roadsideamerica.com often points to odd and fascinating things when we’re traveling. Today, Rich and I were in search of follies no further away than Albuquerque, as we were essentially en route between pancakes at the Frontier and a hot bath in T or C.
We saw the shoe tree, in a fun yard (although with barking dogs on high up catwalks):
And the “spaceship bug house” along with its neighbor:
And attendant dinos:
Then in the South Valley, next to a blue castle selling tires–
We went to Jimi Hendrix’s grave in the pouring rain, en route to the Seattle airport. I had been plagued by the problem of what to leave. My first thought, of course, being a baby boomer, was a bra. I don’t know where this comes from, but underwear seems the appropriate gift to the revered dead. However, in the cold light of day this didn’t seem like such a great idea. And good thing too, because there is a sign at the grave asking visitors to keep it tidy and free of trash!
Nicely done winter floral arrangements decorated the memorial in an organized fashion. Someone HAD left some beer cans, though–neatly woven in with a bouquet of berries. I whipped out my gift–a card of the Queen of Hearts I’d acquired on a Valentine’s Day in Las Vegas.
It expressed what I wanted to.
A bunch of kids came by, snapped pics on their cell phones, stood a moment reverentially, and zipped off.
We left too, off into a different life.
(Photo of me and Rich by Miriam Bobkoff).
There is little I like more than a ferry. And on the one from Port Angeles to Victoria, British Columbia the experience was enhanced by mist, snowy mountains, and the feeling of crossing from one country into another. Plus the perfect book–a Regency romance by Georgette Heyer–Frederica–with one elegant twist after another. And a bad cup of coffee. Perfect.
We didn’t make it to the famous gardens in Victoria, but were satisfied by the X-mas lights right on the harbor. Parliament looked made for the display.
The Empress Hotel is beyond classic–as iconic as Victoria herself. I always think of the great painter Emily Carr who lived in Victoria and liked the conservatory in the hotel–now madly decked out for X-mas.
An early modernist, and independent woman in the Georgia O’K mold, she painted the decaying totem poles in remote abandoned villages in a kind of cubism in the mist fashion.
It sure is green! Saw this island on the coast and then dreamed about it…
This I saw waking–
Photographs (and visit!) thanks to Miriam Bobkoff
I Found One by Miriam Bobkoff
Tsunami debris? Tsunami debris. Here. Now.
Curtis Ebbesmeyer, the flotsam guy, was here in Port Angeles earlier in the month. He and James Ingraham gave a presentation at the college about the science of flotsam, their computer model, and the likelihoods— including that the earliest arriving tsunami debris, driven by wind as well as the known movements of water in the North Pacific Gyre, could show up at the 8-month point, like now, rather than at the two-year point as NOAA’s water-driven models predict. They showed a lot of debris collected east of Neah Bay, including a big float that they were persuaded is surely from the tsunami coast. I was ambling along at Rialto Beach. We crossed Ellen Creek, and there far back in the drift was, yes, a buoy, looking just like the one found at Neah Bay that they had on the stage at the presentation. But English markings.
I emailed Dr. Ebbesmeyer. English markings, said I, so I assume not tsunami debris. Oh yes, he said, the same as the others and tentatively identified by Japanese officials. Eeeep, said I. Who manufactured it, what do the markings tell us, [doesn't seem very confirmed to me, I really meant], said I. Still doing research, said he.
But really it seems most likely. Why else are these things suddenly up and down the west coast here, exactly as predicted by the computer models for high-floating objects, unless truly they were carried away from the tsunami coast in the spring and now they are here? As will eventually be boats and houses and all the rest of what is now still out in the ocean… Dr. Ebbesmeyer says people in Japan hide mementos in their house walls, and we will need to be cautiously and even reverently attentive to the debris as it arrives, to preserve what traces we find for their families’ sake. Oh my.
For complete story, see http://oceaninview.blogspot.com
Enjoyed a stroll at Peninsula Community College–and why not, accustomed as I am to appreciating a nice campus. This one very different than SFCC, although of course with a similar mission. There is a longhouse on campus, with art gallery and space for cultural meeting and dances…not to mention wi-fi if students need it.
I’ve developed a fascination with casino architecture, born of the Las Vegas trips of several years to visit family for Thanksgiving, which turned into a general liking for the place. Not to mention the Indian casinos of northern New Mexico.
Jamestown S’Kallam has a successful casino adorned with vibrant beautifully carved totem poles that nonetheless manage to look more like a Vegas idea of one than the traditional thing. Designed and partially carved by Dale Faulstich, a non-Native carver, these poles have a bit of cultural crisscross in them I can’t completely unravel. But they are very handsome public art.
On the level of cultural crisscross, there is an extensive troll folly outside of Sequim which ports a complex array of Scandinavia style dragons and trolls.
Basically just out and about in a bit of rural neighborhood-but we left before darkness fell (and went in search of bookstores in Port Townsend) on the off chance that they come to life.
The Museum of Glass in Tacoma was an incredibly inspiring experience. Outstanding among the exhibits, particularly for a writer:
Parenthetically Speaking: It’s Only a Figure of Speech is a new collection of work by San Francisco-based artist Mildred Howard comprising more than 40 glass punctuation marks, proofreading symbols and musical notes. Howard’s inspiration for the work came from At the End, a poem by her friend and Peabody Award-winner Quincy Troupe. Both the poem and the exhibition reference punctuation as a metaphor for the passage of time. “Life is a series of questions,” comments Howard. “As soon as you answer one, you’re on to the next.”
***
at the end
of every sentence
a period
occupying space
as molecular energy
a point to make
another point
Quincy Troupe
At the edge of Seattle, in a little park with a ubiquitous climbing structure and a sweet community garden, a crazed piece of outsider art has come to rest. The boots are actually a BUILDING, with a door (but I don’t think anyone is living inside).
All I could think of was—boy, this street is going to shake when the giant comes back for his hat!
Rich likes to track roadside attractions…here is Jimi Hendrix on a Seattle Street:
I’m just a rock and roll cliche when it comes to Hendrix–I worship him. And I still think I’m too young for him to go out with…well, he’s dead, I’m 57, but you know what I mean.
I was born in Manhattan, but I’ve lived in New Mexico for over twenty-five years. As a result, I feel like I’ve lost my sense of myself as an urbanite. I don’t easily understand cities any more, but I still enjoy them.
In my journal, I’ve been drawing maps of my day. Little dotted lines lead from lunch to nap and morning tea goes on to work. A day in Seattle left a trail of my invisible footprints across a private swath of cityscape.
Starting with the Conservatory in Volunteer Park–the beauty of hothouse flowers in a glass house:
A corpse flower is anticipated, but not blooming yet–surely one of the scariest of botanical events:
A stroll through the winter garden of the arboretum, all that green–Pacific Northwest layers of green green from evergreen to the hue of a a favorite Craypas. And everywhere berries–red, orange, salmon and something called Japanese beautyberries, in metallic purple and white:
Streets flooded with the fallen stars of maple leaves.
Looked through the locked gate at the Japanese Tea Garden, closed for winter, characteristic even in a small slice.
On the Deca Hotel, which has the prettiest lobby I’ve ever seen, and the room was upgraded–as art deco as a chaise lounge could make it.
The city truly is beautiful, in its gray northern industrial light, its port sense of elsewhere, its insistence on coffee all the time and on every corner.
A very unexpected work of art–gate to the Boys and Girls Club.
Actually we were in search of Archie McPhee, the weirdest gift shop of all time. I already have the librarian action figure, hula napkins, creepy crawlers, and more..but maybe I need plastic eyeballs, or…
This too was a map, not of where I’ve been but what I carry within me.
(Not my photos, gleaned from stock, but I know my readers want visuals!)
