This article reminded me of my last couple of years in the Toronto area ("GTA," locally) and my experience there with the labor force. I was active in the trades, mostly as an interior painter, but was associated with a company that did disaster mitigation work for insurance companies. I was often surprised when going on to a job site that most of the tradesmen were my contemporaries. I was pushing 60 at that time, so you get the picture. There were a few younger people on site, but mostly they were people who couldn't find an "electronic" job or who were otherwise computer challenged.
I don't think it was mi imagination, because almost daily there were non-commercial pleading through the media for people to enter the trades. This was backed by many news reports that, despite the wages of blue collar workers approaching or equalling some college supported jobs, there was a dearth of tradesmen and women. This is anecdotally confirmed by friends I hear from now who live there and can't find a plumber or painter or whatever who can do a job satisfactory even to the unpracticed eye of a homeowner.
For my part, though I've done a few stints at the keyboard and screen, I have worked mostly with my hands in the construction trades. I owned and operated a landscape design/installation company specializing in xeriscapes and water features (there's a contradiction for you!) and did a great deal of household renovations as well. I was younger then, able to swing a pick for most of a day in 110F on hardpan surrounded by white walls, if called to. Not any more, lol!
But I always remember the satisfaction at the end of a day. Whether it was a coat of gloss paint on a wall that showed no roller marks in the glare, or the sound of three tones of water falling into a fishpond we just finished. That was, interestingly enough, a great contrast to the drudge I felt in office jobs where the chief satisfaction was usually social, in that I got along well with co workers and management or not.
The choice is easy for me. There is clarity, virtue, and reward in working as a team with competent craftsmen. There is fulfillment in seeing something that was not long ago "just" an idea take shape not only before your eyes, but under your hands. There is a connection between the imaginative, cognitive, and technical skill realms of experience that precipitates a feeling of wholeness.
I can't work now like I did then, I'm 62 years old and feel some of the symptoms of six decades of engagement with the world and its personal exigencies. But I still work with my hands, doing painting, some building trades, and most interestingly, work in ceramic art that is moving into a satisfying realm of recognition even in this economy. For me the case for working with your hands is moot. It's been my life. My hands, looking at them, is a history of my labor and my love of expression. The scars are there from tool cuts to surgery for removal of cactus spines. The texture is there from exposure to sun in the Sonoran desert for 23 years to thick spots where mortar burned my skin. The feeling is there from an iv that nearly wrecked a nerve to the occasional twinge from what I hope isn't incipient arthritis.
We all have ours stories. If it is true that Romans were allowed citizenship by the calluses on their hands, I would have made the cut. But mostly I feel the rewards of complicity to the demands of using skills best expressed with my hands. When I shake hands with another tradesman, farmer, craftsman, artist or musician, there is a feeling of respect and gratitude that flows through those fingers and palm that, like mine, have a treasured grip on reality.
Showing posts with label Slice of Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Slice of Life. Show all posts
Monday, May 25, 2009
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Antidote
I received a return e-mail from a dear friend who bemoaned the depressing nature of some forwarded information on food addatives. Here is my reply:
"Yes, there is a lot of depressing stuff going on, the worst of which "they" are not even telling us, if my alternate sources are correct. However, that is not the point, as I see it, anyways. We are here to grow in Conscious awareness, and promote that growth overall by our presence as the Light to the mundanities of life. Part of that, for me, is being aware of the exigencies of existence in an ego maniacal world. That means information, both about Eckhart Tolle, Byron Katie, and their ilk, as well as MSG. It is why I am associated with the Consciousness Cinema here, and with other local groups working to reduce suffering through knowledge of whatever sort.
"Primarily, I feel we need to build the harmonious community of our friends. If anything, we can foster the feeling of being more than "this." You do that by just being who you are, _____. It is a great work in this day and age, just Being. There is no other antidote to ego. So, it isn't about saving the world, or fighting the corporations or the governments, or any such thing. It is about being Awake. The enemy is not an institution, it is sleep and ignorance of Self. When we are awake, good public results may follow. Or not. No one said that the human experiment had to work. We are a race that traditionally crucifies its saviors and in the name of a loving god commits wholesale slaughter. But we are also gifted with Giants, such as our dear Teacher, Guide, and Friend. We are privileged to stand on his shoulders and the shoulders of others like him and thus be granted a larger, more inclusive view. And don't discount that you chose to climb up to stand there, however much MSG of any psychic or other form you might have swallowed. That's what counts, my friend. That's why we feel the love that we do."
"Yes, there is a lot of depressing stuff going on, the worst of which "they" are not even telling us, if my alternate sources are correct. However, that is not the point, as I see it, anyways. We are here to grow in Conscious awareness, and promote that growth overall by our presence as the Light to the mundanities of life. Part of that, for me, is being aware of the exigencies of existence in an ego maniacal world. That means information, both about Eckhart Tolle, Byron Katie, and their ilk, as well as MSG. It is why I am associated with the Consciousness Cinema here, and with other local groups working to reduce suffering through knowledge of whatever sort.
"Primarily, I feel we need to build the harmonious community of our friends. If anything, we can foster the feeling of being more than "this." You do that by just being who you are, _____. It is a great work in this day and age, just Being. There is no other antidote to ego. So, it isn't about saving the world, or fighting the corporations or the governments, or any such thing. It is about being Awake. The enemy is not an institution, it is sleep and ignorance of Self. When we are awake, good public results may follow. Or not. No one said that the human experiment had to work. We are a race that traditionally crucifies its saviors and in the name of a loving god commits wholesale slaughter. But we are also gifted with Giants, such as our dear Teacher, Guide, and Friend. We are privileged to stand on his shoulders and the shoulders of others like him and thus be granted a larger, more inclusive view. And don't discount that you chose to climb up to stand there, however much MSG of any psychic or other form you might have swallowed. That's what counts, my friend. That's why we feel the love that we do."
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Maki gamma
If you are the tribal sort, or a potter, you would have enjoyed the event that I found myself invited to and participating in last Friday night. A local professor in the ceramics program at Folsom College has a large "maki gamma" on his property. That is Nipponese for "wood kiln," this variety being based on a sixth century model also known as a "dragon kiln." Such a kiln is loaded and fired with great ceremony and celebration.
The kiln, about 40' stem to stern, is decorated with offering ranging from flowers and fruit to sake and cakes. Candles and incense are everywhere. Excepting a thin moon, the stars, and a rare shooting star, that is the only light in the pitch black countryside. The other, but small, exception is a campfire nearby where tidbits from a table laden with potluck offerings are washed down with lemonade or ale. It was quite a spectacular sight . There were circumambulations, prayers, invocations, offerings, libations, and many thanksgivings. Then one of the students who had been active on the project was surprised with the honor of actually starting the fire.
The kiln will get increasingly hot over 24 hours with folk tending it over night and through the day. At peak, it will reach 2300F, no little accomplishment using only wood. At its height the kiln will spout an eight foot flame from the flue, signifying its having reached the height of its ability. The over 100 pieces stacked in the belly of the beast in ranks reflecting the seniority of the potter's work included, will be soaked in fire and wood ash, giving them the characteristic chocolaty rust color of such a firing, with white accents form the lime in the rice straws on those so decorated before immersion in the heat.
After the lighting the forty or so people, who came to partake of the initial ceremony or to aid with the vigil of stoking the dragon over night, stayed for food and drink that was there in generous supply. There were home made soups, enchiladas, pot stickers, munchies and chips of every description, and a rainbow of drinks. All this was had around a four foot fire ring that contained a blaze made from 8" aged pine logs cut in 1' segments. Soon it felt like the campfire was competing with the kiln, and all the folk around it from all their walks of life were making a happy noise of talk and laughter, doing what people are meant to do: be together in the love of life, enjoying their cooperative productivity. With all the harvest offerings on the kiln, and this being the Thanksgiving season here, it somehow felt like home, if one feels that the presence of heart makes it so.
Reading back, there was an element of the kiln lighting ceremony I neglected to mention. I had said about the circumambulations. I had also said about the profusion of candles and incense. What I didn't do was adequately describe the trappings and surroundings of the kiln, a factor which led to one of the thrills of the evening, as you shall see.
Imagine, if you will, a structure framed of 6"x6" timbers holding up a corrugated tin roof, the far end of which was pierced by the diameter of the kiln flue. The mouth of the kiln faced a bank of straw bales which served as seating for many of the participants. On either side, about four and eight feet left and right, was stacked cord wood of several descriptions intended for different stages of the firing, such as warming, ash production, and final heating. Over everything between these walls of cord wood, including over the kiln itself, was
a layer of rice straw of various thicknesses. At about three feet, set all around the kiln, was a 3" hawser elaborately woven of rice straw, the purpose of which was to define the sacred space of the kiln within which the Fire Goddess would do her work. On the kiln itself there was an additional burden of festive autumn leaves and pine boughs. These were over the layer of base straw. This was the setting into which were placed some 80-odd candles and perhaps an equal number of incense sticks, all aflame.
It was a scene to make a fire marshal have a serious threat of cardiac arrest, especially had such an official seen the tentative and indecisive placement of some of those fiery objects in their bed of tinder. A further agitation might have been the casual use of smudge bundles and punks that were part of the assemblage of incense offerings. None of this compared, however, to the final insult to any consideration of safety. I speak of the companion of the minister who, wearing a styled western hat, black overcoat, boots and beads, was doing the walk arounds, chanting and waving feathers and a rope of smoking sweet grass.
The companion to this picture of shamanic priesthood was a mutt of large size and, most notably, of wagging tail and inquizitive muzzle. This creature, judging from its coat, must have had as parents a dalmatian and a large Labrador. Certainly, whoever they were, each contributed a very active happiness-and-tail-wagging gene to the animal in our company. I nearly jumped and grabbed the dog a number of times, as his tail whisked within inches of a candle or votive. I felt great relief when it settled down and ceased threatening to cause a conflagration that might be seen for miles, had it happened. But that was short lived, as the beast again took to patrolling too near the many flames, any of which could have brought the whole structure to an untimely end. Indeed, as the dog made some turns in the narrow spaces, I thought of Mrs. O'Leary's cow and the great Chicago fire. We were, you know, surrounded by feilds of dry grass and a pine/oak forest.
Nothing happened as a result of the dog in the space of time between the lighting and the final self-immolation of the candles. All the straw on the kiln, and the offerings, were at a certain point removed. The growing heat of the kiln itself demanded that. But the whole scene with its inherent dangers left an impression on me. I remembered all the dangers and stupidities I had miraculously survived, especially in my younger years. No doubt, had we enough time for their stories, each one there could have told tales of escapes from near certain death. Somehow, with all the adrenaline generated by the thrill of the event, augmented by the random threats of a dog's tail, I was left with a greater trust in the wonder of life, and a feeling of an inherent good intent.
Was it chance that saved the scene from a wagger knocking over a candle? Or did the fashioning of the protective dragon at the prow of the kiln, all the elaborate thanksgivings and prayers for success, did these form a shield of safety and well being around and through the event? Was there a Fire Goddess, or was this simply the working of our own Nature intent on an end? In any case, I felt part of something special, an event of gathering, doing and finding. And as is the usual case, more than anything else, I found more of the adventure of my own self's journey.
The kiln, about 40' stem to stern, is decorated with offering ranging from flowers and fruit to sake and cakes. Candles and incense are everywhere. Excepting a thin moon, the stars, and a rare shooting star, that is the only light in the pitch black countryside. The other, but small, exception is a campfire nearby where tidbits from a table laden with potluck offerings are washed down with lemonade or ale. It was quite a spectacular sight . There were circumambulations, prayers, invocations, offerings, libations, and many thanksgivings. Then one of the students who had been active on the project was surprised with the honor of actually starting the fire.
The kiln will get increasingly hot over 24 hours with folk tending it over night and through the day. At peak, it will reach 2300F, no little accomplishment using only wood. At its height the kiln will spout an eight foot flame from the flue, signifying its having reached the height of its ability. The over 100 pieces stacked in the belly of the beast in ranks reflecting the seniority of the potter's work included, will be soaked in fire and wood ash, giving them the characteristic chocolaty rust color of such a firing, with white accents form the lime in the rice straws on those so decorated before immersion in the heat.
After the lighting the forty or so people, who came to partake of the initial ceremony or to aid with the vigil of stoking the dragon over night, stayed for food and drink that was there in generous supply. There were home made soups, enchiladas, pot stickers, munchies and chips of every description, and a rainbow of drinks. All this was had around a four foot fire ring that contained a blaze made from 8" aged pine logs cut in 1' segments. Soon it felt like the campfire was competing with the kiln, and all the folk around it from all their walks of life were making a happy noise of talk and laughter, doing what people are meant to do: be together in the love of life, enjoying their cooperative productivity. With all the harvest offerings on the kiln, and this being the Thanksgiving season here, it somehow felt like home, if one feels that the presence of heart makes it so.
Reading back, there was an element of the kiln lighting ceremony I neglected to mention. I had said about the circumambulations. I had also said about the profusion of candles and incense. What I didn't do was adequately describe the trappings and surroundings of the kiln, a factor which led to one of the thrills of the evening, as you shall see.
Imagine, if you will, a structure framed of 6"x6" timbers holding up a corrugated tin roof, the far end of which was pierced by the diameter of the kiln flue. The mouth of the kiln faced a bank of straw bales which served as seating for many of the participants. On either side, about four and eight feet left and right, was stacked cord wood of several descriptions intended for different stages of the firing, such as warming, ash production, and final heating. Over everything between these walls of cord wood, including over the kiln itself, was
a layer of rice straw of various thicknesses. At about three feet, set all around the kiln, was a 3" hawser elaborately woven of rice straw, the purpose of which was to define the sacred space of the kiln within which the Fire Goddess would do her work. On the kiln itself there was an additional burden of festive autumn leaves and pine boughs. These were over the layer of base straw. This was the setting into which were placed some 80-odd candles and perhaps an equal number of incense sticks, all aflame.
It was a scene to make a fire marshal have a serious threat of cardiac arrest, especially had such an official seen the tentative and indecisive placement of some of those fiery objects in their bed of tinder. A further agitation might have been the casual use of smudge bundles and punks that were part of the assemblage of incense offerings. None of this compared, however, to the final insult to any consideration of safety. I speak of the companion of the minister who, wearing a styled western hat, black overcoat, boots and beads, was doing the walk arounds, chanting and waving feathers and a rope of smoking sweet grass.
The companion to this picture of shamanic priesthood was a mutt of large size and, most notably, of wagging tail and inquizitive muzzle. This creature, judging from its coat, must have had as parents a dalmatian and a large Labrador. Certainly, whoever they were, each contributed a very active happiness-and-tail-wagging gene to the animal in our company. I nearly jumped and grabbed the dog a number of times, as his tail whisked within inches of a candle or votive. I felt great relief when it settled down and ceased threatening to cause a conflagration that might be seen for miles, had it happened. But that was short lived, as the beast again took to patrolling too near the many flames, any of which could have brought the whole structure to an untimely end. Indeed, as the dog made some turns in the narrow spaces, I thought of Mrs. O'Leary's cow and the great Chicago fire. We were, you know, surrounded by feilds of dry grass and a pine/oak forest.
Nothing happened as a result of the dog in the space of time between the lighting and the final self-immolation of the candles. All the straw on the kiln, and the offerings, were at a certain point removed. The growing heat of the kiln itself demanded that. But the whole scene with its inherent dangers left an impression on me. I remembered all the dangers and stupidities I had miraculously survived, especially in my younger years. No doubt, had we enough time for their stories, each one there could have told tales of escapes from near certain death. Somehow, with all the adrenaline generated by the thrill of the event, augmented by the random threats of a dog's tail, I was left with a greater trust in the wonder of life, and a feeling of an inherent good intent.
Was it chance that saved the scene from a wagger knocking over a candle? Or did the fashioning of the protective dragon at the prow of the kiln, all the elaborate thanksgivings and prayers for success, did these form a shield of safety and well being around and through the event? Was there a Fire Goddess, or was this simply the working of our own Nature intent on an end? In any case, I felt part of something special, an event of gathering, doing and finding. And as is the usual case, more than anything else, I found more of the adventure of my own self's journey.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Response to a lady about interrracial dating
I thought I would respond to your correction, not having seen your original post. It sounds like you were sincere. I'm a "white boy" and took no offense from your use of that phrase. I think that was, though, because of how I grew up: as the child of immigrants in Berkeley, CA, where we lived on Ashby street where the BART station now is. My best friend was Jimmy, the son of a black family we were very close to. I was often there, and even, to my recollection, went with his folks on shopping trips. They had a car, we didn't. I guess that looked odd to some folks, the sight of a dark black family with a lily white blond boy in tow. I was close to them to the point that I was at their house on Christmas day for several years. I had not only seen a picture of Jimmy sitting on Santa's lap, but sat on Santa's lap myself a few times. My Mother didn't know what to do with me the first time I saw a white Santa. I freaked, wondering what had happened to dear Santa!
Anyway, that is just to say that I grew up close to black people in a number of settings. There are some stories around that, for sure. I lived and worked with "people of color" all my life and always found it awkward to make any distinction based on color. There were so many beautiful colors in my experience. For many years my closest friend was a wonderful Jamaican man. My white wife and I were often some of the very few whites at some major parties in our neighborhood, both at our house and at others. My distinctions were always behavioral distinctions. If a person was courteous, kind, considerate, and aware, they were OK in my book. This allowed for differences in education, and even of temperament. I was always interested in some one's story. I was without exception disappointed when someone attributed a fault in behavior to "race." I found people of any color did this: misattribute behavior to race. It was, to me, similar to religion. I saw that religious people were not necessarily good or bad by way of their particular religion, they were that way by way of conviction, something that to me was deeper than religion, but could find its expression through religious beliefs.
All I'm saying here is that we have some basic wiring going on that we misunderstand. We are, to make an analogy, very much like similar computers that have the same DOS but are loaded with different programs. We make a HUGE deal out of the differences in programs, ignoring that they are content, not substance. And we ignore, as well, that our basic operating system is identical. So we do what? Argue and get emotional about differences in programming instead of going back to our basic operating system and move from a point of agreement to see how the differences were programed in. Then we can find what is universally common, like air, food and water, clothing, shelter, MUSIC, etc, and go from there. Anyway, I could write a book, but this is already too long.
So yes, I would go out with a black woman, and gladly. Right now, lol, I'd be glad to go out with anyone, lol! I would also know from experience that there would be inherent difficulties both from within and without. Any man and woman getting together have problems, because they are individuals, not because they are of different races. Interracial couples might have external problems as well. I remember walking with a dear friend, very black, very pregnant, and the wife of a white friend of mine. We loved to talk with each other and I went with her for her exercise when her husband couldn't go. We lived in the same house with some other friends, and that was easy to do. We were all in our late 20's. We were occasionally cursed and sworn at, even threatened, by some passing black men. It was very uncomfortable, as you might imagine. It is too bad. It didn't stop me or her, and it didn't stop me from dating black women (I've even been propositioned a few times as well; that was nice, lol) but it has it's social baggage in some areas. I find this very sad, and don't know what to say about it generally, except people would do well to grow up. To me, that means to get out of a limited personal perspective, back off, and look at a BIG picture, and start questioning a LOT of assumptions. The best piece of advise I ever got was to question my mind. Like Taj Mahal says, "Take a giant step...outside your mind."
Well, there is my two cents worth. I hope it might mean something to you. I think it was courageous of you to ask. Thanks.
Anyway, that is just to say that I grew up close to black people in a number of settings. There are some stories around that, for sure. I lived and worked with "people of color" all my life and always found it awkward to make any distinction based on color. There were so many beautiful colors in my experience. For many years my closest friend was a wonderful Jamaican man. My white wife and I were often some of the very few whites at some major parties in our neighborhood, both at our house and at others. My distinctions were always behavioral distinctions. If a person was courteous, kind, considerate, and aware, they were OK in my book. This allowed for differences in education, and even of temperament. I was always interested in some one's story. I was without exception disappointed when someone attributed a fault in behavior to "race." I found people of any color did this: misattribute behavior to race. It was, to me, similar to religion. I saw that religious people were not necessarily good or bad by way of their particular religion, they were that way by way of conviction, something that to me was deeper than religion, but could find its expression through religious beliefs.
All I'm saying here is that we have some basic wiring going on that we misunderstand. We are, to make an analogy, very much like similar computers that have the same DOS but are loaded with different programs. We make a HUGE deal out of the differences in programs, ignoring that they are content, not substance. And we ignore, as well, that our basic operating system is identical. So we do what? Argue and get emotional about differences in programming instead of going back to our basic operating system and move from a point of agreement to see how the differences were programed in. Then we can find what is universally common, like air, food and water, clothing, shelter, MUSIC, etc, and go from there. Anyway, I could write a book, but this is already too long.
So yes, I would go out with a black woman, and gladly. Right now, lol, I'd be glad to go out with anyone, lol! I would also know from experience that there would be inherent difficulties both from within and without. Any man and woman getting together have problems, because they are individuals, not because they are of different races. Interracial couples might have external problems as well. I remember walking with a dear friend, very black, very pregnant, and the wife of a white friend of mine. We loved to talk with each other and I went with her for her exercise when her husband couldn't go. We lived in the same house with some other friends, and that was easy to do. We were all in our late 20's. We were occasionally cursed and sworn at, even threatened, by some passing black men. It was very uncomfortable, as you might imagine. It is too bad. It didn't stop me or her, and it didn't stop me from dating black women (I've even been propositioned a few times as well; that was nice, lol) but it has it's social baggage in some areas. I find this very sad, and don't know what to say about it generally, except people would do well to grow up. To me, that means to get out of a limited personal perspective, back off, and look at a BIG picture, and start questioning a LOT of assumptions. The best piece of advise I ever got was to question my mind. Like Taj Mahal says, "Take a giant step...outside your mind."
Well, there is my two cents worth. I hope it might mean something to you. I think it was courageous of you to ask. Thanks.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Typical Daily Update
Hi Mom, Everyone,
The floors were finished today, with grout included. The floor tiles in both the bathroom and the kitchen are the same, but will have slightly different grout colors to tie in the other features in each room. The toilet is now also installed and working (YEAAAAA!!!!). the kitchen cabinets are also all in, as well as the microwave. That includes the little cabinet for pots and pans which will also be a work surface for the stove. The electrical is not tied in anywhere in the new construction, however, and the pulls all yet have to go on to the doors and drawers.
Yet another person stopped by today to ask "Who did the landscaping?" It is certainly an eyecatcher. Today I spent some time in the yard because the weather was just too lovely to pass up. I trimmed the bottlebrush tree so it can be walked under without fear of poking something. A rose bush also got trimmed, as well as the birch in front. I did some cleanup in the back yard, but a good deal of time was used to clean the multitude of weeds from the junipers in front of the house. The Wong's benefited a bit from that as well, because I did their half of the junipers between the two driveways and some of their planter near the birch to "spruce" that up, lol! A little bit was done along Schmidt, from the corner up through the first section of fence.
The lawn is to be mowed by Wednesday. It is growing like wildfire! It is one of the richest greens I've ever seen. Everyone compliments Joseph's design and work. The painter, Frank, stopped by to check how it was going with the windows, and I told him that Marcio expected the windows to be arriving this week some time. He also said how nice the place looks, and I thanked him for his good work. I have had a chance to look around the house and see how they did things, and I was pleased to see that even the roof vents were nicely done to complement the house. Gia the realtor was here as well and like what she saw and unlike Marcio estimated ten days to completion. I hope Marcio's estimate of seven is more accurate. Gia also encouraged me again in my artistic pursuits. (I found a gallery in Albany that will take what I have on the coming truck on consignment as soon as it gets here.)
The next major thing outside is the back yard and finishing at least a cursory cleanup of the curb plantings on Schmidt. The garage driveway is now clear of debris, which clears the way for more cleanup in the back, of which there is a lot. I've got the behind the garage area done, and have started piles of various catagories of trash for disposal, recycling, greenwaste, and hasmats. Right now, the inside of the garage is a hasmat and maybe that will be my priority tomorrow as the dumpster will be useful in that regard.
Love and blessings,
Anton
The floors were finished today, with grout included. The floor tiles in both the bathroom and the kitchen are the same, but will have slightly different grout colors to tie in the other features in each room. The toilet is now also installed and working (YEAAAAA!!!!). the kitchen cabinets are also all in, as well as the microwave. That includes the little cabinet for pots and pans which will also be a work surface for the stove. The electrical is not tied in anywhere in the new construction, however, and the pulls all yet have to go on to the doors and drawers.
Yet another person stopped by today to ask "Who did the landscaping?" It is certainly an eyecatcher. Today I spent some time in the yard because the weather was just too lovely to pass up. I trimmed the bottlebrush tree so it can be walked under without fear of poking something. A rose bush also got trimmed, as well as the birch in front. I did some cleanup in the back yard, but a good deal of time was used to clean the multitude of weeds from the junipers in front of the house. The Wong's benefited a bit from that as well, because I did their half of the junipers between the two driveways and some of their planter near the birch to "spruce" that up, lol! A little bit was done along Schmidt, from the corner up through the first section of fence.
The lawn is to be mowed by Wednesday. It is growing like wildfire! It is one of the richest greens I've ever seen. Everyone compliments Joseph's design and work. The painter, Frank, stopped by to check how it was going with the windows, and I told him that Marcio expected the windows to be arriving this week some time. He also said how nice the place looks, and I thanked him for his good work. I have had a chance to look around the house and see how they did things, and I was pleased to see that even the roof vents were nicely done to complement the house. Gia the realtor was here as well and like what she saw and unlike Marcio estimated ten days to completion. I hope Marcio's estimate of seven is more accurate. Gia also encouraged me again in my artistic pursuits. (I found a gallery in Albany that will take what I have on the coming truck on consignment as soon as it gets here.)
The next major thing outside is the back yard and finishing at least a cursory cleanup of the curb plantings on Schmidt. The garage driveway is now clear of debris, which clears the way for more cleanup in the back, of which there is a lot. I've got the behind the garage area done, and have started piles of various catagories of trash for disposal, recycling, greenwaste, and hasmats. Right now, the inside of the garage is a hasmat and maybe that will be my priority tomorrow as the dumpster will be useful in that regard.
Love and blessings,
Anton
To Val, re Winter and Cedar Canoes
Boy, I sure miss all that chipping, scraping and shovelling of snow and ice....NOT! Funny you mention about the canoe. Last night I dreamt about that scene you described about being out on the water at night.... I love canoeing, and used to go out in a friend's cedar canoe. It felt like it was alive, and it fit into the water so well, and knew it had it's right place in the wild. It felt more like it was drawn to where I was going, than me having to paddle it there. The paddling was like something to keep me busy while the canoe hunted out secret places like a ranging dog. It also knew when and how to be still, so in its shadow I could look down and see pike and bass waiting.... I often came back with wild rice in the belly of the boat, and scraped it up for the cook. That boat was a lake skimmer of the highest order as it shinned and glistened its way, quiet and fast in the silk/velvet water, propelled into its ways by warmth, sunshine, and air that was like a smooth, cool elixir of peace.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Reno ripped camping
I'm pretty much camping out here at this moment, as both the kitchen and the bath room have been ripped out. At least they put the flush back in before they left! The demolition has revealed an interesting thing. What was suspected about the house not having a shred of insulation is true. Can you imagine what a house up there (Ontario) would feel like, either Winter or Summer, without insulation? Fortunately, though this is not yet California's temperate "sweet spot," (that would be San Diego,) the conditions here are usually not that extreme. So -- the decor I'm currently enjoying is "old sub floor" with accents in "revealed framing." There are very tasteful highlights in the style of "let's leave this in the wall; nobody will know," and "Mickey Mouse and Insect companions were here!" The rest of the house is done in contemprary "old painter's tarp," "Makeshift Drapes," and a very generous application of "Let's put this here for a moment till it's stored or tossed." Delightful. I'm expecting the photographers from Architectural Digest to arrive a bit before the ones from Town and Country magazine. The people from the Tribune Sunday Home Supplement have already come and gone, having been suitably impressed and somewhat in awe of my decorating prowess.
The exterior painters started yesterday and will be doing a lot of scraping and patching today. It has been pretty noisy here. The occasional train going by the house in Palgrave seems very tame compared to this, as we are as well on a busy street, the cross street of which goes to the local recycling center some blocks away. You may be in a similar traffic noise situation, what with the QEW so near. By contrast, my sister Mary's place where I sometimes take refuge, is very quiet, being just off the old "Gold Country" highway running North and South. It is actually called Hwy 49, after the "'49ers" who came in droves to pick, pan, and placer the yellow stuff of dreams out of the foothills there in the mid 1800's.
Day before yesterday it was 76F in the house with all the windows open. The sun set was spectacularly lovely. Earlier I was up at my favorite look-out spot, about three minutes from here. I could see all the bay from San Jose to San Pablo. The sparkling water was wearing sailboats like a bright young girl might wear freckles. Green was everywhere. I ate my fudge chocolate ice cream as I watched the business of the Bay Area ebb and flow below me. I could see all three of the major bridges from my perch. Square across from me was the Golden Gate, with a an immense container ship furrowing its way towards Oakland. Sailboats scurried from it like water bugs from a beaver. The Bay bridge nuzzled Treasure Island to the left and the San Rafael bridge looked lazy with its characteristic mid span slump, designed to save millions in construction costs, and give a thrill to people who drive too fast. Across the Bay and to the right stands the majestic profile of Tamalpais, the "sleeping maiden" of local Indian legend. I wondered if the folks surely up there at the summit could see whales migrating in the Pacific hard to the West of the Maiden's skirts. I saw jet liners taking off and landing at the major airports and remembered the many times I had arrived and departed from here by air, and the remarkable aerial view of the span from the Faralon Islands at sea to the lofty Sierra Nevada Mountains with their treasures of scenery and gold. It was a good day that I held in my hands and drank of deeply.
The exterior painters started yesterday and will be doing a lot of scraping and patching today. It has been pretty noisy here. The occasional train going by the house in Palgrave seems very tame compared to this, as we are as well on a busy street, the cross street of which goes to the local recycling center some blocks away. You may be in a similar traffic noise situation, what with the QEW so near. By contrast, my sister Mary's place where I sometimes take refuge, is very quiet, being just off the old "Gold Country" highway running North and South. It is actually called Hwy 49, after the "'49ers" who came in droves to pick, pan, and placer the yellow stuff of dreams out of the foothills there in the mid 1800's.
Day before yesterday it was 76F in the house with all the windows open. The sun set was spectacularly lovely. Earlier I was up at my favorite look-out spot, about three minutes from here. I could see all the bay from San Jose to San Pablo. The sparkling water was wearing sailboats like a bright young girl might wear freckles. Green was everywhere. I ate my fudge chocolate ice cream as I watched the business of the Bay Area ebb and flow below me. I could see all three of the major bridges from my perch. Square across from me was the Golden Gate, with a an immense container ship furrowing its way towards Oakland. Sailboats scurried from it like water bugs from a beaver. The Bay bridge nuzzled Treasure Island to the left and the San Rafael bridge looked lazy with its characteristic mid span slump, designed to save millions in construction costs, and give a thrill to people who drive too fast. Across the Bay and to the right stands the majestic profile of Tamalpais, the "sleeping maiden" of local Indian legend. I wondered if the folks surely up there at the summit could see whales migrating in the Pacific hard to the West of the Maiden's skirts. I saw jet liners taking off and landing at the major airports and remembered the many times I had arrived and departed from here by air, and the remarkable aerial view of the span from the Faralon Islands at sea to the lofty Sierra Nevada Mountains with their treasures of scenery and gold. It was a good day that I held in my hands and drank of deeply.
Yes, the electrician came.(current events)
The excitement here is at a fever pitch. The Queen came by yesterday to see how things are going, and she was followed by several folks of note in the worlds of arts and letters, science, and global affairs. Bill Gates came by to ask me for some advice and got into it with Donald Trump who was already here for a cup of coffee. A start-up movie company is filming with some of the local talent in the back room and is claiming odds of making several millions of dollars. Oh, and my brother finally came by to move his stuff and direct the gardeners to scalp the back and front yards preparatory for new plantings and laying sod.
OK, I'm just a little bored and tired of the tedium here, and of all of this only the last line is actually true. But because of the waste generated in the scalping process, I had an exciting time at the dump. You see, instead of putting all the waste in easilly tipable containers, the landscape workers had just thrown everything, dirt and plant materials, in the truck. That makes for an impenatrable mass of muck, unshovelable and barely rakeable, if those are actual words. Of course, arriving to unload at the disposal facility, the tail gate of the truck wouldn't open.
All told, I spent two hours unloading the darn thing. It was a rainy day, and yes, the dump is such a lovely place to spend one's time. Two different imense tractors scared the daylights out of me as they charged by, honking loudly, bleeping, and pushing heaps of splashing, smelly debris into a monumental pile. I actually swore a few times, loudly, before someone came along who had exactly the right tool for getting the tail gate down. Serendipitously, he was a house painter and I got him to come and give an estimate on some exterior work. Turns out he is also a trombonist in a local orchestra and I got an invite to the next performance. Anyway, the truck mess won't happen again, as I had some carefully crafted explanatory words with the guys. Some of my crews in Arizona used to try to load trucks that way in order to get more hours. Unfortunately, my somewhat inexperienced brother was directing these fellows and the truck was loaded by the time I looked out the window to check on progress. My bad.
The interior paint job here looks great, and I've even had a few requests to do work from some of the contractors who have been here. But I've already been here in the States too long, but have to see this through as far as I can. I also won't be able to see the passport people until Wednesday next week. As my Mexican crew in Arizona used to say: "Mucho travajo!" Nevertheless, I'm thinking I might do a faux stone finish on the red brick fire place here to make it look classier. Right now it looks pretty sad compared to the improvements around it. I think I will do some kind of keystone pattern. Not sure what kind of rock I will make it look like, but a gray fieldstone would look handsome as a contrast to the mushroom colored walls and white trim near it. Oh, and by nearly unanimous consent, the outside of the front door will be a dark red brown.
Another issue is my brother's former room, the so-called "cave," which he has done in very realistic and thick faux stone. An excellent job, I might add. Almost without exception anyone who has seen it has recommended to leave it alone and price the house to include a renovation of it if necessary. The only opponents to this scheme are the realtors. But as the electrician who saw it said, "Oh, they all just want to paint all the walls white and put down beige carpets!" He may have a good point. What do you think?
We have had some colorful folks coming through here, and who knows, they may be more entertaining than the imaginary dignitaries I mentioned above! For instance, Brian, who came to estimate sanding the parquet, told of a job he just did up in the wine country in a town that is completely Amish. That was just after he did work for a coven of witches, a story that I won't even start to repeat.
There is no alcohol available there in that Amish town, nor meat even for sandwiches. He had to go vegatarian or bring his own lunch. But the contract, he claims, despite the thrifty, restricted, and archaic environs, was in a veritable castle. The owner answered the door, he said, swirling a cape that was two shades of violet, and he was brandishing a sword! Brian was sure that this character was loony tunes, so sketchily got his information and was about to make a quick exit. The swordsman/owner stopped him and proferred a check for $1000 for his bit of time scoping the site. Brian refused it and went back to his office to call his friend who refered him to the job. Well, it seems that he could hardly talk from laughing as he told what happened. He was nevertheless urged to take the work despite his certainty that his prospective client is nuts, as his friend had done installations there and had come away both with his sanity and large checks. So Brian called cape-man's banker to see if the money was good. The banker remarked about the thousand dollar check that "It would be good even if it had nine zeros on it!"
So, he takes he job and finds that the castle owner wanted his office done in quarter sawn oak. Quarter sawn is a pretty rare way of getting wood these days. It is an invloved, and in these ecologically sensitive times, a wasetful process. When he asked the mill about availability, they nearly ridiculed him. So what happens? On hearing that quarter sawn is not available in the needed quantitiy, castle guy calls the mill himself. To make it brief, he paid nearly a half a million dollars to put on a night shift to make his planks. Brian installed it, along with an inlay pattern around the edge to frame the antique and pricelesll Persian carpet to go there. That inlay was of exotic woods chosen after our floor guy did a complete installation of five samples, sanded and finished, in situ, all to be ripped out and restarted after the selection was made. The end product included four griffin inlays, one in each corner, at a cost of $8000 each, above the similar cost of the samples! Good thing this installer is a friend of the family, otherwise I don't think we'd get him to work here. This place is no castle, lol!
After all this excitement, I'm going up this Saturday evening to my sister's in Diamond Springs for a murder mystery dinner. Each course comes with three clues, and at each table is an unknown shill who tries to misdirect your guesses. After following the twists and turns of the above story, plus figuring out what some of the contracors were thinking when they did what they did, and managing to keep my sanity through it all, my guess is that I will solve the case. More next time!
OK, I'm just a little bored and tired of the tedium here, and of all of this only the last line is actually true. But because of the waste generated in the scalping process, I had an exciting time at the dump. You see, instead of putting all the waste in easilly tipable containers, the landscape workers had just thrown everything, dirt and plant materials, in the truck. That makes for an impenatrable mass of muck, unshovelable and barely rakeable, if those are actual words. Of course, arriving to unload at the disposal facility, the tail gate of the truck wouldn't open.
All told, I spent two hours unloading the darn thing. It was a rainy day, and yes, the dump is such a lovely place to spend one's time. Two different imense tractors scared the daylights out of me as they charged by, honking loudly, bleeping, and pushing heaps of splashing, smelly debris into a monumental pile. I actually swore a few times, loudly, before someone came along who had exactly the right tool for getting the tail gate down. Serendipitously, he was a house painter and I got him to come and give an estimate on some exterior work. Turns out he is also a trombonist in a local orchestra and I got an invite to the next performance. Anyway, the truck mess won't happen again, as I had some carefully crafted explanatory words with the guys. Some of my crews in Arizona used to try to load trucks that way in order to get more hours. Unfortunately, my somewhat inexperienced brother was directing these fellows and the truck was loaded by the time I looked out the window to check on progress. My bad.
The interior paint job here looks great, and I've even had a few requests to do work from some of the contractors who have been here. But I've already been here in the States too long, but have to see this through as far as I can. I also won't be able to see the passport people until Wednesday next week. As my Mexican crew in Arizona used to say: "Mucho travajo!" Nevertheless, I'm thinking I might do a faux stone finish on the red brick fire place here to make it look classier. Right now it looks pretty sad compared to the improvements around it. I think I will do some kind of keystone pattern. Not sure what kind of rock I will make it look like, but a gray fieldstone would look handsome as a contrast to the mushroom colored walls and white trim near it. Oh, and by nearly unanimous consent, the outside of the front door will be a dark red brown.
Another issue is my brother's former room, the so-called "cave," which he has done in very realistic and thick faux stone. An excellent job, I might add. Almost without exception anyone who has seen it has recommended to leave it alone and price the house to include a renovation of it if necessary. The only opponents to this scheme are the realtors. But as the electrician who saw it said, "Oh, they all just want to paint all the walls white and put down beige carpets!" He may have a good point. What do you think?
We have had some colorful folks coming through here, and who knows, they may be more entertaining than the imaginary dignitaries I mentioned above! For instance, Brian, who came to estimate sanding the parquet, told of a job he just did up in the wine country in a town that is completely Amish. That was just after he did work for a coven of witches, a story that I won't even start to repeat.
There is no alcohol available there in that Amish town, nor meat even for sandwiches. He had to go vegatarian or bring his own lunch. But the contract, he claims, despite the thrifty, restricted, and archaic environs, was in a veritable castle. The owner answered the door, he said, swirling a cape that was two shades of violet, and he was brandishing a sword! Brian was sure that this character was loony tunes, so sketchily got his information and was about to make a quick exit. The swordsman/owner stopped him and proferred a check for $1000 for his bit of time scoping the site. Brian refused it and went back to his office to call his friend who refered him to the job. Well, it seems that he could hardly talk from laughing as he told what happened. He was nevertheless urged to take the work despite his certainty that his prospective client is nuts, as his friend had done installations there and had come away both with his sanity and large checks. So Brian called cape-man's banker to see if the money was good. The banker remarked about the thousand dollar check that "It would be good even if it had nine zeros on it!"
So, he takes he job and finds that the castle owner wanted his office done in quarter sawn oak. Quarter sawn is a pretty rare way of getting wood these days. It is an invloved, and in these ecologically sensitive times, a wasetful process. When he asked the mill about availability, they nearly ridiculed him. So what happens? On hearing that quarter sawn is not available in the needed quantitiy, castle guy calls the mill himself. To make it brief, he paid nearly a half a million dollars to put on a night shift to make his planks. Brian installed it, along with an inlay pattern around the edge to frame the antique and pricelesll Persian carpet to go there. That inlay was of exotic woods chosen after our floor guy did a complete installation of five samples, sanded and finished, in situ, all to be ripped out and restarted after the selection was made. The end product included four griffin inlays, one in each corner, at a cost of $8000 each, above the similar cost of the samples! Good thing this installer is a friend of the family, otherwise I don't think we'd get him to work here. This place is no castle, lol!
After all this excitement, I'm going up this Saturday evening to my sister's in Diamond Springs for a murder mystery dinner. Each course comes with three clues, and at each table is an unknown shill who tries to misdirect your guesses. After following the twists and turns of the above story, plus figuring out what some of the contracors were thinking when they did what they did, and managing to keep my sanity through it all, my guess is that I will solve the case. More next time!
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