Life's Caravan

Sailor Lost Husband Found

2011-11-30T12:18:00.000-08:00

I'm an incurable romantic.
Being near the ocean always washes up childhood dreams and movie scenes onto the beaches of my imagination. So when I saw my dear husband, facing the sea, hand to brow, eyes fixed upon the horizon, I was thrilled. Pulling my camera from pocket I shouted “don’t move!” This of course was his cue to turn to me in confusion. Trying once more I called out…

“Do that sailor lost at sea thing again!”

He turned, faced the waves and responded with the universal sign of defiance to all foes, be they on land or sea.

Sigh and laughter… The differences between us never fail to amaze me.

You're Only 50 Once

2011-11-19T13:42:00.000-08:00

I have been pondering lately the relationship between my obsession with time and my ability or lack thereof in making decisions. For someone who dreads the end of a day or the passing of another year, I certainly have been spending a lot of time frozen unable to get even my daily activities accomplished. You would think that the rhythm of the tick, tick, ticking would somehow pull me along, coax me to the next thing on the agenda like a Pied Piper melody.

I have always been keenly aware, as Frances Mayes put it that...
“Any arbitrary turning along the way and I would be elsewhere; I would be different.”
But how did I let this knowledge bring me to a place of no turning whatsoever?

Fear!

Of course, that enemy of all things filled with life; all things creative.
embracing life in the center of the ticking clock with my face turned outward, forward is the only remedy.

Say “yes” to trying, yes to different, yes to the passing time, “no” to stagnant, no to the frozen places in my heart.

Yes to 50 years of smiles, wrinkles and gray

Yes to new life

and child-like play

Ice cream on a November day

And arbitrary turnings along the way.

More... Florida Snapshots

Rest-N-Ravages

2011-06-19T01:10:00.000-07:00

Journey to Moclips By the Sea

Moonstone Beach Motel... home for two lovely nights of rest.

Pickles loved running on the beach.

We met a man trying to rescue a wooden ship from a watery grave.

My favorite haunt in Aberdeen

"We work, we play...

the ravage of time marks

The march of the day."

I found a Motel named after me... and another sign for my collection.

6-15-11

Mother Of Mine

2011-05-04T22:17:00.000-07:00

Evalynn Mae Brumbaugh 1954

What where your dreaming mother of mine when you perched upon your makeshift tower?

Where you thinking about the children you would one day hold or a special night in this gown of tulle?

Did you worry that your children might not gain your classic sense of style? :)

How long did you practice the melody of faith

your soul would teach my heart?

Sapp Ranch Toroda Creek July 1969

Omak, Washington Summer 1978

I tip my hat to you mother of mine

Happy Mother's Day

More Neon Haunts

2010-12-16T20:46:00.000-08:00

Spent the day in Seattle area looking for cabin lighting and came home with some

vintage neon.

Bardahl Oil Company Ballard, Washington

Can you see the secondary sign that lights up over top of the large letters?

It reads..." Add It To Your Gas"

I will have to return in the dark to try for a lit shot.

Zesto Burger and Fish House

Ballard, Washington

Roxbury Auto Parts

White Center, Washington

Michael and I worked for this company back in 1984.

Dicks Drive-In sign decked for Christmas

Ballard, Washington

Yum! Still the best burger around.

Court Of Monte Cristo Motel

Edmonds, Washington

Make plans to see this slice of Americana before it's too late.

It's scheduled for demolition soon.

Wish I could really bring them home.

Respooling Autographic

2010-09-25T23:06:00.000-07:00

Kodak A1 Folding Autographic

I bought this camera in Wenatchee this summer and was excited to give it a try. The only problem was the film it needed was 116 size and they don't make it anymore. So it was off to the bathroom to respool some 120 Lomo B&W onto the 116 spools and see if I could make it work. The paper was smaller than the spool so keeping it straight may be a problem as the roll went along. I would have to experiment with the advancing of the film because the numbers on the backing paper wouldn't match this large of a camera. So I decided to turn the film advance key three rotations per shot (which turned out to be too many) and away I went. Developing in Diafine here are the five images I recieved.

Chieftain Motel Bremerton Washington

Poulsbo Marina

Boat at anchor Port Angeles

The Goldfish Ruston Washington

Ford pickup Omak Washington

I love how the old lens and the light leaks around the paper gave the shots an aged look despite the new film. I also liked how using narrower film gave me more of a panoramic view. It will be interesting to run a roll of color in her and see what I get.

888

2010-08-21T20:55:00.000-07:00

Two sisters, one mom, four days and way too many sore muscles
has turned this...

Into Eight Hundred Eighty Eight Dollars. Wow!

Road Sign Additions

2010-08-16T21:25:00.000-07:00

Shining, faded, battered or abandoned, I love collecting pictures of vintage signs.

Here are a few I have captured in the last couple of months.

Westport Washington

5-9-10

Orting 6-26-10

Morton 6-26-10

Chelan 7-31-10

Dryden 7-31-10

Bremerton / Manette 8-8-10

Of Cakes and Cabins

2010-08-05T12:43:00.000-07:00

My cabin in the woods of Conconully has hit a new phase, Perma-Chink. In days gone by a cold pioneer might have stuffed the spaces between his logs with almost anything. I remember my grandmother's house on Toroda Creek had concrete chink that would fall out in long pieces if we touched it, exposing newspaper insulation stuffed in the cracks.
Today there are lots of products that give a much better result that will stand up well to the weather or tiny fingers of curiosity. So a few weeks ago I headed to the hills armed with two buckets of chink and a collection of tools for what my neighbor Elaine calls " Frosting the Cabin". The wonders of Youtube gave me a starter course in technique and Mom came along to give me lots of help and moral support.
We started off by taping above and below the groove to hopefully make cleanup a little easier. This Perma-chink goo is really messy. kind of like Elmers mixed with sand and flour. There is also tape in the groove itself to provide a backer so the chink floats freely in the groove for expansion and contraction.

Using my super sized calking gun I filled the groove with chinking.

Then came the smoothing with putty knife and fingers too while misting with water to keep the stuff from drying too fast. After carefully removing the tape without tearing the edges of the chink too much, I again mist and smooth with my finger while I sponge off any drips. The finished groove will be dry to a gentle touch in about 48 hours.

Mom was a wonder with tape and sizzors making tiny masking runs for the next phase... crack repair.

This shot was taken after the repair was complete.

It was fun getting a visit from Reve and Brenna while I worked.

So I'm happy to say the bathroom and kitchen are finished. And as you can see the sink is about to be hooked up in the kitchen. The outside of the cabin remains to be done, another challenge because the logs are round and will require a lot more fussy work.

I have to agree with Elaine that the process was very much like frosting, not as simple or as tasty as a cake but much more fulfilling.

Caravan Cut

2010-07-10T13:21:00.000-07:00

I know I've said it before but I love Americana! Nothing thrills me more when I'm out on a leasurly drive than coming upon a roadside oddity. A few months back while crusing back roads of the Olympic Penninsula I was surprised by this...

I clicked a few pics with digital and film and filed the memory under fun things I need to do soon...

"Get my hair cut inside this silver beauty"

Indrya' the owner of A Hair Stream Salon was fun to work with,

putting me right at ease with here gentle touch and tales of world travel.

The retro waiting area is bright and cheerful, and my haircut was just what I wanted.

So if you are ever near the little town of Vaughn, keep an eye out for the Hair Stream.

Or give Indrya' a call and file your own roadside memory.

“Who Knows Where the Time Goes”

2010-06-12T01:04:00.000-07:00

There is a song by Judy Collins with that title and it still sends me back to younger and less complicated times.
I have the pleasure of celebrating the graduation of several beautiful girls this week. The most near to my heart is my niece Ryann who will take her diploma from the same hallowed halls that I walked when I was looking out upon a road full of possibility.
This of course got me thinking back to where and what I was doing the year of my graduation
So please indulge me in the stroll, allow me to weave a memory of the year 1980.

It was a year of reward…

My parents and I on the day I was chosen Washington’s top soprano at the WMEA state solo contest singing Rossini's

"Una Voce Poco Fa"

It was the year I learned to ride a lawnmower instead of pushing one,

but I never learned to like my picture being taken.

On a cool June evening, wearing Pioneer red and black

I sang “Who Know Where the Time Goes” before receiving my diploma from Omak High.

It was a year of reaching new heights…

I captured this view from the top of the Empire State looking out toward the Twin Towers.

and flying far afield…

Versailles Gardens with other members of the “America’s Youth in Concert” choir on our month long trip through Europe

And it was a year of Love…

My Michael & I with the Harley of course

Happy Graduation dear Ryann

may your year be full of sweet memory.

Ryann Joy Hill

Pinhole Day 2010 X Two

2010-06-01T12:38:00.000-07:00

My first attempts at pinhole photography have been a bit hap hazard but I wanted to share the outcome just the same. Excited to participate in this years World Wide Pinhole Day 2010, I inadvertently celebrated the date twice. April 18th hubby and I took off for Sequim with my YaYa Diana loaded with re-spooled 35mm black and white. Only to discover that the following Sunday was the actual pinhole day. Oh well, here is my favorite shot from my Pre Pinhole Practice Day.

Railroad bridge Sequim, Washington with ghost of man and dog

A week later I tried again using color Superia 100. Not the best image ever. I need to experiment with longer exposures.

Alexander's Castle at Fort Worden

Port Townsend Marina

Just for fun here is a shot I took a few days later with the pinhole Diana and then manipulated digitally.

Old Mill Park Silverdale, Washington

Who Is Martha and How Does Her Garden Grow?

2010-05-07T21:02:00.000-07:00

I recently discovered that there were people out there in blog world who had a love of developing old film found at flea markets or inside old cameras. One of my favorites to read is CraftBangBoom. Inspired by her no fear approach to experimenting I ventured into the dark with wild and wonderful chemical concoctions to see what kind of magic I could pull from some of my camera finds.

This Ansco D-6 Cadet I picked up for $10.00 at a local antique mall, had a roll of 116 Verichrome Pan inside. Noticing the larger film would never fit on my Paterson developing reel I set out to the hardware store to see if I could retro-fit.

The Paterson reel has several parts, two halves, a black centre column and a white spring collar. You can sit the collar aside, you won’t be needing it for this job. I purchased a length of clear plastic hose and cut a piece 1 and 1/8th inch long and slid it down inside the larger half of the reel.

After placing the centre column inside the other half of the reel you can now put the two halves together by placing the center column inside your home-made bushing. In the dark I carefully cut a small piece of the film from the roll so I would have it as a guide for setting the distance between the reel halves. Then I rewrapped the film and set it aside for later. In the light I could now set the reel height for the film by simply adjusting the center column depth inside the bushing. The plastic bushing grips really well in fact if it gets stuck it helps to wet it before you try to disassemble the reel.

I developed the roll using a protocol I found at another blog site I love, FilmFound
HC-110 A at 58 Degrees for five minutes and Ta-Da!
From the distant past we are introduced to, oh let’s call her Martha, and her lovely flower garden.

Is this her humble home?

No home is complete without a swing for the little ones.

And finally a shot that looks as though it was taken in a store, maybe where the camera was for sale.

Oh Martha ...I wonder, what were your children’s names and who takes care of your garden now?

Been a Long Time Coming

2010-04-27T20:09:00.000-07:00

My creative juices have a tendency sometimes dry up for a season. I will start a project and months or years later find myself picking it up again only to be surprised how much time has really past. I think that is one of the things I love about cameras. They capture the moment and hold it there suspended in time until you discover it anew.
When my daughter returned from living in London in 2004 she brought me back a vintage Kodak Cresta to add to my collection.

This camera has sat on my shelf since then except for a few outings but I could not recall where I took it or what snippets of time it held inside.
Recently I decided to ramp up my camera collecting and with that my old dream of developing at home. Inside Cresta was a roll of Arista 127 black and white I had loaded back in 2005. I gave it 4 minutes at 68 degrees with Kodak HC 110 solution B, the images were overexposed and a bit shaky, probably due to a sticky shutter, but with a little tweaking at last the story of the Cresta roll is revealed.
The first images were from a trip we took down 101 on the Oregon Coast.

Umpqua River Lighthouse

Paradise Café, Port Orford, Oregon

Sometime in 2006 or 2007 I took the camera on a day trip to Sequim, Washington.

Old Dungeness Schoolhouse

Then on my daughter’s wedding day I grabbed the camera and captured this shot of her vintage wedding dress.

Shelby in front of the Courthouse

And finally some of the images I took recently to finish out the roll so I could develop.

Harper, Washington

Retsil Cemetry Port Orchard, Washington

Capturing Haunts With Pixel and Film

2010-03-07T21:21:00.000-08:00

Do you ever drive along a familiar road and anticipate the sight of something around the next bend you have seen a hundred times before? Maybe it's an old yellow house with a deteriorating rose arbor, an abandoned store or a rusty car like the one your grandpa use to drive. I'm always a little fearful the next time I pass that it will have vanished from the landscape a victim of time or change.
There is a house near mine that I have photographed from the street many times.

I love the mysterious way it looks hidden in the trees.

Recently I asked the owner if I could photograph it up close.

Weather and time have not been kind to this old girl but in her years she still sparks the imagination. How old was the person who lived in this room? What did they dream as they peered out the window?

I was told she will be torn down soon, too old, too far gone for repair. It will be sad to see her leave. I will take my captured views of this haunt and store them for posterity. Because I want to remember and because someday someone might look at the faded images and find imaginations there as well.
What are the places along your traveled road that inspire you and make you smile?
Why not consider capturing a few of your own.

Follow this link to my flickr site for "vintage signs" I'm collecting.

Blue Moclips By The Sea

2010-02-14T21:31:00.000-08:00

One of the things I love the most about the beach is the color blue.
Sad to say in the Pacific Northwest a winter on the beach is often just grey.
You might find an occasional blue break in the clouds...

Or cute beach footwear of blue.

You can use your photo program to highlight deep blues of an approaching storm,

or just give up and supply your own color with a filter held over the lens.

Any trick is fair game when you got-to-have Blue

Moclips Washington February 3rd 2010

Beach Sillyness

2010-02-14T20:52:00.000-08:00

The Dancing YaYa's February 2nd 2010 Moclips Wa.

Created with gifninja.com & hosted by photobucket.com

Vintage Camera Fun

2010-01-31T16:03:00.000-08:00

I have been collecting vintage camera for a few years now and with some exceptions they have lived happily upon my shelf collecting dust and making me smile when I pass by. Recently I have started dusting them off, loading them up, and clicking away. While most of the picture taking world has made the leap to digital, I was pleased to discover there is still a vibrant interest in film and alternative photo processes.
A friend sent me a link to a technique called Through the Viewfinder or Ttv. This is a combo of low & high tech using a vintage camera with a top viewfinder, a tube of cardboard, and a digital camera.
I found some great instructions here for making my own “contraption” and set to work.

My Kodak Duaflex lets call her K.D.

I think the purpose of the contraption is to give the digital camera a fixed point to focus on while keeping excess light from spoiling the view inside the vintage viewfinder.

Camera dressed in her contraption

The view inside contraption

The final cropped shot

Don’t you just love the dust and stains that are a part of the internal age of a vintage camera?I have loaded up this little gem with re-spooled 120 expired b&w film so I will have a film shot to compare with the Ttv. I’ll have to post the results when I get them developed.In the meantime K.D. and her contraption dress are packed for the annual YaYa trip to Moclips on the beach.

Slept In a Wigwam Lately?

2010-01-16T23:10:00.000-08:00

A line in a song by the Judds tells us, “There’s a blacktop road, faded center line. It can take you back to the place but it can’t take you back in time.” Most roads and most days I would have to agree. But there is one road, the “Mother Road” that could be the exception to the rule. Driving along this ribbon of asphalt the imaginative eye can peer beyond the ravages of time. For an evening I’m a child again, giddy with the possibility of sleeping in a giant concrete tee pee.

$57.75 buys us a night in #3 complete with a key that’s not a card.

Inside we are greeted by furnishings of wood, branch and formica. The tiny bath is tiled in red and white.

Even the view from the diamond window seems to look backward in time.

As I watch the new day dawn, I almost believe It is 1966. Here I stand a wide eyed five year old, ripe with excitement for what lies around the next bend of Route 66.

Wigwam Village #6 Holbrook Arizona

November 2009

A Line In The Sand

2010-01-01T23:45:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking a lot this month about endings. It’s something that comes natural this time of year. We look back at the rows of days on the calendar and think of that arbitrary mark that is the beginning of another year. Like Anne Shirley we look toward that “fresh tomorrow with no mistakes in it.” We pack up the memories of the day past, and line up our dreams for the one that is about to dawn.
Today I decided to make more than a mental exercise of this time honored tradition. So Michael and I trekked off to Westport to draw a literal line in the sand.

Dear hubby indulged me in this makeshift ceremony, and stepped across with me into 2010.

Then it was off to catch a picture of the Grey's Harbor Lighthouse

And have a bowl of amazing seafood chowder at The One Eyed Crab

Thank you Michael for a lovely start to 2010.
Thank you Lord for another year stretched out before us... new and ripe with possibility.

Of Shoes and Ships and Ceiling-Wax

2009-10-16T23:14:00.000-07:00

As a child did you ever dream of sailing to far away lands? Did you ever fill a lazy afternoon imagining yourself rounding Cape Horn with supplies bound for Alaska, fishing off the coast of Maine, or Captain of a Caribbean pirate ship ? I did, I suppose most children do.
A block or so from Grandma Brumbaugh's house in Marysville there was an old fishing boat. Long past the day when its keel felt the cool touch of Puget Sound, it sailed a field of blackberry and broom.
I would dream as I walked by that my hand was upon the wheel, wind in my hair not a single cloud on a blue horizon. I can still smell it, the musky scent of rotting wood and yesterdays rainwater pooled upon the deck. Even as an adult I thrill at the sight of these forgotten hulks. Less common now, they are victims of time and tide, yet ready to sail in my memory.
Here are a few salty haunts I have collected.

The schooner Wawona at the Center for Wooden Boats in Seattle May 1985
When restoration efforts proved too expensive she was dismantled in March 2009.

Great Uncle Gene Sapp’s fishing boat on his farm in Sequim, Washington July 1990.

The Tugboat Mary D. Hume near the Rouge River Bridge in Gold Beach, Oregon June 2005.
I think every child needs a boat to sail away on so this mommy built one of plywood, Velcro and pipe insulation.
Darren & Morgan sailing the fields of King Rd. May 1995

Many Ugly Owls Mocking Me

2009-09-11T17:38:00.000-07:00

My daughter loves owls. Not the kind you find in the barns, or that infamous spotted owl, but the species that probably haunts the memory of anyone who grew up in the seventies. You know the kind I’m talking about, kitschy owls made of ceramic, plastic and wood. They were usually found hanging around macramé plant hangers or staring back at you from the front of grandma’s fridge. That’s where I found these.

My grandmother’s collection of owls was destined for the trash until I decided to revamp them into a fun gift for my seventies loving girl.
Adding lines from songs, I gave them each a tune to sing like... “Who Let the Dogs Out”, Who Are You? Who who, who, Who”, and my personal favorite… “Who Ya Gonna Call? GhostBusters!” Then I shipped them ( seven and counting) off to Florida.

The other day I was wandering the second hand store when I realized I was being mocked by feathered knick knacks. Suddenly they were everywhere.

Within a matter of ten minutes I saw more owls than I care to count. There were cookie Jar owls,

Note holder owls, salt and pepper owls...

Just plain no explaining why anyone would ever own them UGLY owls.

Stop it I say, enough I cry. The next thing you will tell me is that orange velvet rockers are coming back in style. Now that’s just crazy!

Ya Wild Kingdom

2009-06-27T17:34:00.000-07:00

Join us now for a rare look inside the mysterious world of the always exotic and sometimes dangerous YaYa. Mama Mama looks on as the sister Yaya’s take part in a mysterious game. Notice the smaller but more aggressive Ya as she pummels her helpless sister.

Sensing the upper hand the aggressor gives a growl of victory.

With a sudden rush of adrenaline the underdog composes herself and rallies.

Giving her own much louder cry, she catches her sister off guard.

The game complete, the sisters grow tired, the embracing begins.

I’ve Traveled That Way Before

2009-06-10T22:02:00.000-07:00

A few days back I decided a ride to Port Townsend sounded like a fun way to spend a Saturday. Despite the Hood Canal Bridge being closed which meant a much longer trip, and although we had driven this way many times before, I was optimistic. “It will be fun taking the slow route through Belfair, Union, Hoodsport, Liliwaup, Brinnon and such. I told myself relax, slow down and see what the road will bring.
We stopped for lunch at the Chimacum Café, burger for him French dip for moi.

Here’s one of my favorite PT places to eat just because of their sign.

I had to take pictures of the boats while hubby patiently waited.

I’ve just started trying to take photos from the Harley while moving. It’s a bit challenging holding on to gloves camera and case. While capturing the cows I caught both of us repeated in mirror, how fun!

How many times have we driven by the Center Cemetery, never stopping?

The graves were framed in concrete. I wonder if these use to be foundations of buildings.
One even had what looked like a step where a door may have stood.
Some of the graves were hidden, caressed by tree and fern.

The saddest testament to a soul lost to time. Who was this precious one?

On the way home we stopped to take a picture of one my favorite sign on 101 North.

If you ever ride the slow road to Port Angeles, Sequim or Port Townsend, watch for this great “Haunt”. What fun loving person decided to use Neon for such a utilitarian sign?

First Jobs

2009-05-21T23:42:00.000-07:00

My first job was waitress at Marv’s Café in my home town.
Check out the personal jukeboxes. I wonder how many quarters I blew dancing to “Rose Colored Glasses” while I mopped the floors. There was a wonderful neon sign on the ceiling of a crescent moon and stars and an ice cream center for making old-fashioned shakes and sundaes. I bought my first guitar with my saved tips and was asked out by my Ol-man in the corner booth.
Today my youngest was hired at the local Dairy Queen. He’ll be serving fries, making shakes and saving his $ for something fun I'm sure. Congrats son! May your first job memories be great ones.

Welcome back!

2009-05-11T22:53:00.000-07:00

The events of the past couple of months seemed to put the brakes on this caravan gal as life took a detour down bumpy roads. When my daughter set out on new adventures of her own, and my boys and I approached the end of the Home Schooling path, I took time on the wayside to remember, rejoice, and cry just a little.
I also mark the passing of my sweet Grandma Elana. The trip home to lay her next to grandpa was also a milestone of memory and tears.
So to get myself back up and running I will start with a bit of whimsy.

Favorite Haunts
A “haunt” is a place I like because it has a lingering spirit of Americana. It speaks of the past in a way that evokes a memory of childhood or a feeling of wonder. It could be a diner, an old house or even an abandoned signpost. But what ever it is it says “pull over, pause, take my picture, before I disappear from the landscape forever.”

Automotive Haunt...
Mobile Gas Station on Pacific Highway South, Lynnwood WA.
No petrol sold here, just memories of the dinging bell and a free window wash.

Take Cake

2009-02-27T18:01:00.000-08:00

Tradition is a curious thing. Why do we go out of our way to re-enact events from our past superimposing them upon the present? We make the same cookies every December or return like swallows to a favorite location. We find comfort and build memory with traditions and we love to capture it on film for posterity.
A couple of weeks ago I spent some time picking out an Anniversary cake for Shelby and Josh.This got me thinking about a messy tradition based upon my first birthday cake. Here I am enjoying my first birthday by destroying my baby size cake.

I decided when Shelby came along that I would continue the tradition.

Again when Darren turned One he was given permission to smear to his hearts desire. I was much more practical by then and opted for the hi-chair method.
Finally when Morgan reached the appointed age he too was granted his own heart shaped pastry. The cake pans are stored away now. They wait for the day when possibly one of my three will find joy in the act of cleaning frosting from their own children’s hair. Here’s to traditions! Big or small, they are great signs along the road.

Linen Memory

2009-02-15T15:52:00.000-08:00

There is something magical about an old “linen” postcard. They are tiny windows on a past that exists only in our mind's eye. I suppose some would call them kitsch because their simple drawings and un-realistic colors are more than a little sentimental. But I choose to honor the creators of these bits of whimsy. I appreciate their commitment to the idea that the reality of a subject sometimes is not as important as the feeling or mood left after the viewing. They take me back to the blue perfume blowing off my first moonlit lake, the icy chill of red and green light on grandma’s aluminum Christmas tree, the sweet pink melody in a bag of cotton candy.

I found this Linen PC from 1943 a few days ago and brought it home to live with the photo I took of this lighthouse on the Washington Coast.

I can’t seem to find the matching photo in the jumble of my life, so I have enclose another. This is the Point Pinos Light near Monterey California on Thanksgiving Day 2006. Followed by the vintage linen I purchased off e-Bay. Which do you prefer?

Putts On Hogs

2009-01-30T00:41:00.000-08:00

I married a biker. This came as a surprise to those who knew me back in high school. I was the quiet girl, the opera singer and on the lookout for a cowboy. But life is full of U-turns. I traded in my Stetson dreams for a bandana and the open road.
For anyone who has never hung around bikers of the Harley variety, the lifestyle and lingo can be a bit confusing. For instance, I am the Ol-Lady. Even back in 79’ at 18 years of age that was my official title. My husband is of course my Ol-Man. The bike is referred to as a Hog a sled, or a scooter. When it is running badly the ol-man sometimes calls it a Pig. Bikes that are run down, rusty or generally un-cared for are Rats.
Here is our 1979 Lowrider.

A "Putt" is the biker’s main goal, to be “In the Wind”. The road is the prize and miles are the key. If you’re the kind of rider that likes to spend a lot of time in a bar or standing around looking pretty in your leathers then some may call you a sidewalk commando.

Here we see our Hog dressed for a long Run. Note the helmets stowed for use in states with helmet laws. My Ya Ya’s will appreciate the bright Orange T-Shirt with customary Harley emblem. In the background you can also see the ramp for easy storage of the bike on the porch, except for winter when the sled lives in the living room of course.

Any self respecting biker has a wardrobe. Here’s mine in the summer of 1980

Biker Nuptials with a ride off into the sunset.

Clocks

2009-01-22T00:18:00.000-08:00

If you’re like me you have a lot of clocks in your life, clocks tangible and those that are purely internal. They are representations of our very existence wrought out in metal glass or plastic, tools we cherish, ignore or curse at.
One of my internal clocks wakes me nearly every morning around 8:30. I don’t know how it does that. I have tried to shut it off but the program is embedded.
I also have a nagging internal clock. It’s the kind of clock that has a habit of going off when you least expect it. I’m strolling down the sidewalk and I catch the reflection of a middle aged woman wearing my clothes, or I cross a bridge I have crossed a hundred times and I feel suddenly overwhelmed by the water passing underneath, that’s when I hear it ringing loudest. I could hear it ticking now if I pause to listen but that usually makes me melancholy.

Here is my grandmother’s wristwatch given to her on her wedding day. I use to wear it daily but have given up watches for a season.

My kitchen has a vintage Westclox. It makes a warm humming sound but still keeps perfect time.

I was given this wind up alarm by a friend. I leave it stopped at five minutes before two. That’s just enough time to grab a snack before General Hospital.
I even have a broken clock from my daughter. Its battered face reminds me that no matter how run down I feel, I have another clock, an Eternal Clock that never runs out of time.

Homebody Meets Caravan

2009-01-20T00:10:00.000-08:00

I’ve always been a homebody, desiring at a young age to have log cabin high on a hill. I also have an unhealthy attachment to belongings when sentiment is involved. I guess that may be one of the reasons for my growing collection of all things vintage.
From time to time I do get restless. I dream of far away places, roadside attractions full of history, adventure and yes, more vintage stuff to buy. That is why I love the word Caravan. A caravan can bring up thoughts of merchants in a string of camels carrying spices from the orient or gypsy feet dangling from the back of a brightly colored wagon. But there is another, probably less know definition of the word, chiefly British: a house on wheels; a trailer.
How wonderful! Finally I can be a homebody nestled in my caravan full of vintage memories, antenna up and rubber down ready to see the world.
Gosh, I got to get me one of those Spartans, a Shasta, a Pathfinder or even an Airstream.
My first excursion? Maybe The Shady Dell in Bisbee Az.