(disclaimer: this event is being recounted to the best recolection and taste of the narrator...any departure from the reality of history is either accidental...or not.)
I was sitting in the chair that is now under the window of my room this afternoon, reading, when I hear a random yelp from the Sprit who is sitting on the floor, with her homework scattered across the majority of the remaining space. I look over and she is laughing...
"What?"
-deep breaths-
"I read the note on your file cabint and saw, under once a week 'Bailey' and 'Wiskey'. Now I knew you wanted to start drinking a bit more often, but I was still a little shocked, and I thought "Why hasn't she told me and why haven't I been invited along???" Then I read it again... andI saw that it really said 'D******** Bailey' and I***** Wistey' which suddenly made SOOOO much more sense!"
My turn to laugh, sans intermission for a good five minutes...
I do need to start drinking more often...
31 January 2005
27 January 2005
I was looking out my window this afternoon, trying to ignore what appears to be poison oak on my arm, and I noticed that spring has, for all intents and purposes, arrived. The sycamore tree is sporting small leaves, all soft and pale green. I was reminded of Laura Ingles' Farmer Boy and the old farmer's saying that the time to plant wheat was when the maple (or was it oak??) leaves were the size of a baby's squirrels ears... I remember Alice wondering to her brother how they knew what size baby squirrels ears even are. I am rather happy that it is basically spring already, but I wouldn't have minded a month or even a month and a half more of winter. I've found that (as long as I am properly dressed) I like the cold (or perhaps it it because it gives me a reason to dress for the weather...). I like the occurrence of real weather here in the land of nearly perpetual sun. I will miss the fogs and mists more than I will let myself notice...
~ ~ ~
I was sitting at lunch today with one of our tutors and a rather random assortment of fellow students, listening to them discuss deep and weighty philosophical matters. I think the conversation began with a discussion of the "where," "whatness," and purpose of music... I did not say much, if anything, but then I never do. I sat and listened, going over what was being said, comparing it to what I've heard from others and what I think myself. All the while, in a back corner of my mind, I was wondering at how much we take conversations like this for granted. I'll wager (with all of my years and experience to back me up) that you'll find few other places where such discussion is an everyday affair. I wondered too that the ache, which I usually associate with beauty and love, was slowly being drawn out. Per'aps I am meant for the philosopher's life after all...
~ ~ ~
I was sitting at lunch today with one of our tutors and a rather random assortment of fellow students, listening to them discuss deep and weighty philosophical matters. I think the conversation began with a discussion of the "where," "whatness," and purpose of music... I did not say much, if anything, but then I never do. I sat and listened, going over what was being said, comparing it to what I've heard from others and what I think myself. All the while, in a back corner of my mind, I was wondering at how much we take conversations like this for granted. I'll wager (with all of my years and experience to back me up) that you'll find few other places where such discussion is an everyday affair. I wondered too that the ache, which I usually associate with beauty and love, was slowly being drawn out. Per'aps I am meant for the philosopher's life after all...
Resignation
run, run away little girl
away from this battle you cannot fight
this battle you've no chance to win
no chance without the loss of your heart
lost and yet so full, so torn
the pain of refusal of that same heart
now weeping tears of helplessness
helplessness at knowing you can do nothing
to make it right.
run, run away little girl
away from this battle you cannot fight
this battle you've no chance to win
no chance without the loss of your heart
lost and yet so full, so torn
the pain of refusal of that same heart
now weeping tears of helplessness
helplessness at knowing you can do nothing
to make it right.
25 January 2005
I just got this from my uncle (always a good source of random ways to waste time). Anyway, it is rather interesting and amusing. I don't know how it is done, but if anyone figures it out, I'd be interested in hearing...
21 January 2005
Proud Refrain
What are you dreaming, soldier,
What is it you see?
A tall gray Gothic tower,
And a linden tree.
You speak so sadly, soldier,
Sad and wistfully . . .
I cannot hear the tower bell
In the swirling sea.
What meaning has it, soldier,
A tower, bell, and tree?
Nothing, nothing - only once
It meant my life to me.
-- Fr. Thomas Heath, OP
I found this on the site of a friend and couldn't resist. Read more about Fr. Heath
Requisat in pacis.
What are you dreaming, soldier,
What is it you see?
A tall gray Gothic tower,
And a linden tree.
You speak so sadly, soldier,
Sad and wistfully . . .
I cannot hear the tower bell
In the swirling sea.
What meaning has it, soldier,
A tower, bell, and tree?
Nothing, nothing - only once
It meant my life to me.
-- Fr. Thomas Heath, OP
I found this on the site of a friend and couldn't resist. Read more about Fr. Heath
Requisat in pacis.
20 January 2005
This originally wanted to come out as a poem, but when I sat down to write it, there was too much there so it will remain prose...
We came up here to drink in the candle lit darkness. You to one, I to another, we two unbeknownst to ourselves to a past that would no longer continue to be. We sat looking at the others through the dimness that was so like the future, vague shadows of things we thought we knew. Already on that night, the rains of change were falling, changes that would obliterate all that we had shared over the past year as surely as rains washed away the prints of all those who have so often walked this path. I looked around today for that familiar track, known so well as to be able to walk it blindly. It was gone. The whole place is as changed as you seem to be. Nothing recognizable, it is all gone, washed away by inexorable change. I may as well have been looking for a sign of recognition in your eyes, this area was foreign. I wept as I looked at the new sprung beauty around me, tears for you and the pain I have caused yet again. But my tears will mean nothing to you. I could not give what you sought, and you have rejected all that I offered. No, my tears will go as unheeded by you as they were by the river they fell into. And yet, I would not exchange the beauty I have found, with all its pain, for the shadows of the "what-may-have-been." I will rest content in my loves and pains, thanking God for what He saw fit to bring.
We came up here to drink in the candle lit darkness. You to one, I to another, we two unbeknownst to ourselves to a past that would no longer continue to be. We sat looking at the others through the dimness that was so like the future, vague shadows of things we thought we knew. Already on that night, the rains of change were falling, changes that would obliterate all that we had shared over the past year as surely as rains washed away the prints of all those who have so often walked this path. I looked around today for that familiar track, known so well as to be able to walk it blindly. It was gone. The whole place is as changed as you seem to be. Nothing recognizable, it is all gone, washed away by inexorable change. I may as well have been looking for a sign of recognition in your eyes, this area was foreign. I wept as I looked at the new sprung beauty around me, tears for you and the pain I have caused yet again. But my tears will mean nothing to you. I could not give what you sought, and you have rejected all that I offered. No, my tears will go as unheeded by you as they were by the river they fell into. And yet, I would not exchange the beauty I have found, with all its pain, for the shadows of the "what-may-have-been." I will rest content in my loves and pains, thanking God for what He saw fit to bring.
19 January 2005
The wind is playing the part of a fitful lover. He comes on strong and sure, and you think that it will be windy all day, pleased with the thought of it. Look for him and he is gone, all is still, you feel forgotten and abandoned. He returns, sweeping you up in his arms, expecting- knowing- that all will be forgiven. "Where are you going? Take me with you," I whispered as he swept by me. He is silent, teasing, mussing my hair, trying to make off with my cap. Smiling, tho' with a hint of a sadness I can't help feeling, I walk on, not waiting for a reply, not looking back.
Randomness for the day:
What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for Beauty, and never see theDawn!
-Logan Pearsall Smith, essayist (1865-1946)
~ ~ ~
(a new word to add to my vocabulary)
repine (ri-PYN) verb intr. 1. To feel discontent; to fret. 2. To yearn for something.
synonyms: bleed, chafe inwardly, consider, daydream, deliberate, despond, dream, dwell upon, fret, gloom, grieve, lament, languish, meditate, mope, mull over, muse, ponder, reflect, ruminate, sigh, speculate
~ ~ ~
30 degree teperature changes in one day are not pleasant... I'm guessing that is it now in the mid 80's. Tonight, however, it will drop down to the low 50's or perhaps even the high 40's. Ah the joys of living in southern Cali...
What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for Beauty, and never see theDawn!
-Logan Pearsall Smith, essayist (1865-1946)
~ ~ ~
(a new word to add to my vocabulary)
repine (ri-PYN) verb intr. 1. To feel discontent; to fret. 2. To yearn for something.
synonyms: bleed, chafe inwardly, consider, daydream, deliberate, despond, dream, dwell upon, fret, gloom, grieve, lament, languish, meditate, mope, mull over, muse, ponder, reflect, ruminate, sigh, speculate
~ ~ ~
30 degree teperature changes in one day are not pleasant... I'm guessing that is it now in the mid 80's. Tonight, however, it will drop down to the low 50's or perhaps even the high 40's. Ah the joys of living in southern Cali...
18 January 2005
A beautiful girl once told me that when she was small her mother used to call the moon seen during the day a "children's moon" beecause it was up so they could see it. I've thought of it so ever since...
The "children's moon" was out this afternoon as I was walking down from classes, hiding behind a streak of clouds. For some reason, I have never paid much attention to the fact that during the day, the moon is much the same colour these high thin clouds. I glanced up and for a moment did not even see the half moon. Now I fear me that it is no longer visible and will be seen no more this day, for the clouds have thickened and show no sign of moving on. It would seem that the winds of yester night and this afternoon have gone. Looking out the window now, it seems as still as it was this morning. I walked up to work in a pre-dawn stillness that I have rarely felt here. The sky had not yet dressed itself in its daytime blue and was still in its bedroom greys. The hills to the south showed a hint of orange and pink. I could hear birds, not many, and a truck coming down the hill on the other side of the closed highway. The quiet was almost tangible. But it was not a pressing, smothering quiet, like so many I have felt in the past week or so. Perhaps that is why I noticed it...
The "children's moon" was out this afternoon as I was walking down from classes, hiding behind a streak of clouds. For some reason, I have never paid much attention to the fact that during the day, the moon is much the same colour these high thin clouds. I glanced up and for a moment did not even see the half moon. Now I fear me that it is no longer visible and will be seen no more this day, for the clouds have thickened and show no sign of moving on. It would seem that the winds of yester night and this afternoon have gone. Looking out the window now, it seems as still as it was this morning. I walked up to work in a pre-dawn stillness that I have rarely felt here. The sky had not yet dressed itself in its daytime blue and was still in its bedroom greys. The hills to the south showed a hint of orange and pink. I could hear birds, not many, and a truck coming down the hill on the other side of the closed highway. The quiet was almost tangible. But it was not a pressing, smothering quiet, like so many I have felt in the past week or so. Perhaps that is why I noticed it...
17 January 2005
(Shhh, I am avoiding homework, which is a rather sorry state of affairs to be in on the first day of class...)
You know how some people have a list of historical or important personages they would like to meet and/or get to know? I have one of people I see everyday. There are so many people right here at school that I know to be amazing, interesting, extreemly inteligent people, but I am too shy/nervous/scared/(insert favorite wimp synonym) to actually go up or sit down and talk to them. I'll just think about it and suddenly every thought even remotely coherent goes *poof* all gone no more nothing there. It is at times very depressing. Perhaps the worst thing about it is that it is all my own fault. Pride will not let me risk making a fool of myself (or even edge about a potentially uncomfortable situation). I need to get over this...
You know how some people have a list of historical or important personages they would like to meet and/or get to know? I have one of people I see everyday. There are so many people right here at school that I know to be amazing, interesting, extreemly inteligent people, but I am too shy/nervous/scared/(insert favorite wimp synonym) to actually go up or sit down and talk to them. I'll just think about it and suddenly every thought even remotely coherent goes *poof* all gone no more nothing there. It is at times very depressing. Perhaps the worst thing about it is that it is all my own fault. Pride will not let me risk making a fool of myself (or even edge about a potentially uncomfortable situation). I need to get over this...
16 January 2005
I just stumbled over a foul mood, or perhaps it stumbled upon me. In any case, I am no longer looking forward to spending the evening soaking in my books. Perhaps I am still a bit "hungover" (to borrow a phrase) from Brideshead. I still have the knotted hole in my chest where my heart lives when I am not paying it any attention...
Someone once told me that if you were unhappy, more than likely it was because of something you were doing, or not doing as the case may be. I don't know what I am doing wrong right now, but at this moment, I am looking at life and am not very happy with things. Nothing very particular, I don't think. Ah well, I will deal with this in my usual fashion. I will first ignore it, filling up my thoughts with all of the mundane things that need to be done. Then I will get frustrated with it, denying that I am actually unhappy, because what have I to be unhappy about? If this fails, then perhaps I will betake myself to the chapel...
Someone once told me that if you were unhappy, more than likely it was because of something you were doing, or not doing as the case may be. I don't know what I am doing wrong right now, but at this moment, I am looking at life and am not very happy with things. Nothing very particular, I don't think. Ah well, I will deal with this in my usual fashion. I will first ignore it, filling up my thoughts with all of the mundane things that need to be done. Then I will get frustrated with it, denying that I am actually unhappy, because what have I to be unhappy about? If this fails, then perhaps I will betake myself to the chapel...
14 January 2005
As I mentioned in my earlier post, I am in the middle of Brideshead Revisited. At this moment, I feel like my heart is breaking for all of the pain that is waiting in the book. And I know it is just a book, but is it so real, so true to life. You want to find someone to blame for what goes wrong, to have a definite "bad guy" whom you are free to dislike and a "good guy" to cheer for. But this is simply not the case. These characters are so human, they have failings and triumphs, joys and sorrows that you, the reader, feel along with them. As beautiful as the beginning of the book is, I know that I would be cheating if I stopped before things got painful, just as I know I would be cheating life if I started acting as if the ugliness and pain in life were not there.
I've been reading the last 70 odd pages of the book aloud to the Sprit. Earlier she commented on my ability to "sit and be still," to enjoy being in one place, physically, even if mentally and spiritually I am wandering in the world of whatever book happens to be lying open on my knees. This came back to me as I was kneeling in the dark chapel, praying. You see, I generally have no trouble being still and holding still once I settle down to pray. However, when I am getting close to being done, I am filled with an anxiousness to be off and out. I feel like I am going to go crazy if I sit still for a moment longer, like I will simply burst out of my skin. It is the strangest thing. I hope the merit of one's prayers is not determined by the devotion and attention given to the end of them...
I've been reading the last 70 odd pages of the book aloud to the Sprit. Earlier she commented on my ability to "sit and be still," to enjoy being in one place, physically, even if mentally and spiritually I am wandering in the world of whatever book happens to be lying open on my knees. This came back to me as I was kneeling in the dark chapel, praying. You see, I generally have no trouble being still and holding still once I settle down to pray. However, when I am getting close to being done, I am filled with an anxiousness to be off and out. I feel like I am going to go crazy if I sit still for a moment longer, like I will simply burst out of my skin. It is the strangest thing. I hope the merit of one's prayers is not determined by the devotion and attention given to the end of them...
13 January 2005
I was thinking about actually sitting down and writing something real and substantial this evening. Somehow I don't think that is going to happen any more. I am in the middle of re-reading Brideshead Revisited and I can't take my mind off it for very long. I would very much like to sit down with someone over a never-ending pot of tea or good coffee and talk about it for hours on end. I may very well be back later tonight, having been overwhelmed with it all and needing an emotional break. Somehow random thoughts that would under normal conditions be seeking an escape are all caught up with Charles and Sebastian, and the brilliance of it all...
11 January 2005
I've a few more minutes before I have to give up the computer...
The sun has come out and the clouds are thin-ish and broken. You can still hear the river from just about anywhere on campus, but the thundering of boulders along the bottom has stopped and the streams across campus are gone. I wonder if we'll be having class tomorrow...
On a random note, I apologize for the incoherency of the travel posts... I suppose my stream of consciousness is not the easiest to follow...
The sun has come out and the clouds are thin-ish and broken. You can still hear the river from just about anywhere on campus, but the thundering of boulders along the bottom has stopped and the streams across campus are gone. I wonder if we'll be having class tomorrow...
On a random note, I apologize for the incoherency of the travel posts... I suppose my stream of consciousness is not the easiest to follow...
08 January 2005
And no, just in case you were wondering, I did not go that entire time and not write any poetry. However, this is the only one that I will be sharing with you...
Agitation
A single blossom on the branch
awaiting the cold
ignorant of its impending doom
glistening with dew
Flash of red, flutter of green
birds flying by
frightened off by a fear
unknown to me.
I am waiting, expectation sits heavy
it fills me
pricking the tips of my fingers
ringing in my head.
Unlike the the solitary rose, I feel it coming
the approaching end
trying to see beyond tomorrow
through the fog of Time.
Agitation
A single blossom on the branch
awaiting the cold
ignorant of its impending doom
glistening with dew
Flash of red, flutter of green
birds flying by
frightened off by a fear
unknown to me.
I am waiting, expectation sits heavy
it fills me
pricking the tips of my fingers
ringing in my head.
Unlike the the solitary rose, I feel it coming
the approaching end
trying to see beyond tomorrow
through the fog of Time.
A continuation of the below...
22 Dec
It's the shortest day of the year. I looked out the window around 2:30 or 3:00 and saw sunset colors over the hills out to the west. "That can't be what it is" I told myself at the time. Now looking at the clock and the heavily clouded sky, I discover that I was wrong. The sun is gone. I've become such a southerner seeking the heat or at least the sight of the sun. I wonder even more at my fascination with clouds and fog. Especially the fog...
- - -
28 Dec
The clock has just chimed midnight.
I wanted to remember things while I was thinking about them...
~sparrows in the bush. Flock looking at me as I walked by, all chirping to each other about me...
~sunset over the mountains- low clouds, shadow mountains, red glimmer...gone
~moon rising over Olympic mountains, slight cloud cover...cold
~stars at 1am
~black cat with emerald green eyes, gazing out an apartment window, watching the world below. Sees me, eyes meet, he wins...
- - -
29 Dec
I feel like some sort of enchanted creature, waiting 'til the bell tolls midnight... My candle flame is tossed about by the draft of the vent near my head. Behind me my shadow looms massive and distorted, thrown against the wall and ceiling. I am full of half thoughts and musings... midnight.
31 Dec
Silence and darkness belong together; daylight needs something to fill it. Total quiet during the day is unnerving. Music is best for filling the emptiness.
- - -
2 Jan
It's so big and open here. I could sense the openness last night, but not fully. The whiteness goes on for as far as the eye can see, broken by the occasional house or clump of trees. I haven't been outside today yet, but I feel peaceful and restless at the same time. I look out at the hills and want to know what is beyond them. Similar to being in the forest, I feel whole somehow.
The little girls are adorable and they know it. This does not detract at all from their cuteness.
Someone is playing guitar downstairs...
- - -
5 Dec
I am leaving Tacoma with rather mixed feelings. I am looking forward to getting back to school and seeing everyone again. At the same time, I have a vague insistent feeling of running away. If (name deleted) had known before I bought my ticket that we would not be driving back until Sunday, I would have been guilt-tripped until I stayed. And all unintentionally too. I don't think I could have handled staying much longer, the place it too small and right now I want to be moving.
We've just passed under the Narrows Bridge. I've grown up watching trains go along this track. Now I'm riding along it, moving slowly south.
I can see mountains off to the east. They are breath-taking, leaving me instead with a desire to wander and explore. I will have to be content to do both mentally - at least for a while...
The water's edge is right below me, with the Sound stretching away. It is very calm today and the water is clear. Driftwood, entire logs and stumps (and a random lost little boat) fill the narrow strip of sand between the water and the train embankment. All along the edge of the Sound are old abandoned docks and piers. They are falling apart and look like good places to go and read or write or pensivate. I do love this area, and hope to someday be able to explore it high and low.
My traveling companion is a young woman perhaps my age perhaps a little older. Her name is Lee (or Leigh) and she is en route to San Diego.
Sunset now, somewhere in central Oregon, we passed Salem a while ago. The color is lingering below the clouds that now fill the sky. We just passed a sign saying that we are now entering Jefferson. It is a small town, old surrounded by farmland, rolling fields and tree toped hills, lots of pine.
River, bridge, the town is gone and fields have returned. Looking ahead I can see mountains against the sunset.
Cradled in a valley of the hills, the sun set and tree up its last rays, red and brilliant against the sky as a woman to her lover. And he came, for they did not last long and have now gone, leaving the western sky with its pale sunset hues.
We've nearly reached Albany.
- - -
6 Jan
The sun has risen, leaving the horizon with a kiss. The forests and mountains are far behind. I have returned to the region of orchards and fields and live oaks. The sky is clear, a low haze, think in some places, covers the ground soon to burn off in the heat of the sun. For now it gives an unreal sense to everything. The haze is simply there- low and thick with little texture, still, obscuring anything that could come out of it.
And out of it has come marsh land, scattered with trees. Were it nightfall, rather than day's breaking, I would expect to see the ghosts of those who had lost their way in the fog (perhaps the same fog) or had been "disposed" of in the silent waters. It seems very still, not a rush stalk is moving, not a tree branch sways.
Another river, another bridge, this time both very long and wide.
Martinez.
The country is gone, slowly filled up with more and more buildings. We've arrived in Oakland- Jack London Square. The day has continued clear, a bit of Bay fog remains and a few scattered clouds. We are about an hour later than I thought we'd be, so I get to wait around the San Jose station for an hour or so. Not too bad, always lots to see. I'm not sure I want to be back around people quite yet.
- - -
Somewhere between Oakland and San Jose... The marshes began again and the sky clouded over. We passed several sites with abandoned and nearly sunken shacks, some with chimney pipes still extant. And as quickly as that civilization has returned.
- - -
I am at the train station, waiting. Inside became too enclosed and I have moved out front. My ride should be here soon. I have the post travel blues...I have come to expect them at the end of trips...
22 Dec
It's the shortest day of the year. I looked out the window around 2:30 or 3:00 and saw sunset colors over the hills out to the west. "That can't be what it is" I told myself at the time. Now looking at the clock and the heavily clouded sky, I discover that I was wrong. The sun is gone. I've become such a southerner seeking the heat or at least the sight of the sun. I wonder even more at my fascination with clouds and fog. Especially the fog...
- - -
28 Dec
The clock has just chimed midnight.
I wanted to remember things while I was thinking about them...
~sparrows in the bush. Flock looking at me as I walked by, all chirping to each other about me...
~sunset over the mountains- low clouds, shadow mountains, red glimmer...gone
~moon rising over Olympic mountains, slight cloud cover...cold
~stars at 1am
~black cat with emerald green eyes, gazing out an apartment window, watching the world below. Sees me, eyes meet, he wins...
- - -
29 Dec
I feel like some sort of enchanted creature, waiting 'til the bell tolls midnight... My candle flame is tossed about by the draft of the vent near my head. Behind me my shadow looms massive and distorted, thrown against the wall and ceiling. I am full of half thoughts and musings... midnight.
31 Dec
Silence and darkness belong together; daylight needs something to fill it. Total quiet during the day is unnerving. Music is best for filling the emptiness.
- - -
2 Jan
It's so big and open here. I could sense the openness last night, but not fully. The whiteness goes on for as far as the eye can see, broken by the occasional house or clump of trees. I haven't been outside today yet, but I feel peaceful and restless at the same time. I look out at the hills and want to know what is beyond them. Similar to being in the forest, I feel whole somehow.
The little girls are adorable and they know it. This does not detract at all from their cuteness.
Someone is playing guitar downstairs...
- - -
5 Dec
I am leaving Tacoma with rather mixed feelings. I am looking forward to getting back to school and seeing everyone again. At the same time, I have a vague insistent feeling of running away. If (name deleted) had known before I bought my ticket that we would not be driving back until Sunday, I would have been guilt-tripped until I stayed. And all unintentionally too. I don't think I could have handled staying much longer, the place it too small and right now I want to be moving.
We've just passed under the Narrows Bridge. I've grown up watching trains go along this track. Now I'm riding along it, moving slowly south.
I can see mountains off to the east. They are breath-taking, leaving me instead with a desire to wander and explore. I will have to be content to do both mentally - at least for a while...
The water's edge is right below me, with the Sound stretching away. It is very calm today and the water is clear. Driftwood, entire logs and stumps (and a random lost little boat) fill the narrow strip of sand between the water and the train embankment. All along the edge of the Sound are old abandoned docks and piers. They are falling apart and look like good places to go and read or write or pensivate. I do love this area, and hope to someday be able to explore it high and low.
My traveling companion is a young woman perhaps my age perhaps a little older. Her name is Lee (or Leigh) and she is en route to San Diego.
Sunset now, somewhere in central Oregon, we passed Salem a while ago. The color is lingering below the clouds that now fill the sky. We just passed a sign saying that we are now entering Jefferson. It is a small town, old surrounded by farmland, rolling fields and tree toped hills, lots of pine.
River, bridge, the town is gone and fields have returned. Looking ahead I can see mountains against the sunset.
Cradled in a valley of the hills, the sun set and tree up its last rays, red and brilliant against the sky as a woman to her lover. And he came, for they did not last long and have now gone, leaving the western sky with its pale sunset hues.
We've nearly reached Albany.
- - -
6 Jan
The sun has risen, leaving the horizon with a kiss. The forests and mountains are far behind. I have returned to the region of orchards and fields and live oaks. The sky is clear, a low haze, think in some places, covers the ground soon to burn off in the heat of the sun. For now it gives an unreal sense to everything. The haze is simply there- low and thick with little texture, still, obscuring anything that could come out of it.
And out of it has come marsh land, scattered with trees. Were it nightfall, rather than day's breaking, I would expect to see the ghosts of those who had lost their way in the fog (perhaps the same fog) or had been "disposed" of in the silent waters. It seems very still, not a rush stalk is moving, not a tree branch sways.
Another river, another bridge, this time both very long and wide.
Martinez.
The country is gone, slowly filled up with more and more buildings. We've arrived in Oakland- Jack London Square. The day has continued clear, a bit of Bay fog remains and a few scattered clouds. We are about an hour later than I thought we'd be, so I get to wait around the San Jose station for an hour or so. Not too bad, always lots to see. I'm not sure I want to be back around people quite yet.
- - -
Somewhere between Oakland and San Jose... The marshes began again and the sky clouded over. We passed several sites with abandoned and nearly sunken shacks, some with chimney pipes still extant. And as quickly as that civilization has returned.
- - -
I am at the train station, waiting. Inside became too enclosed and I have moved out front. My ride should be here soon. I have the post travel blues...I have come to expect them at the end of trips...
07 January 2005
A continuation of the below account of 19-20 Dec...please read that first if you expect this to make any sense...
The gorge stretches out I'd guess a mile to the other side. Pine covered hills as far as the eye can see. A mist has lowered, I can no longer see the gorge. Through the freight train passing I can catch an occasional glance at the thick fog. Annette is rambling on in a charming old lady fashion about the area and the sights.
The fog is so thick I can hardly see the bottom of the gullies.
My little old lady has rambled long past where we are and probably long after the sights will be dark. She and her friend will be detraining shortly so they will be able to catch the wouthboudn train home.
The snow on the hillside has disapeared to be replaced with pine saplings and ferns. The fog is now the cloud cover above us, with some of it still moving up the valley. There is a hing ot sunset in the clouds out ot the east . I've glimpsed it perhaps twice through the trees.
The novelty of my mode of travel is starting to wear off, mostly due to the exorbitant cost of food and in some small part to the headache that is dancing about the crown of my head. *sigh* and I've got a good five or six hours to go...
---
Food and two movies later and I am nearly there. One more stop then Tacoma. Finally had a chance to talk to (name deleted). He said he was reminded today of the need to take pleasure in the little things. Not to count the cost of small achievments that may not directly bring you to your goal. I was slightly surprised. I suppose that this is such a basic part of how I see everything that I bein to take foregranted that everyone or at least those who in geneal see things the way I do, lives the same way. If I had to explain everything that made me smile or laugh I would sound insane or completely simplistic. Sounds will make me smile, words make me laugh. The manerisms of a child, a peculiar walk, I don't even think I could find the ironies of everything that causes amusement. For example, the cafe attendent Ben came walking down the sairts after the stop in Portland and as he reached the last step, I found myself giggling. Not sure why, but I don't question it. Simplicity of heart perhaps...hopefully...
We're almost nearly there. I can't honestly say that I am tired of being on the train or fed up or frustrated about being late. I feel more like "I've been here for a while now, but that's all right, I don't mind that much." Because I don't. I'll get there eventually, if not in a little while, then a bit after that. Nothing to fret over though...
In a tunnel, the view doesn't change but the sound echos and then fades as we emerge...
---
Cab ride through the fog down familiar streets I no longer recognize.
And I am here.
The gorge stretches out I'd guess a mile to the other side. Pine covered hills as far as the eye can see. A mist has lowered, I can no longer see the gorge. Through the freight train passing I can catch an occasional glance at the thick fog. Annette is rambling on in a charming old lady fashion about the area and the sights.
The fog is so thick I can hardly see the bottom of the gullies.
My little old lady has rambled long past where we are and probably long after the sights will be dark. She and her friend will be detraining shortly so they will be able to catch the wouthboudn train home.
The snow on the hillside has disapeared to be replaced with pine saplings and ferns. The fog is now the cloud cover above us, with some of it still moving up the valley. There is a hing ot sunset in the clouds out ot the east . I've glimpsed it perhaps twice through the trees.
The novelty of my mode of travel is starting to wear off, mostly due to the exorbitant cost of food and in some small part to the headache that is dancing about the crown of my head. *sigh* and I've got a good five or six hours to go...
---
Food and two movies later and I am nearly there. One more stop then Tacoma. Finally had a chance to talk to (name deleted). He said he was reminded today of the need to take pleasure in the little things. Not to count the cost of small achievments that may not directly bring you to your goal. I was slightly surprised. I suppose that this is such a basic part of how I see everything that I bein to take foregranted that everyone or at least those who in geneal see things the way I do, lives the same way. If I had to explain everything that made me smile or laugh I would sound insane or completely simplistic. Sounds will make me smile, words make me laugh. The manerisms of a child, a peculiar walk, I don't even think I could find the ironies of everything that causes amusement. For example, the cafe attendent Ben came walking down the sairts after the stop in Portland and as he reached the last step, I found myself giggling. Not sure why, but I don't question it. Simplicity of heart perhaps...hopefully...
We're almost nearly there. I can't honestly say that I am tired of being on the train or fed up or frustrated about being late. I feel more like "I've been here for a while now, but that's all right, I don't mind that much." Because I don't. I'll get there eventually, if not in a little while, then a bit after that. Nothing to fret over though...
In a tunnel, the view doesn't change but the sound echos and then fades as we emerge...
---
Cab ride through the fog down familiar streets I no longer recognize.
And I am here.
The following is a record of my travels and thoughts over the Christmas break...
The first hint of sunrise came as we meandered along a stream. The low clouds began to take on hues of red and orange, together with pinks tempered with greys. The hills around are dark with pine, from what I can tell by their shape. The scattered houses are sturdy and warm looking. I don't know quite where I am. Dunsmuir? I'll soon find out.
My traveling companion is a young man- tall, lean and lanky. He is en route to Seattle with his brother and mom. Longish brown hair is mussed from a night of trying to sleep in a coach seat. (I have no idea how mine looks...)
"Eric"
Ah, I now have a name.
It is Dunsmuir. It's small, surrounded by hills and trees. The street running parallel to the rails looks quaint, the shops decorated with lights. An early morning wind is whisking through the town, seemingly the only thing awake to see our passing through.
The not-quite-human feeling is growing again. The forest, hillsides, glimpsed mountain peaks covered with snow, innumerable small waterfalls rushing down to mee the river whisper something to my soul of it alienation from where it belongs (the lack of sleep and food is probably a factor as well) We are rounding a bend, horseshoeing up hill, I think. As my car reaches the far side I am presented with the glory of the ascending sun. Fading, I don't understand. Turn around, first glimpse of sunlight on snow covered hills.
We are high above the river now, at the knees of the mountain we are crawling along. The tree tops are at eye level. Bunches of mistletoe are all that is left in the bare branches. I find the mistletoe amusing and ironic. What a dangerous forest for folk to wander though...
The light grows and I have yet to see the sun. It is likely I will not this day, for the clouds are thick above as far as the eye can see.
The mountain peak keep drawing my eye away from the mountains below. Mt Hood? Mt Shasta? I don't know, my guess is the later because I think we are still in Cali.
I am awake and feeling distinctly unkempt. I must needs wander off to explore my means of travel.
---
Humanity returned with food and a cup of hot black tea. Victuals cost entirely too much.
We are along some unknown large body of water, lake or river perhaps. We are still up in the mountains, inclining me to say lake. However we just left Klamath Falls, leading me to conclude that it may just as well be a river. I need to work on my geography.
I am on the right side of the train. The sun has indeed come out, but is directly behind me, still out of sight.
The hillside out my window is brown and dry, scattered with scrubby looking pines. Dirty patches of snow cling to the north face out of the reach of weak fingers of sunlight. We are stopped for some unknown reason. There is a two-lane highway along the tracks. Not many cars, fewer trucks. the wind is breaking the cloud cover.
Flogging Molly is playing min my ears. Not quite the most Advent of albums, but something of a tradition for long adventure trips.
I'll have to call (name deleted) eventually and tell her I'm going to be a bit later than expected.
---
Somewhere up in the Cascades east side, the sun's come out. Its late in the afternoon and the light is filtering though the trees. The snow outside is perhaps three or four inches deep. The fallen trees are old and dry looking. I'm imagining being out in the forest. There's no lack of firewood and apre patches , but given the elevation, I'm guessing that it gets pretty cold.
The sun's gone behind the trees and hills. A hint of a mist is gathering over the lake and over the peak of the mountain. The ground now slopes upward with cricks (as the two old ladies call them) running down to meet the tracks. The snow is deeper and we are beginning to head down the mountainside. I wish I could smell the forest, the sharp pine, damp earth, and the cold blending and covering it all.
The clouds are low, quickly getting caught on the tree tops across the gorge. What is this fascination with clouds? I am always watching, noticing and commenting on them...
(to be continued at a later time, because I am getting tired ;-)
The first hint of sunrise came as we meandered along a stream. The low clouds began to take on hues of red and orange, together with pinks tempered with greys. The hills around are dark with pine, from what I can tell by their shape. The scattered houses are sturdy and warm looking. I don't know quite where I am. Dunsmuir? I'll soon find out.
My traveling companion is a young man- tall, lean and lanky. He is en route to Seattle with his brother and mom. Longish brown hair is mussed from a night of trying to sleep in a coach seat. (I have no idea how mine looks...)
"Eric"
Ah, I now have a name.
It is Dunsmuir. It's small, surrounded by hills and trees. The street running parallel to the rails looks quaint, the shops decorated with lights. An early morning wind is whisking through the town, seemingly the only thing awake to see our passing through.
The not-quite-human feeling is growing again. The forest, hillsides, glimpsed mountain peaks covered with snow, innumerable small waterfalls rushing down to mee the river whisper something to my soul of it alienation from where it belongs (the lack of sleep and food is probably a factor as well) We are rounding a bend, horseshoeing up hill, I think. As my car reaches the far side I am presented with the glory of the ascending sun. Fading, I don't understand. Turn around, first glimpse of sunlight on snow covered hills.
We are high above the river now, at the knees of the mountain we are crawling along. The tree tops are at eye level. Bunches of mistletoe are all that is left in the bare branches. I find the mistletoe amusing and ironic. What a dangerous forest for folk to wander though...
The light grows and I have yet to see the sun. It is likely I will not this day, for the clouds are thick above as far as the eye can see.
The mountain peak keep drawing my eye away from the mountains below. Mt Hood? Mt Shasta? I don't know, my guess is the later because I think we are still in Cali.
I am awake and feeling distinctly unkempt. I must needs wander off to explore my means of travel.
---
Humanity returned with food and a cup of hot black tea. Victuals cost entirely too much.
We are along some unknown large body of water, lake or river perhaps. We are still up in the mountains, inclining me to say lake. However we just left Klamath Falls, leading me to conclude that it may just as well be a river. I need to work on my geography.
I am on the right side of the train. The sun has indeed come out, but is directly behind me, still out of sight.
The hillside out my window is brown and dry, scattered with scrubby looking pines. Dirty patches of snow cling to the north face out of the reach of weak fingers of sunlight. We are stopped for some unknown reason. There is a two-lane highway along the tracks. Not many cars, fewer trucks. the wind is breaking the cloud cover.
Flogging Molly is playing min my ears. Not quite the most Advent of albums, but something of a tradition for long adventure trips.
I'll have to call (name deleted) eventually and tell her I'm going to be a bit later than expected.
---
Somewhere up in the Cascades east side, the sun's come out. Its late in the afternoon and the light is filtering though the trees. The snow outside is perhaps three or four inches deep. The fallen trees are old and dry looking. I'm imagining being out in the forest. There's no lack of firewood and apre patches , but given the elevation, I'm guessing that it gets pretty cold.
The sun's gone behind the trees and hills. A hint of a mist is gathering over the lake and over the peak of the mountain. The ground now slopes upward with cricks (as the two old ladies call them) running down to meet the tracks. The snow is deeper and we are beginning to head down the mountainside. I wish I could smell the forest, the sharp pine, damp earth, and the cold blending and covering it all.
The clouds are low, quickly getting caught on the tree tops across the gorge. What is this fascination with clouds? I am always watching, noticing and commenting on them...
(to be continued at a later time, because I am getting tired ;-)
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