Happy brand new 2022. Reelin' In the Years

 

Preface: in re-reading and tweaking this post, I notice that I have not once mentioned, you know, IT.  Would it be possible to try that out in real time (no talking about IT). Like maybe as a new years resolution. That would be challenging (97.5% of the time it’s the first thing you hear on NPR in the morning).  Nevertheless, I am considering  it. Maybe regular periodic moratoriums. That’s all I have to say about that.

2021 started out with meeting the gutter man, the electrician, and the handy man as final preparations were made on sprucing up our 160 year old condo in New Orleans. It sold right away for the asking price. It was fun to review my Google Calendar for the early months of last year, recalling my visits to doctors (I am an old  man) and friends down there as we had our last visits together in the Big Easy. One last bike ride along the shore of Lake Ponchartrain. I would have had a last bike ride along the Mississippi river with our NOLA social riders had my knee cartilage not ripped on April Fools Day, rendering me a hobbling old man until it was repaired in Salem 3 months later.  We headed west on I-10 in mid-April to Salem via Marfa Texas, Santa Fe New Mexico, and Boise Idaho.  We relocated our trailer to the Riverside (actually floodplain-side) Campground where we resided for 3 months before moving into our new home 3.5 miles from downtown Salem. 

FYI: my blogpost hyperlinked to above was  published early in 2021, and has the phrase Going Postal in it’s title.  Since listening to the May 3, 2018 episode of my new favorite podcast (You’re Wrong About), I regret using that phrase. The podcasters do a great job reflecting on important quirks and dangerous tendencies in our culture and news media.

We are plugging into the social scene here in our new neighborhood, the Pringle Creek Community.  I have taken to calling us (the residents here) Chips, since this land was purchased by an heir to the Kettle Chips fortune as well as sharing a name with Pringles.  As a moniker it’s mildly wicked as well as cute, a combination I find ridiculous in a good way.  We have a community meeting hall and a large garden with greenhouses and chickens, and the community employs a full-time gardener.  We have movie night and knitting circle, may soon have yoga and there’s a Book Optional Book Club.  I go to some things and I am exploring outside the community as well, trying to find a lifestyle that is sustainable.  Or just figuring it all out.  I never will, of course, but so far I have to admit that just launching into a day without much preparation and finding interesting things to do is different here in Salem compared to New Orleans. My life is so much richer for having lived in that place for almost four years. Now it’s Salem Time.

Our house is new, well built and we love it. The builder has no interest in landscaping.  They literally chip up their leftover lumber, dye it black, and use that to spread around the houses as a finishing touch.  We had that removed, and are getting ready to landscape, using the skills of a landscape architecture group called Garden Angels.  It’s wild and crazy, and will be an exciting undertaking.  We can’t wait to see the transformation, to be done sometime next year.

Lots of opportunity for organizing here in our no-car garage.  NOLA visitors: recognize those carpets?

Tyler our son lives with his wife Heather and two dogs only 14 miles away, just out of town on 20 acres of mostly forested land in Willamette Valley wine country.  They are keeping busy and it is great to be near them and available to help.  I need to get some really good work boots.  Jon our other son lives with his wife Samantha and dog and two cats in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  Carol and I will drive over to visit them in February after our winter getaway in Palm Springs with our friends from Eugene. Carol’s brother spends time in Palm Springs each year so we’ll visit him as well.

Although I’m not a big phone person, I have sisters in Michigan and Minnesota who I’ve enjoyed staying in touch with.  Occasionally, I can join a Zoom meeting in Tacoma with my longstanding Saturday morning group.  One participant on those zoom sessions is 96 years old and zooms in from Schenectady NY!  I do appreciate the technology that has evolved to allow such experiences.  Computers, such double-edged swords.

We’ll start the new year with a trip to Airstream Adventures in Portland where we will drop off our beloved Bambi Airstream trailer for repairs.  Turns out that Tyler’s land where we had parked it for the season has one too many trees, and now the trailer has a corner that’s stove in pretty bad. I forgot that when you turn your car left, the front of the trailer initially goes right, and that not all trees grow straight up. Fuck. I hope the repair work (starting in a couple weeks) goes well.

I continue to obtain nourishment from art, popular music in particular. Maybe I’ll do some sort of playlist or Top 20 list, but for now just a brief addendum.  A friend recently sent me a facebook post from a musician called Steve Poltz .  Poltz was reflecting on how glorious Elliott Randall’s guitar solo is on the 1973 Steely Dan song Reelin’ In The Years.  I too have a history with guitar solo bliss. I’m a bit ashamed to admit that if you are using a metric of ounces of dopamine released during the time you are listening to the solo, for me hands down it’s Jimmy Page and Stairway to Heaven (it doesn’t hurt that the solo immediately follows one of the most spectacular musical transitions in all of pop music).  I know, I know, but the evidence is there. Let’s discuss this later. 

Carol has been invited to be a guest on this blog, so we can all look forward to her post sometime (hopefully soon) in 2022. We are set up perfectly for visitors (for the most part a practical limit of 2), so we welcome guests and plan to do more hosting this coming year. Please call or write and let’s schedule!