Colorado Elk Turns Me Into Wolf

Mikey went to grab us some bush meat as the family & I prepared to depart he & Nay's enchanted Guerneville homestead. Christmas Eve day shade covered missions had us all in somewhat of a hurry, so Mikey lacked sufficent time and patience to dig for the pile of meat he usually gives from. That means we got a pack of the high-end Colorado elk steaks, which generated unnamed fears and reservation in my wife's appetite, while offering me the promise of edible adventure. I broiled them, both kids loved it, took me a minute to get used to, but then I felt the sinewy strength of the elk rise up within me. As my hair and nails grew my incisors swelled and pulsed to twinkling dog star waves of canine brilliance. I called Nay, told her that each steak ate like an Italian poem harvested with grace from the heyday of Italian poetry. Now I'm the new, post-elk me, the me that always lay within, waiting for the right revolution minute.

Swim in night netherworlds much more of late, since we joined a club with a picture perfect outdoor saltwater pool. Every sixth stroke I glance up at the moon and trees, then take the energy from that powerglance, dig a little faster, kick more like practicing Tae Kwon Do, terrific races for breath in howling winter wind. The moon takes me deeper within her transformative rays, caresses away whatever forgotten teardrop worries that placed these creases in my brow. The deep end of the pool stays warmer.

Pink Poodle & Silver Needle

We had this fabulous pink poodle named Emma on loan from our dog groomer. Her shop just happens to be named Deseree's Pink Poodle. Deseree also has a Clydesdale that the kids have both ridden, eternal gratitude for that. The dog wanted to live with us forever, but mommy came to get her, maybe to visit again after a minute. That dog was heck of trippy.

Just finished up a nifty half-ounce of Silver Needle, a rolled white tea. My good friend that hails from Canton showed me how each leaf dives to the bottom and then floats back up to the top three neat times. Memories of my toy submarine from a 1975 box of Cheerio's, that did the same trick powered by baking soda tablets that were apparently difficult for my parents to procure, because that worked like once, and then remained forever without fuel but with me always hoping. The tea leaves from this mega-high quality tea I picked up at Far Leaves did the trick perfect though, and then lay ever so mesmerizing with their stems sides down and the tips risen, like heck of good whole tea leaves should. The color brought memories of dawns that made me cry with joy, like dear Emerson crossing his field of snow, self-reliant. It'll heal all time when you drink it right, laying waste to both future and past, along with their seventy-seven billion legions of demonic ghostriders. Blessed are the tea growers.

Waxing Winter Moon

Took this photo of the waxing moon on the solstice. Now almost a month has passed, and the moon moves colder, growing again.

Easy to indulge in feeling bad what with all the "bad" poking sharp sticks at me, but little blessings distract me from that ancient pasttime with poised regularity. Smiles hide in vain, laughter erupts star gazer faith through tired eyes. What would my health coach say? Make a goal, follow through, feel good. Mardi Gras season has arrived. Who has time for all this life? Just a few more laps, another minute in the sauna, one more story before bed, a final fifth of 12-year old single-malt, unplanned delights, stolen afternoons, missed oppurtunities, devoured by thick coastal fog and falling temperatures, salty water and sand.

Train To A Castle

"I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream.
I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream.
Ah, child of countless trees.
Ah, child of boundless seas.
What you are, what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me,
Born to me..."

--from The Grateful Dead's Cassidy, words by John Perry Barlow

Gumbo explained that the reason for the semi-precious colored stones were used as base material for the railroad tracks involves the fact that this particular track leads to a castle. If you have the means, go to the extremes, like the bottom of the deep blue sea, or mountains on high, to push luck, first time's free.

Master Engineer Preparing to Put His Socks On

Notice how he used regular blocks as column supports for the elevated section of track and platform. Who would not love a giant rain stick with a stair bridge over it running through their town, who? His track designs of late have blown me away with their elegance and color schemes. My mom got him an old "how-to" video about the world's fastest growing family hobby - garden trains, and the obscession grips him with no mercy. It does look fun. Look how much fun Mr. Roger's had.

Big Storms Love Me

Big storms all lined up to take their turns with California, just like in my life. Sixty-plus mile per hour winds expected on the flats, which means we can expect gusts past 75-mph at my house, lucky enough to have been constructed along the centerline of a ancient laughing demon wind tunnel. I can hear the howling souls rip by already, going to get my head shaved in a few. This lovely grandmother off downtown Oakland wields a straight razor and bottle of sting juice with charm reminiscent of my adolescent fantasy image of Dr. Feelgood, for a reasonable price, winter be damned.

Winter Queen Takes Throne

Winter arrived with little fanfare save frosty mornings and daylight hours increasing ever so slightly in length. Death and new beginnings, bring them on, with cups of hot tea.

Darling daughter, almost 20-months now, learned how to start the iPod boom box playing. You see her here having just played some Johnny Cash for her own enjoyment. Notice also that her hair is freshly brushed here, yes, by me, at her request.

Both kids got bikes for Christmas, although the girl is small for hers yet. The boy seems to be starting to get the hang of it, with the training wheels attached anyway. Mama talked him out of the light blue bike with pink flowers, in favor of a more boyish green one, but sweet daughter was allowed a pink one - The Tigresse, which I've nicknamed Tatiana in memory of our lost wild-hearted Siberian.

Beach in Alameda

Kids & I had a great time at Crowne Beach in Alameda the other day.

Nothing Like Family

So here one can clear see the blatant insanity that runs in my family. Such a delight, to run wild, unfettered by the chains of reason. Mother, John, and Sam, of course, on Thanksgiving. Dough, for some reason the machine won't let me post these photos, but soonn....

19-month Old Rockstar

With my enthusiastic coaching and the promise of candy our darling daughter managed to push poop directly from her body into a small pink European-style potty the other night. Cheers filled the air, candy for all, and the good feelings go on forever, like rural roads. I have to give the boy some credit. The night before he overheard Mama Bear and me discussing potty training, and afterwards he insisted that we read them their new potty training book "Lift the Lid", a book featuring many flaps to lift to reveal hidden objects and such. He kept asking to go back to the first page and look at the candy hidden in Mama Rabbit's skirt pocket, such a smart boy.

The girl grows every day. She used to cry when she woke up, then she moved on to calling our names. Now she just stands there grinning, practicing psychic paging, and it works heck of good.

We used to forget to clean her old bottles out of her crib right away, which led to some sour milk drinking incidents. Now she hands me her bottle before I pick her up each morning, such a good helper. She also insists on brushing her teeth each morning, something the boy never did.

Me, Walking Up A Hill, Away From the Fire

The boy impressed and touched me with this one. According to him the drawing depicts me walking up a hill with the assistance of a walking stick and a helper dragon fly, away from a hot fire. I love dragonflies, love fatherhood, love fire, love love, so stoked. At first I thought it was a cane in my hand, which made me feel a little funny since I don't use a cane, but then he explained that he only added the walking stick to memorialize the time we tried to walk up a hill too steep to climb. Stick or no stick, that hill proved too steep and slippery, so we just kept sliding down to the bottom on all the leaves, a memorable experience for all. You never know how steep is too steep until you try, true for walking, biking, and driving, smoldering fun.

Wild Artichokes In My Blood

Add "wild" to a word and right away it appeals to me more. Got this pu-ehr tea made from old-growth, semi-wild tea trees. It steeps up dark as coffee and feeds my wild side bold, which roams the wilderness around my home with garrelous gusto, night or day, moon or stars, clouds or rain, wild-eyed and open to new trails that require crawling and bloody sacrifice. You can see my house in the lower right quadrant of the photo. Photo taken looking northeast.

Splish Splash, But Keep The Water in The Tub

The bathing ritual steams oppurtunities to appreciate warm fluidity. Tonght we did simultaneous baths, Sissy w/ Mama in the master bath, and me with Gumbo right on the other side of the wall.

Sissy showed me that she can wash her own face last night, something which the boy can do but usually won't. She helps around the house constantly and in the most amazing ways. My wallet was lost for days and she found it behind the downstairs toilet. She found the long missing valet key for the SUV too, along with many a remote control and mobile phone. She'll deliver anything asked of her straight to the compost, trash, or recycling bin, or to another person. She lets the cats in and out, rearranges furniture, and loves to give kissy encouragement.

924 Gilman Spectacular As Ever

Got to see one of my very favorite punk rock bands from yesteryear, MDC. They played with Citizen Fish at 924 Gilman in Berzerkeley the Sunday before last. Many a show I have seen at Gilman, but not for several years now, don't know what I was thinking, the place serves up fun like it ain't against the law (which it isn't, technically, yet). Siobahn steered me right by doling out the clue to expect dancing, that's right, slam dancing, right there in good old Alameda County. One of the best things about Gilman remains their all-ages policy, nobody slams quite like a 15-year old, which makes sense, new blood; that's about when I started getting my neck stepped on. A guy in the pit asked if anyone knew acupressure or massage; I looked down and noticed he wore only a dirty pair of white socks that were starting to come off, ouch. It was a beautifully co-educational pit, with one ~13 year old boy in an over-sized white t-shirt, weighing about 65 pounds. Massive power & healing to them; I survived with a fat lower lip, a bloody right knee that still hurts every time I bend down, about as many bruises as Evil Kneivel had broken bones, and a much looser fitting pair of eyeglasses. Gilman does not officially allow stage-diving but MDC said that the rule was suspended for their show, so I got to witness one ebullient young man fall from head height to the concrete floor with a resounding and sickening smack of a whack heard clearly over the music. He hopped up displaying two thumbs up and a shit-eating grin while doing a little hot dog dance; had to wonder how he felt the next day.

Ween at the Santa Cruz Civic Auditorium the following Friday did not hold a generic butane lighter to the Gilman show. Sold out show, no pit, and although one lovely "E"nhanced young lady did compliment the wife and I on our dancing, which was funny because the wife wan't dancing at all, the crowd was generally uptight like wealthy arthritic caucasians at a members-only ski resort. My friend Evan's mom had passed away the day prior, and he accordingly danced a wee wild, bounding into the other attendees from impossible angles. The group to our right sent forth a thin-lipped spokesman, a tall blond roll-playing game type from Harry Potter's generation. He tried to mellow us out without appreciable effect, if you don't count the drunken laughter. We had fun all in all, but will stick to shows with more funner dancing closer to home from now on.

Dylan's "I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine" started pumping harmonica from the corner of my family room last night. The boy asked me and Gumba "Can you feel the song?" I told him I could, she did a little dance. He replied, "I feel it in my back, [pause] and in my belly. It tickles." I recall washing dishes at Negri's at the age of 16, belting out the lyrics to that song almost every night for a time, and listening to my mother do the same while battling endless chores around our old Occidental homestead. Had to wonder what of those soulful renditions the boy could feel, or what he felt at all, since the volume was pretty low. Maybe he just felt the same thing my mom and I felt, "I Dreamed I Saw..."

Halloween 2007

The boy drew on the pumpkin and I carved it into a jack-o-lantern. You see the light at the bottom of the lantern because he insisted on drawing onto the pumpkin upside-down, something that had never occurred to me.

Mama kept saying he was a dragon, but Gumbo corrected her each time. He was a dinosaur.

Little Gumba had the cutest little stinger, and one antenna permanently cock-eyed, adorable. She and Gigi play the pointing game here.

Water is Water

Those kids sure do love water. We're considering becoming a family of dolphins with our very own plastic surgery island survival reality show. Halloween photos coming soon, more human than human.

Too Much Fun a Myth!

Too much fun? Like a girl too pretty or a car too fast, I don't know anything about it.

Harbingers of doom rock High On Fire rocked the Independent deep, certain members of the audience even slam danced (yes! in San Francisco!). Lead singer strides onstage, shirtless, tatooed, giant stratocaster in hand - rippppps into it, sweat starts pouring off his frame, maniac grin the whole time. My hoodie-beanie combo had me sweating too, like a pig going down the chute to the killing floor, but just dove further towards the death, pulled the hood tight over the beanie to sweat more, busted hip-hop moves zig-zag through the pit, jumped, jump, jumping, shook my head from side to side like an angry bull, went into an alligator trance with those eyes that shine realms beyond fear. Rock and roll all the way, impossible loud, so loud my ears rang for days even though I wore those wax earplugs. Have a High on Fire disc but it never sounded like this - soooo boss. Next time they party through town you could not keep me away with a line of riot police brandishing cotton swabs soaked in pepper spray, but I'll look for a Sacramento show, where they slam more like the old days, more danger, more fun.

Kid's first time trick-or-treating. First house the boy tried to give away the candy he'd picked up at church earlier, with truly touching generosity. When he figured out that he received candy the excitement only mounted. He kept asking jack-o-lanternless people why they didn't carve a pumpkin. Love that boy.

Later that night...

HallofuckingWestOaklandween, had flame-throwing vehicles shooting 30' (10m) blasts, dancing in the streets, pissing in the streets. A plain blue mini-van backed up the street toward the crowd slow, stopped, dropped, rear doors popped open, two guys plugged a guitar and a bass into two amplifiers, launched in a legendary set of Misfits covers. Not quite slamming, but at least we were dancing. Maira had a party right nearby too, featuring the giant propane jet backfiring wild concussions and spewing various colors of flame. The main attraction at Maira's growled the eyeball of destruction, a track-mounted wrecking ball that shot multi-colored flames out the eye-ball while dripping burning methanol mixed with copper acetate down the chain. It wrecked mock office towers made from dressers, jack-o-lanterns, microwaves and every damned thing it could - my kind of remote control toy. Pumpkin pinata hell to break, especially with Maira swinging it like a madwoman. Organic suckers, what more to say. Siobahn! I told you to come.

Sister's An Artist Too

Little sister gets in on the art game too, as shown. My mom showed her the trick where the kid lies down on a big piece of paper and lets you trace him or her. Last night she kept wandering the area near my chair, placing the paper on the floor, and then lying on it at various angles, until no daddy in the world could have resisted the urge to trace that little girl. Her toes came out the cutest because I ran the crayon around each one with the feet pressed flat to the floor. We had great fun drawing with chalk on unplaced hexagonal pavers in the back yard the other day too. And who could forget the fun we've had with modelling clay - the tools they give one to work clay with these days, snakes and boulders incredible. I'm tellin' you, kids know how to party right, all night, every night, so we get along swell.

Two nights ago the kids were tearing around the yard looking for goblins in the dark corners. Sister got bored of that and climbed into the wagon, wanting to be pulled around. I pulled them both over terrain 98% of adults would consider impassable with a Radio-Flyer. These moves would have added more value than dollar-Budweisers to the thrill of any monster truck mud bog dirtbike jumping alcohol burning funny car stuntfest, with only minor screaming involved. When we were all finished up and inside getting ready for bed I found a large black beetle deep inside poor Gumba's rainbow stretch-pants. Surprised me. Must have crawled up there during the the wagon adventure. The boy said that it stank. I took his word for it.

All My Friends Are Artists

The boy amazes me with his art. I drew some similar stuff at that age, but his work often more resembles my art from two or three years older. That's a snake, not a worm, by the way. The starry night takes me places difficult to describe. And the "horn trying to blow the sun away" offers just a glimpse into what he must be thinking about. I mean, this is something I never in my whole life considered, me of the giant guitar-car ideas, lover of Tesla and sound demolitions, sonic weaponry and stereo wars. Much thanks to mama and both grandmamas for encouraging the art angle.

Iron Goddess

Claudia gave me the figurine on the left for my birthday, and a coworker gave me the box of tea on the right because she knows I'm a tea junkie, and it was just moldering away on her shelf anyway. Introduction to the Iron Goddess goes on, one leg tucked in to represent constant meditation, and the other ready to launch the body into action to help those in need. A female representation of Buddha. The tea (Ti Kwan Yin) drank down real delicious and invigorating too, superfine. These forms have drawn me to them, inspired heartfelt peace and aspirations of growth. I like the story of Buddha where she lets ants build a hill on her as she meditates. Life force control, it's the shiznits.

Another storm on the way. It kneads me and needs me. Just a few blue patches left in a darkening sky, no turning back, nothing to say or do (other than drag all my crap getting ruined in the rain into the garage).