Sidetracked Charley

Cliff Swallow Nests - Babies are the spotted faces The first time in my adult life I moved east of the Mississippi it was to Washington, DC. A history buff especially of the period from 1860 to 1910 I toured every Civil War battle field I could and would look at the trees anxiously awaiting fall. As a westerner I was looking forward to all the oranges and reds of the eastern forests but I got hired by a US Senator running for re-election and suddenly one day in late October I noticed I was trodding on soaked brown leaves. I had totally missed fall! You miss an awful lot when you are overly busy. When I announced I was not going to do any more art fairs one of my on line friends asked if that meant there were going to be more Cliff Swallow photographs posted. Yes! Acrobatic parent bringing food to chicks in nest I was in my twenties when I first missed fall in DC. I am no longer a spring chicken and there are not that many more falls and springs and summers I want to miss be

  And, Who are you? the caterpillar asked of Alice. I have been focusing, or rather not focusing on that question this last couple of weeks. I am no longer President of Moreno Valley Arts Council nor a member of the board. I have resolved to quit fairs but I am still an artist. Yes? A working artist? And what if yes am I working at? When young I saw a western movie about a town in the midst of drought. I lived at the time in the high desert southwest so absence of rain was a regular common thing. But even to my rather young mind it seemed that more than rain was missing from the residents of this fictional town. It was as if their spirits were also drying up. If you got lost in that quick change of subject - or seemingly switch of track - go back to the title. With the openness in my schedule I found myself staring at the skies for any sign of the hoped for but definitely late monsoons. I waited for rain as I waited for inspiration. The drought was in my soul as well as in the la

Wild sunflowers drenched in rain As an accidental gardener I often wonder why it is that wildflowers you neglect, and weeds you try to destroy survive more than the flowers and plants you pay fortunes for and go to every effort to nurture. It is not the only paradox in the universe. It can be harder to start a fire than stem a random spark, or stop a malicious rumor with a single drop of the truth. A week ago Sunday I resigned from my office of president of the board of a non-profit organization and from the board itself after ten years of active participation. I admit I took the easy way out. To have remained would have required some very difficult decisions and also created a maelstrom. To leave has just generated the wildest field of rumors believable. From my hideaway in Black Lake it has been interesting to watch; not unlike the blossoming of wildflowers and weeds in the parched earth beyond my sprinklers. I used to care a lot about public opinion but I find, as I grow olde

  Did you watch Rawhide when you were young? It and Bonanza were must views in my family. We only had only one television, one telephone, and until I was in high school only one car. I think that made it more necessary that we communicate with each other especially when crowded into the living room or the car (no back seat DVD viewer), but I digress. This blog is about cattle and stampedes. I have lived much of my life in and/or near ranch country. Even in my Rawhide watching days. I would look at the dumb, placid creatures seemingly unable to exert independent thought beyond the herd collective and try to understand the oh so frequent stampedes on that television show. My father and his ranch owning friends tried to assure me that cows were fickle and skittish animals and the least little thing could set them off especially when crowded together in a drive or a pen. I thought they were putting me on until I witnessed a small stampede due to Saint Elmo's fire. People are not u

Some sidetracks are just more exhausting than others. And more dangerous. And definitely more difficult to return to the original track and schedule. Losing the Astro Van was one of those derailments that has had very far reaching ramifications to my life. Especially since it happened after a tooth extraction by an oral surgeon and spending $1300 for the head gasket that was going to solve my problems but didn't. I was in such a financial hole I could not just zip out and plunk money down on another vehicle. And I was at a bit of a crossroads - or switching yard - on my career as an artist. If I was going to continue with fairs I needed one type of vehicle and if I wasn't I didn't. Fortunately friends were generous with loans of vehicles while I pondered just how to get back on track - and which track. I like the above historic photograph of a derailment of the Chile Line narrow gauge at the infamous trestle. You can almost hear the workings of all the minds trying to

Dad always said it was the difference of opinion that made horse racing possible. He was full of antidotes designed to inspire. And us kids had to be winners. You play the game to win or you play it not at all. I realized after the 10th Monopoly board was torn up by my father things had to change. My brother screamed it was not his fault. I was a bad loser. I countered that my brother was a hideous winner. He narrated his wins as if he was Howard Cosell. I withdrew from the family competitions unless badgered to play. My brother cheated, my dad was unbeatable, and I wanted to play a game that was not win or lose. I used to love tennis but for everyone else it was a blood sport. Play with a date and there is no way you can win because if you win you never date again. When a boyfriend on a DC tennis court went ballistic when I returned his serve I walked off the court leaving my racket behind. I retired to crossword puzzles, and solitary creative activities. But it seems that even art

I woke up yesterday to find the month of June was gone, and with it half of 2011. And today when I went to my dashboard to check on posts I found I had gone a week and posted nothing on Blogspot. And yet my mind has buzzed with ideas. Mentally I have been composing a Travels with Charley Blog about fire restrictions in the parched mountains around me, but I am almost afraid to breathe or whisper a word about fire. Yesterday I was livid about visitors to the area ignoring all the restrictions put in place. Probably need to chill out before I write about that. And credit scoring may trump it. And my usual TW3 weekly post here on Sidetracked Charley I kept delaying for another day so I could say something definitive. But it has been one of those weeks of just putting one foot in front of the other or standing in one spot hoping nobody notices you are afraid to move. As for Creative Journey: That is stalled. I don't feel all that creative of late. I have avoided painting in favo