the written word, the spoken word, even, apparently, this  internet thing.

 

Thu. 1/26/22 

As I write, Gerard remains in hospice. My apprehensions on the new year were well founded. It's a little after 5:00 in the morning as I sit here. The comment count at American Digest is well over 300, and growing. Gerard touched a whole lot of people.

I haven't looked at anything else on line yet, but I know what I'm going to find. I can feel my gut sink. I'd rather blow it off, and just take a W&B yet sure as I'm sitting here, I'll finish up, start in on the list of bookmarks, and take in the toxins of the day.