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Halloween heights

| maggiebird


Saturday night we drove up a mountain to a party in the San Carlos hills. Up a steep narrow road, and I don’t do so well driving up (or down) steep narrow roads. So this is a Halloween story for me.

Heights didn’t use to be so scary for me. When I was young, I would have fairly skipped along a scary trail like the one in this video.

But now, even watching the above video makes my stomach scream “mama” as it tries to crawl up into my throat. But I keep watching it. It’s a cheap thrill.

The wikipedia entry for acrophobia, or fear of heights, says this phobia (really? a phobia? It’s not that severe, really!), this panic at being at altitude, may be caused by a “dysfunction in maintaining balance.”

Balance. Right. Recently I don’t have any.

Perhaps it’s my diminished vision—the once perfect eyesight becoming blurred and astigmatic. Or perhaps it’s my increasingly increased body type that’s throwing me off balance (yeah, just a little top heavy). And who can keep their balance in a sedan going up a mountain on twisting, rain slicked roads? No wonder I squealed like a little girl.

That night, we made it to the top of the mountain just fine, despite my trembling and shaking and shouting “Watch out! We’ll go over the edge!” The mathematician, who was driving, was not amused.

A warm and delightful house full of musicians and dancers awaited us, and once during the evening I even stepped out onto the narrow deck, where, high over Sili Valley,  I watched the pre-Halloween storm passing over the bay.

And when we left the party in the wee hours of the morning, I walked down that mountain, hugging the hillside, and enjoying the fresh air. I didn’t get back into the car until I got to the flats.

The ghostly hitchhiker

| maggiebird

Doesn’t every town have a ghost that hangs by the side of the road? If you stop, she gets in your car, you set your gps to find her house, and when you finally get her where she says she’s going, she disappears.

It is a scary thought, as you’re driving down a pitch black road, to imagine seeing something or somebody in the flash of your headlights. I’ve never seen a ghost walking, but once, late at night, I saw an antique truck—1940’s model—on the highway in the rain. I spied it in my rear view mirror, and I remarked on it to myself, because I’m a sucker for old cars. Then it disappeared.

I don’t mean it changed lanes, or turned away, or even turned off it’s lights. It simply ceased to be in my rear view mirror. Not proof of a ghost, I know, but needless to say, I hightailed it home, ran into the house, and burrowed under my covers (with the cats), which is, of course, the safest place to hide from apparitions. You know that, right?

Niles has a version of the classic hitchhiking ghost, which makes sense on that winding, unlit road. Frankly, I find the hitchhiking ghost legend sort of tragic, especially the versions in which she disappears just as you bring her to her parents’ house. I mean, couldn’t she stick around long enough to give them a clammy hug? They miss her, for God’s sake.

For more on this classic story, go here. It’s good write up (veracity excluded), but I’ve got to warn you that if you frighten easily, do NOT look at the rest of this website.

More Ghosts in the San Francisco Bay Area

For what does your cat wait?

| maggiebird

When I was young and slightly more nervous about things like spirits and the like, I relied upon my cats to warn me if anything otherworldly was about the house. Since my two cats pretty much slept like lumps, I always figured my house was free of ghosts and monsters.

But I did have a friend who once woke on a rainy night to see her cat staring intently out the window. This was unusual, because her cat was a lazy thing, and preferred sleeping under the covers on a chilly night to  sitting by a cold window watching the rain. She called to the cat, but it didn’t move.

Curious, my friend got out of bed to see if she could see what the cat was looking at in the rain soaked streets. When she touched the cat, the animal’s body tensed. It whined low in its throat, and suddenly there was a tapping at the front door.

That was weird, but she still went to the door to see who might be there. Since all the neighbors in that small apartment building were friends, she thought perhaps it was someone needing help. As she headed to the door, the cat growled menacingly, and ran in front of her to crouch on the entry rug. When my friend tried to get to the door, the cat growled and hissed at her.

This spooked my friend. Another tap on the door, and the cat, all it’s hair puffed out, it’s eyes as big as saucers and glinting in the dark, hissed again, but silently. My friend, by now thoroughly scared, decided that whoever was tapping on the door could wait until morning.  She went back to bed (after grabbing her telephone, and a big knife from the kitchen.) The cat finally came to join her as dawn was breaking, and they were both finally able to sleep easily.

She still doesn’t know why the cat was growling, or at who (or what!). The cat never did that again, but then again, no more night visitors ever came tapping at her door.

But my friend slept with a kitchen knife under her pillow for a long time after that.

A sleepy list

| maggiebird

Katherine Langrish at Seven Miles of Steel Thistles has a lovely blog about The Pillow book of Sei Shōnagon, a very old book in which the author sometimes makes lists. Lists of depressing things. Lists of adorable things (duck eggs!).

I love this idea. Don’t we all love lists?

So here’s my list for tonight at bedtime:

Places I love to sleep

  • Stretched out on the front seat of my car at lunchtime
  • In an upstairs bedroom
  • In a tent by a lake in the high Sierra
  • Under a mosquito net in Mexico
  • On the deck of a sailboat on the Caribbean Ocean, under the stars.

What’s your list?

Steampunk music

| maggiebird

DancingLadiesAt the Abney Park part of the Seattle SteamCon concert, I had an odd, disconnected moment when three beautifully proper Edwardian ladies threw off their jackets and started boogying across the floor.

My niece loves Abney Park.  The band is edging towards something I’d like to listen to. But I’m put off by the karaoke-style drum track—guess I’m just old fashioned and want a drummer that I can swoon over. Captain Robert whapping on a djembe is not the same as a guy on a kit.

However, their show is  wonderful. I love watching them. The costumes are wonderful, the stage business interesting, and sometimes they have a belly dancer! I’m just not so into listening to them. But that could change. I’ll keep trying.

I’ve been trying hard to like Steampunk music. Honestly, I have. I’ve listened to most of the jukebox at Sepiachord.com. I’ve sampled some of the Steampunk bands at LastFM.com. (ok, Circus Contraption’s cut Come to the Circus comes close to being interesting, and  Clare Fader’s throwback Caberet Noir is compelling), but I’m still not sold on the style.

But I’ll keep listening. Isn’t anyone doing Steampunk tinged trad Irish?

Llamas in New York

| maggiebird

Llamas

To be honest, one of the only reasons I chose to stay at Clove Cottages (near High Falls in upstate New York) was because of the llamas. They have two, Sugar and Cocoa. If they’re curious that day, and you look interesting, they’ll come up to the fence and whiffle softly over your face. They don’t much like petting.

The cottages are very sweet, although a little funky. But what can you expect from buildings that are nearly 80 years old? The floors slope, they smell of old wood, and they are thoroughly charming.

Clovecottage

The llamas have been great fun to draw.

Llamadrawing

Kiss a bee in the morning

| maggiebird

A few weekends ago I visited some friends who live way out in the country in the Sierra. They’ve got a beautiful place that’s fully off the grid, and far from any  highway.

After an evening of music (Richard plays the flute, Lynn plays the banjo) we dragged a big foam pad onto the lawn and Lynn and I slept out under the sky.

SleepingOutside

At first I was sure I wouldn’t sleep. It was too thrilling. I could feel the earth living under me, and all around me. The moon was whitely bright (I had to cover my eyes with the quilt), and down the valley two owls hooted at each other. Tree frogs sang. They startled me. I’ve lived in Sili Valley too long and forgotten what tree frogs sound like.

At dawn the sound of a bee buzzing in my ear woke me. She was scarcely 6 inches from my head, clambering over the blossom of a plantain. From ground level I looked across the lawn and saw hundreds of bees—honey, bumble, and black—all working like little flying field hands. Waking on the lawn was easy and natural.

BeeonFlower

It was hard to come back to Bay Area, where the only creatures I hear at night are police sirens and the neighbor blowing his nose (and sometimes snoring in big honking grunts). I can’t sleep outside in the city; the neighbors would be able to watch me (that’s creepy), and the rats in the backyard might chew on my nose. And sometimes scary people frequent our neighborhood.

But many nights as I wrestle with wakefulness I wish fervently that I could sleep outside. Ah, I think, if I could just take a blanket out under the apple trees and stretch out on one of the lawn chairs. If I could feel the connection to the earth that comes from being outside and in the night time, then perhaps I could sleep. And if I didn’t, would it matter?

I don’t have a sleeping porch or an isolated birch tree to sleep under, so I have to make do with sleeping next to the window and feeling the air as it tumbles into the room. If the neighbors turn out their lights (which shine in my window), I can open the blinds and watch the tops of the trees in the back yard. That will often help me sleep.

But in the morning, instead of bees buzzing gently next to me,  I waken to NPR blaring on the radio. The news is the only thing that will launch me—still half sleeping, but ranting and fuming—from bed. While I eat breakfast,  I hear  crows hollering back and forth and squirrels thudding across the roof. In spring, occasionally a mocking bird will sing. But it’s not enough to cross the divide of modern life and put me at peace.

How do you live in an land of concrete and apartments and still keep in touch with the earth?

Fear and sketching in Tres Pinos

| maggiebird

RichardThis sketch is of my friend Richard. Richard is a versatile musician. He plays Irish music, old time music, jazz. I’ve known him over a decade now, and he has taught me numerous tunes.  I drew  this picture in a Kunst & Papier watercolor journal I won from  a contest held by one of my favorite bloggers, Roz Stendahl. The paper’s not great for watercolor; it doesn’t hold a lot of  watercolor pigment and it buckles. But it’s a nice feeling book to work in, and the paper will take very light washes of color. I like the way the Tombow goes down, and I like the way pencil slides across the paper. The book is sturdy, and fun to carry around.

I love drawing musicians while they play music. Trouble is, I’m shy about sketching in front of people I don’t know. Or even those I do know, unless I trust them—as I do Richard. I’m still working on my chops in the portrait department, and I still feel inadequate. Criticism isn’t helpful.

I am trying to get over this. I’m trying to get over the feeling that people who look at me while I’m painting are grading me or rejecting me. I think it goes back to an old boyfriend who once said, “You’re not going to be one of those artists who draws in public all the time, are you? People will look at you!”

And people do look. They crane their necks to look at you, stand over you and breath on you, make comments. It’s disconcerting. But of course they look at you.  David Hardy, at the Atelier, tells me that people “are fascinated and consider you special. You have added to the excitement in their life.”  What?! Little old me?

I know that other artists aren’t shy. Roz Stendahl goes to places like the state fair specifically to sketch. She writes about these jaunts as if they were an expedition, packing what she’ll need as if she were going to discover and sketch the headwaters of the Nile. I’ve decided to emulate her.

This weekend we’re going to the Good Old Fashioned  Bluegrass Festival in Tres Pinos.I’ve never been, and I don’t play bluegrass music, although I’ve listened to a fair amount of it. My husband will be appearing in his band, Harmon’s Peak. I’m going on a mission: to draw people. I’m going to have to force myself to do it, as the thought of sketching in public like that makes me weak in the knees. What a wuss I am!

I’m planning it like it’s an expedition. I’ve got to choose what medium to work in, and which sketch book I’ll take. Then I have to remember my glasses. And to take deep breaths. And to have fun.