I am in Florida now, getting ready to head north again soon. The boat is hauled, and I'm visiting my relatives here before I head north. I am finally able to catch up on the webjournal, as well as 850 backlogged emails, and even rest up a few days.

But not at first, not till the boat was taken care of. So when I arrived, I stopped to touch base with family here and to grab the inflatable kayak I needed to get out to the boat. I had ent down to my brother here to use to replace the anchor light a second time. Then I head for the boat.

I go to the boatyard first, Green Cove Springs Marina, and see what options I have. There's space in storage. I can be hauled immediately, but I can't stop in the workyard. I expect I need to do a lot of basic maintainence on the boat even for storage. I could also raise the juy-rigged mast I sailed here with and leave, leave the county, or leave the state, and find a place I can anchor without being threatened by the authorities and unconstitutional laws. But I came to Green Cove Springs not just to be as near to Dad as possible in his last years, but to work on the boat at this specific boatyard, one of the last fair DIY boatyards left down here, legendary in the sailor's grapevine. I go back to the boat and look her over. Though she needs paint, she'd probably be fine to leave anchored for the summer and hauled next Fall. But I don't trust the law or the authorities in Florida. I am convinced they are corrupted at some level or many levels, and are determined to force my boat, specifically, and many others, generally, out of the state or into paid marinas and mooring fields, on whatever pretexts they can find, in direct violation of the spirit and letter of the constitution. Not that this ever stopped them before.

I never take risks, and at this point, can't spend the time to work on the boat or move it, or risk it being vandalized or siezed by the authorities on some pretext. I decide I have to put the boat in dry storage till I can get back in the Fall from Alaska, then I'll have all winter to yard it, launch and keep working on it as I head out of the state, and eventually, out of the country. I go back the next day to the yard as I said I would, and tell them I'll pull the week after next, and she says just tell her when. I walk around the boatyard, wondering how this will work for me, end up talking to another steel boat owner who just pulled. Strangely, as we talk, he realizes he's seen me play, in the keys, long ago, and has a CD. So I give him one of the new ones. It seems like a good sign.

It feels really good to be around boats and boat-folk again, even in the yard. This is a DIY yard full of cruisers from around the world. It is hard to find yards that let you work on your boat any more. They are trying to make it into the rich man's hobby and status symbol, rather than the way of life it is for a small number of people, relatively, but a strong and dedicated group, like indie musicians, or horse-people, or many other groups who choose a certain life. Some are rich, some are in between, and some are poor, but they all live on the water, sailors and motor launches, mostly live-aboard cruisers. I is good to be part of a group that I belong to, undeniably, though we are all different, often real individualists, still we have this common bond that is deep and strong. Then I get back to the boat and get to work. I start by scrubbing the boat, as I have done so many times before.

I have to chip off the rust, punching holes in the weak spots so I can fill them with epoxy before I paint. I wonder if I can save the decks. I wonder if next Fall, I should just do a tempoary fix, just seal the decks with epoxy and maybe even a layer of plywood, and cruise. The steel is so strong, and in places where the boat wasn't damaged by other boats, the metal is still perfect, but an inch away it is rusted through where something gouged deep and then over the years, without time to make a real repair, it slowly ate through. Or I could cut the decks away and replace them, like I replaced the bottom of the boat. I think of ways I could change it even, though it is more work. There is so much that is good still in the boat, and it it tough, it survived where literally dozens of other sank or went ashore. I built it right.

But so much has gone wrong, from the start I had setbacks and problems caused by other people, from the guy who stole the catalyst for my epoxy paint so I couldn't paint the decks right in the first place, all the people who abused my trust, and ones who's irresponsiblity and inabilty damaged my boat, and the authorities and their backers who have targeted boats and people like me to "get rid of", a movement I've experienced from the decades ago in the Keys to right now.

Then I think maybe I should start over, just to leave behind the anger and disgust, the frustration and bad experiences, the hate. Start over with a new boat, in a new place. It is my knowledge that matters, and my love and respect for the sea, the deep affinity I feel for it whenever I return to it. As always, though my mind reels, I just keep working. I have a job to do and I am getting it done.

While the real struggle is within me, every day as I work and work, this black pit of negative emotions and thoughts yawns behneath me. I struggle to keep a lid on the seething anger at the people and system that did this to me and my boat. I struggle even as I write this not to boil over and rant. But the story seems so crazy, a monument of injustice, institutionalized wrongs, irresposibility and denial at every level, and then I, the victim, end up harrassed and cast as the villian, or as some irresponsible derelict, part of the state's whole bigoted campaign against live-aboard boaters, and gypsies in general, and the long-running cultural war against anyone who strays from or opposes the status quo.

I sigh, and try not to rant. In perspective, as always, I have learned it is better to be sad at their ignorance, that makes them such easy tools for evil, or easy to be manipulated into believing the stereotypes they are fed, the lies and propaganda. I find most people to be good hearted, even in extremes of ignorance. Yet often they are taught and pursuaded to go against their better natures, to be derogatory, to think it is ok to persecute others, to hate. This is an old story, and an old struggle, one we are far from winning. Even these days when we seem to be losing ground, as America becomes less tolerant and more extreme, more dangerously righteous and close-minded, more ignorant, prejudiced, and bigoted.

Realistically, I did everything right, anchored my boats right, have always been responsible, and as far as true maritime law, kept my boat safe and sound. I've anchored them and left them for decades while I was gone and they have been fine, except for the damage caused by others. My boats, and my life, were wrecked by people who didn't anchor their's right. They were wrecked by the City of Stuart, with their get rich quick mooring field scheme, which included an unconstitutional law outlawing anchoring out and requiring people to use their mooring field, a law that would be finally struck down by the Supreme Court. In the hurricane, all the boats in their scam of a mooring field broke loose to drag down on mine. My boats were wrecked by a State that has promoted and profited from encouraging unrealistic development on the waterfront, in denial of the basic laws of nature, that hurricanes will come. Which gets us to bigger and longer-term issues, conflicts pitting developers and waterfront property owners, and their pawns in local and state government, against the live-aboard and general anchored-out boating crowd. And the same developers and authorities encouraging a culture of denial in general, in the people and institutions, till the hurricane hoits, or the oil well blows up, or the nuclear power plant melts down, or another massacre occurs, and then they try to hide the truecosts and distract the people with the latest pop-faux news story so the truth is forgotten by a bewildered and oblivious populace. Not to mention the long history of corruption at all levels, that indicates that "justice" and "law" are relative concepts, and not to be trusted.

And I haven't even started yet. My big problem is I have too many real reasons to rant, and it all seems insane, except it is real, too real, what has happened to me. And generally, all the sailing crowd knows and has followed this long persecution to deny us anchorage, deny us a place to come ashore, and the long string of court cases involving these troubled waters and the people who live on them, mostly due to the unbridled greed of developers, waterfront property owners, and their corrupt allies in government, and their control of the powers of the state for their own profit, against the rights of the citizens. There has been too many unconstitutional laws passed, and enforced for years till they were challenged and struck down in the courts. An unfortunate flaw in our system of laws. When one law is struck down, they try a new one. In this case, a state law empowering local sherriffs to declare any boat derelict and sieze it, with no specifc reasons needed, and vague "indications" that "might lead" to potential problems" as justification. A bogus law if I ever saw one. There's a case in court right now about a town or county that siezed and destroyed someone's housebarge, from a marina slip, based on a law that is probably unconstitutional. I heard a rumor in the boatyard that Georgia is passing a law making it illegal to llive aboard a boat. And where is the motivation and money behind this endless pogrum against boatpeople? I'll even allow that some people believe they are working in the best interests of the people, using "economic development" as a justification to persecute and deny people their rights, in a misguided and ignorant view of what this country is, and that this is a republic, and the rights of the individual citizen come first, not the profits of the few, which often coincidentally include themselves, or even "economic development" or "progress". And I'll be the first to state that there are bad apples in the boat crowd, as in any crowd, the irresponsible and the incapable, but they threaten other boaters more than anyone else. And it is a principle of this republic that guilt is proved and penalties envoked against individuals, not the groups they are part of. And that you cannot convict people for the possibility something might lead to an offense.

And to add insult to injury, those who ruined my life got bailed out by the government, by Fema, Florida's annual bailout fund, by governement bail-outs of insurance companies. While I did everything right, anchored my boat right, and got my life destroyed by those who didn't, then was responsible and raised my sunken boat with my own time, money, and effort, without running crying for a bailout from someone, and never hearing a word of responsibility from those who were responsible for wrecking my boats. I don't even get a cup of coffee, and they walk off laughing to cash this year's checks.

Is it just a coincidence that the sub-prime mortage fraud started here in Florida too, a state founded on fraud and cons and government sanctioned and supported irresponsibility, denial of reality, the reality of hurricanes, building on the beach in the path of an innevitable disaster and expecting to be bailed out year after year, while people like me who are responsible and do it right end up hounded and harrassed.? It is a cathedral of wrongs, and I sweat with rage more than the work, hate Florida and Floridians and the Florida goverment and it's corrupt, fascist officials and businesses. This is the greatest struggle for me. Not to rant, not to give in to anger, or grief that the world is as is is, that people can be so sadly ignorant or simply evil.

And as expected eventually the Fish and Wildlife guy comes by to act belligerent and threaten me, give me untimatums where he'll throw the book at me, make it the worst day of my life… He is a fool who doesn't know anything about me, especially about the worst days of my life. Or who I am, and what I have done, really, to do just what he wants. I am so stressed out myself, and upset about what has happened to me, though it isn’t his fault, and I try to reach through it all and find his good side, but it is hard, and seldom possible in the situation. Another trial. He can only act belligerant and threaten and go away, a sad stereotype himself, though I try to think kindly of him, as I do of all the poor, ignorant people I meet, who just can’t see through the illusion and their own preconceptions and prejudices and understand. He's probably not personally corrupt, though he may be, but the hand of corruption is moving him, with a mandate to get my boat gone, from the state to the local developers or the elks club that want to race full speed on a runway through the anchored boats, which is unsafe and illegal to begin with. He threatens to make friday the 13th "the worst day of my life", while I can only think how ridiculous he is, and what a dishonor to the very principle and tradition of the law, as he finally goes away, having done nothing exc ept delay the work for an hour at least. I don't care what he does, as I never have, though I have done my best to comply with their demands, it has made little difference in my plans, since I have had little choice, and have working as hard and fast as I can to deal with everything, including my boat. It is only cosmic justice that he picks the 13th. I'll be gone, I'm scheduled to pull the boat the 12th.

I chip the rust, section by section, patch the holes with epoxy, and paint it with primer. Then I have to wait while it cures to be topcoated. I get the generator running and cut away rusty metal coaming I can't save, get them out of my way. Sometimes I can cut with the grinder, sometimes it’s just the hacksaw. Then I do another section. I chip, patch, and prime. I have to time it right to get paint done before it rains. Then I do it again, till everything is chipped and patched and primed. I paint the wooden hatchcovers. I loose one day to a gale, but I am dancing, and everything is accounted for, I am certain.

Finally I start on the topcoat, over two days I get it done, and the boat is bright white, for now. While it cures I use black paint on the rails. I use the last of the black paint and a board I brought aboard to paint a new name board, "Dueodde", so the boats name is there for the world for the first time in a long time.

I use the hacksaw to cut away the remains of the ruined bow pulpit. I did such a beautiful job bending that into shape once. Now all that I leave is the top rail to help support the mast. Before I cut it away, when the gale was pushing in, just before I struggled to shore in the kayak, I climbed out to stand up on the top rail of the pupit, as the boat heaved and plunged beneath me, as I have done so many time, to feel that force of nature, the wind and wave, and remember other days, and places, and storms, and why I am here.

I arrive one morning and find a snake curled on the stern deck, a water moccassin I expect. I head him off from my stuff and put it away so he can't curl up in it, and without direct threats, it is poisonous after all, head him off from moving forward. I get moving and start the generator which drives it back into the water and away, I hope, rather than into some place in the boat through one of the stern thru-hulls. But I feel at peace, not threatened or threatening, at peace with nature, even a viper.

Another day I am hanging off the side of the boat painting a spot and a manatee swimms up to nibble at the boat exactly below me, a foot away from my head. I have an overwhelming feeling that nature welcomes me, accepts me, even loves me, as the authorities do not. I feel like it is another sign, another reminder that this is my home, and this is why I am on the boat, to be where I belong, a part of nature, not the culture of death and destruction on shore. Later I swim to clean off and feel this great affinity to the sea within me, to nature, and I feel better about the boat, and know that I can live with it, or get another boat, and it will be good, and the sea, and nature, are there for me, to ease my traumatized heart, mind, and soul, and the negative feelings ease, and I feel better.

Finally, I am ready to raise the great hurricane anchor and all the chain, cleaning and leaving it to dry on the foredeck, packing it below decks, two days before pull date. I've worn my fingernails away on the rope and chain, worked muscles that haven't been called on for a long time, bruised and gouged myself, but I am there, I am ready. All that is left is the move to the boatyard, and it’s not that far and have a day to do it.

Despite all my hard feelings about Florida, I still meet good people here, too, as I do everywhere. I enjoy talking with them in the park and on the pier, and some have great stories too. Some are duped by the system, painfully ignorant or misled, others are just trying to live the best they can in the world they have little say over, some know more of what is going on. Most people are kind, regular human beings. It is so strange, as I spend these couple weeks living out of the van, I am asked many times, or ot is assumed, I am "homeless", though I am not. I actually have to try and think of a response.. which is that I am a gypsy, I choose to live on the road, and am perfectly at home, and have everything I need. I am even a responsible, tax-paying citizen, just like them. Perhaps I am "houseless", but I have a "home", in the van, on the boat. Just a "home" outside the status quo. "The homeless" have no choice, lost the life they knew, a "home", that is a house, and their relaible place in the status quo, through illness, accident, loss of a job, and possibly their own irresponsibility or incompetence. It happens. And there is no help for them. Though some few become gypsies, learn the skills that make one at home on the road, like gypsies throughout history, most are lost without a home, without a house. They are often ending up, or starting out, destitue, out of work, might have mental illness or addictions or both, and are on the streets because of cuts in funding for support. And often they too have good hearts, even good attitudes and a sense of humor, despite what they have been through. I have met good people everywhere, and I love people, despite all the wrongs they do, very few are really evil, the majority have good hearts, though many are sadly led astray. Like placing me in this stereotype box, and being confused that I don't fit, don't need help, and in fact, don't need or want to change. Even more, I see myself as their equal, an American citizen, responsible, competent, law-abiding, and perfectly within my rights.. despite the fact I have been persecuted most of my life, often for being a gypsy. I ponder what it is that makes people, especially authorities mistrust and persecute us, for centuries. Is it the fear of the outsider, or the outside group, an instinctual sense of threat, yet there is also a innate impulse of hospitality as well, and of compassion and the desire to aid someone in need. I think in terms of the animal, man, and th traits that helped the species, like welcoming lone starngers, able to contribute fresh genes to avoid inbreeding, bring new genetic traits and personal knowledge, strengthening the group. Yet another group could be a threat, and even an individual could be a scout for a group that is a threat. Prejudice can be so deep and real, yet also so vague and hard to fathom to it's source.

I met another sailor, Steve, on a famous boat, the "Direction". Ends up being a small world, used to anchor in Key West. Though we were in different places, we knew people in common. And he has heard about me. The one who took Hughie to Belize. He offers to help me around to the boatyard, since I don't expect the outboard to run. I say it is ojk, though I might take him up on it. But I am prepared to drift with the tide and kedge over, because it really is not very far, a mile maybe, or a little more. So I mount the outboard, rig up tank, mix fuel, and try to start it. No luck. It might even be worse if it starts and then I end up part way and it dies in an awkward spot. As I am pulling, suddenly steve shows up in his Kayak and tells me to give it up, pull my anchors while he goes and gets his boat. As I am pulling loose he comes up, and we raft together and he takes me over to the yard where I tie up to a mooring. It is a stressful ride as thew wind picks up as were are leaving. But we make it, and keep swapping stories as we go there and back. It is great to be moving on the water. I'm able to give him a ride a few miles out of town to pick up his mail. Then I am off to the boatyard.

I spend the rest of the day packing up and offloading the boat, waiting for the midnight tide. I don't realize I will be able to load and unload once the boat is in drystorage, so I what I have to before. I wait till the wind and tide is right, after midnight, to move from the mooring ball to the dock through the other moored boats. Eventually, I am more or less lined up in the gap to reach the docks. It is a bit of a trick, which is why I wait for night when there is no boat traffic coming from the boatyard or the dingy dock. I have lots of nylon anchor line. I simply run a rather long length of it out from the mooring ball to the dock with the kayak and tie it off there, and quickly haul myself back to the boat and cast off the mooring ball. I had led the long rope through the bit on the fordeck and a stern cleat, but with a good haul, I can slowly slip the boat along, slipping between the boats to the dock, tie off there, and return to gather up and disconnect the longline.

Now I carefully, as I am alone, walk the boat slowly along the dock, which is old and crumbling out beyond the area near the yard, standing on the boat to both move and fend it off as I go, always keeping a line fast to windward so I can stop te boat if the wind gets between it and the dock and tries to peel it away and spin it around and away. Eventually I move it all the way to the dingy docks. I secure the boat there. I won't try getting by the docksand the other boats tied up and waiting to be lifted the next day without help. I take no risks. By then it is 4:30 am. So I go abck to the van in the boatyard parking lot and make dinner. Finally in the chill windy hour before dawn, I lay on the deck, not asleep, not awake, incredibly sore and tired, and relieved to have made it. Soon the dawn and then the sun comes, and the yard awakens to life. I get up, stiff and chill, and go make coffee.

I am actually very relaxed and content, feeling good, because I have made it. It is an odd feeling for me and I enjoy it. I tell the liftboss that I have no problems with waiting whatever the schedule says, I have no pressures, at least for a day. They plan to move the other boats first, so I have time, and I meet the other folk waiting to pull. A couple with a stell boat he built himself. Another guy who bought an old beautiful fiberglass boat, with lots of nice carved wood trim inside and out, who moves me around the dingy docks later, when there is lots of room.

The sun comes up and the day turns warm. I talk to boat people and I listen to their conversations. It is great to be there. Though it will cost me, I won't have to worry about the boat. And I have turned a corner, though the boat is going into storage, it will inevitable move to the yard, and to the water, and finally start cruising, after so many years. I can feel it there ahead, though this is but the first step on that road, and there is still a lot of work to do to get there. But I am good at getting things done, once I start, once I can start. There are decisions to be made, but that will all come later. For now I can relax, knowing this is in the bag, and I have some relief from some of the pressures that have been dogging me. I am safe from the injustice and politics of Florida till I am ready to leave the state.

I dream of a basic plan to repair the boat in the yard and in the water, and move north. Maybe I can stop in Jacksonville to play a bit. But with the Spring I'll move up the coast, continuing repairs and shaking it all down into cruising shape. I always left the boat and went straight to Virginia and stayed there to spend time with mom and work on the house, before I went west. Now I am free to explore the coast, from the waterfront cities like Savannah and Charleston, to waterfront festivals and smaller towns, and the beauty of the east coast that I never had a chance to cruise in. I'll find a new place to leave the boat, maybe in North Carolina, where I've heard there's a great music scene, which Steve of Direction says, too.

I wander the yard, and is a place full of dreams, every boat is someone's dream, and reality as we talk of places people have been. My boat is pulled in the afternoon and I follow it back, loading the collection of totes holding my baoting books and navigation gear into it there. I glance in the cases and see the library of a sailor. I take out Joshua Slocum's "Sailing alone around the World", one of the books that started it all, for me and many people. It still has my father's label on it, with his graduate school address. I rescue a chart kit of the bahamas a woman is about to throw away, the cover got ruined by mice, but it is good enough for me, and I remember when I cruised the bahamas as a kid with my dad, and had my first gig there. I walk by folks talking as I guy says what a great dinner you can get for $5 in Panama.

People look at my boat as it comes out, seeing the damage I've been telling folks about, and this boat that made it through where so many didn't, and my anchor, of course.

A man stops me and asks about my boat, and how did it get that name, "Dueodde"? Every boat has stories. I tell them how, when I got the boat, I carefully peeled off the layers of paint on the stern to find the original name, and gave it back to her. She was built in the Netherlands. The name is old norse, the name of the southernmost point on the island of Borneholme, the big island in the Baltic sea. They are from Denmark, and it is a famous name, the place, like Cape Hatteras here, and is in every weather report. The woman tried to teach me to pronounce it right, which is nothing like it is spelled, not "du-e-o-de", but "du-oi(l)-e".

I stay the night, once more, and then come to settle my bill in the morning, talk to the boatfolk a bit more, stop by the coffeeshop for expresso, and head for Gainesville. I take a slightly longer way back and drop off the metal I cut from the boat at a recycling plant, get $8.60 for it. As I drive west for Gainesville to visit my relatives again, my mind is flying far ahead, to when in another couple years, I'll return to the boat, all this transition and work behind me, ready to head out to sea and leave the country, head south for the islands, and eventually, South America, or Europe, or through the canal or around the horn, wherever the wind and the music takes me.

And so I am here, catching up on the internet thanks to my relatives wifi and the week I am taking here to recover, and get important things done. I have arranged and booked my place on a cruise here in June to spread my father's ashes in the Bahamas. It defnes my schedule. I'll stay in DC till then, so I have seven weeks to wrap up everything there and be road read. I'll return from the cruise to leave for Montana and Seattle, and on to Alaska. I've let my friends know, and I'll have a couple weeks to look at property, possily even settle on one that looks like a possibility, though I have no expectations, I am also moving forward like it will work, because it may.

I catch up all the email, and catch up on this journal, and in so many ways, start to wrap up this entire period and move forward with my life again. Though of course, there is still a lot to do. I don't know what will happen with the house, but I expect my relatives will want to put it on the market and try to get a prime price. I can ask for an option to buy if the best offer is lower than mine, and see what happens. But I am moving forward with relocating out west, and buying land there. The only change is they may have to accept partial payment, as I'll have to start committing funds to other things, and so need to use some of what I would have given then to rennovate. Though I could pay them off in a year, or less if I do well this summer in Alaska.

I know I’ll be busy once I get back to 1213 so I try to take care of all these things here, order more pickup wire, even book my flight to Alaska if I can.

And life goes on. I run into a guy last night from Antigua, who says I should come down, and I say am will, though not this year, or next, but the year after. And he owns a recording studio, and knows the music scene. These are the connections I am looking for, and coincidentally, I find them, at a karaokee scene my relative brought me to.

It reminds me that despite my focus on finding another base out west, this second piece of land, and working on the music in Seattle, so much seems to point to me travelling the world next, and not spending much time here in the US. It seems I can do a lot more with the music other places. Recently I’ve gotten emails from Korea, China, and the UK. As I sit here, I find a map of Europe from my brother's trip a couple years ago, and open it to look at the lay of the land, and how I could cruise the Mediterranean. I know that one of the reasons I want the land is just as a place to leave things while I go away. I talk about my old vision of taking the dulcimer to all the places it is traditional. And the idea of touring from the boat slowly, returning to Seattle perhaps every year, to record and tour some of the US festivals, before I return to the boat yto cruise it to a new area and tour there, slowly going around the world. I have thought of just leaving everything and living aboard the boat for years, and not coming back at all. I have said as much, several times.

If anything is clear, it is that the only thing that really matters to me is getting back to the music, and the dulcimer, the road and the sea and the wild, and the life I have known. The life of intensity and depth, of routine extremes, and hard reality, and terrible beauty. A world of magic, call it spiritual ,mystic, psychic, or whatever words you like, I don't know what it is, only that is is, and is there for those who seek it, a different reality, where I have spent much of my life. And while I am glad I have done what I have done, out of duty, and for honor, and because I loved my parents, and did what I could for them in their last years, be there. But now that is done, and nothing can hold me back from returning to my world, that life. And do more with that life, travel farther, play the big festivals, use the internet to reach more people with what I have done. Continue telling the story as I live it, with this journal, this window on my world. Keep documenting it with all the footage I can take, and start trying to convert all tat I have documented in the past to some form of storytelling people can access. I've been having an ongoing conversation with one friend in Seattle on a writing collaboration, each writing a autobiographical stiry of the counter-culture from our perspectives, while the two books are complementary, since we've been friends the whole time, both following different paths, and crossing paths regularly. We discuss the evolution of storytelling, and the potentials for a new integrated multimedia multimedium "book", even as this webjournal could be considered a serialized, real time book, just like in the 1800's, or later. I remember Richard Halliburton. It is an old tradition, in fiction as well. But well, my life doesn't need fiction. Though who knows, perhaps I could try that as well, some day. For now, the simple truth is quite a story to tell. Even in these times when, by my standards, my life has been on hold. But I feel it beginning to gather strength again, begin to resurface, as I work on the boat, and roll down the road, and think of all I can do, once these great responsibilities are complete and I am free again. It is like watching the water in a tub of water, that has been draining slowly, finally begin to rotate and accellerate as the last water gathers and swirl down, and suddenly, soon, it will be gone. And I will look at the empty basin for a moment, this great job done, this time in my life passed, then turn away to face the road ahead.

Turning the Corner

I’ve reached Florida, ready to start work on the boat. The video-camera is off to be repaired, so eventually I'll be able to start the video journals again. In a few weeks I'll head north to plunge into the final stretch of settling mom's estate, most likely leaving behind the house I grew up in for the last time, with no plan to return.

I am reaching another turning point, where I am closing in on completing my work for ma, while starting on the work involved in getting my life back on track again. Though I expect to spend the next year re-establishing my own life, repairing, relocating, and restarting everything after having it back-burnered or set on the shelf for this last year and more. Though I made some sporadic attempts to slip some of my priorities on the agenda, and some of the things I did were about getting myself ready to move on, I realized many months ago that I had to focus on the estate and push through it as quickly as possible without distraction, get it done and behind me. Only then would I have the freedom to follow the music, and The Way, wherever it takes me, and devote the total focus it demands. But before that, there are many things yet to do, many loose ends to tie up. I am making arrangements to return here to help scatter Dad’s ashes in the Bahamas in June, just before I head west. And there will be another major effort up at 1213 before I can do that, a final difficult passage in too many ways.

But that is the future, I am here to catch up on the past couple months, the story I started in the last journal, but 5 months is too long a story for one entry, so I continue in a second. It is a strange experience, still, as I review all that has happened in that time in a few short days, all the intense, insane, routine days, weeks, and months that just went by, pretty crazy. But so it goes. It is strange that it should feel so normal to me, when I look at it in perspective, but, well, I guess a lot of my life is like that.

I start where I left off, working as hard and long as I could through the steps to wrap up ma's estate. After all this time without really much response from my relatives, I just do what needs to be done, so I can move on.

The routine was continuing photographing, inventorying, and packing away all ma's things into boxes and stacking them in an empty bedroom, continuing to clear the house. Though it was a long tedious job, it was also a beautiful one, as I went though all the cool things ma had around the house, things that reached back into my earliest memories, and beyond, to Spain, things from my grandparents, from mom and dad's childhoods, adolescence, and days at college and after. I am a sentimentalist, I value the energy in things, treasure them for their emotional value alone. And I have great respect for things, old things, things that were used by someone, things that were treasured. So I handle them all with respect and often awe and amazement. It is interesting to see how much I am attracted to old unique things while many more modern knicknacks and ornaments don't do much for me, like they are empty of feeling. Yet there are modern pieces around that I find beautiful, usually simple, where there is a energy and emotion to them I like. That is the way art works. Yet, even an old, cracked piece of stoneware from Spain is a treasure to me.

I love books. So did mom and so did Dad. I am a writer, as this journal shows, whether have ever published or not. I am a writer because I write, and love words, and love to read great books, and just good books. Dad was a writer, and so was ma, though not so much, as a playwrite, but as an actor, she was also in love with words, and storytelling, and understood that was what books were, part of that oldest profession. She was an avid reader and collected great literature, as well as big collections of relatively modern romance and mysteries, and a collection of classic science fiction and fantasy that started from the beginning and carried through to some of the great modern authors. So sorting and packing the books was a major job that went on for many days. Often the hardest problem was not to read them. So many of them I have read.

She also had a couple glass-fronted cases of very old books, some might be first editions, many books well over a hundred years old. Some of them my favorites, and it amazing to touch a Dickens or Cervantes, from so long ago, think how many hands in how many places touched these old pages. I feel honored and amazed to be able to handle them, like sacred objects. I supose, in this house, they are. Others are jsimply very old books, school primers and odd texts, yet I respect them just for being what they are, the first books, with histories I cannot begin to fathom. All the old books I carefully photograph and inventory, as the rare and fragile objects they are, before carefully packing them in wrapping paper. Perhaps they have great value, perhaps they do not, but they are great treasures to me. I am learning a lot in this strange passage I am on, about what made me what I am, and what moves me, and here I can feel so clearly that I love books, and see the books I love. I photograph the inner leaves as well, where I find inscriptions dating back to the 1800s, the short messages and just the names and dates. It is a connection to the past that is absolutely human, this person who wrote their name in this book over a hundred years ago, and loved their books, and I feel that kinship. It is an intense experience.

I found among the inscriptions, some dating from the 1800s, the names of members of my family, and held books that had been in the family for generations now, relatives I never knew, books given to my parents as children, books they gave each other when they were young, books inscribed to and by my grandparents, Norman and Isabella (Hap) when they were young, of even the Isabella that Hap was named after, inscribed in a book of Lord Byron's poetry in 1884. I spent weeks sort and pack all those books, from silly ones to ones I handled with a reverant awe.

It is a journey through my own past as well, similiar to when I packed all my small collection of things last summer, getting ready to go. It is not just those great books I read that belonged to ma and dad, but so many things that ma kept, memorabilia to her, and just the many things that while hers, were part of my life, often long ago, triggering recollections and memories as I look at them. Especially because I have such a strange photographic memory, I often get clear recollections of events surrounding an object. It is really a incredible experience, easily classed among my routine extremes, so routine, so extreme.

I even have to face the fact that even with the interviews I did with ma, and hap, and dad didn't want to leave memoirs or an interview, there is so much I don't know of my family. There are old pictures, and old things, that I know are connected to the family, but I don't know who they are or the story behind them or the things, and I never will. That chain of knowledge is broken.

It made me think about the very concept of an "estate", this collection of things, from land and buildings, an old house where generations have lived, to the books passed down and read in turn by generations, and personal possessions, the momentoes and memorabilia of travels and significant events in one life. I find copies of classic books I read and enjoyed as a child or teen that are inscribed as belonging to my parents when they were the same age, as well as the actual books I read long ago, still on the shelf. I imagine, though I never was even able to find a woman to be with, have a family, that I would actaully value that generational view of family. I would like to build an estate where generations might live, to have a great library and collection of things where family history is a tree with deep roots and many branches. I got a strong sense of clanishness from my mom especially, as my loyalty and unquestioned willingness to work for the family proves. To me, there is no question, just as I would drop everything to come to the aid of a friend, or my community. I am a relic perhaps of an old school, where my word is my bond, and I hold honor and duty as primary motivations, and loyalty and commitment as necessities of life. If I am not totally committed, it is hard to be interested, when there are so many things I can be totally committed to, without question, heart and soul. One reason I like Alaska is there is that sense of community, of responsibility to help your neighbor.

I wonder at the American experiment, as always, with it's good and bad facets. Here, we were able to let go of roots and start out new, free from tradition, or ale to hold on to, or even adopt, whatever traditions we liked, but not bound by them. Even in our young state, we already know how rigid and intolerant the force or tradition can be. Yet America, from the beginning, and often again, had in it's cultural psyche the ability, even the desire, to flaunt tradition and instead value the new, instead, sometimes in error, but it allowed us to progress, always chasing the latest thing, whether it was a true revolutionary development, a pop fad, or a big mistake. It is our fault as well as our strength. It fed a culture of youth worship, driven by a massive commercial consumerism and billions of ad dollars, where only the latest thing had value, and must be bought and last years thing tossed away as irrelevant. It pandered to youth, making youth more valuable than it is, though of course, the young like it, because often it is all they have. Even money can't by experience, wisdom, or just knowledge. Throughout history, people have supported systems that gave them power for nothing they had to work for, but were just born with. America has also broken the family tree as ell, where each generation fends for itself, and is barely connected often, as family disperse and lose contact, and no one values or keeps belongings. Perhaps this is driven by consumerism, which wants us to throw away and buy something new as soon as possible, and the best consumer is a single person with few belongings, constantly consuming, focused on valuing only the newest thing, and ingnorant, even contemptious, of the past. So, of course, they do not learn from history, all to the benefit of those who would control and manipulate them and overtly or covertly take power for themselves.

While I have always been evolutionary in my thinking, striving to carry on what is valuable in tradition while discarding the useless, sifting it carefully to seperate true knowledge and wisdom from superstition and falsehood, and looking at the new with skepticism, ready to embrace what has true value, what is true culture and will last, and ignoring what is just commercially-driven pop fads, with no true value, to face and move forward, while carrying the true great things of the past on with me. I have an old classical guitar, a design that hasn't changed in millenia, that I bought at a yard sale, and has been damaged and repaired till it is hardly pretty, but has true beuaty in its individuality, in its character. And it has a sound I haven't been able to fnd in another guitar, and a personal history that makes it priceless to me. I also invented the electric dulcimer, and instrument that goes back thousands of years into pre-history, and more, pioneered using the dulcimer to play modern vocal music. I guide myself with judgement, not prejudice, leavened with the constant awareness that I might always be wrong, or that what I choose is simply my choice, my prefernece, like types of food, or music, with nothing to do with right or wrong, better or worse. As I tell be so often, it is not that things are better or worse, it is who you are and what you choose that is imprtant, and not to let anyone else tell you what to like or not to like, that one thing is better than another, to believe what they tell you without question or doubt. What is important is what Thales said so long ago, "Know Thyself", and then, of course, "To thine own self be true".

I also see an interesting observation that American culture did pass a threshold into a new age, sometime around the 60's. Because many things that were born then are still relevant, still even developing and evolving and replacing the older traditions and concepts that struggle to hang on. It is as simple as the fact that I can jam with my brother, who is almost 40 years younger than me, practicaly two generations, and we listen to a lot of the same music, and even what is different is still the same type of music, only slightly different. It is still Rock, Blues, Reggea, etc. This was harder with me and my Father and me, and certainly with my grandfather. Though art is one of the things that bridges generations and time, true art, great books, music, sculpture and painting, poetry, all the arts. But there are also many cultural concepts, from environmentalism to multicultural-multiracism, that we are all part of one race, one culture, in all our diversity and differences. That is the greatest triumph of the American experiment, to create a nation where each individual is both equal, and the same in some ways, while free to be individual, to follow whatever creed, doctrine, or lifestyle they choose, as individuals, in a context that is is their choice, and has no greater validity that any other citizen's choice. The true foundation of liberty and freedom, is not on personal choice, but on tolerance, coming into a world where intolerance was most often the tradition and norm, and always acceptable if someone with power chose to impose it. But I have no doubt that historians of the future will draw a broad line in the decades around the 1960's, when a fundemental change occurred in the culture of America, and the world.

I kept scavenging for firewood trying to make it through the last of the Virginia winter without using the furnace as snow fell in February. But in what has become a major issue, as I loaded logs into the van, the last load I would do, the last log fell on my right thumb joint. It happens, I live a rough life. The problem is that now, almost 9 weeks later, my thumb still hurts. I somehow had a great piece of bad luck and what felt like a minor injury in the course of my life is something serious, what I don't know, a cracked or chipped bone perhaps, and all I can do is live with it and hope it heals eventually. But it is psychologically wearing, as my greatest personal fear is some injury that effects my duclimer playing, like to my thumb joint.

I started driving the Van for the first time since I put the engine back together, and started working on the Toyota, pulling the axel to replace the leaking oil seal. I had bad luck though, while I was able to pull the axel in an hour, a major job done quick and easy even with imporvising special tools, but the simple $5 seal I had was the wrong one, and it took me weeks to get the right one. A problem in the autopart's store's computer inventory showed the right part on the screen, but ordering twice returned the wrong part. In the end, I had to order it a a different store, good old Napa, and they had no problem. In the process I decided to replace the bearing while I had it apart. All in all, a job I was ready to complete in a day, took over three weeks. None of which was spent actually working on the car. When everything was ready, I had it back together in a couple hours. Then I removed the carburator, and it is still sitting on the porch awaiting a cleaning and rebuild.

But the van runs fine, even better than before, though a few leaks have showed up, or other leaks that I did not address with this job. It is an old van, and it is simply a fact that it is a constant process of small and large repairs to keep it going, which is the price you pay. I had to fix old wiring on the tail lights, really making permanent repairs to things I jury-rigged to get it back north from Florida quite a while ago and forgot about. I also add a real plug for the trailer wiring, replacing the bare wires I twisted and taped together to make the trip up. And in the end, I unpacked all my belongings, which I packed into the van last September so I was personally ready to leave the house, put it all back in the house, loaded my tools, and took the van to Florida to take care of the boat, and despite those few leaks, it is getting it done. Which is great, as this is the first big test, before I depend on the van to head west in the Summer.

I also open up the Hurley, the sailboat that was sunk, then I raised it, put it on a trailer I modified for it, repaired the hull damage and brought it to 1213 to shelve so I could focus on other things. Strangely, when I last returned from Alaska, in 2010, I had planned to finally complete the work on it the following summer, maybe find a better trialer so I could really use the one it is one, which is way to big for it, to load up stuff and take it all to Alaska with the van. Just as I planned to put the big boat in the yard at last. All these plans, even gooing to Florida at all last winter, got changed due to ma's illness and then death, and the responsibilites I've been fielding since then. But as I reach the end, I am reaching the part where I am getting my stuff ready to roll, just as I packed up all my stored belongings from 1213 and packed them in the van last September, ready to go if need be.

March is half-gone and winter is done, I have made it past the probability of a significant freeze. It is still cold, and I need the fire, but I don't have to keep it going 24/7. Flowers have started blooming, the daffodills have already been out since New Years, and the quice bushes almost all winter, a record warm winter, and the apricot tree blooms March 10th signaling Spring. I feel I will miss them perhaps more than the house itself.

I think of what else I need to do before I leave, because I assume I will be leaving. I have to, since it is harder to be ready for that, and I need to be ready for both.

I know I am going to be spending a lot of money soon, on the Florida trip and the boat, and heading west, and whatever happens with the house. So I sift another ounce of the smallest nuggests from my gold and send it in to the refiner, which is the lowest price I'll get, but the easiest way to deal with cashing out some gold, and fair, as they refine it, and it gives me an assay report on the breakdown of gold vs silver, as raw gold almost always has silver, often a lot, except gold dust. My gold is quite pure, relatively, about 91 per cent gold, the rest silver with some platinum and palladium as well.

I repair and set up the coil winder again so I can wind coils, using up the last of the magnet wire, before I disassemble and pack up the machine. If I have coils wound, I can make pickups anywhere, as I did when I took the first coils I wound here and finished them in Florida. I need a spare working set in case my present set gets broken, and even my working set is a mismatched set conatining the last v.1 epoxied coil with the first v.2 coils potted in wax. I start winding coils to experiment with switched coils and humbuckers, pulling out a loop halfway through the wind, when I run out of wire. Now I can order more, another reason to get this done, snce it is hard to order things UPS on the road. It is actually a strange case of deja-vu, as I pack my things to head for Florida while the coil winding machine spins. I don't have time to pot the coils, but I am not taking them with me yet. They'll need to be potted, and I even had the wax melted on the wodstove and ready, but there was no time, and there will be time when I get back, to wind more coils, pot them all, and pack them away to head west.

I get the report back from the bank, and the loan is refused, but not because of our finances, they would have refinanced the existing loan still, $100K. But because of the condition of the house, they won't loan against it.

I write up a final offer, based on the appraisal and repairs, too fair perhaps. The appraisal came out at the low end of what I expected, though I did expect it, it is lower than I thought it would be. I don't actually need the loan, because I can assume the existing mortgage under Va law along with the house, which is actually better for me. Coincidentally, a fair offer, actaully maybe too good, roughly coincides with all my assets, outside the cash I need to rennovate, though the assets aren't technically cash. But in the end, it is still whether they want to try selling because they think they will get more than I can offer, which may be more than the house is worth, actually. I hope they can. And I can probably retain an option to buy if the best offer is below what I have offered.

Bad things happen, too. The work building the McMansion next door goes from bad to worse, right outside the big windows of the house where the desk and woodstove are. The developer scalps the yard, cutting down many oak trees hundreds of years old, turning a woodland landscape of big trees and thick old ornamentals, azaleas and rhododendrons, into an artificial travesty of modern American ignorant, insensitive, and oblivious status quo, an ugly and even evil statement of the worst of America, taking a historic nieghborhood and without a shred of consideration for anything destroying what can never be replaced. I see many in the neighborhood stop and even gathering on the road in front to view the destruction. And in the process they stray over the property line, seriously damaging one of our big trees, probably ending up causing it to rot out one day, and cutting down 40-year old ornamental 10 feet across the line. And there is nothing can fix that. And I delay my departure for Florida far several days just to deal with it. It is disheartening and depressing, and just ugly, reeks of death and destruction of that which can not be replaced, the hubris and arrogance, and the distinct reek of evil that is undeniable.

I have also gotten new threatening letters, actually a heads up from the Sheriff that Fish and Wildlife is not going to stop and basically he's going to be forced to put my boat back on the list. Or they are planning on ticketing more, because the anchor light isn't perfect, maybe. I know it is all politics, somone has been paid off to get rid of the boats, and there's nothing I can do to the bat that they won't find something else till I either put the boat in the yard or leave the area, or even the state, since it seems to be coming from all side, top to bottom, a mandate to force all the boats into marinas and mooring fields or out of the state. It is pure and simple fascism, no more, no less. Not suprising in Florida.

I can only wonder, as many people have said to me, if it is time to leave the country. At least, leave the east coast.

But I can't ponder the deeper questions either. I can only ignore them, and the authorities and their threats, and the evil coiling through America, and keep to the course I have planned. I have too much to do, little choice, close tolerances, and major focused efforts to make it work. I am on my way to Florida to take care of the boat, after finally inventoring and packing almost all of ma's stuff and sending on the info to the rest of the family so they can go through it while I am gone. Though it really doesn't matter, now, with the contents packed, the house can be cleared, to sell or rennovate and rent, what we do with it seperated from what we do with ma's stuff. Seperating ma's things from the house means they are now on seperate paths, and aren't dependent on each other. We can take years to go through all of ma's stuff if need be. I have to keep moving forward no matter what, that has been the story all along. I have to get it done. Even if I have to plan for both selling the house and me keeping and rennovating it to rent.

All winter I have been talking with my two buddies in Seattle about land out in that area. When I get west I will be ready to buy if I can. There are many possibilites, and one coincidental possibility that might work, 16 acres on the coast equidistant from Portland and Seattle. It might work, and I tell my buddy to keep following up on it, though I won't have expectations, time will tell. Though my finances will depend a lot on what happens with 1213, I’ve had to make sure that what happens doesn’t change my over-all plans. I will be there soon, and it doesn't matter yet.

I send off my final report, including my offer for the house, even though it is really no different from what it was last summer. So it goes. I'm also still saying I have no reason or desire to pressure anyone to deside anything, but when I get back, I am still going forward. It would be best for me if there is a decision by then probably, so I can focus my resources appropriately on either rennovating or heading west. If nothing is decided by the time I leave, nothing may happen till I get back from the wild in October. And I'll have spent a lot of money by then on moving that I would have used to rennovate, or realistically, to pay my sisters, since I can't compromise the money I need to rennovate and still succeed. They'll just need to take some payment over time. Though I may have done well with gold, but I don't know. The simple truth is all I can offer, I am getting it done, and not stopping moving forward, because I can't.

Which means that, regardless, I am going to Florida to take care of my boat, and when I come back, I will finish clearing the house, pack up, and head for Alaska. If I am not rennovating the house, I will drive west with my stuff. If I have to work on getting ready to rent, I'll be able to leave my stuff at 1213, work till the last minute, and fly direct. But I am going when the time comes, as I am now.

Then it is time to head south, like clockwork, I reach the point I planned months ago, and the pattern drops like dominoes. I am feeling a practical certainty with which I have carried on much of my life, making plans.. or more, correctly figuring how long it will take me to do things, how the pattern and path will unfold, how things are really going to happen, leaving enough slack for details, and make that my plan. It is a dance, the dance I have been doing all my life, since I first started seeking The Way, not even consciously, and then started to understand, to listen the the music, and try to live in Harmony with the energy of the universe, AiKiDo as one man called it, as he found the same Way I found, as many have found. Many names, many words, too many words, or not enough, too much for words to say, so I tell stories. I simply live it when I can, back and forth, imperfect man, doing what I can. Keep dancing. I've loaded the tools and boat stuff, forgotten things and taken what I will not use. At the last minute, I take the dulcimer and performance gear out and put it back in the house. I will not have time to perform, though I take my old guitar, and drive off into the night.

"I’m Fixing A Hole where the rain get's in"

It is just over five months since I made a journal entry. Though I have written entries twice, once at New Years and again February 1st, I never got them to the point of posting. Without internet access, it was more difficult. But the simple truth is that there was no time and no reason to post. I was not doing anything that interesting, and I was doing it as fast as I could so I could finish the responsibilities I'd taken on settling ma's estate and return to my own life. Yet it was also a time of profound and intense changes and thoughts and feelings. So I wrote more about that play of energies beneath the surface, the world that is really impotant to me, that is often lost beneath the dynamic of all the wild things I normally do. This was of time of quiet, deep intensity, where what was going on was simple on the surface, but a deep as it gets below the surface.

As I finally take up the narrative again, in perspective, so many months later, it is such a fog of endless, tedious work and sleep deprivation that I rely on my calendar, which I fill out like a journal, to remind me just what happened, good, bad, and in between. It was a crazy time, certainly, perhaps better that it is a fog, all told.

But I will plug this gap, using what I wrote before, and add some more, and then a second entry to bring this journal up to the present. I expect it will still be a rocky restart once I get going. First, I am about to dive back into the work at the house, and heading cross country, and then am heading back to Alaska to return to the wilderness for an extended retreat. I’ll finally stop, there, to reflect on this experience and put it behind me, and take all the general dreaming and planning I have done in late night snatches or over morning coffee and turn them into a plan, and head out in the Fall to start a new road, a new great circle, different from one I have ever done before as so much has changed. As always, I won't be able to do much with the internet till I get back. But it should be a lot going on the next couple months, so I’ll try to make an entry as to what happens before I head into the wild. It is hard to believe that if I manage to process the videos I was making when I had to stop, they will be from the summer before last summer, a year and a half ago and the last video ends as I was heading out to the wilderness, almost two years ago.

But it is still good, maybe very good. I am getting back to my real life, the life I have lived for decades, to the music, from which the last few years was just a temporary distraction. I did the right thing, spending time with my parents while I could. I made the right decision, not without regrets, not without a lot of pain and stress, but I am glad I did it, and glad that it is done, though not glad they are gone. I have that time I chose t spend with them now that they are gone, and it is precious stuff. Another of the things I value in my life that money can't buy, not now.

But they are gone, and I face foward, more tired and stressed out than I can express, but with a weary relif, some small hope. I am too tired, and there is still so much to be done, to feel relief or any great, light-hearted enthusiasm, but I am turning the corner. There is a lot of work ahead, but it is getting my house in order, and starting to do all the things that I loved and built my life from, despite the hardship and pain, following the music, living the life, in moments of terrible beauty. I long to see that beauty again, and I know I will. Like finally turning onto a dusty, rocky road under a beating sun that I know leads to cool green mountains, though I am weary and the road is hard, I know where it leads and another year I will be in a much better place, and all this, and all I have been through the last couple years, will be far behind me. So I walk on.

But I said I would fill this gap, keep to my goal to maintain this narrative of the life of a Folksinger, like I have kept my notebook journals, and taken the documentary video footage, and made a web journal before the word "blog" existed and made video tour journals for the net when no one would host them, saying "people wouldn't want to watch video on the web." Seems I've always been ahead of my time, then left behind in the rush. I wonder and doubt that anyone will read this, but it needs to be done anyway. So it goes. I can’t worry about it. An artist, and a journalist, has do just do it, not think about the results.

Nope. I just need to stop writing and start at the beginning, with the entry I wrote for January 1st, New Year's 2012.

A Folksinger's Journal, 1/15/12

I'm trying to keep posting, and it is the new Year, which is usually an important entry. But there is only so much I can do. My life is still not anywhere near back to my own yet. I haven't even had time for the personal reflection and planning that I usually do this time of year. So it goes.

Part One: The Tree is Dead, Long Live the Tree

My year really is marked by the Solstices, as I live by the seasons, which are inevetable, undeniable, but hard to pin down to an exact date and time. The Soltices and Equinoxes are just that, cosmic clockwork. Though, I am not chained to exactitude. And living in this world, I have to deal with their calendar, not just my perception. So for me, New Years is always a period of weeks, which included many events, starting after mid-December and running into mid-January, including all the mid-winter celebrations of everyone, Solstice to 12th Night. I usually get the tree down again by the end of January, more or less.

It is a time of memories, a annual event that had been a pillar in a relatively variable life. When I was on the road, a decade ago, I would finish up the Arizona Fairs in December, then head for the East coast, maybe visiting my brother in Austin or stopping to play somewhere along the way. I'd get here and start cleaning and getting ready to raise the tree for the Solstice. Then some time in Mid to late January, I would take the tree down and pack everything away again, clean up, pack up, and head for Florida and the rest of the Winter season.

This year I wondered if would even raise a tree, with ma gone, and I'm not expecting that anyone will coming here, so there's no one to see it. The tree has always been a great, wonderful, magical event, a great work of art and magic. It is part of my personal tradition and practice, a ritual event, though not in the modern tradition.

I've already done a great video of raising the tree here in 2000, which you can fnd in the catalogue here, and on youtube, and in the accompanying journal entry I talk about the tree an what it is at length. And the video journal entries frm almost any new years will have video of the tree, always changing, always the same. So no need here.

It is still what it is, as any magic thing, a focus of energy, significant, indicative, a way to manifest and reveal the play of energies at a certain moment, like the cards, sticks, stones and bones, the flip of a coin. A simple physical act that causes potential energies to manifest, or invisible forces to become visible through their action upon it, like using smoke to reveal the motion of air.

But I am still overwhelmed with demands on my time, more troubles piling on even as I struggle through what I have to do. Not a good time. And then it is time for the tree. It has always been a major effort to do it again, like any regular event, sometimes a great pleasure, sometimes including the desire to just skip it, a common experience with many things in the clockwork of life, when you get up and do it again. How many many trees there has been, and that very continuity is part of it's importance, because continuity is important, and tradition, in balance and harmony with the new.

Practicaly, I don't even have a vehicle I can depend on to make the trip to get a tree. I have just gotten the van running, untested, and the Toyota is barely limping along, as well as just running very poorly, a differential seal is leaking now, hopefully rebuilding the carburator and resetting the valves will make it run, since an ingition tune-up didn't work, and I've ordered a new seal, though don't know about the bearings. Still, I've had to wait for the van to be done before I can work on the Toyota, as I have to have some working vehicle. And the van is almost done, though still some days of minor reassembly and checking and cleaning to be road-test ready.

But back to the tree, and all the underlying magic that is the foundation of my life, which is too significant to ignore. Though I did it for ma, and the family, I recognize it is still something I would do on my own, I think, though I never have. The very few times I was not here, I didn't do a tree, because I did not have the ornaments and all, and the fact was, the tree did exist, was being raised, even though I was not there to do it. That is tradition. And an awareness transcending distances, expanding so that I am aware of the parts of me that are in places seperated from my body by thousands of miles, yet still part of me. Even if I did not do a tree here, there would be many trees in many places, part of a much larger manifestation of energy, even if most do not see it as I do, at least consciously. The Tree is dead, long live the Tree!

Finally, on the Solstice, the manifestation was spontainious and obvious, as these things sometimes are. Though it had crossed my mind, it actually happened almost unconsciously, dancing in a dream, without volition, abandoning myself to the flow of events, actions, energy manifesting, like playing a song, aware and intent, but unfocused and without consciously willing actions, just doing it without thinking. A state of mind and being which I struggled to achieve once, and remains at the core of my way of life.

I began transplanting plants around the yard, one of the common chores of this time of year, always, though I have resisted as I am not sure what the future will bring, working on the yard may just be an unnescessary distraction from leaving this place. Though I hope to take some plats with me when I go. Not knowing if I am staying or leaving is still an basic conflict in my life. Since I have created great bird habitat here, their droppings cause many plants to sprout up everywhere. So even as I wondered why, perhaps an act of rebellion, I began transplanting laurel-like evergreens to places to block the line of sight to the new mansions going up around here, and dividing and transplanting the exposed tulips I dug up along with the shrubs that had sprouted among them. I've also been moving junipers to a corner of the yeard where they will eventually form a grove, great bird habitat and another natural evergreen barrier. The last one was the largest, almost for feet tall, growing by the road dangerously blocking sight down the road leaving the driveway. Instead of replanting it, I placed it in a large flowerpot and brought it inside for the Tree.

The simple truth in this story I've been telling, is what is essential about magic, and art, and energy, is not size, but that it is, that the connection is made, the energy is really manifest. The smallest action or object can embody true art, and the biggest and brightest display can be an empty shell, meaningless, even ostentatious, garish and tacky, or just sad and pathetic, in its empty imitation of real art and magic. As happens so often the human world, where ideas mean so much, the form, the shell, is mistaken for the content, for the energy it is simply a channel for. So that the most expensive and extensive display can be useless pretention, and the simplest, crudest attempt can end up absolutely real and true.

A connection does not depend upon the size of the wire, only that the connection is made. Or is not. In these essential reality beneath the surface manifestation, something either is or is not.

So I raised this little Juniper tree for the Solstice. Come Xmass eve, I pulled out a couple strands of small lights and garlands to drape it with. I picked through the boxes of ornaments to find some significant ones to weight it down with, and blew on some tinsel and plugged it it in as the sun set. Long Live the Tree. Then I went off to the Tauxemont neighborhood xmass party, keeping tradition, the 51st annual at the Mclellands.

Part Two: Changing The Energy Structures

Changing The Energy Sculptures

It is still a time of profound changes. Before I finally raised a tree, even was sure I would, I used it as a reason to move significantly forward, finally moving out the bookshelves I'd cleared off, changing the entire arrangement of the room. This is the major step since I last wrote, with the finances done, I began clearing the house, touching and moving all the personal possesions of ma's that had remained fairly untouched all this time. I began by emptying shelves of books and videos, emptying out the furniture so it was ready to move. Sometimes I only moved things to the permanent shelves to deal with later, but that is part of the underlying process of sorting and cataloging everything for the rest of the family. As this month passes, and I entered a new year, I experience this huge shift. I have begun moving everything in the house. I have cleared out her room, untouched since I made it ready for her expected return from the hospital. Now it is clean and bare, just a bedframe and mattress left. I've emptied all her filecabinets, and the boxed up books, clothes, appliances, and files, and filled another empty bedroom with them, and cleared furniture stacks up in the livingroom by the door.

For me, living in a world of energy, it is the most powerful change, finally disturbing and really, dispersing the energy that made this place the place it was. I see objects as the energy they manifest, and though it is the energy that matters, the object is essential as the channel for it. And I surround myself with many significant objects, powerful or minor, and as obvious as the dulcimer to as innocious as small rocks picked up significantly, along the way. Again, significance itself is not a matter of size, of measure, but that is really is. And the Way is a life surrounded by significance, sculpted of energy, a mosaic, a pattern, a song, where the whole is as important a thing as any individual part. The closest common practice to what I have lived might be oriental Feng Shu, but like many of the traditional oriental practices, they are to me, the earlier, simpler practices built upon the same recognition of energy, as are many traditions, from medicine to physics, science and religion, that while havng percieved essential truths, have always incorporated unnescessary or even incorrect information, extrapolation, and superstition to fill in the gaps or knit it into the personal or cultural fabric of the time and place.

For me, it is simply that every object has an energy, and has also been gradually placed and moved, till the whole house and even yard is a great moasaic of energy, a certain place, energetically, just as bricks, wood, or stone create a building not only by their nature, but even more by their placement, architecture, shaping the energy manifest in and through it and the people who experience it. There is such energy in buildings, created objects can manifest great art, great magic, or be empty shells, which still manifest even that energy, a powerful radio station carrying only faint static white noise. From the greatest to the simplest, from a utilitarian shelter to a palace, a cathdral to a simple standing stone. A great part of humanities significance comes from actions that manifest patterns beyond nature as it is, potentially in harmony, often in dissonance and opposition. This is a great and possibly unique power in nature, since we are a manifestation of nature, natural, even though we can act against it, break the pattern we are part of, unlike perhaps any other animal. We can do wrong.

This place is a home, representing those who lived there and slowly arranged it, mostly my mom, and like a person, in some ways unchanging through the years, yet also continually changing, evolving, with a constantly shifting surface pattern, or routines, dances played out within the stage set. In a short period, I have moved everything, disturbing the dust of years, and I experience it like a great kaliadescope of muted and brilliant colors, so many small yet individual pieces, not collapsing into chaos, since I am moving with intent, but that kaliadescopic shifting of pattern to pattern to pattern as I act upon it.

It is much more obvious than all the long work of the finances. I went through a similiar experience as I packed my own stuff, handling all this things from ma's life, pictures and papers, books and odd treasures. We were very similiar, it is true. I try to sort through it all without getting carried away by it, losing time getting lost in experiencing her things, reading all the old books, looking at pictures. Wondering what will become of it all, if there are things I particularly care about, in and of themselves. Though for me, it is enough they were hers, since sentiment has value to me, and simple respect for what she cared about.

I have to handle every piece, as I photograph it and inventory it and pack it away. So many neat things. Ma and I had similiar tastes I guess, or even liked gathering odd things, and some go back to my grandparents, or maybe farther. It is an intense experience, that only builds as I handle piece after piece, things on display and things hidden away in cabinets, things from the attic, things on walls on counters and shelves, most are beautiful to me, even in and of themselves, and the house is a sculpture, like my on set of shelves, where I placed the few things I brought back from my trips and travels. That is my small sculpture, and the top of the piano. I clear that too. I think my shelves will be the last thing I clear, the significant action that I am withdrawing my presence from the house.

Part Three: And The Road Ahead:

Though maybe more significant, I know I am taking the next big step and I am that much closer to final resolution, and the very significant fork in the road, where I either keep the house or leave it behind. While I have tried for a pattern and plans that will remain the same no matter the outcome, I can't avoid it making major differences as well. Yet, I know everything is heading inexorably to some conclusion, whether I know what it is or not, time and tides do not wait. I always keep working, which means I will get it done, eventually.

It is unfortunately still not clear to me what is the right thing to do, or even what I want. I have seldom thought of what I wanted and have little skill in knowing, or perhaps more, in wanting, or caring what I want. I have lived to be free of wanting, of selfish wants at least, or what if anything I have to gain or lose. I feel desire, am passion emotionaly, withough expectation, without attachment, without allowing that to focus into wanting anything for myself. I only want to do what is Right. I want to live with honor, true nobility, integrity, sincerity, compassion, judgement, consequentiality. I want justice without hate, anger, or vindictiveness or malice. I want the truth. I want people everywhere to wake up and become conscious, aware, enlightened beings. These are things I desire, that I want. And I want to face what I lack, the empty places in my life, the pain of being, with stoicicm and acceptance, rather than frustration and wanting, rather than hating this life.

Practically, I find myself unable to have a clear view of what I want. I find myself randomly switching back and forth. One day I'm ready to follow through, planning the jobs I need to do, getting it done. Then I want to leave it all behind, simply because it would be easier, less work, less worry, no distraction. But that doesn't make it the right thing to do. I understand the simple child in me, the desire to rest, the desire to avoid such a hard job, and responsibilty, and the potential for all sorts of complications.

I long to just chuck it all and return to a simple life, again, in the wild and on the street, needing little, owning little, though such a life is very limited, all too true. I could live out of a backpack, if I gave up the dulcimer, which would not be Right. It is an old story for me. Still, I am content to just sing, and talk, and hope people listen, and if they listen, do what little I can to make them see.Though I have little hope or expectations that my efforts have much significance, there are many others with more recognition and reputation than I, yet they are mostly ignored as well, and ignorance and denial are still the status quo. So I stand sad witness while the ship I'm not allowed to steer hits the rocks and sink.

In the end, I may not have a choice, as well, if I am denied financing. So I must also be ready to follow that path without delay, if it turns out that way. Or ready to start the big job or rennovating and getting in renters or room mates ASAP. It is like holding something in the air, straining to be ready to throw, once I know which direction. And I cannot relax, since it might be any day. I am tired of it. Which is dangerous, of course, since it is not a good reason to give up.

In addition to this, and adding to my stress, there are new and troublesome developments, complications, in a couple of the significant chunks of my life, the boat in Florida and the dig in Alaska, though both are really critically significant parts of much larger pieces, that are critical and significant chunks of the entire pattern of my life, a pattern I am trying to get stabilized into a new pattern, a new picture I can plan on, I need to plan on. So these extra complications are a significant disruption, the boat as a practical and immediate problem, and Alaska as a longer term practical one, but also a personally disturbing right now. No time for the details now, I'll get to that as the story unfolds, as it will soon enough.

Part Four: Florida, my sailboat, and the latest attack in the war on Cruisers and people of the water:

I emailed the studio about setting up recording dates, then almost immediately after learned I may have to go down and deal with the boat immediately, as they've passed a new law to try and force sailors like me out, like previous anti-liveaboard laws, it may end up challenged and possibly overturned, like the last anti-anchoring ordinance case in Stuart Fl, but that may take years. Or this law may even be well intentioned, since there are derelict vessels certainly that need to be removed, though it could be abused easily as a tool for harrassment of people storing their boats anchored out, another attempt to force them into rental moorings or slips, or just make them leave so the waterfront property owners can take ythe space or just not have to look at us, own the public water, excert power over the peasants. My only option is to move on, at least into Federal waters again, perhaps out of the State of Florida, eventually out of this country, I expect. Though I need to do some work first, whether I keep this boat or sell it and get another. Though I could just get another used outboard, raise the jury rig again, scape off the barnacles and go. Though I specifically moved the boat to Green Cove Springs for the boatyard there. I'd almost rather move to a different state, or country, that welcomes cruisers, and spend my money there. But I barely made it to where I am at, sailing in on that jury rig made with half of my broken mast. I would like to do repairs before I have to try and sail on again, if I can, or I can raise and rig the replacement mast I salvaged and try to find someplace else to leave the boat for the summer. I did it once and I can do it again.

I will get it done, somehow, one way or another. I always do. I planned on repairing the boat before, and was planning on it still. Now that Dad and Ma are gone, getting the boat, both boats, all my boats, or some boat, ready to cruise again is a top priority, along with shiftng my base west and making a major trip to Alaska. But I'm trying to juggle a lot of important things, responsibilities and demands from so many people, trying to make it all work out, a carefully planned dance. And still, I work as hard as I can, harder than I should, breaking myself down doing more than is healthy, not sleeping enough.

I don't need to suddenly be pressured with vague threats and flawed, indefinite, ill-concieved, untried, possibly intentionall abusive and probably unconstitutional new laws, granting capricious, undefined, and unrestrained authority to possibly biased or corrupt local police, without experience of jurisdiction under maritime law. Though the Green Cove officers have always been ok to deal with, and I have nothing but respect for those who don;t abuse their power or become corrupt tools of special interests. It is sad politicians, special interests, and criminals have a vested interest in corrupting and controlling the police, the law, and perverting "justice" into a toll for exploitation and oppression. This has been the history of the world, like dictatorship and oligarchies, and America was suposed to be different, with liberty and justice for all, equal before the law. But facism and tyranny didn't just give up and go away, but has constantly sought to undermine and reconquer this republic, this great experiment, this great hope for freedom and liberty for the common people. It is simply depressing, in a long litany of injustice and hypocrisy that has so overwhelmed the dream of America. Though there has also been the on-going strength and struggle of the American people to keep demanding their rights, their freedom and liberty, real justice, fighting the revolution again and again, against the new masters that try to take power and rule, to act above the law, like the aristocrats and dictators through the ages. I try to have hope, but I have lived in dark times. Though it eases my pain to see people in the streets. I do believe in the true American dream, that we shall overcome, one day, and achieve the freedom and justice our founding citizens fought for so long ago. But it is a promise long deferred, and a struggle far from over.

The whole boating scene in Florida is a big mess I have no time to deal with, only have to cope with to get away. I'll try to find someplace where freedom isn't a crime. Where the water isn't full of arrogant and/or clueless idiots with boats and no knowledge of the sea or maritime law or real boats, just their polluting powertoys. Sigh, like too many places, where I can't win against them, they are the American staus quo majority, while the responsible, true sailors are a small minority. They simply make me angry and disgusted, negative emotions, when I come to the sea to excape from their ugly evil world. That's why it is better to just leave, try to find a new place, than try to stay, just like all the places I've left behind. They couldn't force me to leave, but they could make it a place I shouldn't waste my life living in. The energy moves, and I must follow it, follow nature, follow the other true cruisers and sailors to the new anchorages where we can wait out hurricane season, safely leave our boats while we work to pay for them somewhere else, or just travel. And not be forced to pay for "services" we neither want nor need, just to satisfy someone else's greed. I have no problem someone offering goods or services to whoever wants to pay for them, but not trying to pervert the law by forcing anyone to buy what they don't want, to profit private interests. If the law requires something, it should be provided at cost by a government non-profit service, is my belief. Otherwise, it is simply criminal extortion of money to private individuals by coersion, since you cannot refuse to buy, no matter what the cost or quality of the product, and there is no motive to provide better products or services.

It is an old story in my life as a cruising sailor, and a major issue in the whole cruising world for decades. Even more,this persecution of those outside the staus quo has been a basic part of my life, as a member of the counter-culture, a gypsy, and a folksinger, as someone who has actually tried to live free, to test the promise of liberty, unfortunately finding it to be mostly patriotic hypocrisy. But that, too, is another story.

Part Four: Solidarity Forever

The final story is the simplest, an old friend asked me to accept a house-guest. Yet it is perhaps most significant story, as it tugs at a thread, social action, that is woven deep in the fabric of my life, but I have not been able to really manifest in over a decade, which troubles me deeply. I have sporadic and subtle manifestations, but nothing I can treally get into and push. One of the questions I ask myself constantly, when I have time to ask deeper questions, is what am I going to do? The realities of responsibility have kept pushing it back off the burner again and again, like some strange supernatural conspiracy set against me. When I take a break and play the guitar and the dulcimer, though I have tried to focus on the originals I plan to record, I am drawn to play the songs of the struggle that I have played so long. There is a burning fire there, smouldering and hidden at times, but never anywhere near going out.. it is the fire that drives me.

There is such rage and frustration in me, and long ago I realized it was dangerous, too powerful in me, or just too powerful like all my emotions. So I chose to focus on building the new world rather than tearing down the old, to focus on the solutions, on the answers, rather than protest the wrongs, to be a healer rather than a destroyer. I thought I would be too dangerous as a destroyer, I have too much rage and anger to want to feed it, and my own anger is not good for me. There is that in me that only wants an enemy that I could take down in flames, glad to destroy my self with my own fire. if I could take them with me. But there is no simple enemy like that. People only embody the evil in them, and even if they are destroyed it lives on.. ignorance, hate, bigotry, injustice, heartless, cruelty, selfishness, war, and more. Few people are consciously evil, they are misquided, decieved, ignorant, and there are none so dangerous as the righteous, and justice can too easily be perverted into becoming simply retribution, revenge, and vendetta. So, thugh both are needed, I consciously decided to go against my nature and focus my life on the positive, on planting and growing, not cutting down and rooting out, on the positive vibrations, not negative ones, on art, The simplest expression has been "If war is not the answer, then what is?" So I dedicated my life to what to "consciousness raising", as in deep meditation I saw the essential problem in the world was the lack of consciousness at the root of all evil. So I became a folksinger. Of course, "consciousness raising" is not near so clear an action as protest, always the problem, what to do.

The Arab uprising meant more to me than I can say. Though it was none of my doing, and I had no part in it, though I dreamed of being there, of being somehow part of it, of somehow giving them support. In the studio, I began working on videos for them, rather than what I needed to do for my own plans. I’m singing "Find The Cost Of Freedom". Though I know it is their moment, their struggle, not mine. I wish I could claim to be a part, have taken a part. But I am locked into this work I am doing, and barely managing as it is. I have felt a direct connection always, an absolute solidarity, with them and all the people of the world struggling for freedom and justice, as we still struggle here. I see it as one struggle, going on for centuries, against the explioter and oppressors, the dictators and demigogues. A struggle that reaches from multinational revolutions like the "Arab Spring" to what is going on with my boat, and all the petty tyrants that seek to impose their will upon others, down to that very struggle within ourselves, to practice tolerance as the true test and price of liberty and freedom, to have compassion and understanding, even in opposition, even when demanding justice, and not descend into malice or hate. We must only hate what is in people, not the people themselves, even as we demand justice and consequentiality, it must be justice, not revenge, consequentiality, not retribution. Justice msay require forcible restraint, even execution, but should not be used as punishment, as a justification for cruelty, simple sadistic retribution. This does nothing to fix what is wrong or heal the wounds, only compounds the evil.

This is always the issue. I have dedicated my life to this strugge, yet it is a geat one, with so many battles, and so much rebuilding, and each must chose their part to play. I am what I am, with the gifts I have been given. I chose my part to play, and yet is so difficult to see all the issues and not be able to take one on. To depend on others to do their jobs, investigative journalists to dig for and expose the truth, the leaders and speakers to stand before the crowds, the protesters and occupiers to man the lines, the citizen-soldiers who lay down their lives at the barricades. I struggle not to feel inadequate, ineffective, isolated. Especially in these years when responsibilites have kept me from even doing my work as a folksinger. Even though I am doing what is Right. It is only more frustrating that I should have worked so hard during the dark years when nobody was protesting much, the wave was at an ebb, and now that it rises again, I am caught up in working so hard in such isolation, without anything but the radio. I stopped listening to that even during the debt ceiling fiasco as I was struggling emotionally with the situation I was in, and didn;t need news that made me angry, disgusted, and frustrated with the state of America. So I didn't even know the Occupy movement was happening till November, and even still, I have responsibilities here I can't excape. I wont be free till this is resolved, and ant distraction, even writing this, puts off the day I am free again to do my work.

So. Yes, it is deep, and touches on many issues, both in my life, and as to what happens with the house. My guest is an activist focused on the Citizen's United debacle. It is even a clear illustration of the reality of the movement, where here is a man who finally reached his limit, and this was it, and so chose this issue to focus on, amid the many issues that all need to be addressed. And he and his brother walked across America together, to raise awareness, the basic theatre of activism, culminating in a rally here in DC on the aniversary of the decision. I am happy to give him and the other main organizer a place to stay for the event. I always saw that as a possible justification for keeping the house. I find it hard to justify keeping the house just for financial reasons, that has never beena motivation in my life. But I have always felt the usefulness of the location if I was involved somehow in politics, but I am not. Yet, like being a folksinger, perhaps I could use this space to facilitate others who are involved in direct activism or politics, even the alternative of using the audio/video studio as a tool for activism, rather than art. And like renting out rooms to other artist might draw me into a larger social network, as a singer and musician, renting to activists would connect me to a gretaer social network as a folksinger and activist, which is really more important to me than the music. In the beginning, I played music because ti was the most effective tool I had for consciousness raising, and but the motivation was social action, first, not the desire to play. Music was always a part of me, but I had decided long before I didn't want to focus my life on it (silly me). Renting to activists, and providing lodging and a working base to visiting activists as well, is a dream, but not that unreal. Though the reality is I can't keep the house without help, without renting out rooms, or the whole thing. I had always thought of possibly renting to activists, instead of artists, and now I am experiences a shadow of that by having these guests. And a painful reminder of my frustration at being able to do so little right now, as history is being made.

So that was my New Year's entry. I guess even when nothing is happening a lot happens. I usually try to reflect more, but with such big gaps, it is enough to go forward. In this case, to an entry I started February 1st.

2-1-12

Keep on Keepin On

This is the reality of life. I wrote a New Year's entry, but never had a chance to post it. I added to the post mid-month as events continued. Now it is February and I have worked without stop and not posted, not really even accessed email. I photgraph, inventory, and pack, piece after piece, hour after hour, day after day, week after week. But it is getting done. I leave the livingromm livable, but otherwise I am clearing it all. I am in a strange isolation where I do not notice time passing, cut off from the world, while the task I set myself finally comes to close and I focus on that. I have started listening to the radio, try to catch the news, but just as often I get disgusted and turn it off. It is just too pathetically stupid or insipidly perky and meaningless. I just can't stand it. Though I suppose I am oversensitive, and tired, and more than a bit stressed by both the months and the recent events, and the approaching deadline of a decision on the house. I am without a definitive reason still, swinging back and forth between the two options of keeping the house or leaving it behind, yet with clear visions for either path. I await some sign, or a decision from my siblings, but none comes. So I just keep doing what has to be done, clearing the house.

It would be so much easier and simpler to leave it behind, but I have never chosen the easier path simply because it was easy. I did what was Right, though I might seek the easiest and simplest path that was Right, what was Right was seldom the path of least resistance. Somehow feel quite lost, confused, too often on one side then the other to know which side I am on. Though keeping the house seems more and more difficult as I run into the scheduling conflicts of my need to go to Florida and see to family matters and my boat there, and I have to return to Alaska for the summer, which will be here all too soon. My only solace is I feel like I can make it work whatever I do, I am extremely capable, and either option seems a good one. Which does nothing towards making a choice. Even circumstance doesn't seem to help.

I am tired, in body, spirit, and mind. And I know it. Which also doesn't give me confidence in my decision making ability. I am stressed out as well, and long to just get away and leave eveything behind. But is that Right? No, even if it is right to leave this place behind, it can't because just because I am tired, stressed-out and depressed.

My brother just came to visit for a couple days while attending a national conference here in DC. Not much time to talk, but we went and applied for financing for the house, see if we qualify, and for how much. I am trying to move the situation forward, while trying not to pressure anyone. In talking with David, I decide to make a fair offer for the house, give my sister's a choice to decide on. Though I don't expect much financing, it includes getting a professional appraisal done, which will help with gauging what a fair offer is.

Strange days, on a positive note, I get an email from the Sheriff in Florida saying my boat has been removed from the "at risk" list and is no longer under threat of action under their new law. Thanks to me mailing down a new anchorlight and my inflatable kayak to my brother in Florida and him driving over and lashing it on. Just like he did once before. So I have breathing room again there at least, though only that, it is still a job remaining to be done. One I have been waiting to do, wanting to do. Not only the much delayed work, but even more, just getting back on the water and the sea, living the life, and yes, getting the boat back in shape, even though it is a big job now.

I continue my correspondence and discussion with my two olest friends in Seattle on buying land together when I relocate west. Whatever happens with the house, I am relocating west, with Seattle as my major urban base. My plan was always to find a small piece of land for a base in the PNW, though circumstances led me to buy the land in Alaska first. Once it was paid off, I started looking at the next piece, either in the PNW or possibly SW, or even central America, for my next footprint.

This time circumstance point to the PNW, with one of my old friends there ready to go in on property, so I'll have compatable neighbors, like in Alaska. But my situation is that I am committed to buying land in the PNW, really as soon as I can since I need a place to store the stuff I have to take away from 1213. But the situation will be very different if I keep the house, and csan continue to store suff here, and need to focus my resources on rennovating and getting it rented before I can see what I have left to invest out west. It will make a big difference in my finances, but practically, I only want a small footprint, so don't expect to spend that much more on land out west whatever happens, though I won't have money to build immediately, like in Alaska, getting the land is my priority, not building on it. But eventually I will build a house, or several houses, where I can put all the cool things from the 1213 someday. So I keep packing them away, day by day.

As I draw up possible plans and timelines, sketch mind maps or daydream scenarios in my spare time, I am looking at international travel more, and really, focusing on the music wherever it takes me. Though I’d like to return to Spain, where I was a child, as I pack up things I know we brought from there. I think of fixing the boat, or getting a bigger one, and just cruising full time for a few years, do that part of my life, then come back to build on my properties and settle into a more base-centered touring style.

I keep the fire going as winter continues, managing to keep the furnace from going on, though I have it set for 50 degree. It is ok sitting in the room by the woodstove, and the rest of the time I am working. I am used to living outside. I am lucky to both have local folk offer me wood, and keep finding small piles by the road, enough to keep going, though frugally, and I have to dry wet wood on the stove before I can burn it. I cook black bean soup on the stove, the way I like it, cooking it down for a few days. Then I pack it in quarts and freeze it to pull out and use as needed. I do the same thing making pasta sauce, and rice-vegetable stew, trying to live as cheap as I can, trying to make it through the winter and this job, till I can get back to work again.

They have started working on the McMansion next door, and instead of hooking the electric back up, they run a generator 12 hours a day. It is driving me crazy, till I am working inside the house with hearing protectors on, or playing the radio loud just to break up the relentless drone of the generator that makes my ears ring, and serves as a constant irritant. No peace.

As I told people often enough, one day off a week and I would be a month or two behind where I am now at this point. So I ignored everything and focused on getting through it, so I could put it behind me, as quick as possible. I stopped worrying about getting some resolution, or progress, and instead, well, I bought a tarp and spread it over the roof to stop the leaking, though it won't stop the progress of the rot, but it is all I can do right now. I don't know if they unconsciously want the house to rot, or just can't deal with the decision to do something yet, but I have to do something, and do what I can, and move on. It has been a long struggle, to conquer the frustration, to stop caring, and accept that I'll just have to deal with whatever happens, and leave it all behind and focus on what I need to do, even if in the end I come back and rennovate the house. I have to be big enough to do it all, believe I can, and keep getting it done, but leave the house for now. I have to let them do whatever they need to, and just take the consequences, whatever they are, and handle them. More and more, I expect I’ll just leave it all behind, return to my world, and never be back. I have a path to follow, as I did before, and it doesn't have much in common with my relatives. I chose a different world, and I only came back to be with my parents, and now it is time to return to my world again.

I had a major shock when I bumped my guitar in passing, and it fell, struck a chair, and the headstock shattered into four pieces. It was an incredibly difficult expererience, the shock and then the aftermath, because it was on top of everything else. I am pretty well stressed to the max, over a long period of time, without a break. I experienced an intense metabolic wave I had to just take. So many thoughts went ripping through my mind as I stood there, dazed and overwhelmed by the sudden shock. I have never been able to find a guitar to match it, though I bought and have a replacement, it isn't as comfortable and the sound isn't as deep and rich. And we have been through so much, and its been a much needed relief during this whole trial.

Then, as the wave passed, I pulled myself together and told myself it was just another job to do, to fix it, like I've raised and repaired boats, and patched the guitar many times. I can do this too, one way or another, though I've fixed nothing on the guitar so major before. I could always add more wood, something to reinforce it, crude but effective, and make it work. So I searched and dug out the epoxy and tools buried in the pile on the porch, then got to work and did it then and there. The next day I was able to place it in the sun to harden up, and then re-drill the screw holes, re-mount the machines, and string it back up. It has been a few days and seems to be holding. It is even hard to tell it was broken, without the pictures. And it sits back on the couch, my friend in need is still with me, and I am so very, very grateful.

It is again many weeks since the last entry. I’m writing this entry as I did before, first, to fill in this gap in the journal, try to maintain some continuity during this time when there little time for anything but the job at hand. While this is a major chapter in my life, it is not a normal time of my life, and not sure how of if it fits in a studio or tour journal. I have never really tried to seperate the life from the music, the two were really woven together as one fabric, and I had no life outside the music, outside of being a folksinger. Though that includes regular breaks, a steady wave, out to the wild to recover, visits to friends, days on the road, it was all part of the life, different beads on one thread. There’s been only a few times in my life that I have stopped playing and done something else, and this has been one of those extraordinary times. In the end, all I can do is keep telling the story.

I aware that I have been totally out of touch with the world. I was focusing all my attention on getting through this, since it won’t be forever, and the more I focus, the shorter it will be. As part of the process, I also stopped the newspaper, the TV, the internet, and was left with the radio, which was usually not where I was, and usually didn’t have anything I wanted to listen to the few times I turned it on. Honestly, the last wave of news, the debt ceiling and debt issues, made me so disgusted with everything, the level of stupidity, ignorance, and sheer idiocy just was more than I could take, in my present over-worked, over-stressed, emotionally disturbed state of being. I didn’t need to deal with more irritation, more negative feelings, at this time. Everything sounded so idiotic it didn’t feel worth my time to even pay attention, since I would if I felt I had to, no matter what. As I have paid attention for decades, though the situation was really not much different, and was just as painful to watch. I have had more important things to deal with, real things, and very difficult times, while I don’t expect much will have changed while I have been out of touch, unfortunately.

Though it’s possible I can take up the music again at last, or at least start. I am still not totally free to focus on my life yet, I have reached a point where I can start seeking some balance of both, both continuing my task here to some conclusion, and making progress with the music and my life once again, in fact, I have to.

As it often is, what I do is less important that the landscape of thoughts and feelings, critical experiences, the threads of energy woven into my life, the life of a Folksinger. For the music, and everything about it, is a thread of that fabric, not something seperate. I have lived the music, so the whole cloth must be shown to make any true picture, not just one thread.

The Short Story:

As expected, I have been working so hard on settling mom’s estate there’s been no time for anything else. This is a road with a clear end, and I want to get it done so I can move on. If I had even taken off just one day a week, I would be a month behind where I am now. I have only left the house for estate business and survival shopping, except for a series of weekly dental appointments for long-delayed work. I pushed hard, was staying up all night once a week through September just to get that much more done. And I did. I have passed all major milestones, stayed more or less on schedule and had things go as expected, and have finally reached that watershed, where the estate is resolved, and I can finally close the accounts after almost 6 months.

Though I am not done with my promises to ma, there’s still her personal stuff and the house. I also have my own agenda to complete so I can leave here. Just yesterday I called a highschool friend of ma’s I did not know existed, and had never contacted with the news, till I got a birthday card she sent ma. So I remain in this transitional phase. But some pressure is off, enough for me to consider outside activities, like going out and playing again, and this journal. Though I have tofocus on the practical, mostly, what I have to do before I go, like finishing the major repair on the van, replacing the head gaskets. Though again, if I had time, I might have done a more comprehensive rebuild for the trouble of dismantling the engine, but I have to accept the fact that I am being pressured, even if there is no reason or need, in the end, and need to get it done as quick as can. Summer is gone and weve hit freezing and cold rain, though it was warm again before the rain. More important, though not so practical, is recording the new CD. Considering that, I really need to practice more than go out. Playing three songs at an open mike is insuffucient, though getting out among people again would be good for me. I have lived in near isolation here too long, focused on the job, getting it done. Lately, I’ve started to try shoot video, any playing is practicing. Though it takes a lot of time to try and get it right, which is a distraction from practicing. Producing video to finish the website is still a priority on my agenda before I leave here, if I can. I try to find some balance, but always hard starting, deciding on priorities, and whether I should focus on just one or two things, or try to do more, though progress on any is slower. In my life, that is always the main balance.

It has been a time of many emotions, of course, but even more, a time of deep thought. I am a philosopher, and have always spent much time in thought, grasping at the deeper foundations of life itself, and my life in specific. I have been one who followed a life of principle, motivated and guided by philosophy, by ethics, by beliefs and ideals, by heart and soul, rather than material things, or by personal desires. I find it difficult to be concerned with my self, unselfish to a fault, dedicated to service. I have seldom thought about what I want, and find it hard to do, now.

The present passage has just emphasized all these things. Everything I have been doing these last months have had a profound effect. There are too many experiences to try to descibe them, it becomes a kaleidescopic collage of photographic experiences flashing through my mind. When I put together the memorial service for ma, I made a timeline of mom’s life, looking at all she did, the life she led, what a great person she was. I deal with all the reactions and responses to ma’s death, from so many people, so many conversations. I see and think about the many different ways people are, revealed in this so normal yet so significant event. I faced my life, as I packed up all of my old stuff left here, dredging up memories from my past, the thoughts and plans I had then. I ponder life, when faced with mortality, of course, with three deaths in the family recently, and unanswered questions about my own health.

What do I really my life’s work to be? What would I want to do or get done if I had little time left, and what really doesn’t matter? I made a simple list. It is mostly concerned with keeping my word, the few promises I have made. Many people asked the same things of me, over and over, till it became really a request from, and a promise to, the People, in my mind. It is also simple to feel the regrets for things undone in life, when there is no longer time, and it is clear that waiting didn’t work, or fate was not kind. I ponder whether if I had time, would I do different things, try to manifest things that seem to be missing, a lack in a summing up of my life. Yet I also accept many regrets, that is the nature of life, that I gave up some things to be what I am, and would do it again.

Surrounded by ma’s theatre energy, the pillar of her life, and pondering my life, I reflect on the life of a performer, who choses to create something that is gone with the last echo, leaving only a trace in the hearts and minds of those who witnessed it. I chose to be a channel for energy, through me and into the people, create a magic moment. Not even video is the same as being there, in the moment, we leave only shadows, imperfect reflections of what we accomplish in the moments take the stage, yet they can be vivid memories and moments in people’s lives. The stage, theatre, music, singing, storytelling, is a incredible, amazing, important, necessary and powerful part of this world, and it has been my priviledge to walk that path, despite the regrets, the other things I could have done.

I am oddly reminded of my regular story about how, while it is hard to reccommend near death experiences, they do give you a perspective on what really matters and what doesn’t. After you have been charged by a grizzly bear, or heard live rounds whizzing by your head, or faced a storm at sea in a small boat, little things just don’t make it over the top, and you can’t be troubled by all the petty things other people trouble themselves and others with. Facing death, I have found the same feeling of perspective, where it is clear what matters in life and what doesn’t, what I would take time for if I only had a little time, what I regret and what I don’t and what I accept even with regret, and what I might do if I had time, realizing I still only have a limited time, no matter what.

Practically, there are some major decisions to make right now, that will certainly determine some of the shape of my life. I spend long hours thinking through scenarios, recognizing that there are not endless possibilities, but usually just a few major roads, with many possibilities within them. I have to start a new chapter, which means deciding what to do and where to go, practicalities which, in the end for me, still come down to "why". I have never been concerned with what I want, really, not sure I know how. I was never interested in making myself happy, pursuing selfish desires. I always find little things that make me happy, and mch that does not, in this world. I can’t look to them for motivation or decisions. Satisfaction is more important to me than being happy, and doing what is right, living with honor, doing my duty, isn’t about what makes me happy. I am more concerned that i may not have served as well as as I might, that I could have done more for the world with my life, though I was content to live quietly, to do small things greatly, rather than do great things. I was given great gifts, and I wonder if I could have used them better. I live a life on The Way, where what I do isn’t so important as how, and I am guided by seeking energies and directions, without focusing on just where they will lead me or in what form they will manifest. If it is “Right”, it is, no matter what it is. My life is more about "being somewhere" than "getting somewhere", about "being" rather than "doing". We always are doing both, but it is a matter of what perspective you view life from, are guided by. Like music, where I am not seeking a specific note, or specific effect or purpose, but I am seeking the "Right" note, seeking to reach a state of being where I will play the right notes, spontaineously and without thought or effort, because I am in the right state of being, without intention or expectation, leaping off the cliff and letting the music take me where it will. Yet there is a place for free will within this, and choices to make, still. Life is not quite as simple as a song, though that is the nature of physics, percieving and applying simple principles to the complexity of reality.

The Journal:

There aren’t many stories to tell, or maybe too many, but I can always find plenty to talk about. Honestly, much of the past 5 months is a bit hazy from sleep deprivation and the endless flood of details that I have no reason to remember, or just too many scenes to remmber them all. I didn’t go anywhere or do anything extraordinary, though it was an extraordinary experience for me. I have done a good job, once again, at an enormous and difficult task, and done it well, while passing through a emotionally and mentally turbulent time, stormy weather. It is too familiar a road.

The music was still a thread in my life, as always. I kept the guitar handy, to help me make it through, stopping for a moment when it all got to be too much, to play a song, and get back to it again. The same with the piano. I played the dulcimer a bit at first, but in the end, it takes too long to tune, and I had to stay focused on my lists, avoid any real distractions. As the work here is resolving, I start making the effort to tune the dulcimer and play again, getting ready for the next stage of the job, which includes recording the new CD, and I need to be ready.

It is still an period of transition, when my old plan is suddenly done, but I haven’t been able to start the new chapter yet, an odd time, neither of the past or the future, yet in many ways, more focused on both than usual. I am freed from the present which is set and clear, while immersed in the past and deciding the future. A strange time, a strange experience, wrought with many hours and moments of roiling thoughts and emotions, and great steady calms as well. I maintain the state of being that has always served me well, as someone constantly dealing with storms of emotion and practical difficulties and discouragements. I just proceed steadily towards my destination, one step at a time, working my way through a checklist of tasks, like a freighter at sea, or walking a long trail, staying focused in the present, on the work at hand, on putting one foot after the other, while observing everything around me, but not letting it distract me, cause me to pause or deviate, maintaining a detachment by keeping most of my energy focused on moving forward. I follow an old mantra I made, "keep moving". Nothing happens if something doesn’t move, so I always keep doing something, no matter what. Once a week, I update the checklist, adding the next steps to replace what I have checked off that week, and week follows week, for 5 months now. I know the list is not endless, and one day I will reach an end of these lists. I’ll be making new ones, of course, when I start the next chapter.

Which I am getting closer to, much closer, as I reach a significant milestone, really a watershed, actually reaching the end of the master list that I made 5 months ago of all the financial aspects of ma’s estate, now all settled. Everything has been settled or transfered to the heirs, and I can close the accounts.

What still remains is dividing her personal possessions among us, and resolving what to do with the house, which now belongs to us as a group. But there is no specific deadline for this, and I am not concerned, and know it will work out eventually. As far as my work goes, keeping my word, really as I promised ma I’d get it done, like the finances, and done fairly, as quickly as practical and reasonable, though I think ma wanted me to take my time and do more here, complete the lans I made when I came, I am more inclined to want to get started on establishing whatever comes next, accept that my plans are cut short, and make a new plan to the same ends.

Though it has been a trial, and isn’t over yet. One difficulty has been with my relatives, each for their own reasons, rational or irrational, but just making the job harder, or take longer. I balance carrying this task through with giving them whatever time they need, since this is a difficult thing to face, and they have their own issues to deal with. I was better prepared perhaps, in many ways, both personally and practically. The situation wasn’t totally unexpected, though some aspects are discouraging. Luckly, resolving the estate required little cooperation, so I got it done. Mostly, I ignored the troubles, knowing they would pass, and really, didn’t make much difference in what I did. Unlike the estate, there is no pressing need to complete the resolution of communal property, ma’s personal possessions and the house. It has all been transfered to us technically, even undivided, so the estate itself is settled. I can complete the final accounts and close the books, and it is done. I have always kept that in mind, that whatever I am going through, it is just a transitional period, and it will all be behind me soon enough, as long as I keep focused on getting it done, step by step, keep up the pace, it will all be behind me one day, a closed book.

It has also been a big, long, tedious job, 5 months so far. Cleaning every room and surface, clearing the attic and sheds, recycling and throwing away, sorting and saving, going through almost 50 years of accumulation here. I box up my stuff and load it in the van. Like during a long drive, or passage, or walk, and like during any simple, tedious job, since it was mostly that, the mind has a lot of spare energy to think as the hours pass, most often in an unfocused way. I believe this type of thought to be very important, as productive as focused thoughts. When the mind is not forced to follow the pattern and direction of preconceptions, it is free to respond to and follow the true patterns we often obscure with our preconceptions and conscious direction, with our desires and illusions. When thoughts rise unbidden and follow their own paths, in a type of dreaming, it is as important in its way, and complementary to, any conscious effort to "think things through". It is interesting to experience myself observing my mind, as it reacts, as I observe my emotions, or my body. Experiencing so clearly that "I" am not my mind, or the thoughts and images it generates.

It is a difficult job. I have my own emotions to deal with, as I cleared the attic of everything there, mine and my family and even friends of the family. As I packed up everything of mine from the attic and around the house, and put it in the van, ready to go. I handled all these things from the past, dredging up old memories, good and bad. I could open a box and be surrounded by strong smells from my past, while my mind turns electric. I pack up the binders of old photographs, and can’t help looking at them. I have done a lot, though, a lot I can be satisfied with doing. It was not that did great things, but I lived a intense life, experienced it, which was the life I chose to live. Thpough all I have to show is "boxes of old junk, odds and ends". It is funny, when I wrote those lines I was actually thinking of the attic here, all the boxes of stuff representing both the things I did, and the things I didn’t. Though I only filled half the van, not that much stuff, I had to rebox everything, as well as books and tapes, in a very short time I went through a lifetime of associations, good and bad. It is an experience that is chaotic in my mind, a sudden flashing cascade of images, but the sheer intensity of it is absolutely vivid. I had to deal with being unable to deal with it as well. I have no time to decide what to do with it, whether to keep it or throw it away. Actually, it is not that much can be thrown away, I kept lots of valuable arts and crafts supplys, fossil ivory and antler, and many of the tools and supplies for gypsy skills, from painting to hairwrap and facepaint Some was no good, useless, and I threw that away, but most is not. The question is more, will I ever use these things? But I have no time to find the right people to pass them on to, though I know they are useful. There are things I have collected for the homestead I never found, for the house I never built. Whether it is wiring and cabinets left over from remodelling this house, or just posters, pictures and kitchen tools, books and saved magazines. I have to ask myself if I will ever have a homestead, or a house, to save these things. I can only pack it all up and get in the van so I am ready to leave by the memorial service, so no one can say that I am holding up the process because I am not packed up. Though most of the time was spent going through all of ma’s accumulation here, and the stuff my sisters left, separating out the junk from the personal possessions to keep, things I feel I have no right to decide about, even if they may be thrown away. But dried out cans of old paint I can be pretty sure no one wants and I haul them to the dump.

I also have had to deal with the emotions of friends and family, be there for them, be of service. Yet it was also a intense experience in my own life, all the conversations, all the memories. It has comtinued to be a profound and beautiful experience seeing what a mark ma made in the world, her energy coming back out of so many. The ex-students who spoke at the memorial were great. As I prepared for the Memorial I went through audio interviews I made with her back in 20o1, listening to hours to select a minutes to include in the service. Though I haven’t packed up her things, I still handled many, both in passing and in preparing for the service. I made a timeline of her life, finding old photographs, actually learning things about her life I never knew as I filled in all the years, really seeing it for the first time. I had to think that this was an exercise I used to do annually, look at, and add to, a timeline of my life, see it as a life, and what I had added that year, have that perspective. It has been a long time since i have done that. I took the bulletinboards that used to hang in her old office before we moved it out to the livingroom and displayed them at the service, so impressed by this simple window on ma’s being. I was surprised and moved to see so much of my stuff there, though I shouldn’t be. We kids were another pillar of her life, of course, but Ma and I shared a common ground as performers, and as people. I also saw how much wisdom she had instilled in us. I am just so impressed and humbled by what a great person ma was, and perhaps troubled that I have not done more.

More difficult has been dealing with the different characters of my sisters, very different from my brother and me, and each very different as well. It has been discouraging and depressing to see the negatives revealed, though I can understand somewhat, I think. They have had a lot more problems relating and coping, in the years I have been here with ma, then through her illness and then death, and the now settling the estate. I try to be understanding, while I try not to believe I understand others, when I may not. There is more than I know. I do not walk in their shoes. We are a strange family. It is nothing I did not already know, but it is still difficult to face. It has been easier to simply avoid the conflicts of our different natures over the years, mostly through the simple expedient of not seeing each other often. I should not even say "they", and I don’t want to be more specific. "They" are each very different, and realistically, it doesn’t matter.

Perhaps what is harder is to experience how little I am understood, my motives and intentions, or even harder, how I am misunderstood. Though the simple truth is, I care, but have become fatalistically accepting of the reality. I don’t know if I have ever been understood, even by the friends who love and accept me, till I gave up trying to find one who did. For my family, and probably for my friends as well, I am the strange fey brother who was uninterested in the rewards of this society, chose the road untravelled, travelled off to live in the wilderness, on the road, and on the street, a mystic gypsy folksinger, living a life they really got rare glimpses of, in the videos, stories, and pictures I brought in my short but regular visits. Ma was much more interested, and understood much more, and was more like me, than my siblings. That’s why I was glad to be able to spend this time with her. I don’t think my sisters ever really wanted to know or understand, I was just too far out. My brother understands much more, being part of the counter-culture as well, which my sisters counter-rebelled against. He also chose to be a performing artist for many years, and played the dulcimer. But I think he also knew I was something else, further, somewhere "on beyond zebra", to some place he recognized but didn’t understand. He could see the road I had taken, and that I had crossed into some other place, unknown to him. Though one never knows what someone else knows or doesn’t know. And I could never really explain. We really went different ways and met seldom, though regularly, and shared a lot of common ground, though we seldom talked. He has been supportive, appreciated what I have done, but unable to help much since he both lives far away and his wife was terminally ill, dying just before Ma’s memorial service, so I did not ask much from him. My sisters live relatively nearby, but have full time jobs, and young kids. They simply need patience and I will get it done for them.

There is really no great need, because much of what I have done there was no way to help, someone just had to do it, deal with all the phone calls and paperwork. I was the logical volunteer, already taking time from work, without a family, no kids to raise, and so ma and I had planned it this way. I have really been working for her, keeping my word, rather than working for them. I could have used help cleaning the house and all, made it go quicker, but the fact is, in any big long job like this, while help is appreciated, it has to be considerate, helping me, not disregarding and disrupting the pattern I have established. Even just being considerate of the fact that I live here, this is still my space, my place, and that always needs to be respected. Their lives are not being totally disrupted, but mine is, though I deal with it, I also try to balance it. Still, it is an added difficulty for me, practically and emotionaly. And I couldn’t count on that, unfortunately. Even the best intentions can still cause problems if the helper doesn’t understand the work in progress. In the beginning, I expected cooperation, encountered unexpected craziness, and decided it was best to glaze over that and focus on the work to be done and do it, I long ago stopped expecting appreciation and consideration from people, but accept and appreciate it gratefully and gracefully when it does come, and it is still painfull when it doesn’t, though i do not blame people for being what they are. I always try to see any single person’s behavior as just one of many like them, as just a reflection of the society and culture we live in, and the life they have led, the responsibility of society. Excptional people might rise above circumstance, but they are the exception, and you can’t blame people for not being exceptional.

I remember once telling dad that he might understand me better, or perhaps be able to accept my behavior better, if he thought of me as having gone into some religious priesthood. My not chosing to achieve something within the status quo with my talent, intelligence, and ability, or my voluntary poverty, dedication to service, and willingness to live a humble life, without ambition or ego, trying to do what is best for everyone, refusing on principle to participate in systems I could not ethically. All that might make some sense to him in that context of spiritual dedication, which is a fairly accurate description in part, and it did help. Though it wasn’t the whole the truth, in some ways it was a part. Though I have charted a new course in some ways, perhaps, I am not unique, I believe that there have always been people like me, fey, strange ones, though we each have chosen our own path, whether the given way or a road less travelled, or untravelled.

I really do live by ideals, though not religious ones, more the old romantic ones, selflessly and without any personal motive, trying to do right. I don’t believe in my infalibility, feel no righteousnes, so can’t justify imposing my will on others. Also, I believe everyone must make their own choices, live their own lives, chose their way. That is essential. How can someone learn to find the answer if you tell them the answer, and I cannot tell them what road is theirs, I only know my own, what is right for me. There are so many things I do not feel are important, that it is easy for me to yield, or appear to, to get out of the way of people charging ahead full of ego, desire, or righteousness. I remain undeterred, certain, determined, committed, like water and wind, pursuing my own ends without seeking resistance, easier that way than wasting energy in conflict or competition, useless distractions. Yet, I do not choose the path of least resistance, and overcome obstacles if that is the way I have to go, what is right. If it does matter, I do not yield at all, ever. And I am very strong, I know the ways of stone as well, and steel. And of course, how to burn with a fire.

I do not blame people for being who they are, only deal with it as I must. I feel that in human relationships, it is important not to take things too seriously, the drama of life, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing". Ma was a drama queen, certainly, and I could live with that. My own emotions are burning passions, raging storms of lightning and thunder, a storm inside a bottle, usually. Carefully decanted and served up in the music. So I have learned to respect emotions, and respect and understand what triggers and drives them, which are important, just without taking the emotions themselves too seriously. A huge dramatic moment can be oddly insignificant the next day, or the next hour, and forgotten in a month or a year. As I have said before, you can only expect of people what they are capable of, expect them to be who they are and act accordingly, doing what they will.

As far as the presnt goes, well, I have only to act as needed, keep my promises to ma, and the inevitability of the situation will cause things to resolve, there is no need for me to try and force anything on anyone, while at the same time I keep on steadily doing the job I promised ma I would do, so I can eventually move on. There are, luckily, few decisions involved. While I try to be considerate, at the same time, I have to get it done, and I do. Or I wait, unworried and unhurried, and do somethng else. And while I do, I ponder the nature of human character, emotion, and motivation.

A hard thing is not going out and playing music. I am living in relative isolation, except dealing on a business level with many people. Though I need to practice and prepare for the studio, I find it hard to play in an empty room. Though I have gotten the camera set up to try and produce video, it is not the same as performing for people. I also like talkng with people, interacting, which is why I liked the street, more than the stage, for the easy interaction of being on the same level, the spontaineous converstations that are so great. That has been my life, and I miss it.

I feel troubled by being in limbo, not being able to make definite plans for my own life. My life usually runs quite practically and pragmatically, it has to, the sea and the road and the wilderness demand it, the seasons demand it, while also giving endless possibilities for the spontaineous, as long as the practicalities are maintained. Partly it was simply not knowing how long it will take, so I could not commit as I once did, when the seasons were a schedule I could depend on. It is also just like I tell people, that I try not to expect things to happen on a time schedule, since that is so hard to know for certain. I proceed down the list, working steady, whether I encounter smooth progress or delays. Partly it is that there are definite forks in the road ahead, and I don’t know what I am planning for. Even such small matters as packing up all my stuff, rather than trying to decide what to get rid of now, except for the obvious, just so I would be ready to go ASAP if need be. Though it would be easier to have reduced the load now, I can find someplace to go through it all somewhere down the road, without any pressure. While it is partly due to the lack of cooperation from my relatives, rational and irrational, in resolving some issues, there are other decisions I need to make. But I want to wait till the situation here is resolved, not rush to some decision, and then be second quessing again since I can’t act, becoming confused. In time, the decision may be obvious, so why struggle with making a decision till I must, when I may not need to? Then make a decision, best I can, and act, and for better or worse, it is done and I move on. If i make a mistake, maye I can go back and do it over, maybe I can’t. Sometimes you never know, sometimes it is obvious, once you have acted. So it goes.

One of the bigest decisions I face is if the family does decide to just sell the house as is ASAP, and take the lowest value, essentially, do I want to take on the house myself. I won’t go through all the pros and cons right here, which seem pretty balanced. I may have already, since I laid out the scenarios soon after ma died, but the family couldn;t decide, and tey have to decide what they want first. Though of course, it makes a big difference what I do here, in terms of packing, f I am staying.Though I still packed up my stuff regardless. I could finish the rennovation, but to afford the mortgage I’d either have to find room-mates so I can do it slow and keep a base here, or do it fast and rent it out the house entire. So I have to hold both possibilities in mind, and I find myself appreciating the house a lot. Between ma and I, it is a great lace, aesthetically. It does reflect oour natures, which were similiar. Though a house is a house, and I would built something like this if I built, open and airy and with walls of windows. And I’ll miss the plants, the yard that I have slowly nurtured in a wild natural landscape of selected plants for flowers and forage for wildlife, birds, and butterflys. It is so easy to spin endless scenarios of what could be, what I could do, that I don’t try to hold on to them, but let them pass like dreams, till I know what road is ahead, then I can follow those dreams to plans and realities.

Though when the tasks here are resolved doesn’t really matter that much, I can take whatever time it takes, or even go away and come back, though that feels unnescessary. Also, at a certain point, I will not be rushed unreasonably either. I made that effort, and I could have left for the West, and Alaska, during the summer, but I can’t in the middle of winter. The passes are closed. The fact is, if I hadn’t been taking care of the house and estate for everyone, I could have had my stiuff ready and headed West in July. If I accept the consequences of their actions, so must they. I will listen to reason, but not be motivated by the unreasonable. If I am in a more difficult situation personally than would have been otherwise, because timing is so critical for me, my life and my work, well, so what? I deal with what comes, for better or worse, as I always have. If I can, because there are limits. Still, I am very capable, and patient, and determined, if I chose to be. In the end it will all be past, and I make a plan that works no matter how it works out.

If I have any expectation, it is that I’ll be able get back to Alaska next summer, really as I planned to before ma died, driving the van and the trailer, and possibly the Hurley, West, visiting Monatana again, and restablishing my urban base in Seattle. Though it is not certain. So I don’t worry about it, till it becomes certain, even inevitable, or something else comes up. I have no problems leaving off making decisions till I am able to see clearly what is ahead, sometimes it is obvious, sometimes not, and generally, there are only a few possibilities, though anything might happen, and the best laid plans are moot.

I have spent time talking to my buddies in Alaska, Montana, and Seattle, and everything looks very positive for centering my life and work out West again. It looks like I’ll base out of Seattle, relatively, though I wonder how "based" I will be anywhere, after this short sty here, and how much I’ll return to the road. I want to focus on the music, and need to balance touring, with the fact that my musical buddies are in Montana and Seattle, and Seattle is a great place to play. I wonder how the East will work into my route now, and my plans for travelling internationally. I have family here, and in Florida, but I don’t need to maximize my time in either place like I did with my parents while I still could, a wise decision, of course. I still have my sailboat in Florida, though the situation there is changed, and I don’t know where it will go. But as with many things, I don’t need to know. I am self-sufficient, capable, and can play anywhere and get by. So I can take it as it comes, without expectations, see what the future brings, as I focus on a clear and certain direction, the music, and go where it leads me, by chance and circumstance, and coincidence. That is the essense of travelling on the Way. Sensing that subtle thread of energy and following it, wherever it takes me, whatever it is I end up doing.

A final story. My friend Moss, out in Seattle, and I had an interesting discussion, as we talked about the possibilities when I get out there again. Among other things, he broached the idea that he’d been thinking about collaborating not just on music, but on writing "autobiographies". Quite a coincidence, this is a subject I have been pursuing myself for a while. Which led to a long conversation covering all the threads I have been weaving about this idea. All my life, people have told me I "should write a book" and I promised I would, and I am a man of my word. But I said I was too busy living it to write it. Well, that promise is one on the "life’s work" list. I have documented my life very well, with my personal journal, photographs, video-tape and now digital video. Though again, I haven’t produced anything with it. This webjournal, and the website itself, was also a conscious beginning at publishing, in a new form, which I since often pondered, since the beginnng of the web, how to evolve a new form of book, combining all the interlocking and interlinked text, pictures, audio, and video that modern computers and the web is capable of. I also realized that I wasn’t really as interested in writing an autobiography of me personally, but about my life only as an example to explain and illustrate the culture and philosophy that I manifest. On one hand, it is a matter of not wanting to tell the story of my life, but to tell stories from my life, as a way to explain some things and communicate things harder to exlain, like many books. On another hand, it is simply not knowing what I want to explain, or how to explain it, but knowing I have lived it, so by telling the stories of that life, perhaps people can understand what I can’t explain. On a third hand, it is feeling like I have explained it, in those stories, and in my journals, and all I need to do is edit and package and publish what I have already written into a comprehensible form. He talked about the value of just the conversations we have had on the phone, and when we meet as I toured, and made videos, like back in the AK2K tour journals, but we didn’t really video our conversation. But he tought of thsat format. He barely started to mention ("Have you seen this movie..") and I named the title, “My dinner with Andre”. The fact that, there could be many ways of trying to "publish", to share the knowledge and experiences we have.

It is very interesting to see that Moss has come to such similiar conclusions. Just yesterday, a week after this conversation, I notice a note I made about doing something essentially the same as Moss was talking about, the "fireside chat" stle of conversational video as another format, compared to the solo narration style I used in some of the studio journal, just me talking in the studio narrating as a foundation for video clips on top.

More essential is the common idea that we were born into a crucial time, and place, and in families that allowed us to pursue our inclination when we were young, and we somehow evolved into something new, culturally. It was a small window of opportunity that allowed us, unconsciously in many ways, to somehow pioneer new frontiers of culture and philosophy. And there is a value in telling that story, that others might learn from it. The fact is, we were never really aware of how far rom the norm we were, and still are. Or that there are people seeking knowledge we take for granted, and are always suprised to find that people are hungry for that knowledge and experience. We were ourselves, and couldn’t perceive, or perhaps accept, how exceptional we were, though it is obvious all too often. The final point being that by collaborating, we both provide motivation to each other, and as important, keep it from being one person’s story or philosophy, and make it a story of something else, something outdside us, which we both were lucky to be part of, to express in our lives, in different ways.So what we are talking about isn’t an "autobiography" in the real sense, a story about a person, but using our stories to tell the story of something else, of what we found, in a special time and place, and lived, each in our own way, which is very different story form the story of a person. It could as easily be, and usually is done, with a fictional character, but I feel is is better using real true stories, for better or worse. The truth, after all, is allowed to be stranger than fiction. And there were a lot of pretty wild and srange scenes in our lives. Which is the point.

Towards the end of the conversation, he mentioned an incident where he had been at a festival, playing around the campfires, and at one, suddenly realized that someone was talking about me, telling stories about me, and things I had done, decades before, when I was still in highschool actually. I don’t know why they were telling the story, what point they were making in that circle, neither did he, since he caught only the end of it. Yet I recognized that I have been that mystic gypsy folksinger, a mythic figure and the living character, because I did it, more than anyone can know, "as god (and my dog) is my witness". It is still strange to know that I have been the stuff stories made of, though it is nothing new, and even I have heard stories about this person I realized was me. So perhaps it is true that I should tell the whole story, just because it is a great one, and in truth, it doesn’t need to have a point. I don’t know if there is one. It is perhaps more that there are many points, and pieces, captured in this strange life I have lived, that people might learn from, each in their own way. And that is the point, all my life, to try and raise consciousness, in each person I met, in whatever way I could, which is really to say, in whatever way they needed me to, that I could be helpful or catalytic.

It made me realize once again what I know, that I should be out among the people, playing that part again, for whatever time I have left. I have been damaged and withdrawn, for a while, then distracted by all the demands from family and disasters that took me away from the life I lived once. I never really got back to it, as every time I started, something happened to demand my attention, whether it was family matters or the Hurley getting sunk. I still did it regularly enough as well, as the videos testify, but I also spent a lot of time doing other things.Some which might be nescessary to "do more" and reach more people, like this website and journal, others were not, though justified, and not selfish, I could have chosen to not give up so much of my life to them, like saving the Hurley. I failed, or refused, to accept that I was something exceptional, that no one could take my place, doing what I had been doing as a folksinger on the streets and among the people, off the stgae and the business even folk music has become. Again, I wasn’t really playing music, I was doing something else, really, something more, and music was just the obvious manifestation of that. Though I would still argue that I wasn’t important, someone else would do all I have done. But it is not so simple, as history proves so often, specific individuals can be indespensible. I just never believed that I was one of those people, never wanted to be, perhaps refusing to be, seeking anonymity, which was a difficulty. I had told people that simple wisdom often enough. That there is that which you can do, and could do, that you want to do, and that you should do, and beyond it all, there is that which only you can do, and if you do not, no one else will. I fail to grasp my own importance, even in the anonymous and insignificant path I have chosen, and a couple decades passed. And time has grown short to do anything.

And it raised interesting questions about this webjournal and website, what my purposes are here, and the ways of going about them, the possibilities. If I want to keep focused on the music here , compartmentalize, or as I have always done, and tried to use it as another vehicle for the other things I want to say. Since that was the purpose of the music from the beginning, as the most effective means I had to reach people, with the words and music, to try and raise consciousness, raise awareness, compassion, inspire and draw people to feel with their heart and soul. But without needing to be always direct, yet other times able to say it like it is, and have people still listen, to put into words vague feelings and thoughts in a person or a people. This is still an experiment, a multi-pronged one, one of the beauties of the web and a site like this. I can try many things, so people might find what they need, what works for them, the door they are reaching for. Whether that is something here, or in the section where I tried to start explaining my philosophy directly. Or maybe they will take the plans I’ve provided for building a dulcimer and that will change their lives, as it did mine.

Yet I started this entry just to keep this going during a long pause when I have had not time for anything, no internet access, and am not doing anything interesting. Though I can never say I don’t have anything to say.

So! As I ponder mortality and the time left me, and think about what I would do with the time I have left I am left with two conclusions.

One is that I do want to try to put this documentary I have made of my life into a form, or forms, that can be shared with people, and passed on as a record as well, not as an autobiography, but as means to tell a story of culture and philosphy, the "Evolution Revolution" I talked about back in the 70′s. It is also like I say about the music, it is not about making a record but leaving one, and about giving the electric dulcimer a life of it’s own, shining the spotlight upon it, not upon me, and leaving arecord that others can use to follow a similiar path if they wish to, learn from my experience, even if I am gone.

The second is that I chose in my life not to "do" anything, but to "be" something. As such, it doesn’t matter if my time is short, because there is nothing I will not get "done", nothing I won’t accomplish, no matter how much or how little time I have left. Though I am still haunted by the feeling that I had a greater purpose in this world, with all the talents and intellegence and ability I have been given, but somehow was unable to find where I belonged, where I was suposed to be. Yet, I also can feel that I reached the goal of my life, long ago, like buddha under the tree, and there is no measure of that. Once there, it was simply a matter of walking down the road, being what I was, trying to be there for the world to use as they chose, to stop and listen or walk on by. I can simply be whatever I have been one more time, and one more time, and however many times I can, till I am gone. It is the greatest experience of my life, and what I seek to share with everyone I meet, if I can, when I can. I have made my life a work of art, a story, a character. I can sing another song, speak a few more words, tell another story, be that mystic gypsy folksinger passing in and out of a strange but memorable scene in someone’s life, making it a scene, of being caught up in something different, extraordinary, a sudden depth, the suddenly openning door from which wafts a breath of the mystic, of another sense of the world, a magic moment of terrible beauty.

And then it is gone, with the fading echoes, unique, yet still that same energy, manifesting, shining through me, once again, till one day, well, I’ll be gone, and someone else will carry on, since for all that I may have forged new links, done unique things, I feel that I am also part of an unbroken chain, stretching back into the unknown past, and after me, other will continue as I have wrought in my time.

The pressure hasn't let up, really, I have been going non-stop with hardly a break. But it will pass, like the storms at sea, and sooner or later I'll be looking back at it all, just shaking my head at what I've just been through. I guess I don't worry about making it through, anymore. I am just so capable, and stubborn, and persistent, that eventually I make it through. So I just focus on the one step at a time that gets me there.

I feel comfortable and really at peace with mom being gone. It strikes me at times, sometimes moments of sadness that we won't be able to do things we'd planned on. Though we both knew they might not be. Sometime, and really more, often, as moments of pleasure, as a hear a great story or comment from one of her friends, or remember a scene myself, as I clean the house, another facet of a rare gem. I miss just having her around to talk to, as an old friend who knows my life a bit, and a fellow artist who knows what moves me, what drives me. She is always very present, comfortably, not so much as before, but there’s always that bit of her in me, as always, I can hear her shrewd comments and criticisms on about anything I do. Death hasn't changed that much. The wake will be at the end of this week. The last big event for me. I'll see so many of her friends I've never met, I expect it to be a scene at times, quietly talking with a few friends at others, improv theatre at it's best.

And, of course,, the tribure page, "Rusty the Thespian", keeps growing as people add comments and I add more emails, pictures, and videos people send me. As it was meant to be, though I did my part, I am just one actor in the show.

As I continue the job I'm doing here, I'm also shutting down the last non-essential utilities here at the house, including internet access. I'll have to figure out a new routine by the time I try to post again, maybe from Florida, or a final post when I am ready to leave here, wrapping it up. I'll can find access somewhere, I always did before. I always planned to move to a mobile platform eventually, but I don't have time to do it now, or even think about it. After I have finished here and left all this work behind me, I'll start figuring it out. Technically, I want to wait for the next generation processors to come out next year before I invest in a new laptop, as well as all the other hardware and software I need to move to mobile audio/video production and web publishing. But there are plenty of computers these days, not hard to find any more. So I'll manage.

As for the music, though I am cut short in the middle of my plans, and really have to focus on being ready to leave in a couple months, I have made some significant steps, and played a show. So I keep the music energy flowing, despite everything.

I did a show, a paid gig opening for a talent showcase, and it was good to get out, though it was a bit strange as well. Though in the end, I realized I couldn't let myself get distracted by trying to perform. I need to get this effort done in one major effort, as quick as possible, and get it behind me. Assuming that is what is happening. But I can't help it, still respond to offers that come for paid gigs. Need the money, need to play, and I have to think ahead. I am absolutely busy right now, and have been for a couple months, but soon I'll have more time as I wrap things up. The mountain always seems endless right till you reach the top.

It was a depressing moment when I faced putting the music projects on the shelf again, indefinitely, till I either get somewhere else to work or get a set up in a rig. So I decided to pay for commercial studio time and get at least one new CD out, in defiance of what had happened. I went to the studio for a couple sessions, and well, it worked out fine, though I didn't really get anything done on the CD. Essentially, I answered the main question, would this work, was it a good idea. The answer to that was yes, the studio engineer is a cool guy, has a good set-up, and knows his stuff. I know it will work, which is the most important thing. The problem is, he was ready to get started, but I wasn't. I wanted him to try recording the dulcimer, see how it turned out, see if he liked it, and if we worked well together. I am more than satisfied on those counts. But the fact is, I haven't played in months, and I need to practice every day for a bit to get up to speed again, to make this effort worth doing. I've been playing guitar a lot the last months, but not the dulcimer, and not the songs I want to record, mostly. And I am depending on my ability to play great, flawless takes with great energy, to pull this off in such a short time. But I am not there yet. To even do that will be a great effort, with all I have to do, but I try to spend some time every day, playing the dulci, and the guitar, going over the songs I want to record, getting them back into automatic, so there is no hesitation, no effort. And I have so much to do right now, it is crazy, though gradually the pressure will let off a bit, though I really won't be able to focus on much till I am ready to leave here. Still, I can live in the van and work in the studio this Fall, if I have to leave here, and get it done.

I also had to let go of all my ideas for the new CDs, and focus on really a whole new project. A CD of originals, but what I can do in the shortest time with what I have, the low-hanging fruit. Do something good, hopefully something great, but focus on my live sound more, not what I could do with other instruments and a lot of time in the studio. I don't have time to try to develop a new "studio sound", though that was one of the original concepts, to do what I could do in the studio, not what I do live. Also, to find studio musicians, and develop a band sound, where the dulcimer is front and center, because it is what I do, but played the way I would have learned to play if I had been playing with other people all these years, not the solo sound I have depended on. But that is what I have to depend on now. As I said to the Mike, in the studio, this isn't a CD for the masses, to market to the norm, or what is pop, or even what is more understandable to the average listener. This CD is for the people who hear and see me play, live, and want to buy a CD, and they want that sound, the dulcimer-vocal combination I developed. That is who I am recording for. And if I do anything, it is to improve that sound for them, by adding percussion, adding guitar, adding extra vocals or another instrument.. but always remembering that is is about me singing with the dulcimer, first, and if anything, playing the dulcimer more by itself, what people asked for after the first CDs, and I tried to add in the last, more instrumental breaks highlighting the sound of the dulcimer.

It is hard, becuase I wanted to do more, or just something different with this CD, and Mike is a great engineer and has suggestions that are spot on to what I was thinking myself. But I’ll be lucky to get it done just going for what I am going for, in the situation I am in. On the bright side, I’ll get another CD done, and it will be better than what I could do, and U hope to learn as much as I can. It really makes me think about the whole concept of trying to do it myself. O can, but I am not going to be as good as someone who has made it their professional focus, whether engineering sound or playing lead guitar. Yet it also makes it clear that unless I make a lot more money playing music, focus on that, I can’t afford the studio time to do what I’d like, to really use someone like Mike to full advantage, when I am trying to get in and out ASAP before I run out of time and money for the project. So it goes. So I’ll try to learn all I can working with him, try and make what I do better. I already know I need to work on playing with others, or even with myself, pre-recorded, and develop a style for the studio, more spare, more restrained, where the dulci is not the entire wall of sound any more, but just a part of a larger sound.

That is the reality. There are thousands of singer-songwriters, guitar bands, but only one like me, singing with the dulcimer. I have a unique sound, and need to focus on that, not try to make it sound more like other people's music. Remember who I am recording for, the people who are listening to me play, and like it so much they want a CD.

I also have given some thought to what else I might want to do before I have to leave here. The most important, I think, is to get studio performance videos done. I am so close, I just need to shoot some songs when I am in my stride, practiced up for the studio. I can process them later if need be. But once I post them, I can really focus on promoting the website, and trying to get booked into festivals and venues after I leave here.

The other big thing would be winding more coils for pickups, making sure I have a spare set, and at least sets of coils to build more out of. It really doesn't take that long, since the winder is still essentially set up. I just need to do it. Then I can keep moving forward on that project, even on the road. I can put together the wiring and switching anywhere, it is just the actual winding of the coils that I need the machine set up for.

Finally, I think about buying wood for more dulcimers. Though it is true I may already be hauling a lot of stuff away from here, just to try to find a place to store, I also will never be closer to the source of wood, and have an easy shipping address as well. A small stack of planks will make ten more dulcimers, which would keep me busy a long time. But if that is my intention, to give he dulcimer a life of it's own, by passing copies on to other people, I need to build.

It is interesting. Though I try to focus on the moment, the step by step progress I have to make to get out of here in time, which won't be easy, I still am always dreaming of the possibilities of the future. It is a form of productive day-dreaming, where my mind wanders as I work, but I am focused on potential scenarios for the future. Often, one general scenario starts to dominate the rest, a few threads become more and more real, become visions, and plans.

I keep sending my mind forward, to what I will do and where I will go, without trying to fasten on it, but see what fascinates me. When I go to bed, I try to guide my dreams, tell myself to dream of what will make me happy. See where that leads me. The results are not surprising, like all my best dreams. I have found a homestead farm in the mountains, or am back camping in the wilderness, or I am at a festival playing, or playing somewhere, or on the water, or at a harbor town or beach, the realities of my life when I was living my dreams. But then, almost always, a girl shows up, somehow woven into the story, the love I have been dreaming of all my life, the woman of my dreams. I always remember her eyes, someone I recognize, though her form changes. I guess I want to believe that she is out there somewhere, reaching to me through some psychic spaces withing my dreams, wearing different forms like clothes, but I still recognize her when our eyes meet.

More to the point, I contacted two old best friends out West. Significantly, they both talked about getting together to play music. One is my lead player from the last CD, telling me he has recording gear of his own now, and has built a guest house at his place I can stay in instead of recording in his one room cabin, where I did the last CD actually, "somewhere in Montana". My other buddy lives in Seattle, one of my bases for many years, till I started spending my Fall in Alaska, though I still stopped to visit Seattle on the way, most years, and made a loop to Montana as well, till recently. You can find both of them in various clips in the tour journals. To the point, Moss, in Seattle, recently left the band he's been with and is wondering what he'll do next. We'd always thought of playing together more seriously, but he was busy with a regular job for years, and when he shifted seriously to music, I wasn't in Seattle much anymore. And he has finished building his own studio/guest quarters as well. Though nothing is certain, it opens up great scenarios in my mind, really positive possibilities for the future, which was really good for me, no matter what really happens. It brought me back to the life I had before I came here, and the great things I had going out there, and right now, they are suddenly looking even better potentially for the future, when I can finally head west.

There are other dreams as well. With me, they are not vague fantasies, mostly, but pretty specific, from real experience, and knowledge. It is closer to imagining what would happen, day-dreaming scenes and scenarios, if I followed through on one of the specific options, specific plans I have always had ready in the back of my mind, for when the time came. Since often these plans are simple, how I would live, the practical part, not where I would go or what would happen, not how it would work out. You can never know that, really. But the means, the foundation, that can be clear. Like building a place on my land in Alaska, or now that it is paid for, look for land in Montana or on the west coast, where my other buddies are. Like fixing the steel boat, or buying a bigger one, and cruising through the islands and on to south America. Another one is getting another bus (it would be my fifth), or at least, a big transport van, one size up from what I have now and with a "bus" body, which I can get fairly cheap up in Alaska. I'd have a small room, but a room, big enough to record in, big enough to build dulcimers in, and comfortable on the road. The van was good, even pretty comfortable, but cramped. I can't even play the guitar easily, much less the dulcimer. And if I do the vegie-oil conversion on another diesel, I can still follow the plan of going from festival to festival for another decade, gathering used fryer oil from the booths at the fair to help me make it to the next fair. On that note, I dream about going from fair to fair whether I am booked or not, and just playing the dulcimer anyway, inside if I can, out in the camping area otherwise, sell CDs, promote the website, but get the dulcimer out there in front of people, even if I have to pay to get in. Sometimes they might stop me from playing, sometimes they might make me official, but if my real mission is to get the dulcimer seen by as many people as possible, going where I can get booked is not necessarily the most effective. And honestly, I make enough money when I can play to make up for going to festivals I don't get tips. Though if I can't play at all, I won't go. I am not into going to music festivals to listen, only to play, and hopefully, to jam with other good players, pro or not, and socialize with people into music. More than any specific plan, it is about getting out in that world and seeing where the music leads me. As I know from experience, it is a world I belong in, and one where my abilities make a way for me, make me welcome, and lead me on.

It has been tough, being here alone, day after day. Solitude is not hard on me, but when I have so many things on my mind, and so much to think about, and major decisions in front of me, it is hard having no one to talk to. It is hard to clarify things when you are in your head, easier when you have to put it into words. I have often watched ideas evolve in a series of conversations over days or months with many people, all on the same thread, till it becomes a settled narrative. Now, I use paper, lists and pictures, to force things into specifics, into concrete jigsaw puzzle pieces that can be put together into a picture. It is an exercise I began when I was still a teenager, and it still works now, to help make some order out of the confusion of images, scenarios, ideas, and visions that crowd my mind most all the time.

Personally, it is still a major effort, a major trial. But it is not the first time by far. In fact, I am so used to this that it feels natural, to work full speed without thinking beyond what I have to do next, beyond the checklist for this week. But my life now is mostly about doing one thing after another, dealing with the the job here. Checklist after checklist, from talking to banks and lawyers to cleaning out sheds that haven't been cleared in decades, to baking bread and doing this journal before the internet is cut off, staying up all night to get it done in time. It is all getting done, step by step. Though it is also different. Usually I work in cycles, checking things off for this year. Now I do a job that will end up being completed and left behind, with many things on the checklist that once done, are done for good.

It is lonely here. I work day after day, till I forget what day it is. I am lucky to have a few visitors, old friends from out of state come by, and it is just great to sit and talk. Another couple, friends from Italy, come to visit. Again it is good, and we talk about me going there, and just like my friends out west, it puts me on a positive vision of the future, makes it more real, more a plan than a dream. And I talk to my buddy in Montana a good bit. We were out of touch the last few years while I was here and unable to make the loop to Montana, something he expected as we talked a lot about what I planned to do coming here. But I was able to finally send him a DVD and a CD I'd been trying to get to him for a while, sent him the year after I came here, but the address was no good, and I had't been able to track him down since, till now. And just the people in the neighborhood, all old friends, stopping to talk as they walk their dogs, or I stop what I am doing, take a break and walk with them a ways. But it is true, in the end, I am working day after day in a big empty house, with really no time to go anywhere. Maybe when I am finally ready to go, I'll be able to go out again, though it will be to say goodbyes. so it goes.

By the first week of July, the finances are taken care of. I go through ma's entire email account harvesting addresses, even ones she never compiled into contacts from her last ISP, and send a final announcement to hundreds of addresses, 10 at a time, trying to get the news to everyone I can, doing my best for ma, and her friends. I make the trip to Florida, to take care of the boat and see my relatives there, finally.

It was a good trip in many ways, even if it was a huge drive, a tight schedule to do just a few things, and then back, all in a week. I left July 7th, was back July 15th. I took ma's car, as we'd planned before she died. So felt I was carrying out our plans really, which was cool. The drive itself was good, to be in that familiar place, familiar space, and it really seemed to go quick. Of course, ma's car is faster, and smooth, and comfortable, I got her one of the best used car I could, a Honda Civic, and it shows. Though it isn't easy to sleep in, I manage, with the seat down, the hatch to the trunk open, and my mattress stretching the length of the back.

I had this feeling I often have when I am doing things, like a dance, where my energy is just flowing smooth and graceful, with perfect timing. I couldn't find chain in the DC area, but found a place in Jacksonville and placed my order and headed south. The problem was I left Thursday, and if I didn't make it by closing Friday, I would have to do it after I visited my relatives, not so smooth and direct a course. But I did it, swooping into Jacksonville and into a pouring rain, and got my chain, showed the man I'd ordered from the gold nugget, as I'd promised. Then was away again, making it to Green Cove Springs just in time, again, to buy my registration sticker for the boat at the County Tax Assessor's Office, just perfect.

And then I am there, back in the park, looking out at my boat, anchored where I'd left it. A lot more boats then when I first came here, so many years ago. It was strange, to stand there and feel the memories of the years since I first came here, sailing up with a jury-rig on a mast broken in half, to leave the boat so I could spend time with Dad. Stopping every year to paint and check the mooring, even put a door on the hatch imagining I'd live here more and allow myself to "lock up" easier as I went to St. Augustine to play. But like the plans I had up at 1213, that's all done, and I don't know what is ahead, just what I have to do now.

Though I don't have time to do anything that afternoon, I still get out the inflatable kayak dad gave me, leaking from a new hole, but still working to do what I need. I head out, and Pooh is still where I left him, along with the fighting conch shell. It is so strange. As I swing aboard, I have to just sit for a while, my back against the hatch I won't even try to open this time, overwhelmed by decades of memories, the great scenes and achievements, and the great disappointments. I am overwhelmed by my awakening senses, the whole part of my physiology geared to boats and the sea, as a significant part of my brain and body is suddenly waking and coming alive. I have come back into my life, and my world, again, one I have really been away from so long it is almost like a dream, almost forgotten, yet the reality brings it all back, shakes something that is rooted so deep and strong, such a big part of my life. It is an experience beyond description, which are the experiences I live for. I just have to sit while it all passes through me.

After a long while, I return to shore. I get my food out and eat there in the park by the water, slowing down for the first time in a long time. Then I get the guitar and I play there in the echo-chamber of the gazebo for a couple hours. It is dark now, and I go off to find a place to sleep. I try a place I used just to pull in and take a shower before, a dead end road on some undeveloped property farther down the cove, where it turns to swamp and marshland. The road is overgrown with grass and unused, but I turn in quick, push through with headlights off, and shut her down quick. I sleep deep and well, and up early with the sun.

It is an old story, I lift the mooring chain onto the bow of the boat, replacing the two chains that go from the bow to the swivel and heavy ship chain below. I am just in time, one shackle has already sprung. But that's why there are two chains. I replace them, lift the heavy chain to find the lighter cross chain, and tie off a float. This is summer weather, a tropical wave is moving through, so the day goes from the near calm of morning to the afternoon, when a solid wave of massive thunderstorms are rolling in. I use the sudden hard wind to slowly lay the heavy ship chain back out in a line, not piled up on the bottom, good luck, good timing. I have done this before.

As the storm crashes down on me, I take shelter under the upside down rowboat I have lashed above the cockpit as shelter. I brought a warm sweat-shirt just for this event. A strange thing happens. As the storm hits, and the boat begins to move, I am overcome with the urge to sleep. Something in me needs to connect that my conscious mind is in the way of. I know what is happening, what I need to do, though I can't explain to you why. So I lay down there, warm and comfortable, and instantly fall asleep to the plunging motion of the boat, the wind and thunder and pouring rain, the cool spray on exposed skin, blowing around the cabin and the rowboat, though I am safe and secure, sheltered, curled warm in the sweats and sweatshirt I brought, head pillowed on my life-preserver.

I wake up some time later, I don't know how long, a couple hours at least, as the storms pass away with the dropping sun. I get in gear, chipping the accumulated growth from the old chains I have removed before I take them ashore, so I can pack them away, still probably good for something, at least recycling. Then I return to shore to go through the same routine again, eating and playing the guitar, though my hands are stiff from pulling chain, and I feel familiar muscles, unused for a year.

I wake the next morning ready to finish the job. I am making coffee by leaving it in cold water overnight, then filtering it. It is a sweet way to brew, like they do in parts of South America. It is good looking at the piles of bright new chain in the morning sun, doing it right. I am not going to try to inspect or replace the cross chain that runs to the two anchors, making the mooring. I will just double up the new chain with the old chain running from the big anchor. That will do. I go out and laying across the kayak, slowly lift the chain, moving the loop of rope attached to the float along till I reach the anchor. Then I am off and into the water. It feels good, even this dark, murky half-river water, strangely tangy with the outflow of the sulfur springs that give this place its name. I have to dive down , eyes closed, and carefully reach down the entire length of my arms down into the mud to shackle the chain to the shank of the anchor. I am lucky it is not deeper in the mud. I use a couple tricks from long experience, but in the end, it comes down to simple clear visualization and staying calm, as I hold my breath and do a tricky job. Then I slowly work my way back along the chain, pulling new chain from the kayak to lay along the old chain till I reach the big ship chain that leads to the boat, and there I shackle it again, the remaining new chain I continue with along the cross chain, as far as it goes, shackling it to the old chain where it ends. And I am done

I clean Pooh and put him back in place to wait again, as he has waited for years, through several hurricanes, a remarkable bear. The final feeling I take away, is a recognition of how competent I am, both in how I did everything here in the first place, and always have with boats, and how I did this job so clean and tight. No wasted motion, doing a hard job right and quick, without rushing, getting it done and done right, once again. I realize again what I tend to forget, since I can only measure myself against myself. I am really a seriously capable and competent person, in everything I do. I just never want to accept it, and tend to play it down. But the sea, and boats, are practical, and absolutely ruthless, they are a true test, and I have passed. And I have to see all the things I've done for a moment in this light, from the gold mining, to the dulcimer and the music, to the work on the house, and so many other things. That while I never tried to do great things, I have done the things I did great. I go away feeling, knowing, that I can handle whatever is ahead, even if my best efforts fail and I crash, I’ll make it through and get it going once again. So I stop worrying about it. Whatever the future holds, whether I succeed or fail in the moment, I'll be able to not only handle it, I'll do it with the same capability, the same perseverance and intelligence, the same competence and skill. I came to do a job on the boat, I leave behind a lot of my doubts and worries about the future.

I drive west through pouring rain. I spend a few days visiting, not important for anything specific, but very important in essence. This is my Dad's second family. One I promised him I'd be part of before he started, since he knew he wouldn't be able to be there for his kids as long as he'd like. As it was, he died last fall at 84, while I was in Alaska, and I haven't seen my brother and sister since I left here last Spring. They are teens, now, at least, and I have been there all along, their cool older brother, traveling off and bringing back pictures and stories and odd bits of this and that. And though it is understood, at an elemental emotional level, it is important to show that I am still there, still part of their lives.It is cool, too, as we are able to sit at the table and have more adult conversation, as brothers and sisters, talking about life, and whatever comes up. It is good for Janet as well, his wife, the same continuity, as I show up to do some work around the house, deal with computers and odd bits of house work, just as I have always done. I take away a few boxes of his books she doesn't want, mostly about sailing and the carib, as I learned to sail from Dad, and that was one of our solid connections, as sailors. And books about Central American culture, another common experience that Janet never shared. Framed pictures of places El Salvedor and Panama that I know but she doesn't. It was good. Then it was time to go, and I headed north, passing through the storms again, sleeping at a truck-stop just before I hit the worst of it, a wall I saw coming for an hour, gone in the morning, and I am back at 1213 that night.

The final thing I noticed is that the trip served me well by creating a boundary. My life has always been bounded and bracketed by road trips, as I moved from one part of my life to another, one season to the next, one chapter to the next. The effect is unavoidable, even in so short a time-span for the trip, it was still the same long drive to Florida and back, time on the boat, time with my family there. My mind doesn't care that is was days instead of weeks or months. It put the last months firmly into the past, broke the continuity, and I returned to start again, but to start a new chapter in the story, with a small but powerful divider between me and the recent hard past, which was behind me now.

So I am already feeling things fade into the distance behind me. The months at the hospital. Ma's sudden and unexpected passing. The haze of day after day work doing all I'd promised to do afterwards, to take care of her friends and family. And while there is still so much to do ahead, it is different. The past is behind and that job is done, and this job is more packing and cleaning up to go, a different thing. It is all about moving forward, rather than dealing with the present, and the thing I came here to do, be with ma, is done, and done well. Even more, she is more clearly with me, in a true lesson of the road, that you see what you really do leave behind, and what you carry with you. I leave behind all the trouble and difficulties of the last months of ma's illness, all the small things, and I take what I always had, her presence in me, and the amazing and inspiring persona she always was for me, whether I was here or far away. I dreamed about her recently, heard her talking out in the living room, came out to find her talking on the phone to friends, gathering up a small bag of things, looking good, as positive and sprightly as ever, and it was good to see her. We didn't say anything really, nothing to say, because we’d really said it all, in the time we had together. I just gave her a big hug, something I really wasn't able to do since she'd been in bed these last months. And then she was gone, or I woke up, or both. It was a good dream.

The girl I loved who didn't, or couldn't, love me back, she has faded more. Though she is still there, because my love is true, the connection is deep and strong, but that is what remains, as the painful parting, and even the beautiful moments fade. She becomes the last girl, the one I still see when I sing. But I don't hold on to something that's gone. I face the road ahead, and what I have to do to deal with reality. I accept it, and let the feelings rage through me, till they pass on as well. For weeks she never left my mind, and I filled a 70 page journal mostly with thoughts of her, and all she made me think of, all the years and decades, days and nights, of a life alone, never meeting the right girl. Till I wonder why I keep trying, though I have to try. I went through it all, over and over, what could I have done different. But in the end, it was stacked against us all the way, and she didn't have what it took to make it happen, meet me half-way, or well, just didn't care that much. It was not unexpected. I think instead about the next one, and how to try to make that work, if I have learned anything from this latest experience. But nothing stands out. Except maybe take it more seriously, try harder, recognize how rare and special it is to meet a woman who reaches me like she did, and make a greater effort not to let it slip away once again. Though it doesn't seem right to have to persuade a girl, to force love to happen if it isn't just happening naturally. Don't really want a girl that needs to be persuaded, that needs to be pushed. I want one who just Knows. All that matters really, is when the next one comes along, is that I'll give her a chance to meet me half-way, like I did this last time, despite the fact that the odds were way against, the situation really adverse. Give love a chance, not just turn away because I know it will hurt me so much to lose once again, to feel just how lonely my life is, my life has been.

No, she's never far away, but there came one day I noticed she had slipped into the back of my mind, below the surface, like the other girls I met before her that didn’t work out for other reasons, to that temple where my heart lies before the altar of my goddess. Though she is there in a moment when I reach for her, or suddenly, if something reminds me, but there is so little we shared, in reality. It leaves me sad, quiet, the man I usually am, when I am not singing, entertaining. I went back to the Epicure Cafe again, once, because it was such a cool place, but it wasn't good for me. Too many memories, too much a reminder of her even more, too much a reminder of things I find, well, just frustrating and unfair, not right, that it never works out, that it didn't work out, once again, and I am left, lonely and sad, depressed, though I pick myself up and move on. And I need to move on, and that place doesn't help. I can't change reality. She had her chance, she made her choice, and that is that. I don't expect our paths to cross again, or they might, but it can never be the same. We have both moved on, her to her men, me to my lonely life. I need to leave her behind, because she isn't real, just a dream I had. I have to look forward, knowing I can fall in love, and hope the next one will finally be there for me, finally love me to, want to be with me, just me, and live the life I live, be able to live at the level I live, able to fly.

I have a long conversation with a young girl there, a babe in toyland, and it doesn't help much. I just don't understand. Though it was interesting, how on one hand she could say she didn't want to play the games, yet in the end, she does. The instincts, the behaviors programmed into us as the animal we are, are hard to resist, and both society, pop culture, and the players, push us to join that world, be shallow, self-indulgent, endlessly adolescent, the biggest consumers.

And I do understand. I can’t say what is right or wrong, just what is right for me. Perhaps because this whole sex-obsessed mentality is so much a part of the mainstream pop-cultural status quo I rebelled against. Or just knowing what is right for me. I am just a different type of person, and the result of a lot of pretty intense and rare experiences and training, not interested in playing with toys, not interested enough, not compared to the dulcimer, not worth all the trouble. Maybe I am a throwback to an older generation, that was more responsible, not focused on selfish, thoughtless consumption, but on building something real. I want, no, I live a life that is deep and intense, where everything is significant and takes total commitment. My life is so full of that, that games and players just don't even penetrate the surface of my attention, even when I was their age. It was like being in a room full of children, beautiful, fun to talk to, and there is a real connection, but in the end, we live in different worlds, and I have to return to mine. It is the world I chose, if you can call it that. I opened my eyes, and there was no going back. I've tried, I've retreated and hid away from the world, and myself, but there was no going back. And I have no regrets about that. I entered an incredible world, amazing, indescribable. My regret is that I never met someone like me, a girl like me, somewhere along the Way.

But that's all old history, and I don't let it bother me any more than it always does. The present, and the road ahead is what matters. I keep getting it done.

Though I have little time and need to get to work so I can get through it and be done. That is the new chapter, a short one, that will be done in just a couple months of hard work. It is still not clear what the future will be, I might end up keeping the house, it is still a possibility, though I have stopped thinking about it. Not knowing is getting in the way, actually. But I start where there is no question, like piling the rotten wood on the curb for special pickup, and all the stuff I can find that just needs to be thrown away, gotten out of the way. All things I would have gotten to eventually in the course of re-doing the house for ma, but needs to be done now. Its also clean-up from the last job I did on the house, clean-ups that were on my list of jobs to do as I continued the work I'll probably never do at this point. It was psychological, to make obvious progress, to really start the final job, throwing things away that I wouldn't be taking with me.

Though it was hard. I broke up a rotten sailing skiff that I'd never completed, that I'd started back when I first got he steel boat. I'd used it as a row-boat, used it hauling huge loads when I shifted from place to place on the water. Did a couple rounds of repairs even. But never a chance to finish it. Brought it up here to ma's house. Where finally, maybe away from the salt, it just rotted. Not totally, but too much. Some parts were still hard and strong, others crumbling. I hacked it up with an ax and set it on the curb. Thinking about all the dreams that got derailed back then. What I'll do with the other boats remaining from that time, should I finally just get rid of them, leave them behind, unfinished, like the Hurley I raised from the bottom, took away from old Davey Jones, but haven’t finished repairing yet. According to plan, I got it here, then got to work on the house, intending to get to the Hurley eventually. In fact was thinking of getting it or the kayak fixed up and in the water, start moving forward again, as I wrapped up the music projects. It was a long-term plan I was working on. Or the steel boat, still never completely finished, though I lived in it for years, traveled a good way in it, and enjoyed the trips.They are also still all the remains of a very bad time in my life, a lot of broken plans and dreams from the last time I had a girlfriend, over twenty years now. It was always a question whether to clean the slate and start over just because of that, there are many boats out there, and these are solidly connected to one of the worst experiences of my life, and biggest mistakes. I've never been with a woman since. Though I tried a few times, never got very far at all, not much trust, a lot of fear, knowledge, of what getting involved with the wrong girl could do. Knowing that I am too committed to everything I do, including a relationship, or a boat, which means I don;t just walk away when trouble hits, instead, I'll almost die trying to keep them from downing. At least I have that limit. Maybe I shouldn't have asked them to come into the deep water in the first place, when they might have been happy in the shallows. Most likely, they would have drowned there anyway, but I wouldn't have been there to see, not had to try and help them and get dragged into their messed up world, myself. Beyond the pain, it was learning that the wrong girl, someone who, no matter what she thought, couldn't live my life, was way worse than no girl at all. And I had to either find a girl who could, who did, live in my world, or live alone.Yes, it certainly isn't all about this latest girl entirely, or even mostly, and I know it. Though it is hard to say, she was one of the few I won't forget.

It is that and the boats, and so many things that I never was able to do, even the music projects that still stubbornly resist completion. Or the house and homestead I never built. There are many things like that in a life, I am not special or unique in this certainly. But the work for a time makes me see too much of what didn't work out, even if hat was my choice. Or didn't work out, no matter how competent and committed I am, because of other people I depended on to keep their lives together, whether the girl I was with, or the guy whose boat dragged down and sank mine, because he didn't anchor it right. Or the whole American culture that has destroyed the world, while I have lived without much of what it had to offer, lived simply, consumed little, but they are many, and I am one of the few. It is a dark and well-known path in my mind, one I need to force myself away from. Try to dwell on the positive feelings I had for the future, instead, and on the fact that this is just another job to do, and I can get it done, and it will be behind me. The feelings can pass through me, but they don't stop me, it is another road I have know well. And eventually, it will be done, and I will be on a new road. And I have looked ahead, and really, no matter which way things turn out, stay or leave now, or leave later, it feels like I have a positive outlook, no matter what. All I need to do is get this done, and then I can start on what is next. Especially, I can start playing again, get back out west, to Alaska, and the sea, and the life I loved, the world I loved.

Maybe it was the distraction of the hard, painful thoughts and memories of lost dreams and plans, all the efforts I made that in the end came down to rotting away. Facing the fact that no matter how hard you try, if you are not going there, you won't get there. But I even started throwing away things I shouldn't have, though it doesn't really matter. When I rebuilt the first part of the house, I re-wired as well. And when I did, I saved every scrap of wire, from the old wiring I took out to the short ends I clipped from the new wire as I completed the re-wiring. Also all the plumbing pipe I replaced. Saved every scrap. And when I replaced the furnace and AC, I saved the old ones, stacked it out back the last couple years till I could finally strip it down and take it to the scrap metal dealer. So I started on it. Stripped out the electric motors and started stacking the sheet metal, and rolled the heavy sheet metal remains of the furnace out to the street. In a couple days it was all gone, picked up by someone passing by. It made me think that I needed to do this right, as I'd planned, no need to just throw everything away. Woke me up. So I cleaned out the sheds, and gathered up all the copper I'd saved, and all the sheet metal that remained, stuffed it all into the Toyota till the wasn't room for more. I took to down to the scrap metal dealer today, got $205.00 for it. Good enough. It made me feel good, to follow through on what I had started. And that I'd done the job right, saving this valuable scrap as I did the job.

It did make me realize to that one of the dangers of this job is psychologically, throwing away things I gathered for things I'll never do, or just aren't worth carrying along on the road. I will be going back to when I first dreamed of buying land for an organic homestead farm, building my own home, raising horses and honeybees and fruit trees, having a family. All old,lost dreams now. But this house, literally, is the attic of my life. Where all the things stayed that I left behind. Some because I was given them and couldn't really use them. Or all the things I thought I would use one day, but never did.

Though ma and I talked of this sometimes in the last years. That I had left this place behind, long ago, and gone west, left the east coast, only coming back to visit her mostly, and my sisters in passing. Several times she asked why not go ahead and settle down, use the money I'd get for my share of the house build the house and homestead of my originals dreams, before I gave up on a personal life, and chose a life of service and voluntary simplicity on the street and on the road. It is a long story. But in the heart of it, that is what I intended to do as a homestead farmer, a counter-culture life of voluntary simplicity, appropriate technology, and deep culture, carrying on in the philosophical path of Thoreau and the Nearings. Though I really do want to go back on the road, perhaps more because missed it, and the west, being here so much the last decade. I have to remember my own philosophy, to see the energy am seeking behind the dreams and images that I use to remember them by, see through them to what I really want, the energy I seek.

And of course, there is the music.

I've always listened to the wisdom of her thoughts, though sometimes she didn't understand, other times she was dead on, or gave me an important extra bit I was missing. It is never too late to live a dream, settle down somewhere. That I can change what I do without changing what I am doing. That I can have chapters in my life, and not to fear embracing something new, or leaving something behind, as it will always be part of my life. It is why I bought the land in Alaska, knowing I couldn't necessarily stay on the road forever. Though she also understood that I didn't want to stop playing, any more than she ever wanted to stop acting. As always, the question was how to manage it.

Though I am focused on what I can count on, that I have to be out of here in a couple months, there is no clarity in the situation, yet, and it may be that I do stay here, buy the house and finish the job I started. Then everything is different. But I can't count on it, and though it might be a great thing, it might not. I don't know, and I have no clear, rational response from my relatives, except my brother, who has been cool, even as he goes through a hard time himself. In fact, after all I have done here for my sisters, I haven't heard much of anything, and half the time I wonder if they even read my emails, as I meticulously report everything I am doing, the options we have, and the decisions that need to be made. I try to understand, they are who they are, and let it slide by and keep working. Eventually whatever happens will happen, because it has to. But so it goes, I just get it done, one way or another.

Personally, I am ready to leave this place behind just to get away from all the irrationality and negative energy I've gotten here lately, the lack of help, the lack of appreciation, the sheer craziness on the part of some of my relatives. I can't count on them, can't even really trust them, don't know what they might do, and they have done so many things that I feel aren't right, in any shape of the word. I try to be compassionate, and understand at least some of what is behind it all, right or wrong. They are just human, imperfect, as am I. But I am still tired of it. I long to have this all behind me, be out west, or on the water, back to the life I lived before I came back here, the live I evolved after I left here decades ago. This is not really my place, though I could make it work. I want to be back in Alaska, and out west, Montana, Seattle, Washington, Oregon, and the Southwest as well, back to the mountains, deserts, and canyons I called home for so long. I'd rather be camped under open skies and wake up to the sounds of nature, not machines. I do not long for solitude, though I don't mind it, and nature is always there, so much life. I am more alone here, these last years, though ma was great company. When I do meet someone out there, they are more likely someone like me, a person who loves the wild, or is part of the counter-culture. Though I have met many good people here, they are not like me, can hardly imagine what my real life is like, and I can't imagine theirs. I have never worked in an office, or had a regular job. I just don't belong here, simple as that. I belong at sea, maybe in a harbor town, but anchored out, one of the boat-people, the cruisers, the sailors. Or a place like Alaska.

It is just different worlds, physically and culturally. I may visit a place like this, but I can never really be part of it. A simple truth.

So I have turned my back on this place, just to get moving. I have to have a plan, and that is to be gone in a few months, with a new CD, ready to deal with the boats next. I have stopped trying to go out, to get involved with anyone here, though I appreciate and am thankful for the connections I have made here. It is just time to go, something I always knew would happen, was always in the back of my mind. I have always been a gypsy, it is a familiar feeling. Though this is and has been a lonely place for me. It has been so great to have the visitors I have had. But it’s not bad, I have worked harder under worse conditions. I simply focus on getting it done, step by step,
and moving on.

This page is just for friends of Rusty to post their personal links and contact information that might interest other friends of Rusty, and announce any gatherings of friends. Keep it simple, who and where you are, maybe what you’re doing, and how you know Rusty, where your lives crossed.

Because of spam, the comments are closed, and this page hasn’t seemed very popular anyway. Still, if you send me info I can post it here, still

RUSTY CLAUSS

November 1, 1929 – June 4, 2011

Memorial services

Mount Vernon Unitarian Church, September 25 at 3 pm. Located a few miles south of Alexandria, VA, off Fort Hunt Rd.

Please RSVP to me so we have an idea of attendance and for more information.

The basic service is to have a small group of speakers, and then a short open mike for anyone who wishes to speak from the congregation or guests. If you wish to participate, please contact me. There will be a reception to follow, and possibly a longer gathering outside after the service, and/or continuing at another location after.

Wake and gathering of friends:

At her home, 1213 Shenandoah Rd, Alexandria, VA, as an open house, 1 pm to whenever, throughout the weekend of August 5-6-7, to allow as many people to attend as possible despite scheduling conflicts. Come and celebrate her life with her friends, tell your stories and listen to others, play music, recite Shakespeare, or whatever you wish, improv theatre at it’s best.

If out of town friends want to gather locally, feel free, and I would be glad to help cross connect people if email me with your location, though I’d say the most likely places are NYC and LA of course.

Let me start out by saying that this page is not for what I have to say about ma, though I am going first, but for everyone else’s words, a wake on the web.

I always knew what a great spirit ma was, professionally and as a person, but it was my belief, emotional and intellectual, but taken on faith. In all the words here, I see my belief totally validated, just as I saw it. She was a great teacher, as great spirits are, in the best way, by example. And I know that for me, all the words here are reminders of so much she tried to teach me about being a great human being, pass on to me. I hope to do the same for all of you who read this, and be inspired to be positive, supportive, and always there with a kind word of encouragement.

I'll start with the initial email and posted announcement I did couple days later, days I spent on the phone, and on-line, fourteen hours a day, calling and writing to inform her friends personally. I had some beautiful conversations, talking to her friends, sharing some great memories. Sorry I can't share those words, all hazy now. Still, I couldn't hope to connect to all her friends, she had so many, was part of so many circles. I can only do what I can and hope word spreads through the networks, and make these pages for people to post to and connect on. And keep trying.

It has been another gift from ma to receive and read so many great remembrances about her, and I wanted to share them. I came here to help ma, be there for her, and that means afterwards as well, and being there for her friends, and just to help keep this great and beautiful energy she passed on echoing in the world, through the world, from person to person. That is what we all do. So I created this page, something people asked about early on, to share her friend's thoughts and feeling on, continue the posting in one place, place links to other places, to connect them to the great energy that was in ma's world and life, a world she tried to connect us all to. Though there is another page to post contact links, individual or networks, and announcements of any gatherings in the coming months, "Friends of Rusty"

I'm here to say that my mom, Rusty Clauss, died at noon on Saturday, June 4, 2011.

I want you to know, though, that she died as she had hoped to, still a working actor, still living in Tauxemont, still engaged and feeling good, and then died suddenly, unexpectedly, painlessly. We can all only hope for so much. She was in a good place, happy to be back at Inova Mt. Vernon after a Bad experience at another hospital, ready to start the final stage of physical rehab after a full recovery from a serious illness, and looking forward to the future and getting home, She went to sleep content and happy where she was, woke at 6 am with some pain in her head and neck on the right side, which she often gets from sleeping in a bad position, and asked for a Tylenol, nothing more, and by the time the nurse returned she was in full arrest. We can't know for sure, but possibly a major stroke on the lower and right side, where the pain was, enough to stop everything. She would have just shut her eyes to wait for the nurse and faded out. They revived her of course, but were unable to stabilize her again, and the doctor's exam determined she had massive neural damage, had only a small chance of surviving, and would never fully recover if she did, might have to remain on full life support, certainly seriously disabled, with serious brain damage if her body made it. I can't know she was conscious, but I explained it all to her, and held her hand talking to her about letting go and moving on, no energy is lost, and we all leave things undone, but she had family and friends to carry on, she need not worry, and she had passed on so much of herself into the world and all the people around her. It seemed to calm her, she relaxed, heart rate slowed. Not much later as I kept talking it slowed more, in a couple stages, then at noon slowed quickly and stopped. Farewell.

For myself, I can only hope to live up the brilliant arc she made through life, both as human being and as an artist, and as I live, and perform, I know I am carrying on her energy, what you pass on lives on, and she lives on in me, and in so many people lives and selves. I can only hope to do so much, bring so much light and life into the world. I am not at all surprised to hear from so many what an inspiration she was to so many, even as her son, I was also a fellow artist, and she also inspired me, and challenged me to live up to her example.

As for memorials, wakes, and gatherings of friends, things are developing

Her church, Mount Vernon Unitarian, will have a regular memorial service for her on September 25 at 3 pm, please RSVP to me.

I want everyone to feel free to have your own memorials, wherever you are. I am making a second page for the her friends to connect on. You can email or call me, as I'll be here wrapping things up for a while, and even afterwards. I have always found, that as ma was a friend, really a kindred spirit, I've been friends with her friends when I met them. I'll be traveling again soon, be glad to stop and spend some time remembering ma, it is good to remember things she taught me, keep them in mind, the lessons and the inspiration. It is beautiful to see her energy in so many people, not just myself. Though I do feel her there, a strong presence, coming out in so many things I do.

The detailed story is on my website and the webjournal there, though it is, of course, about me, reflecting on my life. It has to be, what else do I know? But it tells the story of the last months.And I talk about ma, of course, though more about what troubles me, so it goes.

Perhaps one day, after all this has settled, I'll write about ma, all the things I remember, all the things I have learned from her, as an artist, a performer, and as a human being. Maybe others will too. One of her friends and former students told me he had a film in process where he realized that one of the characters is really Rusty, as most characters come from someone, or several people. He fantasized about flying her to LA to play the part, instead of hiring someone local cheaper. Guess will have to, now. Because the character she was lives on.

I did manage to record an audio interview about her life before the about the 60's. Of course, on great regret is never finishing it, but she lost interest and I didn't push it. We'll continue the process of digitizing her videotapes of hr high school troupe performances for former students. And I will try to find some more recent work of hers to upload and post links to as well.

Thank you

Brian

Folksinger

So! let us celebrate Rusty. I have found all these kind and beautiful words to be uplifting and inspirational to witness, I hope you do to.

And she certainly proved that she’s a celebrity, someone to be celebrated, in the true meaning of the world. Rusty was a true celebrity.

And a serious professional, a degree in theatre, and years of experience, member of AFTRA, SAG, and Equity, crossed many a stage and screen

And talent? Lord love a duck. Soup that is. I’ll keep a bunch of promises and maybe break a few laws, but here she is in all her glory. Doing a cold reading of an unknown script off a teleprompter, live on camera at an audition. You try this sometime, or maybe you have.

RUSTY on TELEPROMPTER!

Though I’ll say again, in many ways, I can only hope I can share with you some of this beautiful and uplifting experience I’ve had the last couple weeks, receiving calls and emails and posts from literally all over the world and coast to coast, all reflecting what a great person and spirit ma was. It has been a true gift in a troubled time.

Since I am assembling this, I’ll start with a few comments of my own that came out as I was writing and talking to so many people that first week.

She is safe now, beyond all cares. Its hard on us because she was in the home stretch, after so much effort, and then suddenly it is all over.

But she left a great mark in the world on so many lives, a lesson to us all in all the light and life she brought to all the places she went, all the people she met. She did great, despite all the troubles she lived through. She was much loved and she passed on so much to us all that we can carry on, try and pass on in our own time.

I have spent all day contacting people. There will be at least one or two memorial services, or wakes, or gatherings of friends. I encourage you all to have a gathering and remember her, meet friends of hers you’ve never met, from other circles she was part of. She has great friends, I know. Still, as she would have wanted, we memorialize her in our hearts and minds, good memories, and in our lives, living with the same strength and courage, the compassion and sensitivity, determination and commitment, and as actors on the world’s stage, conscious and aware, trying to be great, and not missing our timing or our cue(!). I could go on easily..but for our next act…

I came up with a simple phrase to sum it up, as I talked to so many people about her

she taught me, and showed me, that you don't have to be perfect, but you can still be to be great.

Though I feel sad at my loss, and everyone's loss, I can’t feel bad about what happened. She died the way she hoped to, suddenly, when she was feeling good, positive about life, with no turning back, with me and my sisters and brother-in-law all there. She was still a working actor, cast in a show, working on a play, and active in the theatre scene, still living at home on her own, independent, still sharp and engaged, active, doing water aerobics, and living in the place she loved, the house and community she loved, enjoying her work, ready for more. She escaped her worst fears, of ending up lingering in twilight before she passed, like her mom, though she could have accepted physical disability as long as she could still engage with the world, she feared immobility, and losing her mental ability. Her next worst fear and depression was having to retire. She never had to. She’d had a big 80th birthday party and had a big gathering of relatives and friends from so many places and parts of her life. I just can’t feel bad about it. She wouldn’t have wanted me to. She was always straightening up and making the best of things. An example to us all.

I’ll finish with one of the first email responses I got

Jonathan Tindle

Brian I am so awfully sorry to hear this. Your ma was so dear to me. Your memory is a tribute to her – You don’t have to be perfect to be great

I also love the quote she said to me once – you've probably heard her say it – "As for the signs of advancing wisdom, I suggest an outer wry acceptance and an inner creative cursing" Rusty Clauss

I hope you don't mind or think it crass. I have posted a little tribute on facebook. I am sure there will be many in the DC theatre community who will want to know.

In loving memory of my dear dear friend Rusty Clauss. A fine actor and lovely person. She had a great spirit, lived life, and had a great sense of humor. She once said to me about growing old – “As for the signs of advancing wisdom, I suggest an outer wry acceptance and an inner creative cursing” I will miss her and curse her passing … creatively

Google “Rusty Clauss” and see what you get. This first article came out in a few days, when out of the blue, Lorraine called and asked some questions about ma and got it done.

DC Theatre Scene: Veteran Actress Rusty Clauss Dead at 81

Thank you very much for helping with this.

leaving a comment would be very nice.

Lorraine Treanor, Editor

DC Theatre Scene

Washington's liveliest theatre Web site

So I wrote back, and posted a similar comment as well

thanks much for the article, she really was an actor's actor, in it for life, actor, director, playwright, teacher, founder and director of a community theatre, literally either doing it all herself, every step of production, while teaching and training someone else to do it for her, costumes, lights, scenery, while also being an inspiration, mentor, and role-model to artists of all types, while also being an usher, volunteer at events.. a true presence in her field, a brilliant arc, without ever trying to be a “star” or follow that road, still, never leaving the path of theatre, bring it to life, making it part of people's lives. And always it was about the show, not about her, she never forgot it was a group effort to do a show, and everyone mattered, was needed, including the audience, and were as much a part of the theatre as she was. She taught me so much about the art and craft of performing, and production, and also about professionalism.

you may not be perfect, but you can still be great.. and if you can't be great, you can be good, and always be good enough.

I could on for pages barely skimming the surface.

Comments from the DC theatre scene article listed above

Frank Britton

June 8, 2011

I had the great privilege of enjoying a friendship with Ms. Rusty for a number of years. We met, if memory serves, in early or mid-2004, but we didn't actually work together until the 2007 Capital Fringe Festival, in Callie Kimball's play NUTSHELL. I played a lion, she a zebra. One of my many favorite moments from that show (but the one that will always stand out for me) was her entrance following a chaotic stampede onstage. All in one, simple, stride across the stage with a cane, she was endearing, hilarious, heartbreaking, and she never uttered a word. In this one action. She only mildly coughed (as the zebra) a few times. I'll never forget it.

She reminded me a lot of my own grandmothers: sweet, funny, and feisty. When I was performing in Round House's 2009 production of ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, it was such a lovely surprise to see her in the lobby after the matinee performance. We were standing outside in front of the theatre on a sunny, spring Saturday afternoon–laughing, joking, reminiscing, talking about the business, and I shared a few more funny anecdotal stories about my grandmother, which is what I did during NUTSHELL a few years earlier.

She was joy. She was a wonderful actor. She was a wonderful woman. RIP, Ms. Rusty.

Jim Epstein

June 8, 2011

I had the honor of working with Rusty during the Source Festival 2 years ago…it was a wonderful experience to share with her! With very few words and that elastic face, she expressed all the frustrations of dementia while still being in love with her man, touching our hearts. It was a joy to see her smiling face each rehearsal, a gift i cherish. Thanx Rusty for being you. Love and miss you.

Joseph Thornhill

June 8, 2011

It takes a big person to put a hand on the shoulder of someone you don't know to let them know they'll be fine. Thank you Rusty, for putting a very nervous young man at ease before his very first League audition.

Caroline Kenney

June 8, 2011

Rusty was in The Mai, my first, albeit co-, directing gig. She was hilarious, gifted, smart, fun, and one-of-a-kind. I don't think I ever heard her complain about a thing. She also had a mouth like a sailor and no inhibitions. I would say rest in peace, Rusty, but I'm sure you'd rather be raisin' hell.

JoAnn

June 8, 2011

Thank you, Rusty.

Brian the Folksinger

June 8, 2011

It has been a wonderful experience, another gift really, so witness the beautiful response to ma's passing rippling through the social fabric, in social networks, websites, emails, letters, phone calls, from all around the world, and visitors from hundreds of miles away or down the street showing at the house. But I am not surprised. She was a great soul, and a great Thespian. She was an inspiration to us all, especially in her field, where she kept her determination and stayed in theatre, even to starting her own, and was an actor, teacher, mentor, playwright, producer, director, and everything needed, at least, till she taught someone else to do it for her. She was a Thespian to the bone, heart and soul. She taught me more than I can remember about performing, that it was art, and craft, and professionalism, always. That it took a community to produce a show, and every role played an integral part, from playwright to final cleaning crew, including the audience, and that all the world is a stage, actors are simple aware they are acting.

She has left a great legacy, in memories, and in the lives of many actors, performers, and artists she encouraged, inspired, and taught. I could tell so many stories. We all can. She was part of so many lives, I can only be envious, and hope I can do so much.

You family and Rusty in particular was a second family to me at a time when I was realizing the my family of origin was full of people who didn’t understand me, what I liked or where I was headed as a human being, as an artist, as a social being.

I’m grateful to have a fuller account of her passing and like you, pleased that she slipped out unawares in the end, but with a full sense before that of her measured span and how precious her time with you in the house was. You are a good man and the rewards are plain for both of you and for the family.

I’ll let you know about the service. I doubt I’ll be able to make it in anything except spirit, but I will be lighting a candle to her and to you all.

More soon. Thank you for writing. Be gentle with yourself. The world is different without her.

Scott Ainslie
http://cattailmusic.com

“Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires.”
– John Steinbeck -

Lynn Filusch

June 11, 2011

I worked with Rusty a number of years ago. She was a classy lady and loved by all. She will be missed.

Ray Werner

June 14, 2011

I'm the writer of the play Night Song in which Rusty truly brought alive two summers ago at the Source Festival. I don't know if I posted it on the theater page or not. Tried to, at least. But I wanted you to have it. I cherish those four days of seeing Rusty in my play, and the response of the audience will ever be with me. Because of that, I got the encouragement I needed to push my writing, which I've done, with some new productions coming along.

Ray Werner

My comment on DC theatre scene

Oh, my, it was with such a sad heart I heard the news from Jim Epstein about Rusty's death. Jim and Rusty brought to life my short play Night Song at the Source two summers ago. What a thrill it was for me to see them on stage putting some real life into my story. Peddling my play, I know that there were plenty of doubters who thought that an elderly woman with dementia, who can hardly get a word out, could hardly carry the key role in a love story, but Rusty proved them wrong. All my four children and their spouses were in the audience, and the best moment I ever had in the theater is when many in the audience stood and applauded them at the finish. That play has become part of a trilogy that will be premier in Pittsburgh this September, and had a successful staged reading in Cape Town, SA, last November. But none of this may not have happened if this little play had not come alive in DC with Rusty capturing the hearts of a packed house. That Christmas after the production, I received a surprise package in the mail. It was a Christmas ornament, hand made, with symbolic props from the play and a sweet note from Rusty. It will hang on our tree every Christmas. God and His graces reward you, Rusty.

Ray emailed me his comment as well, one I repeated to people for days, so beautiful. And I wrote him back with this:

You might be specifically interested in looking at some of the xmass videos in the webjournal, there’s one I posted about our tree..

Raising the tree 2000

Though the tree appears in the last xmass journal video as well.
Video Studio Journal 1-20-11

The journal introduces a video where I slowly tour through the tree after raising it. The show ornaments are an old tradition in our family, way back, and continued with ma and me as performing artists. Whether something made to represent the show, or a actual piece of something from the show, to just regular balls with the name and date written in glitter, it all went on the tree.

Ma would craft something from scratch to represent a show, and make a bunch to share with the cast. I would gather small pieces from the places I played over the year, stage ornaments or things I just found on the ground at a festivals, collect them in a bag, then when I got back to raise the tree again (The tree is dead, long live the tree!) combine them into an ornament to represent an entire tour. Sometimes I’d have several different ones, or something for a special festival.

So many years of shows. So if you watch carefully, you’ll see some of them as I wander through the tree in the video, and of course, Rusty is there, too.

A wave moved through the social fabric. I feel like ma belonged to everyone, we are all her family, and she would have wanted you all to share the beautiful experience I am having hearing from all of you. All this positive energy coming back like a wave has been a great help to me, inspiring and uplifting, to see how much she meant to so many. Not just in the Theatre, which was at the center of so much of her life, and of which she was justly proud of her life's work in it, but we who were her family and long-time friends can only be grateful to have such a person in our lives, and share so many times with her. She was a just as good for the many chance met people with whom she’d strike up a conversation with, always making that personal connection, being a light in their lives. A great thing she taught me. Beyond having such a great ma, who encouraged me to be me in so many ways, I can only be proud and grateful to have known her myself, as a fellow performing artist, and a friend who understood so much that I’d go through, or at least put up with my talking it out, or enjoyed hearing my stories of travels and performances, share times like putting up the tree and crafting new ornaments, finding joy and satisfaction in great times and simple pleasures.

June 19

Fruitport, Michigan (where ma grew up)

(from a letter from Nan, her niece, to the family)

…I celebrated her life and held my personal memorial last weekend. First I went to the Lake Michigan Beach at the North Shore. It was her favorite place here and I must admit I do not visit it as often as I would like. We watched many sunsets, talked to the fishermen, and watched the boats come in and out of the channel. Seeing it through her eyes when she was here was like experiencing the beach air, sun, and wind for the first time over and over again. And then, of course, I had to get ice-cream. Since Rick does not like sweets, it was a treat to have someone to enjoy the simple pleasure of deciding where to have desert that night. Her enthusiasm and zest for life was infectious. I will cherish the memories of long walks, shopping, and talking for hours about life in general. Our annual trek to downtown Grand Haven was a shopping frenzy! I hope you all enjoyed the presents as much as I enjoyed helping your Mom pick out just the right gift. I am sure her many theatre friends, students, and fellow actors are feeling a great loss as well. Her passion for the theatre was surely a gift. A person is truly blesses if that passion is a positive force in their life – one that gives them hope and something to look forward to every day. We should all be so lucky!

Sandy Awood

June 9, 2011

Rusty was my cousin, named for my mom. I adored her as a child, marveled at her accomplishments at the U of Wisconsin. We became fast friends in our late adult years – & I grew to admire her spunk, genuine goodness, & wit. Such good times we had!

I will miss her greatly – already do. I she was an inspiration. I hope to become half the woman Rusty was.

Sun, Jun 5, 2011

Oxford, England

Thanks for letting me know. I had a feeling I didn't want to open this e-mail, so I left it for awhile since I had a memorial to go to for one of my friends here who was much younger than Rusty so I knew it was going to be a hard day anyway.

There's not a lot to say really is there? I mean, there's too much so there's not a lot. I'll miss her and she was and is an inspiration.

I'm glad she knew about my PhD; I'd've been very upset if she'd passed before she knew as she's been fantastic at keeping me sane-ish while the whole thing went pear-shaped.

And I can't believe two years have gone by since I saw her. It feels like yesterday.

Jami Rogers

hey Jami,

you are right, in every way. Hearing about you was a definite lift for her, part of the positive feeling she had built up.

As people get the news and respond with their memories and thoughts, so often that is a common thread, what an inspiration she was, as a human being, and as an artist. A great soul certainly. Now on to other things, but her truest memorial and legacy is all of us. Selfishly, we will miss her, but I can only happy she gave so much to so many, an inspiration and example to us all. Too much to say.

I’ll forward you just one of the emails circulating with a picture from a show

peace

Brian

Thank you for your thoughtful message about dear Rusty, a truly marvelous lady in every way. I am deeply sorry for your family's loss. Rusty was such a special person; nobody like her.

Since I met her through theatre, I can certainly testify – like about a million others! – that she was a completely generous, gifted, delightful actress to perform with. She had just a beautiful spirit. And it's curious that I was thinking of her over the weekend, making a mental note that I must phone her, since it had been a while since I'd seen her.

It was a great privilege to know Rusty. Please accept my deepest sympathies

Sincerely yours,

Declan Cashman

I'm very sorry to hear about your mother. I'm at a conference in Italy, but I'm jet-lagged and can't sleep (it's after 3am here), so I got your message. It must be very hard for you right now. It does sound like she died fairly quickly and painlessly in the end, though, which is what we all hope for. She was very lucky to have you there for her. Rusty was indeed a uniquely talented and remarkable person. Good luck settling everything, and let us know what decisions you make. Thanks for staying in touch.

Love, Livy

Thank you so much for your email. I am so sorry that you have lost your dear mother. I had heard of your dear mother's passing and am very saddened that her enormous presence is no longer physically with us. Over the last few days, I've had many conversations with other actors in town, and every single one of them, no matter how old, or at what stage of their career, had a story of how your mother had encouraged them in some way. She was the mentor to literally hundreds of us, and she made us all feel special and talented. She knew how difficult an actors life could be, and she had a knack for saying exactly the right thing at the right time. And it was always authentic and sincere.

I was lucky enough to work with her on a production of The Mai about 5 years ago, and she and I became friends. The fact that there was a 40 + year age difference between us didn't matter in the slightest to either of us. She was just my friend. I had hoped to work with her again, but that didn't come to pass. One of my first thoughts upon hearing that she had passed away that she's probably up in heaven right now, taking water aerobics with Jessica Tandy, Bette Davis, and Anne Bancroft.

I've included an image from the show I did with her. It's a scene where her character, Grandma Fraochlan, talked about going to Zanzibar. I can hear her voice burbling with delight to this very day. I'm sorry I won't get to have another martini with her, but glad I got to have the ones I did with her, and spent the time with her that I did. She was a blessing in my life.

Please do let me know about any memorial service that will happen.

Sending you love and kindness

Clare

And we are put on earth a little space,

That we may learn to bear the beams of love-William Blake

Mon, Jun 6, 2011

I remember your mom, and the years at The Loft, with such affection. She was a bright spirit in the world. Glad I got to see her at least once later in life and to follow her acting career. Wish I could've told her I've returned to community theatre (after a 25 year hiatus!) and am loving it. She was a true inspiration.

Hope you're dealing with this as best you can.

All the best, Barbara Wells ten Hove

Wed, Jun 8, 2011

Thank you so much for your beautiful note to all of Rusty's friends and admirers. I only met you once or twice, but I was her voice teacher. I'm sure I learned as much as I taught, and will always be grateful that I had the good fortune to know her. It's hard to believe she's gone, but I'm heartened to know that you were with her and that she didn't suffer greatly as she passed. I am sending much love to her spirit as she travels and to you and your family as you grieve and let go.

Lynnell Lewis

Tue, Jun 7, 2011

I am so sorry to hear of your mom's passing. She was truly a remarkable person and I always enjoyed the time I spent with her. Her commitment to the students and theatre program were truly an inspiration to one and all.

I took over the theatre program from Rusty at Edison when she retired in 1993. She and I kept in touch over the years and she often lended a helping hand. She supported Edison theatre over the years and was often present at productions, awards ceremonies, and other functions. The students and I always enjoyed having Rusty at our programs. When Rusty praised your efforts, you truly knew that you had done a great job!

One of my fondest memories of Rusty was when the two of us stood in the back of the theatre at the Folger as we watched Edison students perform a production of 12th night. She was so excited to watch the production, and she was very supportive of my efforts as a director and teacher as well. When our show ended she gave me a big hug. We laughed and shed a tear of joy too. She had such a passion for theatre, and when you really did a good job, she would let you know in a sincere and caring manner. Her support over the years meant so much to me both personally and professionally.

I love the picture of your mom at the bottom of the page. It really captures her essence as a person and an artist.

Deepest sympathy and peace,

Brad Rickel

Thank you for sending this email. Bryan Handy sent out a note on Facebook to let some of us know. I am very sad to hear the news. She was so inspiring to me. Everyday I am with students I think of her. Her drive, her fearlessness, her keys banging on the wooden seats in the theater. Most of all her love of craft, creativity, and amazing drive.

Please let me know when you will be having any gathering to honor her. I would love to come celebrate her life with all the people she inspired and loved.

Be well,

Cooky

I was a student of your Mom’s from 1982-1986 at Edison High School. I want to extend my sincere sympathies to you and your family for the loss of Rusty. I just heard last week, and was devastated. It’s been a few years since I last saw her, but she was on my mind. I am so, so sorry for your loss. Your mom was loved the world over.

In the last few years, your mother’s inspiration and influence was felt greatly in my life as I took the leap of courage and left a job I hated, to branch out and start my own company. These days I am a full-time professional psychic medium and a writer of books. It was Rusty’s inspiration that always encouraged me to follow my dreams. I did–and I am now successful and happy. I will never forget all the lessons of life she taught me.

Below is a video tribute I made to share some of my memories of your mom. I hope you will watch it and know that her influence traveled far and wide. I send you my blessings for peace and healing.

In friendship,

Bob Hickman

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desiderata

Not to overload anyone’s inboxes, but I’d like the chance to say I adored every moment spent in the company of Rusty Clauss. She was funny and vibrant and an absolute love.

I will really miss her

Kim Tuvin

Rusty was one of the dearest and most caring people I have ever known. It was such a delight to work with her at the League auditions. She made everyone feel welcome and made the most inexperienced audtioners feel they were
a star.

She best I can say of her is that Rusty possessed that most uncommon of human qualities; simple decency and love of her fellow men and women.

I will miss her greatly.

Gregory Gorton

What a great lady! A fine actress and a joy to work with. We will be poorer without her.

Charles Winter

SAG/AFTRA/AEA

Martha, Thank you for letting us know about Rusty. I worked with Rusty on several productions. She had such a great sense of humor.

God bless her.

Patricia Dugueye

I recently shared this announcement with my son’s high school – Edison in Alexandria. She was a beloved member of their faculty a while back and they even have an award named in her honor for excellence in theater. Many of the faculty members there (and I) would love to express our condolences to her family, so please, if anyone has a way to reach her family, I would greatly appreciate if you could let me know.

Rusty was such a character – a bright presence and a character. I’m so grateful to have known her.

Elena Velasco

AEA/SAG/AFTRA

I knew Rusty Clauss for many years as one of the truly bright spirits of our D.C. theatre community. On stage, she was always vibrant and watchable. I myself never had the pleasure of being in a play with her, alas. But I know she derived joy from her family, her work, and from giving back to the theatre community.

My own favorite memories of her are of the time we shared working on the League of Washington Theatres auditions for many years. She was always the calming presence at ‘actor check in’; and almost every year she insisted on volunteering each and every day of the five days of that marathon cattle call. I have served for a long time as the volunteer coordinator for that festival of nervous actor energy, and Rusty was the ONLY person I wanted at the desk where the actors all had to check in on the day of their audition.

There was no one like Rusty to tell a young actor who’d gotten lost on the way to the venue, was late for their appointment and frantic that they’d blown their one chance to strut their stuff that it was gonna be all right. I numerous times overheard her tell someone to, “Breathe. Relax. You found us. You’re here now. It’s going to be fine. Your audition will be great.” And because she had that grandmotherly demeanor and serenity radiated from her every pore, the nervous actor would actually calm down! She could defuse panic without being patronizing, because she was always so genuinely concerned about everyone.

Anyone who knew Rusty will miss her. She was a fount of positive energy. If I close my eyes, I can hear her voice and see her smile this minute.

I hope I may be forgiven for altering “The Little Ship” in honor of our friend Rusty. (Anonymous authorship, so far as I can tell.) I know there was a huge contingent on that ‘farther shore’ to greet our Rusty.

The Little Ship

I stood watching as the little ship sailed out to sea. The setting sun tinted her white sails with a golden light, and as she disappeared from sight a voice at my side whispered, “She is gone”.

But the sea was a narrow one. On the farther shore a little band of friends had gathered to watch and wait in happy expectation. Suddenly they caught sight of the tiny sail and, at the very moment when my companion had whispered, “She is gone” a glad shout went up in joyous welcome, “Here she comes!”

Rest in peace, Rusty.

Laura Giannarelli

June 7

was so sorry to hear that Rusty is no longer here in body but, for all she went through health-wise, somewhat relieved for her that she has shuffled off her mortal coil. Though her body will no longer be here for us to hug and interact with, her spirit will continue to light the many paths of those who knew and loved her.

I was fortunate to meet her, though I never had the pleasure of seeing her act. She was really in the process of winding that down when I came on the scene. I hate to think that I might never have met her, had it not been for a not very active environmental meet-up group that I joined that Brian also joined. I was so impressed by what Brian had to say on that meet-up site that I made a point of contacting him and meeting him at a Bluegrass meet-up that was occurring almost on my doorstep.

It was part of my path to come down to Alexandria to see Brian when he was in the area. And, since Brian stayed with Rusty, I had the pleasure of meeting her. I only wish I had lived closer or that she had lived longer so that I could have known her better. Somewhere along the way I learned that Rusty was a Unitarian Universalist and that all of you “kids” were brought up in that fellowship. I thought Brian and Rusty were two of the “coolest” people I knew.

Last fall, when I decided that I needed a spiritual group to “hang out” with (not wanting to deal with the egos involved in starting up another Zen Buddhist meditation group), I called and spoke with Rusty about the UUs. I liked the social action orientation of that fellowship. She told me that each UU fellowship had its own “flavor” based on the membership and that I should check out a couple in my area and see which felt most compatible. In March of this year I became a UU member of the First UU Church of Baltimore.

I had never really heard of the Unitarian Universalist fellowship before I knew Brian and Rusty. In some ways I am glad that I did not know sooner, because Zen Buddhism is part of my spiritual journey. But I am glad that I did finally learn about UUs. They are not very apparent when one looks around the spiritual landscape. This is somewhat sad because I believe that a lot of people in this modern world would find this to be a very comfortable fellowship.

Rusty was always very warm to me when I traipsed down to Alexandria and I often spent close to half of my time talking with her while Brian did some chores around the yard or such. I am very glad that I had this opportunity to know her and only wish that I had been around sooner and had known her longer.
I don’t think I will get up on a stage though. Though oddly enough the first thing I remember having to memorize, or rather choosing to memorize since I had to memorize something for school in the sixth grade, was Hamlet’s soliloquy. I have no idea how that idea of Hamlet’s soliloquy popped into my head. But I still remember going to the main Enoch Pratt Library in Baltimore on Cathedral St. to pick up a copy of that (my mother drove me down there). The First UU Church of Baltimore is just around the corner from there and Enoch Pratt was a Unitarian. Curiouser and curiouser!

Rusty has become a part of the warp and the weft of my life. What can I say? There are a number of people who have had similar effects on my life. And then they go to the other shore, as we say in Buddhist circles. I am sorry to lose the direct interaction with one of the magnificent jewels in my personal Indra’s net.

Marci

5:41am Jun 10

Afghanistan

I remember acting at your house when were were 8 or 9. We rehearsed in the morning, doned costumes, and put on a “stellar” performance in the afternoon for our families. I was a prince in one scene and I believe a bear in another. Your Mom guided us through the whole process and it worked.

Our thoughts and prayers are with you all now.

John Smith-Sreen

Wed, Jun 8, 2011

My condolences. I’m very happy I had a chance to see you both last November and thank her for the nice space she left for us as teenagers. I imagine it’s going to be quite a change in your life now I hope you can navigate it gracefully. I’ll probably be back in the US in Nov., Seattle and VA, I’ll let you know and see where you are.

Regards,

David

I’m so sorry to hear about your mom.I was shocked and really sad when I saw your e-mail today. I know how much you love your mom and I know how she inspired you that much.

My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family Brian. I wish i could be there to pay my last respect to your mom. Gonna miss her too!

Be strong and stay focused my dear. I see you when I get back to the USA. May the almighty God bless you and your family.

Jane Chua

thanks, Jane.. where you are doesn’t matter, and I am getting so many kind words and tributes to her from all over the world right now, a beautiful thing to witness and another gift from her. Plan to collect the comments into a memorial page on my site.

Tom

I’m sorry to hear that you and your sisters lost your mom. I haven’t seen her in many years but I remember how nice she was to me and everyone else when we used to come over and hang out at your house and play music. She was a sweet woman.

Temple

I read an obituary about her over the weekend. Wish I HAD known her as she raised very unique, smart and talented children. You all carry within you her very special and wonderful spirit. Carry on and God Bless!

Zachary Androus

Italy

Thinking of you and Rusty from over here, you’re both in my heart and mind in these days.

Tim

It’s been about 35 years but I remember her. You’ll be in my thoughts and prayers.

Rusty truly was loving, stern, encouraging, and mostly a teacher at heart. I’m definitely coming to the memorial at MVUC in September. The last time I saw Rusty was at my cousin Katie’s funeral. She had no idea that Katie & I were cousins – she had come to remember the beautiful inspiring spirit that Katie was. Unitarians have a way of shining in their lives. Rusty was a Unitarian Universalist through and through. Through her church community, her teaching legacy, her acting legacy, and her loving legacy – she touched so many hearts. The universe is being shaken up so by calling home such inspirational people and I can only hope it because they can do so much from the other side. I look forward to celebrating her life at MVUC in September.
Chrissy B

The "Comments" function has been turned off as I’m getting over 10 spam comments a day and rising fast, and only a few new real ones. Still, this is not my page, but everyone’s, so I’m always ready to add your comments, photos, videos, or links. Just contact me directly if anyone wants to add something, and I’ll add them manually.
I thank you all for everything here.

Peace, and thank you all for this lovely tribute to what I always knew ma was, a great artist, actor, performer, person, spirit, a "great soul", and of course, a great mom. I can only feel deeply grateful to have been so lucky to have her and have learned so much, more than I can say, certainly, more than I know, I am am sure.

As I see all this, I see a pattern, how she nurtured people and encouraged them to be themselves. She didn’t tell you what role to choose, but like the great director she was, she encouraged and pushed you to play the role well, be great, and even in critisism, you know she believed in you, had faith in you, was trying to help you do your best, the best you could, and that was all she was asking, and that she wouldn’t settle for less. She gave people space to grow, and to be great. And she showed us all how great you can be, in whatever role you play, no matter how large or how small.

"All the world's a stage"

"If we shadows have offended,
Think but this – and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here,
While these visions did appear,
And this weak and idle theme
No more yielding than a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you pardon, we will mend,
And, as I'm an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck,
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call:
So goodnight unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends
And Robin shall restore amends."

Associated Pages

Rusty the Thespian
Reflections and stories that people have posted or emailed me about Rusty, with links to other places she appears on the web
Friends of Rusty
A page for friends of Rusty to post announcements of gatherings, and contact information or links to connect with other friends of hers

"Storms at Sea, Storms in Me"

Synopsis: The Short Story:

It has been a crazy time.

Everything has changed, with the sudden shock of an abrupt about face, of the unexpected. Two huge events have rocked my world and changed my life forever. Though I saw the road ahead, I am never sure, you never know, and even if I knew what would happen, I didn't know when, and some things come out of nowhere, as you round a bend. For a long time I have just taken it day by day, had too, at a certain point it is all you can do. I was satisfied to let it play out, focusing on getting things done, list by list, day by day. It has been crazier than I can say, really, caused some stress, wild energy, storms at sea, storms in me.

I left off five weeks ago. Ma was slowly recovering, but recovering. We have to go to another hospital suddenly, run out of time in the CCU. The next hospital isn't good. I am there all day, every day, as much as I can, see she gets care, work our way out if we can't just get out. Still, not working, though real progress is made, not like she should, and she's not happy or well cared for, it isn't good. It takes almost two weeks to get her out and back to a good hospital where ma is happy.

5-7, I did a show at the place where I did the interview, The Epicure Cafe in Fairfax. A great cafe, just that real emphasis on culture, art and music, an owner dedicated to that, and high quality food, though not expensive either nescessarily, and fine wine. I’ve spent some time there, now and still like it. I meet some folks into traditional Persian music, a music player and teacher, and a woman who sang in Farsi. We had a great conversation about our overlapping visions for using music as a bridge between Eastern and Western culture, and recognition that the dulcimer could be a great bridge. It motivated me to write up my whole vision for the webjournal, "building bridges". Though that will be a different journal entry than this. Too much has happened already for one time.

Yes. "But". Yes, everything had changed, and my world is not the same.

There was a girl there. One of the few women that can reach me, right through the music, right through everything. Everything. I don't know why, but it is always too clear to me, unmistakable, rocking me to the roots. And it hasn’t turned out good for me, yet, though I can’t help hoping, believing. The girl of my dreams, suddenly singing along from the back as I played. Told her that, too.. though told her not to worry, I don't confuse dreams with realities. It's always strange, this deep reaction to someone I don't know. I look at her, just dazzled and on fire, wondering why her? What is it she’s got? And who is she, who is this person who just walked through my walls as if they were not there? Standing there watching her, knowing I’m defenseless, and she doesn't have a clue.. or maybe she knew. It seems crazy, except I know it isn't, I just am who I am, and energy is clear to me, I am transparent, nothing hidden, so I know, without a doubt. And I am as wary as a deer, seeing this girl who has such power over me, who hasn't a clue, and I know nothing about. A girl who is my dream, but, well, that dream is a dream, and the girl, well, she is who she is, not nescessarily my dream. Unless she wants to be. I keep on believing that dreams can come true, sometimes, someday. Though it never has. I recognized her for the force she was, dream and reality, felt her there, full of that that terrible beauty, suddenly in my life. And then, I left. I waited a week, and couldn't deny it, called her monday and she was glad to hear me, asked if I'd come back for the open mike, and I said yes. I couldn't resist, but I had to have her ask. I had to have it come from her, conscious or unconscious of what she was doing. I went there every open mike, twice a week, despite everything going on with ma, helping out with the sound, jamming behind the players, making them sound better, and playing when everyone else was done. But I was only there to see her. No expectations. Or worse, expecting that she'd never love me, not enough, no hope. Not enough time, she was leaving in two weeks for Colorado. Ma is in the hospital. Everything else. But I come to see her, play for her, and chat a bit, late at night, just a guy coming to the open mike, keep it light. Inside, I am just loving her, while I can, quietly, trying not crossing the line, make her uncomfortable. Getting to know each other a bit, build trust, be comfortable. She just gets better, things in common, but stands up to me fine, and is kind, gentle, and bright, positive, shining, and feeds me. I am lost. Too easy most times, not easy at others, too intense, suddenly, "it ends so strange and hard."

I told myself that at least I could remember loving her, when this time is gone, when she'd haunted me. But she was a spirit I would be glad to be haunted by, a good-hearted, kind, gentle, beautiful girl, so fine.

Sorry, babbling about her.. it is just the normal symptoms. But this is supposed to be a short story

Funny, the last few weeks have been so intense, I forgot I even did a great show, playing at the Soundry for their Art Carnage night. It wwas a way cool scene, and I really played. Towards the end, I had a great jam with some folks from the other bands who stopped to get into it with me. For the last songs, they were cooking on drums while I was just burning it up, and shining.

And then I went over to the cafe again just to see her, and she made me a sandwich, and I brought the dulci in, tired as I was, to play it for her one last time so she could hear it again before she went away. She might never hear me play it again. So I played while she worked in back. And she may never know that I was just loving her, the best I could. That all the songs are for her.

Back at 1213, I set up the dulci in the blackbox video studio and do some test runs, trying to make progress instead of playing the street. It works just like imagined, even with the camera tethered to the computer. I can easily overlay multiple images shot against the black background. Just great, though hard to find time to do it, at the hospital all day, staying out till 3 am at the cafe a couple nights a week. Had to, wouldn't last.

Ma gets tired of listening to me babble about this girl I just met. Though I think it pleased her too, to see me in love again, after so long, even if there was no hope.

I go to the last open mike before she leaves. But she's not there, out sick. I don't get a chance to lay the cards on the table, make sure she knows I love her, that I am sincere and serious if she wants to reach out to me, if she loves me, well, I am there.. though it won't be easy, it isn't, but if you are committed to doing it, you get it done, not a problem. But “its only love, and that is all.” I hardly know her, She doesn’t know me, and we’d have a time working that out. But I know I would take her hand and jump, if she'd jump with me.

Then everything changes.

Friday, we finally are able to move ma to the new hospital. I leave ma there that night, calm and content, happy to feel safe and well-cared for, wanting to catch up on her sleep, wanting me to go play, happy thinking about me out there jamming.

I’d gotten an unexpected invite the day before to jam behind a band at the cafe Friday night. So I had a reason to go back, maybe…but she's not there, she's still out sick, and gone in another couple days. After the band is done, a few people ask me to stay and play, and like ma taught me, I turn back and play tilll 3 am on the porch. It is an incredibly great scene, a great show. I am so sad and troubled by her being gone, no chance to even say goodbye. I channel it all into the music. And people tell me she’s a fool, that I’m this amazing guy, at least musically, once again. I can’t deny that anymore, it is simply a true gift. Everyone has their gifts. But I tell them it doesn’t mean she has to love me. Because you can’t tell your heart what to do. To her, I was still just another guy. And even though she was gone, I was still singing to her, about her, for her. I get back and try to sleep about 4 am.

at 7:30 am I'm woken by a call, something happened, ma went into full arrest at around 6 am. They brought her back, but it wasn't working, and at noon she was gone. I held her hand and talked to her, being there one more time. More than I can say. Farewell.

And everything has changed. Suddenly one chapter is over and the next begins. I was here to be with ma till she died, and take care of her when she needed, and tie up her loose ends after she was gone. So this is also what I come here for, and I get it done. I am on the phone for hours, calling everyone ma knows, giving them the news, making sure they understand that it wasn't bad, but the way she wanted it, though unexpected and we'd been hoping and planning for more time.

Monday night, I know I need a break, and I want to explain to the owner of the cafe wht had been going on, and though I had been here so much to see her, I sincerely liked his place, and what he was doing, and I'd come back again.. maybe once a month more likely, or once a year, or maybe not for years. But I would if I could, which is a lot on my life.

And she is there. The open mike folks peter out early, and then I play, and I do a show, and the place fills up, coincidentally, And it is so fine. And I am playing for her. And she is watching me, watching her, watching me. Afterwards, she makes me a sandwich, and sits down to talk, tough only for a little while, she is a work. But I don't play games, try to lay my cards on the table, best I can, still don't know if we got it all clear, but I tried. All gets so deep, so quick, because it is. It is what I expected.. she is tempted, and she likes me, which are both so great. But I’m not who or what she wants, or she just can't make the jump. She found a door to more than she bargained for, she knew that. And she had to come of her own free will. And in my world, on my stage, she’d have to be ready to rock, give it all she’s got, total commitment to whatever we’re doing and to doing it together.

Instead, she's going off with another guy to a big music festival, then on to Colorado, and off to hike the Grand Canyon, with someone else, not with me. There's no one to blame, nothing wrong, and nothing to do. What I expected, really, and I always accept reality. Then it is time to say goodbye, as she walks by me on the way to her car. I have to wish her well, take it well, tell her what I want her to know, that she is beautiful, and a great person, and deserves to be loved, and I hope she finds someone she can really love, heart and soul, who loves her like I do. And I understand, you can’t tell your heart what to do. I do my best to just love her, not cross the line, not try to hold her or change her mind, not trouble her, leave her free, love her as I watch her go.

But then, at the last minute, in the parking lot going to our cars, we crash and burn, two stressed out, tired people, facing goodbye, and it dosn't end well. I still don't understand just what happened, what were we saying, why we lost it.. or maybe I know why, two desperate people, up against forces more powerful than they, and no time. It was just a few cryptic words, but we lost something, and in a moment went from gentle good vibes to pain and confusion. I still don't know why.

whatever happened, we blew it, I guess, or it just happened how it had to happen, no easy goodbye, something still broke. And she drove off in a rush, and I stood there frozen, feeling so much, too much, and nothing I could do. "The look in her eyes when it was time to say goodbye." It hurts to know that it got so confused and crazy at the end. No sweet beautiful memory, but something jagged and hard that I still can't understand, and feeling I just didn't get it right, did something wrong, and I should have made it different, somehow, tried harder, not let it end like that.. but..it has to be what she wants, from her heart by her own free will. And now, as I struggle to get some sleep, she'll be my Gypsy Lullabye.

She haunts me, day and night, and I am in a grim, hard place, and life is not good. But I'm actually feeling ok about ma. I keep trying to look at the good side, as ma did, telling the story to so many people, hours on the phone for a few days. It was sudden, felt unfair, but not unexpected. Ma and I had been living with knowing this was ahead of us for years, and that’s why I came to stay here, till she had to go.

And I’m here to tie up loose ends for her afterwards. There is so much to do, but death is a basic fact of life, and everything moves into the routines of the cremation, memorials, notifications to all the wheels that need to start turning. Ma had a great financial planner who got all her assets in order, outside her estate, leaving just the house, her car, and her personal posessions. Though I’m shocked, I say, shocked to find out that ma wasn’t perfect. She also left no will, no way to know what she wanted done. I keep doing what needs to be done, and get it done. There is a lot to do.

And I am not surprised, but still proud and amazed, at the response to her death. It is just beautiful, another gift to me from her, just great. People come to visit. I get calls and emails from around the world. A wave ripples through the social fabric. I am proud and privileged to witness it, and play my part in it, though mostly, I just watch it happen, ma's energy, still in motion. Like i feel her when I perform. And always, this firm presence in the back of my mind.

I get ready for a quick run to Florida to secure the boat, visit family, then come back and get it done. I am good at that. I can do a lot in a short time. I could be out of here by late August and on the road for Seattle with the Hurley and the Van. Maybe. But have to be here till the job is done, three months, six months, more, wish I knew, but got to be ready when the time comes. Then I have to go, as I have no place here, and that was always the plan. Though I will miss this house, and the yard, what I have done here, both in work and living, the memories. I am sentimental and proud to be. Though I knew had to lose it someday. Now the time has come, have to face up to it. Good at that, too. I have to repair the vehicles, get the trailer rolling, which will take more time than just packing up. If I have more time, I'll work on video, and pack the studio last.

I also connect with an old friend of Danny's with a small commercial studio, and am going to record there, so I can get the CDs done before I have to go. Pay the money to make up for lost time, and jump-start music projects and the return to performing. If it goes well, I'll record everything I can. Once we get the sound tuned in, it goes fast.

I am even thinking of a trip to India in the fall, join an established tour to jump start my presence there, jump-start world touring, have been corresponding with people overseas, even dreaming of buying a bigger boat, one ready to go, jump start this new stage of my life, my return to the stage of life, the theatre of life, and the intense, deep, high-energy life I know I am capable of.

And that is the "short story". So much in such a short time. Lose ma. Lose the girl of my dreams, the best one yet. Loose this house, yard, and community that I love. Lose the basic reason for the pattern of my life for the last few years. Overnight I have to turn around and start a new life, a new chapter in the life. yet I am in a grim, bitter darkness, torn by sudden lighting shocks of hurt, great waves of emotion moving through me. But I get it done, like always do. Fire and storm, the storm in me.

I’ve learned not to take it too seriously. The storms roll through me, but I do not hold on to them, or resist them, but just let them pass through me. While I feel them, heart and soul, I am still the rockin the waves, the mountain beneath the storm. I will be here when they pass. Maybe one day, the sun will shine on me, like she did, when she smiled at me with flowers in her hair.

I don't know if anyone will read all the stuff I’ve written below, but you might want to check out the pictures. I have just so much boiling in me right now I have to get some of it out. I am a writer, and I have filled pages in my journal writing lately, after not doing much for a while. But you don't have to read it, it is ok. I write because I am a writer, and because maybe this will help me get through a hard time in my life.

There is so much I want to say, so much I have been thinking and feeling. There is so much that has happened, and so significant, so disturbing and pivotal, as I experience this major moment in my life, this great divide. I feel like nothing I say is adequate. It is such an intense time, when so many deep feelings and critical perceptions come into play, the essential energies surface as the whole pattern ripples, shifts, and changes kaleidoscopically into something different, though still the same. It is a time to think, and reflect, and learn from what is revealed. As well as dig deep, have to grapple with it, think it out, feel it out, because major decisions have to be made. I am free. It is hard to grasp. Though it is a bad time for decisions as well, all depressed and stressed out. A crazy time. Though as time passes, it gets better, except the girl, that will take a long time, and I'll always regret what happened, though in the end, it could still have been the same. We met, I offered her the keys to my life, stood beside the open door, but it was too much to ask, somehow, or just not what she wanted, not with me. I don't know. I probably will never know. That is a lot of the trouble, what happened in those last crazy minutes? And the squirrel cage starts going round and round, once again. And now, I'll never forget her. Another pain, though I’d hoped for something just sad and beautiful, instead it is sharp and hard. More than I can say. So it goes. I steady myself and face forward. And life goes on.

Where to begin. How to begin. I wrote a section for a new entry June 15th. Just too busy with circumstances, couldn't get it done. And now, so much has happened, and I know it, this gives a window on how I saw it then, where I was at.

Ma continues to improve steadily, though with some problems and a shift to a new hospital. I've been spending 8 hours a day at the hospital, or more with the increased travel time getting her through this period. She is off the vent and the trach tube has been capped for a few days, and she's getting minimal supplemental oxygen through standard nose plugs, which means she is ready to have the trach tube removed. The stomach tube would be next. All that's left is the basic physical therapy to get her on her feet after almost two months in bed, and functioning enough to go home, at a third facility just for physical therapy.

This is the announcement I sent people the next few days, posted where it needed to be posted. So many people to tell, even after the calls. Ma was always so engaged, part of so many circles and networks. We used to say that she had more social life than me and my sisters had put together.

I'm here to say that my mom, Rusty, died at noon on Saturday, June 4, 2011.

I want you to know, though, that she died as she had hoped to, still a working actor, still living in Tauxemont, still engaged and feeling good, positive again, and then died suddenly, unexpectedly. We can all only hope for so much. She was in a good place, happy to be back at Inova Mt. Vernon after a bad experience at another hospital, ready to start the final stage of physical rehab after a full recovery from a serious illness, and looking forward to the future and getting home, She went to sleep content and happy where she was, woke at 6 am with a slight headache and asked for a Tylenol, nothing more, and by the time the nurse returned she was fully arrested. She would have just shut her eyes to wait for the nurse and faded out. They revived her of course, but were unable to stabilize her again, maxing out on blood-pressure support medicines, and the doctor's examine determined she had massive neural damage, had only a small chance of surviving, and would never fully recover if she did, might have to remain on full life support, certainly seriously disabled one way or another. I can't know she was conscious, but I explained it all to her, and held her hand talking to her about letting go and moving on, no energy is lost, and we all leave things undone, but she had family and friends to carry on, she need not worry, and she had passed on so much of herself into the world and all the people around her. It seemed to calm her, she relaxed, heart rate slowed. I talked to her till she was gone. My sisters were there as well, at the foot of the bed, and my brother-in-law came before the end. He's Catholic, so he knelt on one side of the bed to pray while I was giving ma my buddhist-spritualist-mystic words of farewell on the other. Not much later her heart slowed more, in a couple stages, then at noon slowed quickly and stopped.
Farewell.

I can only hope to live up the brilliant arc she made through life, both as human being and as an artist, and as I live, and perform, I know I am carrying on her energy, what you pass on lives on, and she lives on in me, and in so many people lives and selves. I can only hope to do so much, bring so much light and life into the world. I am not at all surprised to hear from so many what an inspiration she was to so many, even as her son, I was also a fellow artist, and she also inspired me, and challenged me to live up to her example.

As for me, I came here to be with ma in her final years, enjoy her presence, try to make them good, help if needed. I did, so glad I did it. Now that is done, and I have to decide what to do and where to go now. It will take a while to wrap up all the loose ends here, but not forever, then I have to go on, to the next chapter. I'm really not sure what is next, except I'll be somewhere, playing music, carrying the flame. All the world's a stage.

I came through it ok, at peace with ma moving on. She died the way she'd hoped, even if I wanted her to stay longer, I can't feel bad about that. In the final years, I was impressed by her optimism, and aware of how dark I had become. I would still light up and shine when I played, but I had become grim and dark, especially when I wasn't playing, and wasn't getting back to the wild enough. But I feel her spirit a lot, and in myself, and especially when I perform. I am sorry to lose her, regret all we never got to do together. But so glad to have come back and had this time, someone who understood what it was to be an artist. Beyond being mother and son, we were friends, and fellow artists, performers, and kindred spirits.

And everything has changed.

Looking back it is all so intense, maybe better to start with something I wrote before I knew, like the first bit above.

Again, from mid-May

I set the dulcimer up in the studio and started working on video. Didn't get very far before circumstances got in the way, but managed to shoot some test video and work out the mechanics of mixing multiple images from differeent angles into a single image using overlays, just as I imagined using the blackbox technique I first developed for the single image videos. Once the present crunch passes and I get back to the studio, I should finally get that next step done, studio performance videos to complete the website, for promotion, and just to really show what I can do.

At the show at the Epicure I had a very interesting conversation all about using the dulcimer to build a bridge between East and West with man involved with traditional Persian music. His vision was right in line with my own visions, though I also had some differences that I had a hard time expressing clearly, but it motivated me to write out my vision of "building bridges" with the dulcimer. It was still clear we were talking about the same bridge, though coming from different sides, essentially, together we could use the dulcimer to build a bridge, one side in his world, one side in mine. But this journal is already too long, too complicated. I'll make a separate entry for that concept, and maybe add it as a page in the main website, a basic philosophical underpinning to what I have done with the dulcimer, and to my vision, motivations, and plans for international touring.

The most significant event of the month is also the hardest to relate. I once again met the girl of my dreams. She passed through all my defenses effortlessly and captured my heart, all without even knowing. She is so beautiful, in body, mind, and spirit, with a good and kind heart, and I am totally lost. I have spent a lot of time just going to see her, though not to meet her, just to be where she is, have a few minutes of casual conversation, hope she smiles at me. I laugh at myself, when I am not depressed. A part of my lost and lonely heart and spirit lives in a dream where she is real, and not a dream. But she is real, and as I get to know her even a little, I like her more, am more impressed. But I can tell the difference, and the fact is, like the few times I have met someone like this before, she isn't interested in me, personally, except, at least, as a friend, maybe. She likes me, I think, and likes my music, but that is it, once again. And I am still the same emotionally crippled and traumatized person I've been for decades since my last girlfriend, reinforced by a few very painful attempts since. I think she is still unsure she can even trust me, and I wonder if she will even want to keep in touch, so few people I meet ever do. Because, in a strange twist of fate, she is leaving me behind, heading out of town while I have to stay here. I accept reality. I am just thankful to have even met her and have the magic moments she has given me, the moments of terrible beauty, the thrilling shocks. It is good to know I can still feel, even if it hurts as well. I'll never forget her, and she'll haunt me, but it is good, because she is so much finer a person than the others. A beautiful dream when I am singing all the songs that will call up her image before me, as I drive the dark highways, or stare out to sea, through the lonely years and miles ahead. Her beauty will make it easier than before. So it goes.

Little did I know. Or no, I did know. Just what a girl like her can do to me, would do to me, has done before. But I had to come and see, dreams can't come true if you don't try. I knew the deep water I was in, that is my life, and why I was there, and how much the right girl can do to me, bad or good, and that it would hurt, when she went away and left me behind, said goodbye. But I couldn't say no, and she kept asking me to come back. She was a good girl, kind, sweet, just playing, not playing me. Sincere, though not able to commit herself, to make the significant step, or just didn't care that much. I don't know. Probably never will know. Only she knows, and there was no time to find out, if she didn't know, and you can't ask someone to do more than they can.

It was definitely crazy. It got way more interesting, and intense, and crazy, but not bad, still good. We had more in common every time we talked. She was great. It was too easy. It was sad, and beautiful, terrible, but still, not a bad pain. And so strange and amazing, so beautiful, a dark crystal, full of beauty and flaws. I knew, of course, that it would hurt, and went in knowing, but didn't expect to feel this bad. It's not just the pain of watching hopes die once again, of watching her go, but that it ended in confusion, that something went wrong, leaving me troubled more than I can say. We somehow crashed and burned in literally the last minute we saw each other. I don't know how or why, wish I did. It drives me crazy, still, not knowing. It leaves me with a lot of grief, and regrets, just for not being sure it was clear, or for letting her go so easy, because I love her so much. But knowing I did love her that much, and let her go because that is what she wanted, or I thought she wanted. And there's the rub. Confusion, misunderstandings, cryptic phrases and the inadequacy and clumsiness of words.. too many words, too few. I don't know, still don't know. Maybe we had a chance of a lifetime to make something great for both of us, maybe it just couldn't work, or wouldn't have worked. And I guess I'll never know what she meant, or if she knew what I meant. And I expect I'll never see her again.

I am lost in a bitter darkness again, and that isn't good. I am strong, the man of steel. I know that. It still hurts me, I don't deny it or fight it. I just keep on anyway, facing the storm. Everything got crazy, there at the end, and our goodbyes were beautiful, but ended in a crazy scene I still don't understand.. both too tired, stressed out. We had actually sat and talked for the first time, she'd made me a sandwich, though not long enough, still not enough time, then no time. I still don't if it all went crazy over misunderstanding each other or not, or she was conflicted, or playing games about which I was clueless, or I just was too accepting that it was the goodbye I had expected, and I misunderstood her, hurt her somehow. But there was no time, and she was gone. I may never know what went wrong. And the hurt is way more than I expected, her final words she flung at me across the parking lot before jumping in and driving off echoed in my head for days. I'll never forget that scene, and wanted to have something beautiful I could hold on to after she was gone, not something painful that is now a deep part of me, unforgettable,. Just crazy. And I'm more sorry for that, that it should end on a painful note like that, leave confusion and hurt. I can't believe we did that.. caught in the grip of forces beyond us, storms at sea. So it goes.

So I sit here, a week later, still finding myself thinking of her day and night, when I'm not focused on what I am doing. And I have to try to go to sleep sometime, and waking up isn't very good either. I could go on for pages, but won't, my paper journal does that, as I try to work through it. Try not to go in circles. Just needing to get it out. But I know it won't help. All I can really do it wait out the months it will take, though I'll be haunted. So it goes. Not the first time. But I'd hoped for once I'd have something only sad to carry with me, something beautiful. Now I can only wonder how it could get so stupid. How I could be so stupid. How I could let her slip away so easily when she meant so much. But I had to, if she didn't want to stay, if she chose to go, chose someone else. I just have to accept it and wish her well with all my love. Maybe we were too tired and stressed, we both were. And suddenly facing more than we could deal with, when it was time to say goodbye. Maybe we are just two deeply troubled people, sensitive, with too many bones and demons rattling in the dark corners of our minds. And we blew it, somehow. So it goes. A bad moment to show how imperfect we both are.

She is gone, off to music festivals and summer in Colorado and hiking the Grand Canyon, with another guy who came out to meet her. I offered her the keys to my life, the door to my world, and she didn't want it, or couldn't take that big a step, or well, wanted this other guy. Someone not so serious, so intense. I remember once asking one of my many friends who was a girl what the problem was, and she said the girls were all scared of me, not fear, , because they knew I was harmless, but I was just too intense, and deep, and they knew it. I am not a toy, or an amusement park ride. I think she realized I was what I am, intense, deep, and serious, not a game. And she chose to go have fun instead. I can’t blame her for that. She’s having a lot more fun than I am. I hate my life, way too often. She’s out there loving it. She wants to share her life, her good times, with a different guy, with lots of guys. Nothing wrong with that, have to be who you are. Sometimes I wonder if I should have done that, just slept with women who were willing, loved me a little. Lots of people are like that, not interested in things that take commitment, or "long-term relationships".

But that's not who I am. It is all about Thales, "Know thyself", and "to thy own self be true." Though to me, it isn't about time, but depth. I don't care how long our road together lasts, really. "Commitment", to me, isn't about time, or promises. Commitment is something I bring to life, is part of me, and I simply do what I know I am comitted to, whether I like it or not. And really, there are more things like that in life to do than I have time for. Commitment is how I live life, like with the music, giving it everything, no holding back, no hesitation, giving it all I got, and those are the songs I chose to sing, the ones I know I have that commitment, that sincerity for.

That is what these few women are about. One that I know, without a doubt, that despite my doubts and fears, despite the fact it might not work, despite everything, I know I could give it my best, total commitment to making it work, no looking back, no holding back, I would take her hand and jump.

And that's why I just need one, the right one, one special one, my Juliet, who wants the same intensity and depth, the romantic life of terrible beauty I live. All that matters is Thales, "Know Thyself". It was kind she was even interested, maybe tempted. But she didn't love me, which is all I asked of her, or couldn't let herself. That was all I asked, and what I had to offer. I can't make her love me. Maybe I could, but then, is it her or the spell I put on her? I don't want a girl I have to persuade or convince, I want one who knows, who is convinced in her heart, that she wants to be with me. Maybe that's what she needed me to do, break through the walls she couldn't get over, she was asking for me to do what she couldn't, though she wanted to. Sigh. But again, I'll never know.

I do know that I don't want to be just another guy in a heart full of other guys, a life full of other guys. I am not just another guy. That is the simple truth. I am something way different, and for the right girl, one who sees me clearly, a dream come true. And I want a girl who can be, wants to be, my dream come true.

But once again, the dream isn't real, but it was so close, or maybe I was just dreaming. But the truth is, I had to watch her walk away, once again, off with another man, and I won't see her again. Or if we meet somewhere, someday, it won't be the same. We had a chance, the chance of a lifetime, and well, she lost me, and I lost her. I don't think either of us will forget, or maybe she will. But it is too late now, and all in all, it might never have been good for us, not worked out. But I would have tried. One thing I know is you never know. Till it is over, and it is. Not unexpected, wish it had ended in a better way, but perhaps she needed to burn the bridge, break any connection, and bond that had started between us, prove she was free. She's probably proving that right now. I guess that is the difference, I don't want to be free. I know I will never be free, I can only try to choose my bonds, and who I am bound to. Even that is not always a choice. STill, I am strongh, I can't be held against my will, whatever binds me, I stay of my own free will. The way I would never hold a girl, try to bind her, because that's the only way I'd know she was there because that is where she wanted to be, with me.

I could put a spell on her, I am good at magic. But I don't want to get girls that way. I want to do it for the woman I love, the woman who is with me, because she asks me to. Then I would weave spells about us both, make magic moments and magic days, all I could, every chance I could, to share with her, and remember afterwards. Teach her to make magic, and let her cast her spells on me. That is my dream come true. A fey spirit, come to walk with me through a magic world.

It is strange perhaps, though not strange to me, that I am much more at peace with ma being gone. Perhaps because we had so much time, and it wasn't terribly wrong, and she feels very present in my life.

It was a shock. It felt so unfair at first. We'd almost made it back from this latest illness. We were looking forward to her being home in a couple weeks of physical therapy. Making plans, looking ahead. One of the good things about it was she had turned the corner mentally and was in a positive mood. She was so glad, thankful, and content to be out of the bad hospital and back at a good one. She wasn't in much pain, only asked for a Tylenol, probably shut her eyes again to sleep, and just faded out.

She went the way she hoped, in many ways. Though we all leave things we wished we'd done. She was still a working actor. The last thing she did was vote on the SAG-AFTRA union contract. She lived at home till the end of her life. She was engaged and productive, and part of so many people's lives. She didn't end up trapped on life support or disabled in her mind, like she sometimes worried. She lived an active, independent life, her mind was sharp, and she was a great person to know till the very end. Though she had spent the last couple months in the hospital, she had made it back, almost to full recovery, and looking forward to more years, more roles to play.

At noon, when she died, it was good. I was there with her at the end, with my sisters and brother-in-law. I spoke to her in the buddhist/hospice way, not sure she heard, but I believe she did, as I held her hand and explained to her what had happened as best I knew. That we all leave things undone but she had family and friends to deal with it and carry on. That no energy is lost, she didn't need her body, she could float away, look ahead to what was next, seek it. I don't know what all I said, till she left.

I just can't feel bad about that. And if she taught me one thing it was to be positive, depite the slings and arrows. She was great at that. My acceptance is more grim and hard than hers, perhaps she had more humour, a "wry acceptance"

Though I feel the shock, I am good at dealing with what happens, and I stay in motion, and things get done. I feel her presense strongly, too. I know there are forces I can't explain, feelings and senses. Whatever their cause, they are there, as real as anything we feel, which is all I need to know. I've always kept a sense of people close to me even when they were far away. Perhaps it helps just being here, in the house, where so much of her energy is still embedded and echoing. And having been with her so much recently. Perhaps it is that I feel so much her energy in me, especially as I perform. We are all part of an unbroken chain. And we had our second greatest connection as fellow performing artists, and just as artists. It is also talking to so many people, a few days on the phone all day and into the night, visitors, emails and calls from around the world, stories and memories and just telling then the story. I hear from so many people who were nurtured, guided, and affected by that same energy. It is so fine, so amazing even though I am not surprised. It is like another gift from her. Perhaps she is overing nearby my familiar light, as she is hovering by all the familiar lights, in a world unconfined by her body, till something draws her to a new place, perhaps a new life for an old soul, another ride on the wheel, or on to somehwere else I can't know, don't know. Not yet. Don't need to know. Though I will.

So, no, it isn't bad, and I am at peace with her death, even more impressed by her life, and really aware of her spirit within and without me. She is safe now, gone from trouble, safe from fears. I feel her energy reflecting out of so many people.

Though I am sad to lose her for myself, and wished she could have done more, been a light in more people's lives, and there's things I still wanted to do with her, like complete recording her audio memiores, maybe get her started doing some studio video for the internet. I enjoyed having her see the things I’m doing, telling her the stories, showing the pictures and videos, carrying on what she taught me as a performing artist and human being, and just the things I do. But I can accept reality. I did what was important, to be there for her, be here, for better or worse. I did the right thing and had a great time with her here for her final years, and that is what I came here for. To spend time with her while I could, enjoy our connection, be there to help when she needed me, to be there when she passed on, and to take of everything afterwards. No regrets.

I have had a hard time expressing why I was here to people. It is just hard to say that I was here to be here with ma and for ma till she died. And that could happen any time, or not for years. Everything was uncertain, and I couldn't get really involved in anything, knowing I might be pulled away to help ma, or eventually, her life would be over and I would have to go, too. Now the time has come.

The house is hers, not mine, and now it is the families, and I have no place of my own here. It is not really my place to begin with. I lived on my own for decades before I returned here just a few years ago. I would stop here and visit, two weeks to two months, then move on around the circuit. But I came here for ma, while my life was about the music, where it took me, and being on the road, around the entire country, all the wild places. I love visiting cities, but not living here. This house was an oasis in a sea of metropolitan sprawl. I love it, and it is a great pain to lose it, though I knew I would one day. I have done great work here, inside the house, and all the landscaping and gardening. It is just peaceful and beautiful, and comfortable, as it should be, as we shaped it for ourselves, what we liked, and especially, whatever ma liked. She still made many final decisions. Even as I was deciding on locations for the new plantings, I'd take in pictures to show her the options. And how the flowers were blooming. I grew up here. If things had been different, I would have been glad to raise my family here. But I accept realities.

I really will miss the house. I will carry ma with me, but the house I$039;ll leave behind, after 46 years. I love the house and the way it is laid out inside, open, with long views, not closed in, big connecting spaces, like living outside. The great long kitchen, with the window at the end. I did a great job on the new kitchen, am justly proud of it, and just like it, with those great long counters. My school buses (I’ve had four) were one-third kitchen, usually. I like the whole look of the woodwork and colors. The living-room with ma’s desk and working area by the wood-stove, and all the bookshelves and video shelves. Ma was an actor, and into film, into movies, though plenty of her own work there. It wasn’t pretentious either, but relaxed and casual, and reflected ma’s character, and mine, too, with the whole raft of interesting stuff scattered around, piled up here and there, bones and swards and many an odd and beautiful thing. Not too tidy, more chaotic, and comfortable. And still a work of art. I loved living in it, a feast of great energies coming from cool stuff, sculpting with energy. All these strange and wonderful treasures, all the memories attached to them. The piano I’ve played so long, all my old instruments. All the little pieces of places I’d brought back from my journeys and left here, before I headed out again. It really was a cool house, and I’m glad I had time with it again. I can only hope to have a house like this, if I ever have a house.

The great windows everywhere, so your eye could gaze out into distance off through the trees, more window than wall, it was like being outside. You could watch the flowers blooming almost continually, the wind blowing through the trees, storms and clouds, and catch the life of the forest, birds and squirrels, rabbits, deer, foxes, and owls and hawks, landing at the birdbaths, the feeding station, roosting the bamboo grove, moving through the natural landscape of shrubs and trees and undergrowth, carefully planted flowering perennials everywhere, bird-forage, and fruitrees, kiwis, all let grow rampant and wild. A few meadows, lots of wildflowers and violets. The herb garden, sage and rosemary, marjoram, oregano, and lots of basil, big mounds of the bushy type. The big garden with lots of mustard and some other mixed greens, tomatoes and potatoes, peppers and brocolli, rhubard and squash and mellons, radishes and comfrey. I planted new plants this year, using pictures to let ma help decide where to put things from her hospital bed. It was an act of optimism, planting the garden and plants that wouldn't bloom till next Spring. We'd planted new trees the last winter, that would have taken a few years to start blooming. I had to remember that, and today I was out planting the final plants into the garden, a bunch of basil started from cuttings, the peppers, and dill. Celebrate life, plant the garden, pull weeds, even though I’ll have to leave it all behind.

And the roses, I’ll miss the roses. Ma and I both loved roses

Over the decades I grew them into mountains of roses, from an old rambling rose that I started from cutting I took from a house down the street, after looking for and finding the remaining shoots of an old rosebush I remembered from elementary school, still surviving there, buried in honeysuckle, creeper and ivy. I grew those cuttings into massive bushes on arbors at each end of the house, waves of roses outside the big windows, with cardinals nesting in them.

I planted red roses, too, of course. I loved these dark, midnight red ones, but had bright red ramblers, too, on one arbor, with the pink ramblers I planted everywhere, and fancy huge multiflorals by the garden. And older varieties with button rose, and even wild-rose with lots of hip for the birds. The scent filling the air, glowing in the sun, shimmering in the moonlight. And the lilies, and just flowers of every type planted everwhere, bulbs to bushes to trees, tiny wildflowers to massive spikes and towers of blossoms, the apricot tree in the garden, the cherries and apples, the crepe myrtles, the holly trees. The open areas were covered with violets. I planted ma' favorite, lilacs, all over, and a big stand of lavender outside the kitchen window

I had a huge mound of roses stretching along the road in front of the house, there for everyone to see and smell, and take if they liked. There were plenty. Just like the fairy tales, a wall of roses surrounded the castle. I’ve dreamed, literally, of finding a place like this, but I doubt ever will. I was lucky to be able to grow up here, live here, and have this last time here. I planted it, tended it, watched it grow through the years, and now, it is time to leave it behind.

Though it is hard to imagine I will never see these plants bloom again, that all I’ll have is pictures. I told the girl I wished I’d been able to show her my gardens. She loved the lemon balm I brought her, mint, and the roses, and the flowers for her hair.

Though I’ve talked with a few friends and hope to save a few plants, move them to their places, keep them going no matter what happens, and maybe, one day, I could take some starts to wherever I have a place, if I ever do.

2011-6-15-diningroom-1

I am here to be of service to ma, which included being here so she'd know everything would be taken care of afterwards as well. One less worry for her, and my job right now. And I got right to it, and have been keeping at it steady since. Nothing happens fast, but so many wheels have to start turning. This is not a rare event, but a common clockwork in the paperwork of life. I get moving, get it done, piece by piece and step by step. There's been days and days of it now. I am just getting started on the big job, of getting this all settled, and getting me packed and road-ready. And I’ll need to deal with my own paperwork, I need a new address, switch everything, get new business cards. But I’m getting through this initial part, feel I've got it together. Still, it will all be wrapped up eventually. Then I'll have to go.

That's another trouble on my mind. Go where? I am free. It is really hard to grasp. The last chapter is ended, suddenly, and the new one begun, and I don't know what happens.

Ma and dad are both gone, and that was the reason I stayed close to the East Coast. I can go away for years, now. travel the world. Sail around the world. I can head back out west and center my circuit over there, even find a new place to settle there if I need to or want to. I will head back to Montana and Seattle. There are reallt too many options. With the dulcimer, I can really go anywhere and make it. I've been talking to people and making connections in places around the world, and talking with friends out West, Seattle, Montana. What is best? Or do it all? But right now I just don't care, after all the stress, and effort, and now disappointment and discouragement, and especially after this girl. And she talked to me about Colorado, from the beginning.

I had general plans. I'd even thought about it more specifically, lately, so I have a list of what needs to be done to get on the road again. Though I decided that I didn't need to worry about it yet. There was nothing I couldn't deal with in short order and I needed to stay with the here and now, and with ma. I could worry about what to do later. When she was better, I might focus on getting more ready. Fix the Hurley, maybe. I wanted to get a boat out on the water, here, as a way to get away to the water and nature while staying here, get a break. Now it is later, no need for a break. Well, maybe there is, and have thought of a couple days with friends in Delaware, and taking a trip to visit friends in the Shenandoah Valley. One uncertainty is not knowing how long this will all take, tying up all the loose ends. But I know my old routines and can fall into them, adapt, improvise, and make it work. I did for years, I am good at it. Though the van needs head gaskets and the trailer hasn't been moved since I got here. I’ve never met a rig yet I couldn’t fix in a couple weeks, or find a new one. I'd like to finish the vegie oil conversion. But mostly, I need to be ready to roll when I have to, and it will take a lot of doing to get it all done. Once I am ready to go when the time comes, then I can think about extras, like the conversion, or the Hurley, or music projects.

Which is another depression bit on my mind. All the music projects I hoped to do here as part of settling down, well, they aren't going to happen now, at least, not here. I was afraid of this as I kept running into delays and distractions. But I did think I had more time. Perhaps you always think you have more time, which is why I am trying to "do more" with the dulcimer, no matter how frustrating and discouraging it is. And now, just as I am getting productive again, and looking forward to being productive as ma returned to normal health, it is over and I am packing up. All I can do is get the promo videos done so I have something to work with once I am on the road again.

Though I have decided to just recording the CDs in a commercial studio, rather than putting it off again for who knows how long. Again, accept the facts and spend the money to jump-start the process while I have the time. Who knows when the next time will be. And like the video, new CDs will set me up to just go back on the road. But I can't try to do too much, and focus on what is ready to go personally, music videos, and pay to record in a studio, use their space and expertise. Maybe I'll look at the music projects all a different way, like I did before, where I am on the road, and get it done there. That would mean both using commercial studios and finally making the upgrade to a modern mobile platform. A decade ago, I had to have a desktop computer, and get connected where I could, or use libraries. I did set up the studio in the van, though, and recorded on it.. not easily or well. There was no wireless. Laptops weren't powerful enough for professional audio and video processing. That has all changed. I just bought a 2 TB external drive, as part of getting ready to go actually, before I knew I needed to.

But where will I go, and what will I do. I don't know exactly. I am hoping opportunity will guide me possibly, as I follow leads and make contacts. I'll have to go down and see the boat immediately, prepare it for hurricane season. I'll have to take the van and possibly the Hurley west. Head for Seattle. Next summer, I head for Alaska again and can take the van and trailer and some stuff to leave up there if I want. I could simplify and get rid of a lot. Next winter, I could start sailing south, through the islands, on to South America. I could keep sailing and not come back for years. I actually think perhaps I should just buy a bigger boat from the start, sell my old one, and then cruise. Late one night I distracted myself with searching listings, and found a couple boats that would do. One was already in French Polynesia. I could fly out and start there. I've been corresponding with a D.J in Morrocco who has offerred to help me tour there. I contacted a agency in India that does an Indie Tour the first week of November. Told them I was interested, but wanted more, and I could be big in India and they might want to handle it. Simple truth. I could just do their tour and then head out on my own around the world by land, not by sea. I think of touring just music fests in the states, and visiting and doing lecture/performances at music schools in between, and doing school shows again.

I am so free, except for my chains. But they are only on my heart, and it doesn't matter where I am, they will be there. My bonds, sounds better, and they are a bonding, a resonance, a recognition of this one special spirit in the sea of others in space and time, another in the small constellation of people in my life. They do not bind me, they connect me. And I am a sailor, and a chain is not something that binds you, but that anchors you, makes you safe, secure through every storm.

Beyond the poetry, the trouble is I am free, have this great talent, need to do more with the dulcimer, and could go anywhere and the music would support me, I want to go anywhere the music leads me. I want to return to the Way, and go where I need to go. If I can tell. Perhaps it led me to this girl, and I still blew it, and I'm in a hard place of bitter darkness, mostly. At least, I know not to make decisions when you are depressed. But I have to make some, while I put off the rest as long as I can. But eventually, I will have to go. That I know. Still, I am not really troubled by it, because I know I can do it, whatever it is. I am good at this. Head out on the road, follow the music from one place to play to the next, find places and moments of magical, terrible beauty.

While wherever I go, whatever I do, I’ll be haunted, as I try to get some sleep, by my gypsy lullabye. Though now she has a name, and her face is so clear, too clear. And sleep doesn't comes easy.

"AK2K: The 2000 Tour Journals"

The Youtube Playlist, Introduction, Episodes, and associated performance videos
Alaska to Missoula Montana and Seattle, Washington.

AK2K Directory:

The Main Website's directory to the AK2K Episodes with liks to background pages on individual episodes, the entire tour, and the how and why behind the first Video Tour Journals.

These are the original video tour journals I made for the web back in 2000, using the first generation of professional digital video camera and computer hardware and software. I never finished or continued the series, but completed 18 episodes and an introduction before I stopped. It took me years to get them on-line, finally. They still represent a remarkable documentary of the life of a folksinger, at a time when I was in my stride, performing, jamming, vounteering at schools and senior centers, living the life. They were my first effort as well, and despite the inconsistancies, were a remarkable achievement for the time, and for doing them on the road.

They definitely deserve a place within the larger body of work I am creating here. They also are important because, no matter what happens, I won’t be going back. I have tried to re-start the tour journals, though not with so much success, partially because, well, I am not touring right now, I am living a different life, and so I make studio journals, instead.

When they were done, webjournals like this didn’t exist, though I had a tour journal as part of my website, it was an annual or occassionally bi-annual telling of the story of the year, all text and small pictures, black text on eye-soft blue background, designed for easy downloads on a low-speed web. This webjournal the new model, as well as this whole updated website. In 2000, though, I made all the background information into a special section of the website, explaining both how and why I made the journals, and then creating a directoryu of the web journals themselves, with individual pages for the background story behind each episode.

Which means I don’t have to do that here! I have made a shot at updatng the various pages involved, something I have done several times at various times over the past decade. But for the most part, they remain what they were at the time, as they should.

What I want to add here is what is part of this time, my thoughts and feeling as I go through this, since this page is part of the new journal. How I can compare these tour journals to the most recent ones from last summer in Alaska, seeing how much has changed. I think of the strange convoluted story of how the tour journals finally are presented here, complete, a decade after their making, and all the chnages that have gone on. It is a simple monument to how much went wrong this last decade, how many things that got in the way. Then, I was way ahead of the curve with both video and the internet. I had such enthusiasm and great expectations, such plans.

So it goes.

But it also reminds me what a good idea it was, and still is, though I have yet to reach much of an audience with it. But that is literature, and documentary. I have created something that doesn’t have to be current to be relevant. And part of this story I am telling is about a life, and that means different times, different chapters. This is just one effort in that work. Though I had to stop the tour journal, I did decide to continue the effort and documenting everything that I could, gathering raw footage, that I can still produce from. If I can find the time, I could theoretically continue the journal till it spanned the last decade, more or less. Or at least, produce something from the footage, or someone else could. I recognized and did the most important thing, capture the scenes as they happened, since they will never come again. In a strange way, that echoes the reason that pushed me into investing in the camera and video producton gear in the first place. I made the trip to Belize in Further, and realized afterwards that I could never recreate that journey, or share it, but if I had the video camera, I would have captured some part of it, documented that story. Though I never looked at it as a big deal, I realize I never do, and have a hard time realizing what this life I live might look like to someone else, I have become so used to my routine extremes, what is normal to me is the adventure of a lifetime to others. I thnk just as significant is that I am not trying to have adventures, not seeking out danger or thrills. I am just quietly going about my life as a folksinger, doing what is right, playing for the people I meet. Mostly, it isn’t such a big deal. Yet I also know, absolutely, that I have achieved something in this life, in the scenes and stories, of incredible, magic and beauty, deeply spiritual, mystical, that terrible beauty that has fascinated and held me in its spell, despite everything.

I am not sure I can explain, though I keep trying.

Perhaps that is the simplest explaination and description of what these tour journals are about, what this whole website is about, as well. By openning up a window on this life, these few captured scenes, perhaps I can begin to share these experiences I can’t really explain. So bt sharing these experiences, even what I can’t explain, perhaps you might begin to understand.

Isn’t that what I have said about the music? That I sing because people listen. And if they listen, perhaps they will hear. And if they hear, perhaps they will see.

Associated Videos

"AK2K Playlist" on TouTube

AK2K:A Short Introduction in this webjournal

The AK2K Directory is the original and updated page that lists all the episodes, with a short description and links to the full story behind each episode, the entire tour story, associated performance videos, and the story behind the making the video tour journals in the first place.

"The JellyVision Show"

Associated Websites

The Epicure Cafe Fairfax, Virginia

Welcome, this time I’ll try covering the last few weeks events with a quick synopsis first, then follow with the details.

On the main issue, ma is slowly improving, but all is not good. She has a two week setback, though there’ hope we are back on track again. I spent energy combating my own anxieties, on top of everything else.

Many things are on hold, as priorities shift to handle the present emergency. Though that is why I am here. I work steady, get a lot done, juggling pretty smooth and well, though feeling the strain, of course, not the first time. I work well under pressure, but react badly to the stress, but stay rock-solid regardless. I am good at that, too. And I make progress, step by step, head down against the storm.

I’ve re-encoded and uploaded the first 10 episodes of the AK2K tour journal to YouTube so the series is complete, as far as it goes.

I appeared on an internet interview program, the JellyVision show. It was held live at a local venue for the first time, and I ended up making a great connection with the owners, part of the Iranian-American community, and was invited to do a show there the following Saturday, May 7th, 8 to 11pm.

I get the camera set up tethered to the computer and the dulci set up in the new blackbox, though I’ve nailed down options for repair and replace, I can make do with what have till I am past this point, though I can’t shoot any more video outside the studio.

Life goes on, flowers the garden is planted, compost built, I’m eating bamboo sprouts and turned off the furnace and rely just on the woodstove. I work on ma’s car, which is oddly a pleasure, and need to work on mine.

I think a lot, about the times, about the Way and the World, about Life and Illusion, and the Doors of Perception. All seems pretty crazy, but I seriously could use some sleep. And I need to practice, got a gig coming up.

Ok, on to some of the details. Some of you may be new here, since I’m doing a show tonight and am trying to get this uploaded in time to be available if anyone is interested in following up on me after the show. That is partly just what this is for, the very idea of the original website, a place where people can find, and follow me, if they wish, after seeing me play somewhere.

This journal is supposed to be about the music, a window on my life as a folksinger. So I’ll cover that first, and the fact is, I barely have time to do that. Above all, as I have said, practicalities and the music come first, which means sleep, and practice, and play. But I want this to be ready for anyone who comes here after the show. That is one of it’s main purpose. So that when people see me play, they can find this door, this window, if they look for it. And there is so much here, such a story, and with some luck, there’s more ahead. Welcome to this window on my world, this road I’m on.

The AK2K Video Tour Journals:

Google is completing the transition that started with buying YouTube. It is eliminating all hosting of video on the old Google Video service where I first posted the Alaska 2000, "AK2K", video tour journals and telling folks to migrate what they want to keep to Youtube. This is expected, and actually good, since the videos on Google video were actually a mess, reflecting the confused state of internet video at the time. With only 12 videos, I had 53 versions all told, trying to cover various formats and specs, pretty crazy. And the Google encoding engine was also pretty problematic, so some videos came out without sound or pretty jumpy. So I went back to the originals and re-encoded them myself using ffmpeg, formatting to YouTube specs, and uploading the finished flash files instead of letting them encode the video (they use linux and ffmpeg, too, btw). Now the complete series of 18 videos and the Introduction are all on my Youtube channel on the AK2K playlist. I also had to update all the web pages with the new links. Made for a lot of weird retrospective thoughts, working with and looking at all these scenes, and flashing on the whole last decade, not a good decade really. So it goes.

But it needed to be done, I think. Though I am trying to do new videos, that series really captured a picture of my life when I was in full stride as a folksinger. So it makes a great piece of the what I am trying to do, the life I have tried to document. I still wonder if I’ll ever finish the last two episodes. I think I should, because it captured the life so well. Though right now I wonder when I’ll get back to the episodes from last summer. But they also demonstrate just what I’m talking about, though I am doing new tour journals, they aren’t the same. life has changed so much, now. There were big problems that got in the way, and I’ve not made it back to where I was. In fact, I moved on to where I am at now, a different chapter.

I also just got back into gear in performing. As the weather turned warm, I’d thought of heading back out on the street, but decided that it is a distraction right now, and focused on getting set up in the studio. It all works, and I was ready to shoot the first test videos before starting to finally produce the studio performance videos to promote with.

Then, this last week, I got out and performed again. Just before mom went into critical care a month ago, the last thing I did was the audition at The Soundry. Now, a month later, I get an email this week from Jennifer, the C.I.C., asking if I could come do an appearance on their JellyVision interview show the next day, which was going to be off-site for the first time, at a local venue in Fairfax, The Epicure Cafe. So I went.

It was great to be out doing it again, of course. My life has been theater. It was great to be part of a show again, getting set up, going through the old routines. And just reminding myself of what my life is really about, before all the distractions stopped me from playing for so long, and when I haven’t yet been able to shift gears and get into the local scene here. The interview went well, I thought, though of course, afterwards, I thought of all sorts of better answers I could have made. But all told it was a good show and, well, live.

The coolest thing was the unexpected. I showed up early as always, to tune up and get ready without any pressure. I come in and meet the manager. As always I asked what his cultural background is, so I can describe the dulcimer to them in terms of their tradition, and language, if I can. Well, he’s from Iran, one of the oldest civilizations, where one of the dulcimer’s oldest root names comes from, Santir, Santur, or Santoor (there are so many related spelling in that general area of the world) from the word for 100, sant, where we get the word cent. Turns out he has played a traditional one, still has it at home, as well as other traditional Persian instruments, and modern instruments which his son plays, and he knows a traditional player and teacher here. He casually mentioned playing in Iran, one of my dreams, though I don’t know how I’d manage it, politics being what it is. Though he acted like it was not such a problem. So here is something I hoped to find in the multi-national make-up of the DC area, a connection to one of the cultures and countries I especially want to connect with. I want to show them what I have done with the instrument, like taking the first electric guitar to Spain. And not just the electric, but in developing this modern style of playing, which is as significant, maybe more, than building the electric. Even if this doesn’t result in taking the instrument there myself, if I can connect to the Iranian-American community, eventually the electric dulcimer and what I have done with it will reach there, one day through someone else, or through the internet.

After the interview, I played for another hour or two, just because it was all set up, and people were enjoying it, and I love playing. And I just wanted to play for the person I’d met first, someone who knew the instrument, and might appreciate what I had done with it. I guess he did. When it was time to go, he asked me if I’d return and do a show this Saturday night, 8 to 11pm. So now I have my first local gig, something I have been saying I had to get started on since I got back from Alaska. Though I planned to get the studio videos done first so I had them to promote with. But so many things have gotten in the way, with ma’s sudden illness the latest. And now the season s getting late, the summer festivals are being booked, and I will probably end up on the street again. Which would be ok, and help my finances. I even dream of going out west again, not Alaska, but back to Montana, on to Seattle, doing the old circuit that actually would be productive in reaching people with the dulcimer. And though I love Alaska, I miss the West, when going to Alaska took up my sumer and Fall till all I got was a brief stop in Seattle, if that.

The biggest priority is still ma’s illness. She is pretty well recovered from the bile duct infection, but she is having problems getting off the ventilator, so she is still hospitalized. She had a setback, when she came down with some sort of infection, possibly. This is not uncommon, and one of the reasons the respiratory doctor won’t be definite on a timetable, but just taking it one day at a time. She actually had made it to 24 hours off the machine, with just oxygen, two weeks ago today. It wasn’t till last thursday and friday she made it back to her first 12 on/12 offs since. Now she is back on, slid back a bit over the weekend to 6 off/18 on, and this morning was “agitated”, so is on the machine, and has a big bruise on her hand, probably from hitting the rail of the bed, thrashing. I’d hoped to find her off the machine and be trying to help her make another 12/12 and do physical therapy. But instead, she’s on the machine, though resting quiet after I did a few things for her. There’s a brochure for a long-term acute care facility in DC on by the hospital computer terminal here, which raises worrying questions

I am actually at her hospital bed writing this paragraph, ready to help her be comfortable if I can, working here, or go back to the house if I’m not useful. Usually I can be, keeping her calm, helping her with the intolerable itching that is part of her original problem. They drained fluid from her lung to let her breath easier, which caused her to go back o the ventilator, and tested for infection and found none. That is good. They are focusing again on the original problem, trying to diagnose what is causing this, still possibly a lymphoma.

Now it is days after I wrote the above. They did the bone marrow biopsy, which was the plan if the first one a month ago was inconclusive, though that whole problem has been on hold while she recovered from this obvious emergency with her bile duct. They also drained fluid from her other lung. And they moved her feeding tube to a direct one into the stomach so it wouldn’t irritate her sinus to produce fluid by passing through her nose. The biopsy worked, identified the specific subtype and they started treatment with the first dose of chemo and steroids. Luckily it is a mild form of chemo, so ma hardly noticed, and the next dose is in three weeks. Now, it is all about keeping the fluid from building up and making it hard for her to breath on her own, so she can get back to making progress getting off the vent, and on physical therapy to get her back on her feet after a month in bed. Finally get back to where we were before she went into the hospital, living at home, going to the doctor’s office to treat the Lymphoma and monitor her progress and condition till the treatment is done. Then life will really be back to normal, even better than what it has been, since this undiagnosed low-grade lymphoma has been causing problems for her, immune system porblems and reactions, for years probably.

I do what I can. Whether to help her scratch, get something she can’t reach, talk her through the hard bits when her meds are wearing off, make sure she gets them. I help her shift positions and get more comfortable, sit up and let the air get on her back. She has to move to get healthy, but on her own, it is hard, and easier to just lay and wait for the nurses to come eventually, so I gently lead her to do more just being there. I also help with her physical therapy. I make sure the nurses are clued into what works for her, and what is actually bothering her. I continue to read aloud. I play guitar and sing. I talk and try to help her pass the time. I made inquires so she could use her laptop, if I am there, so maybe she can communicate better and not feel so isolated. She actually wrote a sentence before this latest relapse, but hasn’t gotten back to it since.

I’ve planted the yard with flowers for her, but this year she missed them, and was sorry about it from the beginning. So I’ve been taking pictures of the yard, from when the first violets started blooming, though the whole parade of flowers as the month went by. I showed her the work I was doing, like building an arbor for the kiwi vines and planting the herb garden. I could get her opinion on where to plant new plants that I get out of the discount bin at the big-box store, then show her what it looks like planted. It is not the same, but it is something, and she knows at least that I am trying. That is a big thing in itself. And the flowers will all bloom again next year, even better as they keep growing.

I bring what I can work on at the hospital. If I work here, I am here if needed, even if she is resting a lot of the time. Seems when I go away, weekends when my sisters are supposed to come in, things get worse. It mmust be coincidence, but it has happened to many times to be comfortable. I am good at keeping her calm, know her well and what her problems are, and sensitive and observant, so she focuses on breathing off the vent, and not stressing out in frustration, or falling into a semi-comatose inaction in the boredom of her room and the meds she is on a lot. She has to keep motivated and engaged, and progressing, staying positive in a hard place to be, coming in for a three-hour procedure and spending over a month in the hospital instead.

I’ve dealt with a lot of anxiety this last month, sitting in the hospital room, lying awake in the middle of the night. I worry what might be next, if I had to leave here, if ma didn’t come home. All the projects I came here to do are still undone mostly. And there would be all that needed to be done here so I could leave, dealing with all my gear, vehicles, the boat and trailer. Should I really be planting a garden or packing my things? So I try to come up with a plan, or plans, reduce it to simple and not really monumental tasks, in reality, and create positive scenarios, going back out west, finding a place to record and build dulcimers, maybe take the Hurley out and put in the water around Seattle as a base there, go sail Lake Superior on the way, or the sea of Cortez. All while playing music. I always thought I could travel with the boat on it’s trailer, using it to live in on the road or on the water. Then I am able to drift back to sleep. I am not worried about the future. I feel secure I can deal, and can focus on just the short term. Which is trouble and worry enough. Trying to call everyone and keep them updated on ma’s condition and progress. The practical plans as I worked through the month’s budget, to pay her bills and keep everything together while she’s out of it. It was a scramble at the beginning of the month for sure, but now it is under control, more or less. Repairing ma’s car while she doesn’t need it. Thinking about another round of repairing roof leaks as the weather warms enough to spread tar.

As for the rest of life. It is Spring, the flowers are blooming, and I have spent a bit of time on the yard and garden. Plants don’t care what is going on, but have to be tended, planted or weeded. It is hard because I planted all these flowers for ma, and she is missing them, though I took her pictures in the hospital, it isn’t the same. Still, I hope and plan that ma will get through this and be back soon, just like other times, to enjoy some more years here, see the flowers next Spring. I took pictures this year and showed them to her in the hospital on the laptop. And I’ll have a few years to complete this chapter, get these projects done and start new tours, start to travel the world, and give the dulcimer a life of it’s own, and create this place on the web, this window, so that people can follow the whole story, especially when I do leave his place and return to just playing and traveling again, without a place and the space here to work. I remembered that vision so well, as I worked on updating the AK2K webpages, reviewing the original tour journals, remembering how excited I was by the potential of the internet and video as a way to reach people, create “a window on my world” as I traveled and played, staying no place, but being able to always be found in one place, on the web.

I have often thought, since the beginning of my work on the net, that what I am doing is evolving a new form of writing, a multimedia experience that is both current, telling the stories as they happen, and cumulative, writing the novel, chapter by chapter. Though I document what happens in a life that is almost like fiction at times, it is about reality, and I can also tell the stories I make up, the fictions that represent reality, like poems and songs, paintings and plays, the fictional creations that reveal the deeper realities within life. That’s art. And this is the life of an artist, and I have chosen to make my life a work of art, and practice the art of life.

So! I’ve got my lists and I keep working all the time on all the scattered threads. I’ve found where I can send the camera off to a repair shop for an estimate, and decide what to do, repair it or buy a replacement used one. I can’t justify the expense of an upgrade right now, which would really mean an upgrade of the whole studio. Though I could actually upgrade the studio still using the old camera if I repair it. But I have to finish the new CD s first, that is still at the top of the list. Then I can think an upgrade to a laptop and a new mobile audio/video recording and production platform, ready to go back on the road. Though that won’t be for a while still. Till then, I can even continue to make do with the old camera tethered to the studio computer, till I have finish recording the CD, and am gigging, using studio video for promotion. Spend my money of new CDs. And fixing the van, which needs a new head gasket, which I bought a month back, drained the radiator, then this latest crisis came on. A lot of priorities had to be shifted. Big jobs had to be put off. But I still get a lot done, from chainsawing wood to replacing the brake pads on ma’s car. An odd pleasure because for one a car was designed and built to be worked on easily, so great.

The weather grows warm, and I have been tempted to return to streetperforming, which would make people on the street happy! They always love what I do, no problem, and insist on giving me money, and expressing their appreciation of my work in a million other ways. I saw ane of the shop owners somwhere lately, and he said I should come back and play again, preferable outside his shop. It is so great, so kind, so beautiful. I miss it. I hope it will always be part of what I do, that spontaneous theater of the street, and I, the folksinger, ready to play anywhere for whoever asks, following the flow of the energy, in the ebb and flow of the street, the pulsing, flowing channels of human energy. I love the street, and I think I will love it more in other places, where it is still alive in ways America has lost. So, yes, now as the weather starts to turn warm, and I am tempted almost beyond reason.

But my will is stronger, though I also have to be practical. So I won’t give up my focus on the big projects, but I may go back to playing the street, and start making money again, even if it is a distraction. I just won;t let it distract me too much, or from finding new venues. The sooner I am done here, the sooner I am free to go anywhere. The truth is tht the street is convenient and pays well for me, since people always stop t listen when I play. My brother once told me that I just don;t realize that it’s not like that for a lot of street performers, it has always been too easy for me, too easy to need nothing else, too easy not to deal with the problems and hassles of gigs and venues, which often pay less, a lot less, than I can make on the street. The other truth is that I can only afford to stop so long before I run out of money and start going int debt, no matter how frugal I am, and that time is getting used up, even if the web presence and effort really isn’t complete, or the new CDs done, and I haven’t tried to gig into local venues and new festivals within range of this East Coast base. They are still dreams, and dreams don’t pay the bills. So I won’t give up on the web, or pursuing international touring, or venues and fests, I’ll just return to what works so well. Though now, suddenly, coincidentally, I have a local gig! A way opens before me, and I’ll see where that road leads. Life is so strange and funny sometimes, many times.

The present situation with ma shows that I was justified basing here for a while, just for times like these, and probably will continue basing here for a while yet, realistically. I made the right decision coming here. I just need to stay focused on not getting into a static situation where I am just maintaining but not progressing, totally caught up in distractions. I need to get the things I came here for done, be ready to move on, whether I do or not. There will always be more to do. I plan to start touring again, once the music projects are done, just do it basing out of here instead of staying on the road making an annual circuit.

This present crisis with ma should be resolved soon and I’ll have a lot more time to focus on the music, again. But It does make me think of what I really need to get done while I am here. It also makes me think of my own mortality, and what I want to do to give the electric dulcimer, and my playing style, a life of its own. Preserve and pass on what have done, and the internet is the way, I am still convinced. As I said in the interview, “what you pass on lives on, and what you don’t dies with you.”

Much as I love the street, and am so grateful for all it has been and done for me, how beautiful and magic it can be, and how hard, and how well it works practically to pay the bills, I understand its limits. Limits I am comfortable with, personally. I play for people, right there with them, face to face, and pay my bills without trying to sell anything, ask for anything, promote anything. I just play, and talk to people, letting the music flow from me like a river of energy, and enjoy the beautiful moments as they pass, simple, gentle, and pleasant, or the amazing and awesome ones of rare and terrible beauty.