'cause they party while we sleep

/

thoughts on bears for inspiration. imagination. and clarification. 

bear bear. pictured above on the right was the first stuffed bear my dad bought me. into my stroller he went with size enough to hide my infancy. instant love.

corduroy. the other bear above left, came later. he reminded my dad of his own old bear, carried by the arm as a child - crookedly dangling with weighted feet. I did the same for years. 

every dream. every vacation. every sleepover. 

and still, they come on our adventures in nova. sometimes with friends.

i always believed my bears partied while i slept. raided the fridge. painted their faces. danced. filled the bathtub with water - pool party. perhaps they climbed out the window and went exploring. built forts. played cards. took a nap. who knows, maybe now bear bear and corduroy drink wine and philosophize. read my extensive poetry collection. write letters or discuss the fate of the planet. the fate of the bear. and yes. 

                                                                       i still believe it. 

                                                                       or imagine it. or

                                                                       live it. 

and no. it's not about getting tipsy. 'matter of fact it’s quite the opposite. see 2a for misconceptions and bear  here in stories. get drunk. bear down. is well. sort of like . .  get passionate. dive in. get happy. dance away. get creative. go create.

get drunk . bear down . enjoy the ride - ace

grateful

/

for this capture. the set. the joy. the color. inside and out. 

best company. sun. sand. salt. sea. and these two. plus the guy behind the shot. 

to make the sunset over the water at the end of the peninsula we had to run. to make nova before the beach went black. we had to run. miles.

my camelbak left a hell of a bruise. bare feet busted up. hounds beyond exhaustion. worth it. totally. all four of us plunged into the bay at the lighthouse while the sun dropped behind the preserve. 

i don't remember this exact moment when i kneeled down, it was likely to offer water and i didn't realize he took the photo. thank you for the shot - life.

i always strive for some balance but this week i'm off. my old girl (left) is not 100% and i'm so far sideways. way off. i have always told her she must. must live forever. she knows and i know she'll certainly try. 

that's one tough dog

you never know. i'm not sure i really care to know.

and who knows what we really know. or if we just keep on trying to work it out.

          so for now. live everywhere anywhere and everybeat. hug extra. run for the sunset. and show them what they mean. cause who really knows if we'll ever work it all out - or if we really want to.

get drunk bear down . do the nova dance . and hug your dog .

happy birthday jonny

'cause it fits in a parking spot. where we live.

/

bean lounge. (un)leash your dog. sleep anywhere. everywhere and . . . in between.

now that's the way to do it. 

all four of you fit in there? 

i could never do it. 

where do you sleep?

that's nova. aka, noves. the girl. she's 18 ft.

bean just turned 4, lazy boy.

and yea, people ask these questions all the time. and yea, we make ourselves fit. we also made a lot of changes. microwave out, books in. tv down, cable cut.  2 motorcycles, truck, car. . . gone. donate old i-don't-know-what. . . done. house on market. . . check. NYC studio . . still got it. 

travel. learn. explore. study. bar. culture. music. food. surf. fish. . . 

life?

still living. still learning.

you live in that thing?

no. 

where do you live?

nowhere. . . well, everywhere. but we have a studio in NYC. so that's where we live if you have to peg us. we travel in nova. did we live in nova this spring for 3 months? we slept in there - we lived wherever we were. before work started up in nyc we had to fix up the house. but it had no furniture so we stayed in nova in the driveway for almost a month. but sometimes we would go to our home in the city for a few days. so where did we live? 

with our dogs

in the grass

on the street

by the beach

in the lot

at the marina

with a cold beer

and good company. 

up the trail

along the creek

on the slope

down the hill

toward the end

in that spot

in our home

across the bridge. 

it's not for everyone to live in a van for any amount of time. to live on the road. to camp. to travel constantly. each week or every few days. OR to live in a house with a picket fence. to mow a lawn. to live on an island. to live in nyc. to have the same neighbors for 40 years. to live east or west or up or down. we could go on. but how often do we hear: where do you live? and is it ever: what do you live in? where do you sleep? where is your home? who makes it home? why is it home? where did you grow up? i mean. aren't we all still growing up and living each day. year. experience? don't we live everywhere . . .  ? 

another question we get all the time is where would we go? after all the places you've seen, where would you move to? settle down for a bit, you know, after nyc gets old. . .

hah. to buy a boat. that's where. 

get drunk. bear down. and do the nova dance.

blues

/

shack up inn. harmonica camp. favorites. last juke alive. novalife. cotton fields.

this place was fullilove. 

clarksdale, missisippi. 

who knew. 

we didn’t go live in our van for fifteen weeks to prove anything. not to defy society. not for luxurious destinations. attention or to follow the tiny home trend. further, there are few roadtreks along the east coast. even fewer travelers with two large dogs in an eighteen foot van.

looking back. it wasn’t always the so-called van community that brought us close to people. it varied. in clarksdale it was music. culture. history. shared interest. and

harmonica camp. 

yes, that’s right. harmonica camp.

we went to the shack up inn on a recommendation. stayed in the biscuit shack for one night. it poured. the gunny shack for one night. it steamed. fullilove shack for two nights. sunshine. stayed in nova in the cotton field for two nights. rain (go figure). the electric blue shack for one night. (mostly at the juke joint, can't remember the weather.) but the person who was in electric blue met someone at camp and offered it to us for the last night. word up. you know who you are. 

y'all are like a sticky booger. the owner said. 
and proceeded to invite us to the gospel group on Sunday. he also joined us for dinner.
the clientele has changed, he told us, it used to be more like you guys, now I have to tell people not to throw beer cans off the front porch. it’s just different.  

lame.

our week in clarksdale deserves far more than a post here, maybe even a significantly longer work i need to flesh out in time. but. . .  more like us. . . ?

we were nicknamed legs for wearing shorts all the time (frequently with boots thanks to the mississippi mud). we sat on the front porch of a shack with some of the best harp players in the world. we drank whiskey out of plastic cups while I humbly absorbed my initial harp lesson. we took sunset walks through the still-working Hopson cotton plantation pinetop perkins and muddy waters used to farm. we stickered up our van and hung our hammock behind the shack. we supported the musicians. we know the history of robert johnson. i read salinger while jonny read napoleon. the dogs lounged carelessly as people mingled about. we are a couple from NYC traveling in nova to learn and experience. we live where we are. nowhere and everywhere. 

we met some of our favorites in clarksdale. fond memories of sweet company. dancing. blues. support. and soul.

we stumbled upon a like-minded group. whether more like us, or us more like them. brilliant. 

snapshots are in snapshots. 

getdrunkbeardownandplaythatharp

and

dothenovadance

and

hugyourdog

love and vengeance. power in association.

/

co-pilot. genius. security system. teacher. best friend. this hug.

genius. 

stubborn. persistent. sweetest.

loyal.

always. hungry. brilliant. 

loyal. 

determined. brilliant. companion

you broke the mold girl

can’ t imagine the last nine years without you

may eighth was this beauty's birthday. it all began with a plane ride. then a house. maine. an apartment. maine. a house. another apartment. maine. another house. road trip. montauk. murphy. road trip. road trip. who knows how many moves and miles. and finally. 

the past fifteen weeks in nova 

from maine down to key west back up the gulf into louisiana to find my heritage up the mississippi into memphis through tennesee the smoky mountains kentucky horse country class five rapids in west virginia and back on the east coast in annappolis maryland into nyc and upstate and yes. that's right. maine for her birthday. 

this photo was taken in myrtle beach. that's me under the wool hat. the camera jonny used was stolen in memphis when nova was broken into while we walked toulouse and murphy to the mississippi riverfront. 

you’re being watched. he said.

highest crime rate in the country.  she said.

the reality of it all was, in fact, dangerous. so we left. sad and disturbed though simultaneously grateful. maybe it’s a matter of perspective or reflection, but what it comes down to is that toulouse. bean. nova. jonny and I are all ok. still get my hugs. still have my art. 

i'm home in nyc for the moment. though technically. i’m not great at being in one place for more than a few days. i do crave my book collection and writing supplies. pencils preferred. also the company of my dogs. if there is no water nearby, not even a creek. i’m generally not at home in the philosophical sense of the interpretation. of course. we could go on and on about the meaning of home.

whether a snapshot reminds me of myrtle beach with toulouse or the violation of nova is up to me. the power of association. art is everywhere. 

i’m not sure what i know.          if anything at all.           but i’m learning. 

so here’s to many more stories. snapshots. poetry. memories and favorite company.

homeiswhereyourdogis

getdrunkbeardownanddothenovadance

inside out. maine

/

self. reflection. family. nova. 15 days in maine

you're not dressed up.

yea i am. as a lumberjack. 

what are you for halloween.

i'm a maina.

                         he laughed. 

it's cold now in the northeast. the above photo is from early september when we spent 15 days in maine. i read an article in downeast magazine about a quiet place with plenty of sandy beaches. indeed. sandy, quiet and breathtaking. and no, i won't tell you where. you'll have to go exploring.

the person behind the lens managed to capture me inside out in this snapshot. borderline complete.

there's something about maine. the sea. the pines. the water. the salt. the pace. 

as the seasons turn and fall settles in i have a tendency to reminisce a little more and sleep a little less. insomnia - my imagination's most beloved and despised companion.

i don't like large groups of people and neither does bean. he liked it here if you can't tell. we camped about 5 miles south and returned a day later before heading north.

the locals came swimming with swim caps in the evening light. others wandered through the tall pines to the coves edge with bottles of beer. one old woman came down in a wheelchair and her friends helped her into the ocean for swim-therapy. we sat with our dogs on the warm rocks drip-drying in the evening sun.

maine.

has a funny way

of invading my soul.

home away from home.

check back for snapshots of this secret spot in another couple days

getdrunkbeardownandexplore

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

benjamin

/

if found please call 207 . . . . . . . 

benjamin

the dingy to the left in this snapshot at sunrise in september. a plaque on his stern has his name and phone number in case he is found at sea alone. area code 207 plus another 7 will get benjamin home.

i'm not one to disclose much and i won't tell you where benjamin lives. sorry. it's just too sweet of a spot. and it is public.

I have shared this blog with a few people. what and why are the first questions. others ask what the hell. yea. i know. i'm a bit brief. curse of a poet and a short attention span. 

what? stories. poetry. snapshots. life.

why? because if i don't write i go crazy and people ask a lot of questions. consolidated answers.

what the hell? benjamin made me smile. he is a story of an impeccable sunrise in an exquisite place. a life simplified with nova. waking up to the sun. not the noise and wondering what number should be on my stern in case mother nature wins the battle. he also stirs up memories of my childhood. 

my grandfather was a sailor. an aviator. a philosopher. a father. my role model. yea there's more. my mother and I secretly bought back his dingy from a boat yard in maine. after he passed away my grandmother put it up for sale.

alleluia.

you should have seen her face when we told her.

life is. well. short. 

getdrunkbeardownandfindbenjamin 

one left

/

drive north to drive south. the only cribstone bridge left in the world. suck it in nova. road narrows. 15 days in maine.

after dry camping in portland for a few days, we were determined to one, check out this rare bridge and two, find cedar beach - one of maine’s limited sandy beaches located on bailey island.

well.

some rich folk bought up the land that borders the drive to cedar beach so that was off limits. 

greed  

one of the seven deadly sins.

in jersey they call them free beaches

in long island the feds bought it all up

we’ve been kicked off them all.

preserve to destroy

got it all wrong

you cant buy the ocean.

well. 

with dumb luck we saw the bridge at low tide hence impressive exposure. we explored the southern tip of bailey island to find a small cove of sandy beach. 

finally.

no parking lines. no signs. no meters. no cement. no bathhouse. no “hours.” no open. no close. sand. water. stone and ice cream on the way back. no leash laws. no cops. no shops. salt. sea and a dirt lot. 

vacationland.

the statue is a tribute to fisherman lost at sea. photos collected in snapshots. the ice cream is great and so are the mermaids.

much luck to the residents of bailey island.

getdrunkbeardownandsavepublicbeaches

 

locals

/

finally. found the local fisherman's pub. cheers for sharing this sweet rarity.  15 days in maine

this little guy made the news? word. 

rain was forecast for the afternoon and we were tired of driving nova on the winter-beaten roads of maine. well into our 15-day trip up the coast and eager to find a not-so-touristy spot to grab a beer, we meandered into a local pub that overlooks southwest harbor. 

about half way through the evening the bartender brought us outside to check out this rare blue lobster.  You're a mainer he said, here!

indeed i am.

and then it poured and the dogs hate the rain so we dry camped in the harbor parking lot behind the boats and the bakery and hung at the pub. 

last call is 9 but we didn't leave until after 10:30 - sorry we're closed the bartender said when someone walked in, they all work here. 

to their surprise, we kept up with the locals packing pints and shared stories about fishing, sailing, harbors, road trips and small towns.

 a few days later, my brother and grandmother told me the lobster had made the news:

rootin' for a throw back.

to the crew at the pub - thanks for making us feel like locals for the night and thanks for sharing this blue gem with us.

just returned from 15 days in maine with nova, unplanned and unmapped. 

stories of me, my best, murphy and touls in nova for 15 days on paper - digital soon. 

getdrunkbeardownandlovethelocals