The Great Outdoors

Saw this in a nearby home we checked out today. Great place, and this made it even greater!

May You Never

Blackwood Canyon, Lake Tahoe

I remembered someone. I'm pretty sure his real name was Ralph. I called him by his nickname. He had long, wavy auburn hair (Didn't they all?) and could play six and twelve string guitar better than anyone around. A madman. Like so many lost little girls, guitar players were a recurring affliction. One I paid dearly for.

We met at Lake Tahoe, where I lived for about five years during the mid-to-late seventies. He was a friend of dear friends of mine on the West Shore. One of those friends was pal Gem. Still best friends with the very same Gem today. So anyway... immediate attraction.

I can't recall now what finally brought us together that summer night, but we ended up in nearby Blackwood Canyon, on the Western Shore of Tahoe. His beard stubble rubbed my face raw. It didn't matter. And he played tapes that I hadn't heard. Excellent songs. One that still stands out from that night is 'May You Never' by John Martyn. Later covered by Clapton on Slowhand. One of those goddamn tunes that haunts my thoughts sometimes. I listen to that one archaic song and I am right there in his blue Dodge van. With little bubble side windows. All these years later, and he's still in my memory bank. I liked him. But he was having none of that. Ended up sailing all over the planet, among other things. I think of him sometimes, and wonder how his life is now. Do men have these flashbacks too? Music is my crazy-ass time machine!

Eggs, Babs! Eggs!

we are indeed moving. that is a terrifying realization. i have the great fortune to live with a fantastic packer. (that sounds weird.) he is already boxing and labeling books and music like a madman. we will do this in phases, to avoid anxiety. moving was a very sudden opportunity. one we couldn't turn down. the trouble is, spontaneity was easier a few decades ago. i loathe the dreaded yard sale. we're having one.

other than that news, i have some questions. like why is anyone's sex life more interesting or important than the things that actually matter? i can't watch or listen to that mindless crap anymore. i don't care which politician is fucking. (or not fucking, as the case may be.) perhaps if we paid attention to our own sexuality more than everyone else's, the need for our collective voyeurism would diminish? maybe not.

also, why do people stay together if they can't bear to be touched by the person they share a bed with? i don't get it. which isn't to say i didn't live it. divorce was awful, but not as awful as pretending. that was a prison sentence. life is too goddamn short for that.