I seem to leave parts of myself in every place I leave…mostly only noticing when coming back to them…Benicia particularly; so [too] many resonant things, a life of things…rattling around, Spring the season where we have nightly mysteries on the telly to mitigate the noise of Genocidal Israelis and the ongoing steamrollering of the Trumplican Party consolidating their putsch with ever more egregious lies [well they have, as ever, THAT in common with the F-ing Israelis – all the way down, all the way back**].  We, meanwhile, enjoyed a pleasurable long ago

Sunday with friends long unseen and a Monday whereupon by afternoon the helper springs,

last pieces***of the new-to-me truck puzzle, fell or were pushed into place by Ryan at Alex’s.

Themes of red, constant winds and Wednesday, unmasked, a Gathering [unshown] of some

dozens of CCA faculty past and present in the wilds of Tilden Park in celebration of three

retirements.  Moving, historic and most strange to be among so many humans all at the same

time after so long but home in time for Midsomer Murders, checking things off The List while waiting on a parking place, worrying over the uncertainty of  L’s. departure, a last dental

appointment, a visit to Gregg’s studio [hadn’t been since Well Before Covid]

and more windy mornings, waiting.  Also it rained when Shawn and Scott returned

for two days of grinding, drilling and quesadillas in the garden,

one of which was my last studio day here until October, a day celebrated with the usual

routines with the usual trip to the shore.

Saturday began a weekend of visitors, house tours, lunches and studio visits; sweet but after

so long alone unsurprisingly exhausting.

The subsequent week kicked off with the A-team’s final collaboration for awhile which

brought the sculpture back together and ultimately apart yet again.

Later it was caesar salad with fishes and chipses at Lucca al fresco…a little too fresco for us

by seven, so home for a last “Father Brown”.

Tuesday’s windy walk for dogs was followed by an entire morning foraging for food around

Benicia, putting together a last lunch in the garden for Scott and L. and a last look at the straits

before, at day’s end, the sculpture disassembled and tucked away, the little truck tucked at last.

So, loaded up and ready to Go, way behind in these efforts due to all the above as well as yet to be recounted subsequent digital disasters, The End.

For Now.

*These lost days were all the way back in the middle of May.

**It’s hard to top whoppers like “A land without people for a people without land” as an origin story but Trumplican roots, albeit overshadowed by current outrages, run even further back, Lost Causes ‘n’ All.

***For now, anyway.