I feel like my skin is crawling, my stomach is in a knot, and I’m nervous for no reason.
I’ll be leaving work early today, about 3:30 or so, after a meeting I have scheduled. I’ll be headed to Pasadena, to pick up my Ethel.
She’s been in a shop in Pasadena for the last month or so, getting a ton of little issues sorted out. Tons of things I just don’t have the tools for, or things that you probably shouldn’t do in a slanted driveway, like my own. People have called me and asked if I sold her, because they saw her sitting there in the shop yard. I even had a friend call me, actually raving mad at me for not offering to sell to him first. When I told him I was finally getting it all done, he tried to claim the first ride in it. I deflected it, but I haven’t really given that much thought.
So that’s one thing. Another is that I’m going fishing this weekend, for the first time in quite a while. I think the last time I went fishing was either fall or summer last year in San Diego, on a mountain bike trip. This weekend is different.
My most familiar fishing grounds are the waters between Los Angeles and Catalina Island, up to the Channel Islands and Ventura. They’re familiar, comfortable, and very SoCal. This weekend however, I’m going to the fishing spots that have inspired the most Zen moments I’ve ever had while fishing. I’m heading up through the Owens River valley, on the CA 395 to Lake Crowley, and the waters surrounding.
My good buddy Doug is a pretty well known guide with the Sierra Drifters. I’ve been out with him a couple of times, and he’s guided me to some of the most exciting fishing I’ve ever experienced. Not heavy reeling and fast paced sport like deep sea fishing, Fly Fishing is more of a deliberate attempt to think like a fish, forcing you to meditate on what you;re doing, and hone senses that don’t get used in everyday life. Not for most of us anyway. Doug has been working at his career as a guide for a while now, and fishing is all he does. If he weren’t such a nice guy, I’d envy him, but he shares. He shares his knowledge, his favorite fishing holes, and his home with me, so I appreciate him deeply. I can’t wait for this weekend.
I’ve otherwise been quiet because I’ve been busy. I tore out what was left of the floor in my mud room, replaced the old tile with some fresh vinyl tiles. Problem is now the rest of the room needs to be updated to match the floor’s nice condition. Here’s a pic about halfway, with the underlayment and a couple of tiles going in. Here’s another with a few more tiles in. It looks really nice, so time for paint, and a new front door. I’m hoping for something imposing, with some iron in it, like so. Mine probably wont be as fancy, but I’m also considering buying a base door, and adding the metal reinforcements myself. Then maybe it will be as fancy.
I also went down to San Diego a couple of weekends ago to see a Frida Kahlo exhibit. It was good, except that I didn’t realize, until I was all the way down there, that the whole exhibit was replicas. I’ve seen original Kahlos before. I don’t know that I would have driven all the way down to SD to see replicas. Still, I didnt regret it because my buddy Rick came out with me, and we met up with one of his friends for a night on the town.
Rick’s friend J summed up the exhibit perfectly when she I asked her what she thought. “Emotionally Exhausting” was what she said, and that was all it needed. It was one of those exhibits that makes it tough to say “I enjoyed that”. After the exhibit, the feeling was more of a “I needed to experience that” thing, like I finally truly understood a lot about Frida. I have always loved her story, but to see it chronologically spelled out, and accompanied by the paintings that she made, as she was going through different things in her life made it very easy to get lost in the emotion of it all. Is pain an emotion? A sensation? It was hard to grasp, I couldn’t see why her life had to be so hard. So frequently, an artist’s life is tumultuous because of things they do, because of bad decisions or terrible life choices like Heroin. Frida didn’t owe her pain to any of that. She was frail, small, broken at an early age in a bus accident, and suffered the rest of her life for it. The man in her life hurt her, but all she did was love him. True, it might not have been the best decision, but can you fault someone when the only emotion they give is love? She loved Diego Rivera, and she hated him, but she kept her class and kept her chin up. A proud woman indeed, and deservingly so. Devastatingly so.
All in all I had a blast. I’ve never really had a chance to explore San Diego, usually when I’ve been there, it’s been with a band. I’ve performed at the San Diego Sports Arena, sat in the press box at Jack Murphy Stadium, and probably been to SD for music stuff 30 times, but I had never really just cruised around SD drinking, and it was a hell of a lot of fun. Rick’s friend was cute, and was driving to boot. She had just moved to SD, so didn’t really know where to go. Rick suggested The Pearl, a hotel dolled up in 60’s style, complete with Rye whiskey at the bar, and furniture, decor, and ambience that seemed to have come from a sealed package, stowed away since the 60’s just for us. I had brussel sprouts and Rye manhattans, a well made Old Fashioned, and a few beers. I had a good buzz on by the time we were dropped back off. Great times.
So this is what has kept my mind occupado while the car was in the shop. Today, it all resolves with me driving her home, hopefully not to return to the shop for a while.