10086 Sunset Boulevard

While visiting an exhibition of Christo’s umbrellas in Southern California in 1992, a woman was killed, when a gust of wind picked up one of the 500 pound umbrellas and deposited it on top of her. The exhibits, going on simultaneously in California and Japan, came to an abrupt halt after the tragedy and during the dismantling of the exhibit in Japan one of the workers was electrocuted.

Now another traveling exhibition has claimed two more lives. In what can only be described as a sort of psychedelic Hindenburg incident, The Dreamspace, a giant inflatable sculpture, broke loose from it’s moorings and injured several people, as well as taking the lives of two women who were just out for a day of family fun. You can read the rest of the story here.

Check out the description and the photos of the interior of The Dreamspace at this guy’s blog.

I’m back in the Valley of Northern California for a few days and it is 112 degrees as of this posting. I braved going out in the heat long enough to take this picture of the grapes growing on my Mother’s grapevine. I think they will all be ripe in about three minutes.

I’m falling in love with Nevada City all over again. The years I spent in this little gold mining town in the Sierra Foothills were the happiest years of my life. I don’t know if I can go back, but I have been wondering why I ever left.

I made a couple of visits to Pioneer Cemetery recently, driving up Broad Street, now full of tourists, and up the hill to the final resting place of those who once called this area home.

As usual, no one is around and I am free to roam and get lost in my thoughts. So many of the graveyard residents came from far away places to begin a new life in this town. They came to strike it rich during the California Gold Rush.

I notice two large empty beer bottles and an empty Jack Daniels bottle on one of the graves. The bottles had not been there when I visited the day before. I wonder who would consider boozing in the graveyard a way to spend a Friday night.

This cemetery has become my calm zone. I make my way through the trees to the miner’s graves, most of them marked by simple wooden crosses, with not much more than a last name to identify who lies beneath.

It is here that I am most at peace. I have to lie down to get pictures of the wooden markers. This is my third visit and my third try at photographing the crosses. Every time I’d load them on to my computer, they were blurred and out of focus. As I lie on the grass I say “come on guys, work with me here”. I finally get some clear shots and then I turn on my back, stretch out and look at the sky. I could sleep, I feel so peaceful.

I wonder if there is any law against napping in graveyards, but it’s the thought of tourists coming through the gate and seeing a body sprawled above ground that prompts me to my feet.

“Bye guys, see you later”.

If I move back to Nevada City, I’d like to volunteer to help take care of the cemetery. Maybe they need someone to pick up the empties after a weekend of drunken graveyard visitors.

“I read your Yellow Brick Road posting – no mention of Munchkins?”

“No, midgets seem to appear in my life as a forewarning of disaster. I like to leave them out of things. Years ago I saw someone trip over a midget, the memory still makes me cringe.”

“Do you remember the midget you were friends with, when we lived in England?”

“I hate to tell you this Mum, but you are really losing it. I’ve never had a friend who was a midget. I would remember that.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Not the kind of thing a person forgets, Mum.”

“But you did, Jo. You went to his house and you were so impressed at how it had been designed so that everything was within reach for him.”

“Mum, I’m 100 percent positive that I have never known a ……… wait a minute! Dave? Oh my god, that’s right! He drove a Mini Cooper that was all decked out like a racing car. It was custom made for him, so that he could reach the pedals. Imagine that – I’d forgotten. He was a good looking guy and he had a lot of style. He had these brawny biker types as friends. No one would mess with Dave unless they wanted to deal with them too - his own body guards.”

“How old were you then?”

“I was sixteen and he must have been in his early twenties. I really looked up to him.”

“I’m surprised you forgot him.”

“I didn’t forget him. I just forgot that he was short.”

I’m back up in the Sierra Foothills for a while. Here’s the view from above Nevada City. I might go into town tomorrow to watch the Fourth of July parade, or I might just stay right where I am up here in the trees.

“I’m not in Kansas anymore”.

“What?”

“That’s how it feels, where I am right now with my life. I’m not in familiar territory. The Wizard of Oz makes a lot of sense to me these days.”

“Oh no, I feel another obsession coming on. Wasn’t it Alice in Wonderland last year? Don’t go off on a tangent, I think you should stick with your “finding fifty” idea.”

“I don’t know, although there could be some interesting possibilities. It’s a scary milestone. There’s less time ahead and more time behind. Everyone I’ve talked to so far seems impacted by their fiftieth birthday.”

“You’re not going to be maudlin about it, are you?”

“No, not at all, but I do want a range of experiences.”

“So what’s the plan? Women turning fifty, or men too?”

“I’ll include men. I mean, you have to wonder – what is it like for a transvestite to turn fifty? That can’t be easy.”

“That’s a bizarre thought. So what scares you about turning fifty?”

“I can see the end from here.”

“How presumptuous! You don’t know how far down the road your demise waits. You could be hit by a bus tomorrow.”

“Funny you would say that - have you ever known anyone who was hit by a bus?”

“Yes I have. When I was a kid. It was very traumatic.”

“What happened?”

“I lived in small town, near Topeka. Every year there was a Fourth of July parade. One year our school bus driver was driving one of the entries in the parade, a bus painted up to look like the Partridge Family bus. He was a pretty unhappy man, because his wife was cheating on him and the whole town knew about it. The parade was in full swing and he just stopped the bus and started revving the engine.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me he drove through the crowd?”

“No, no. His wife, Mrs. Gale, was in the parade each year. She was our teacher, but for events like this she dressed up like a clown and she had this funny little dog. He had this bad habit of using legs as fire hydrants, he pretty much pissed on anybody who stood still long enough to allow him to do so - but he was still adorable and all of us kids loved him. She’d taught him all these cute little tricks like how to walk on his hind legs and jump through hoops.”

“Okay.”

“So Mr. Gale, her husband, had got himself all liquored up before the parade and decides to put an end to it all, right there, in front of the whole town. He goes gunning for her in this bus, full speed down the middle of the street. People are screaming and getting out of the way and just before he gets to her, the front corner of the bus hits one of the floats and the bus tips over on its side, kind of airborne for a minute because he’d hit it with such speed.”

“So she was spared?”

“No, she just stood there, frozen to the spot and the bus landed on top of them, her and that little dog, crushing them both to death. The only thing sticking out were her legs, with these little striped stockings and big red shoes.”

“Oh no! I shouldn’t be laughing! That must have been terrible, seeing your teacher killed that way.”

“Not really. The bitch had it coming, but that little dog… it broke my heart. I just stood there crying over poor little Toto.”

“Toto?”

“Or Fido, I don’t remember.”

“You little shit! You really had me going. You made this thing up?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because, it’s just fun to mess with you.”