If there were witchcraft--redux

A rainy day at Depoe Bay, Oregon

12/27/2011

When I started this blog, I named it for a song we used to sing around the campfire at church camp. The way I learned the song, there were two wishes, "a winding road that beckons me to roam," and "a blazing campfire to welcome me when I'm returning home." Driving back from Portland a couple of weeks ago, I realized that I'm living pretty much my ideal life. I'm traveling more than at any time in the past, and I have a beautiful (if very cluttered) home to return to--sans blazing campfire. Put another way, as long as I have a good atlas, my camera, and a book or several, I'm a happy camper.

Today is March 20th, 2012. In the past five months I've traveled to Los Angeles, the Oregon Coast and northern California, Las Vegas, Calgary and the Canadian Rockies, Miami and south Florida, and Portland. That's six relatively major trips in five months. That doesn't count the various road trips around western Montana. Not too shabby for someone who loves the open road. And I've always had my beloved Missoula home waiting for me on my return.

Since we closed our business December 1st, my one concern has been money. Closing the business ended any income, but, unfortunately, didn't stop the expenses. I'll be honest. We're struggling right now, as are many Americans. The trips have all been tied into attempts to raise funds, find business partners, sell assets, etc. As I write this, I'm in the office in Missoula, while Kevin just called me from Plentywood, Montana, in the northeastern corner of the state. He's on a trip looking for work in the Bakken oilfields--the only place in our region right now where the jobs and money aren't scarce. Work in the Bakken is plentiful and pays well, but the living expenses are high and the hours are grueling. It's a young man's world, and I fear Kevin is too old to keep up the pace. I know I am, which is why I'm not even looking.

But enough of that. One of my gurus, Marsha Sinetar, wrote a book: Do What You Love: The Money Will Follow. I'm out to prove her right, for what I'm doing now I truly love. When we closed the business, we were locked into a lease on the retail space in downtown Missoula. I asked Kevin if I could turn our space into an art gallery, and he agreed. I now have a place where I can display my photography and weaving, and I have a loom set up in the space so that I can weave during slack times. I'll not kid you. All the time is slack right now, as almost no one has found my Sharrott Creek Gallery. But that can change. I have a good location downtown. It's just a matter of getting the word out.

Vegas from the Convention Center

1/11/2012

Missoula has long had a First Friday Gallery Walk on, surprise, the first Friday of each month. I submitted the information, and the Missoula Cultural Council put us on the list for March 2nd. I prepared a show of photos I'd taken in South Florida, some twenty-one different images, most of which I printed on my new Epson Style Pro 9900 printer, a mammoth beast capable of printing images up to 44" wide on any one of a number of media including glossy photo paper, matte paper, and even canvas. The printer was one of the benefits of attending the Consumer Electronics Show (CES) in Vegas, as was our new association with Anvy Digital of Calgary, Alberta. The PMA (Photo Marketing Association) was holding their annual conference in conjunction with the CES, and while Kevin was hobnobbing with the communications geeks, I was wandering through the photo booths. All of this I wrote about back when it happened, so if you're curious, just run back to my January posts.

I've written up all the details of the current exhibit on our Sharrott Creek Gallery website, and there are links to the photos on display on that site. Setting up the gallery's website has been fun, and I'm quite pleased with the way it's turned out. We viewed March 2nd as our Grand Opening, and I sent out some fifty invitations in addition to the promotional work that the Missoula Cultural Council did. While we didn't have a large turnout, and made not a single sale, I consider the opening a success. Eleven people visited the gallery that evening, five of whom were not on my invitation list, and three of whom were total strangers. We can only grow from here. (To put things in perspective, one gallery owner told me that he has often had three people show up on First Friday, and on March 2nd, as he was showing the work of eight artists, he was expecting sixteen. On the other hand, the event is quite popular, and established galleries downtown entertain throngs.)

The Banff Springs Hotel

Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada

1/21/2012

The trip to Calgary included a meeting with the folk at Anvy Digital, another CES connection. Anvy Digital has produced a line they call Image Style which involves printing art on an adhesive backed canvas paper. Once printed, the image is applied to a hard surface, which is then mounted to a frame using velcro. The whole process of taking a digital image from memory card to framed print can be done in less than an hour. The advantage of mounting the image using velcro is that when the customer wants to change decor, you pop out the old picture and easily install a new one in the same frame. As framing is a major cost in any art endeavor, this has major benefits for the consumer. As the only place offering this service in western Montana, Sharrott Creek Gallery is positioned to score big. If only I can get the word out. The image I used to showcase the ImageStyle line is a photograph I took in Miami Beach, one I call "Hotels and Umbrellas."

Hotels and Umbrellas, Miami Beach, Florida

1/31/2012

So let me return to my opening theme. I am a happy camper. I sit in a lovely spot downtown, surrounded by art that I have created. I have the time and ability to travel and see new sights, camera in hand. I return home to turn those digital pixels into beautiful wall art. I meet new people regularly, and share my experiences with them. If you're in the area, drop by. I've got a coffee pot and hot water for tea. Let's sit and chat. If you have memory cards full of your own images, images you'd like to see on your wall instead of inside your phone, your camera, your computer, bring me the memory card or e-mail me the file and let's make your dreams come true. Mine are.

The Epson Style Pro 9900, at home at Sharrott Creek Gallery, Missoula

3/20/2012

Sharrott Creek Gallery

401 W. Broadway, Suite C

Missoula MT 59802

406-728-1490

sharrott-creek-gallery.com

Shabby Chic

Island House, 1428 Collins Ave, Miami Beach, Florida
Our Home Away from Home for the next week

Click on any picture to see in full-sized in a new window

When Kevin asked if I wanted to travel with him to Miami, of course I said yes. But first I asked why we were going to Miami, would the trip eventually pay for itself, could we afford it, etc., etc., etc. I can't say that he answered my questions appropriately, but when have I ever been known to pass up a trip. OK, Sandy, don't answer that one. I know I backed out of the Escalante Canyon trip back in grad school, but that was then. And so, even though I feel as if I'm fiddling while Rome burns, today I find myself in a kitchenette just a block from the Atlantic Ocean in Miami Beach, Florida.

We arrived on Monday night, and it's now Thursday, but Kevin had to have the laptop with him on Tuesday and Wednesday, so this is the first chance I've had to write anything down. I'm going to treat this trip the same way I did our trip to Las Vegas, a few weeks back, with one blog per day, starting with Tuesday, January 31st, 2012.

Well, ok, I'll actually start with Monday the 30th, but since that day was spent mostly inside a Delta airliner, it will be mentioned only as background. Our flight left Missoula at 8:15, so we had Ron deliver us to the airport at 7:00 am. This time the flight left on-time, and crowded though we were, the flight to Minneapolis was relatively uneventful. The flight on from Minnepolis to Miami was also notable only for the fact that we were in the air much too long when someone my size is crammed into the cattle car seating that modern airlines seem to favor. By the time we landed in Miami, my right leg was throbbing from the hip to the ankle, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to walk. Miami International is prepared for just that thing--it has seemingly endless miles of corridors through which to walk just to pick up your luggage. Then more miles of walking to get to the rental car center. Kevin, as always, had reserved an SUV, but we ended up taking a Chrysler 200 convertible instead. My prefernce--the convertible, not the Chrysler--but the clerk said we'd have to wait for an SUV and the convertible was available immediately. That was Monday, and the car has sat in the garage ever since we parked it after checking into our motel. (Turns out you don't really need a car in Miami Beach.)

If I Could Fly Away

Miami Beach, Florida

Oh we did stop at the Delta "Special Requests" desk to see about getting exit row seats on the return flight, but were informed that such seats were sold at an additional cost unless they're still available 1/2 hour before departure. We'll see about that on Sunday when we return home.

Kevin had given me the task of finding us a motel, and had given me directions to the center where he would be spending his time--in downtown Miami. I looked for "gay-hotel-Miami" and found a listing for the Island House. What is more, the posted rates were half what everyone else seemed to be charging. I double-checked with Kevin, and then called to make the reservations. Turns out that the hotel is no longer exclusively gay, as young people today are "situationally gay" according to the desk clerk. Besides, all the gay action today is in Fort Lauderdale, not South Beach. Oh well. The room rate was still better than anything else I could find.

When we checked in Monday night, I thought I saw a trace of disappointment in Kevin's face. Yes, the Island House has a nicely painted art deco façade, but inside the best description I could come up with is shabby. Still it appeared clean, the help was friendly, and the room certainly had enough space. And did I say it was half the price of anywhere else I could find? Dinner Monday night was at the Grillfish, where Kevin had something (can't remember what) and I had a calamari dish served with linguine and marinara sauce. The waitress told me that most Americans didn't like that dish, but I pride myself on having more catholic tastes, and indeed I found it quite pleasant, if a bit spicy. We shared a bowl of Banana with caramel cream for dessert, and retired for the evening. I wanted a mojito, but didn't feel I could justify paying $13 for one drink. Oh well, live and learn.

Tuesday morning, Kevin left for his meetings, taking the laptop, and I headed out with my camera for a walk. Wearing my camo utilikilt knockoff which I'd purchased for my birthday in San Francisco a year ago, I stopped by a shop to get a new pair of swim trunks. Continuing on down Collins Avenue, I was practically pulled into a camera shop with the promise of a new lens that would exceed my wildest expectations. Now I'm normally not too gullible, especially where camera gear is concerned, but I couldn't say no to this insistent fellow, and I tried his fish-eye/macro lens combo. Suitably impressed, I listened to his sales pitch and when he got the price down to $299 (starting at $2100), I bought the thing. I have a feeling that even at the lower price I was ripped off, but I do like the clarity of the lens and the closeness available with the macro. I'll have to show you some examples.

Miami Beach Still Life

Eva's Bistro 1506, 1506 Collins Ave., Miami Beach

For lunch I stopped at a nice little sidewalk restaurant, Eva's Bistro 1506, where I ordered a frozen lemonade and a Cuban sandwich. I got into a discussion with another diner who made it a point to say that as an American, I could not go to Cuba, but she, being from Montréal, could and indeed had just returned from Havana. Our loss, I guess, but Cuba has never been very high on my list of places to visit. The restaurant crew was very friendly, from the female hawker on the sidewalk who lured me in, to the waitress, to the very handsome young man who made sure that my water glass was always full. I'll go back to Eva's Bistro.

On to the beach where I spent an enjoyable afternoon surrounded by handsome bears--all of whom were speaking Spanish. Most of my pics in this post are from my time on the beach. One thing I noted, you can rent just about anything in Miami Beach. I saw people riding by on rented bikes, rented Segways (I'd love to do that), and rented Y-shaped scooters in bright yellow. I'm sure these scooters have a name, but I've never seen anything like them before. I also walked past shops offering mopeds and more tradtional, Vespa-like motorbikes. It's almost an Alice's Restaurant of transportation.

Mr. Burberry returns from the Sea

(I didn't know you could swim trunks in the burberry pattern)

When Kevin was done with his meetings, we headed out for dinner. Now as I think I've implied, Kevin is a much more finicky eater than I. I have learned to pretty much let him choose the restaurant when we go out. Tuesday evening we walked past probably ten different restaurants, all of which looked fine to me, and ended up at 9 Ocean Drive. Yes, that's the name of the place as well as its address. The hawker on the street (all the restaurants have them) promised us that the steak special came with salad and potatoes, but when our waiter came to take our order, he insisted that everything was à la carte. At least I think that's what he said, as I was seated directly beneath a speaker blaring salsa music and the waiter's Spanish (Cuban?) accent was so strong I could barely understand a word he said. Kevin order the steak and I got a blacked chicken mango salad that sounded much better than it tasted. The steak also was not up to Montana standards, but we soldiered on. This time I did order a mojito, and it arrived in a small fish bowl of a glass. I should have had one Monday night, as my mojito at 9 Ocean Drive came at a cost of $24.99. I guess that's why there were no prices on the drinks menu. At that price, I felt obliged to drink the whole thing, and found myself a bit tipsy walking back to the Island House.

All told, it was a beautiful day, if a bit spendy, and I found myself enjoying life much more than I had on my one previous visit to Florida. I wouldn't want to live here, but hey, it's the end of January, I can walk around in shorts and a tank top,and even lie out almost naked on the beach. What more can you ask for?

Los Osos A La Playa

Surely someone in Miami Beach speaks English

On the willows there...

1 By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion.

2 On the willows there we hung up our lyres.

3 For there our captors required of us songs,
and our tormentors, mirth, saying, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion!"

4 How shall we sing the LORD's song in a foreign land?

Psalm 137: 1-4, English Standard Version

Weeping Willow in bloom, Missoula Montana, 4/17/07

Losing a loved one, especially after fifty-seven years, is in many ways like going into captivity in a foreign land. In the United States, we have so distanced ourselves from the natural processes of death and dying that few of us are equipped to handle the upheavals, mostly emotional, that we go through.

To date, I count three major storms the people around me have had to weather since Mother died at Thanksgiving. First, and probably the easiest, was the immediate aftermath of her death. By that I mean dealing with the funeral home, the committal at the cemetery, and the memorial service at the church. Mother’s final days were such that death itself seemed a blessed relief, and as I had already made most of the arrangements with the funeral home, that part was brief and relatively painless. The committal, when the minister and I met at the Smith River Cemetery to say a few last words prior to the coffin being lowered into the ground, was a short ritual, and we left while the coffin was still on its stand.

At the memorial service itself, I had trouble singing the hymns that I had chosen, particularly Ivory Palaces, a hymn I have never heard sung in a church before, but which I grew up hearing my parents sing as a duet. Even though I wrote and delivered the eulogy, I had little trouble with that part of the service. It was a time to speak of the wonderful life I had shared with Mother — especially those parts the local congregation knew nothing about. After the service, the reception in the church’s Fellowship Hall was a time for further sharing, and I am grateful for all that the people of the Smith River United Methodist Church said and did. The final chapter has not yet been written, namely the thank you notes I need to get out to all those wonderful people. They are coming, the notes that is, and will be written and mailed as my top priority when I return to Smith River.

When Jim moved into my guest room, he took it upon himself to help clear up the mess that had accumulated around and through the house. One of the first things he did was to take down all the paintings in the living room and replace them with framed enlargements of my photography. I’m sure he did not anticipate the firestorm this caused when I walked into the living room that was no longer Mother’s. I wasn’t ready to lose her a second time. While I’ve grown to like the look, and while I certainly enjoy seeing my work on display, at the time I reacted badly, emotionally, and I need to apologize to Jim who was only trying to help.

After Mother was moved into the nursing home, I transformed the guest room into a storage room where I put all the clothes I cleaned out of the master bedroom closet. The guest room closet itself was already full of Mother’s clothes, as she had moved into that room years ago, finding my old twin bed more comfortable (or perhaps less ghost-filled) than the bed she had shared with Father for fifty-four years. Before his death, Father would ask me on occasion what of their “stuff” I wanted. I always told him that I wanted the bedroom set when they were done with it. I’ve been using that set, and the master bedroom, for the past several years whenever I would visit Mother, and when I moved into her home in February 2006, it became mine. I emptied the master closet onto the extra twin bed in the guest room, and that was the way things were when Jim moved in.

With him off to visit his own mother in Medford, Oregon, I took advantage of his absence to pull all of Mother’s clothing out of the spare room, and stuff them into plastic bags until I could launder them and get them to the thrift store. I ended up doing twelve loads of laundry—sorted by color—and took a Volvo station wagon full of clothing to the thrift store. I know Jim wasn’t prepared for my mood when he returned from Medford to find me in the middle of this operation. Once again I was “losing” Mother, and it hurt deeply. The church women had offered to help with the process, but it was something I felt the need to do myself. For one thing, Mother was an extremely private person and would have hated having anyone else go through her things.

Apricot in bloom, 4/17/07, Missoula Montana

At present, I’m sitting at MY desk, in MY study, in MY home, that is to say in the house that I bought in 1975 and have lived in ever since until I left for California February a year ago. So why doesn’t it feel like home? There’s unfinished business in California, that’s the truth. For one thing, the escrow hasn’t cleared, and the house in Smith River isn’t officially mine. For another, while I’ve gotten rid of most of Mother’s clothes, what about all the rest of the stuff? And why do I feel more comfortable there than here? I think it’s all part of the grieving process, and who knows how long that will last.

I’m not ready to make any definitive decisions about what will happen next. Will I sell the Smith River house? Will I keep it and rent it out? Will I move permanently to California and if so, what do I do with the property in Montana? Fortunately, I’m not in a position where I have to make those decisions in the immediate future. Barring any emergency, I have the financial resources to live at least another two years, even if my writing and photography do not reward me monetarily.

Ceramic Ornament, purchased in Cappadocia, Turkey, 2000.

Taken 4/17/07 in Missoula Montana

What I have decided is that I need to get back to writing on a regular basis, and I need to continue to work at perfecting my photographic skills. I will also take a few trips, including what I am now calling my 6,000 mile Sunday Drive. I have an obligation to be back in California by the 25^th of April, and I want to stay there through the Tall Masted Ships Festival that Crescent City is hosting in early May. Then, before it gets too hot, I want to drive south and east, traveling through the handful of states I have not yet seen: Iowa, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Georgia, South Carolina, Delaware, Rhode Island and Connecticut. I want to do genealogical research in Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, and Ohio. I want to write and sell my stories. I want to sell my photographs as well.

Those of you who have read my blog from the beginning recognize the impetus behind what I’ve said in the previous paragraph. It’s nothing new. What is new is that I am no longer tied to any specific place, either by job or by filial devotion. For the years between 2001 and 2007, all my travel time was spent on trips to visit Mother. I’m ready to widen my horizons. Ready to travel on my own schedule. I’m open to suggestions if you’d care to influence my itinerary. Just drop me a note with anything you think I should see or write about. If I can work it in, I will! That’s a promise. And if you have friends or relatives you’d like me to visit (especially if they can put me up on my travels), tell me!

Iittala Glassware carried by hand from Finland, 1985.

Picture taken 4/17/07, Missoula Montana

Oh, one more thing, this morning I pulled a book down from the shelves, Living Without A Goal, by James Ogilvy. It’s a book I bought over ten years ago. The bookmark I found in it is an Alaska Airlines ticket stub from one of my trips to San Francisco back in 1997. The subtitle of the book is “Finding the freedom to live a creative and innovative life.” I’m really ready for that.