Blog-azic

Expansive kitchen, amazing space. Espresso machine, but no coffee pot or French press. No cutting board. No dish soap. Ate chicken legs and salad outside as the pool boy worked. Then, downtown Napa for decaf and handfuls of almonds and raisins. Delight. Drove south out of the valley to San Pablo Bay, and stopped in the wildlife refuge. I sat in the car and ate chocolate and raisins while Susan explored the path. The tide was low and the path overgrown. She turned back and we went further south. Saw the city emerging behind shipping cranes. Dirty rental in Oakland. One extreme to the other. We are the tendrils of gentrification. The Oakland Bay Bridge, manic - a suspension bridge, a causeway - and slow. Warm in Oakland but cold in San Francisco after returning the rental. BART to Mission. Burma Love. Talking Susan out of lotus root and into basil chicken. A wind that demanded coffee. Afterwards, we searched for an onion and razor blades. Found both. Also, found red wine

Tip tapping awoke me. Archie digging under the garden plastic? Probably just the cold, grey rain. We left the farm and the coast, turning inland, and drove through second growth redwood stands. Navarro River Redwoods State Park. Exquisite greenery, sorrel footed, moss covered bay laurel. The stumps of the first growth are still there refusing to decay, hinting at the magnormous forests that no longer exist, save in rare pockets. As soon as the narrow ravine opened into arable land, the redwoods disappeared and we saw acres of grape vines, broad shouldered, arms reaching up to heaven, promising offerings of sugar and acid. Car sick on 128. Winding away. Hills not unlike Ohio. Blooming black locust. Salty chicken, parking lot lunch, classless but loving it. Champagne cave tour. Cool humidity. Insight, confirmation, confoundation. After a five course tasting, the world sparkled in the sunlight, and the broad Napa valley was filled with promise. A private room in a spaciou

Late in the morning we went to the farm kitchen. Coffee, salad, chocolate etc.. Met with our host, Steve, and learned of his spirit guide. Redwood table. Redwood cabinets. A leaning, dark, naked piano. Susan sat on a picnic bench and worked on employment. I trained in the sunshine. Squats with garden stones. Sock fisted pull-ups. Then, digging around the garden with Archie, the dog. We came down out of the hills into Little River. The sapphire ocean glinted in the sunlight, a more impressive blue than the clear sky. White cream waves frothed. Bull kelp nodded. The great cliffs were scooped out by a wide stream leaving a pebbly, black sand beach. Parked just behind the beach was a rusty, yellow bus, advertising sea cave tours in bubble letters. We joined the gathering group: kids, missionary wanna-be’s. I stripped down and got into a wetsuit. The lot of us kayaked out into the waves and the opal, jade water, sunlight filtering down in rays through the bland, salty kelp. The

A restless morning, dewed grass, cool misty mist. A close garden. No room for headstands. We drove around the pirate hook coast of Point Reyes to the end of the world. Open field pastures with fences; cordoned, mother cow machines steaming away. Out at the edge of the land, wading through wildflowers, lupine, cow parsnip. Binocular vision. We could see San Francisco and the top spires of the Golden Bridge. It was a clear day. Elephant seals battled and lowed a hundred feet below. Gulls sat on nests down at chimney rock. “The cliffs are like cake,” Susan said. Yes, and like sine waves, I thought. It was as if a giant had taken a knife and carved out a long, high, curved coast from rollicking hills. Hazelnut sponge with green mint ice cream. Or, maybe like a giant might come along and run a stylus needle over them to play some low groaning earth music. No salads to be found in Bodega Bay, so taco lunch instead. Then up highway 1, twisting along the cliffs that slow drip

Simple food breakfast. Meat and salad. Nuts and shaved coconut. Chocolate and raisins and coffee. Ecstasy before overload. We planned two hikes as a compromise. First, back around the lagoon to Stinson and a busy Tamalpais trail that wound over terrifying poison oak scrub land, back into a hidden hollow. Green moss covering the bay laurel, dozens of fern species, and redwood. Life springing from life, from death. Trees growing on trees. Trees growing from trees. Where a massive redwood was cut off, a second had sprung up, equally as impressive. Blue rocks under rushing water not unlike Bear Mine Trail, years ago. A heavy climb, rock steps and polished black roots. Cold breeze at the ranger station and acorn woodpeckers. Down the trail was much easier, much colder. We then got lunch in town at a counter service joint. We modeled salads for all the out of towners. My fish, yes, was good, and, no, not over cooked. That evening, we drove down Mesa road. Steel antennas, head st

Cheap motel morning, then breakfast at Leanne’s 24x7 dinner. A multitude of errands took us from Millbrae, over the hills into Golden Gate Park, to Geary Street. We drove (slowly) over the Golden Gate Bridge, pixelated, dirty, peeling paint. Traffic in Marin County. Along the Scenic Highway, testing the brakes, trying not to make the cars behind me suffer. Down into Stinson Beach. Pulled over before Bolinas to watch the seals in the lagoon. Low tide. In the town (Bolinas), saw men dressed like me: surplus coats and jungle hats. Is this my home? Is this where I belong? Lunch and groceries, then checked into the nymph garden home. Marvel and wonder at the garden neighborhood. Alfheim. Trek to the beach. Tide pools, melting cliffs, crumbling rock. Wolf dog, big brown eyes. Fenrir waiting to eat the world. Biding time till the end of days. Finding poison oak. Searching for hummingbirds. Finding hummingbirds. Simple dinner. Sweat pants.