Driving down a street with youngest son as he was driving , so much has changed yet the overpass of the 101 freeway has not . Walking to and from school each day as a youth was done sometimes reluctantly under this bridge. Now it is packed with homeless people. One man stretched out for all to see. Asleep, dirty and having his rolled up clothes, stuffed and a make shift tent under him .

The middle of the day seemed altered. All the new apartments going up and even more homeless people too.

I wrote to the Governor, my Representatives and my Senators …. No reply . I wonder what these homeless people do for hygiene and where they are going to the bathroom?

They are next to a Kaiser hospital and a Middle School … I wonder what type of conversation is happening there.
So a prayer for us all during such contrary times .

Tonight, as I walked around the block, I thought upon three extraordinary times in my life.

I try and walk a mile each night while watching Jupiter, Saturn, and a very bright Venus. I think upon good justice, laws, and love & beauty.

Tonight, I wanted to run away to a time of the streets of Hollywood. I was a young punk who could be found running through parking lots and record stores. Moving strangely and excitedly through clubs and into cars for wild rides. Light and signs above me and loud music filled me. New friends and bright colors. A thrill and wonder beyond explanation.

Then there was when I was a probationer at the Rosicrucian Fellowship. The time of the new moon healing when I entered the living temple on the campus found at Oceanside California. The temple is like the Griffith Observatory. Just as you enter you look up to see the round astrological zodiac. The 12 signs. In the Rosicrucian Temple you can look up and see the full zodiac too. With Leo the Lion in front of the temple podium. Each probationer is asked to sit in their sun sign. An organ played loudly as a barefoot maiden played the healing music. We read the words and sang the songs. I have since never viewed such beauty or felt filled with a inner nimbus of healing energy.

The last is running the hills at night with my friends, we were all about 14 years old. We flew with the wild and sat upon old rocks high in the hills over streets below. Howling at the moon, I swear I saw a young Artemis with bow and arrow whisk by us. Glorious friendships of wonder.

I miss my varied friends of the streets, holy places and wild hills and the freedom that youth often brings. Oh, how I wish to be at those places now as I walk under a dark sky of a Scorpion new moon.

Anthology. Contributor Cynthia Asquith (God Grante That She Lie Stille); Gertrude Atherton (Foghorn); Agatha Christie (Last Seance); Miriam Allen deFord (Against Authority); Zenna Henderson (J-Line to Nowhere); Anne McCaffrey (Ship Who Disappeared); Judith Merril (Lady Was a Tramp.)

It is great to have a book’s first publication to view and find mistakes and typos before the major publication. To find all the stupid dumb mistakes. Usually, the first draft is an inspiration of thoughts and concepts. Then comes the grammar and spell check and then the Review and Read Aloud.

I have read papers by fifth graders that are perfect. I have read books by bigwig PHD professors that are riddled with mistakes. For me it is a concept and feeling that is always most important. Is there an archetype that I can grasp here?

Many artists and writers make up novel words. Or reuse old words and bring on new meanings.

I remember speaking to Todd Taylor from Razor Cake fanzine how he had several editors go over everything written before publication. At Flipside Fanzine we rarely had the time to edit. As said before when doing things fast and wanting to publish current … mistakes were often made or overlooked.

“Session 5B: Punk Political Economies presented three panelists. What came forth here is that “We should consider continuing to support the cracks.” I enjoyed Kathryn Heffner speaking about women fanzine publishers of science fiction writing. Briefly I can say that I learned about the history of fanzines. She talked about the community formed by fanzines and how they communicated. It is about women and resistance.

My heart about jumped out of my chest. She defined so many elements of what a fanzine is all about. It is about community, friends, and a subject.  The punk scene is about friends and the continuity of friendships over time.

I did not hear much about this at this conference!  Kathryn did tell a short story about a sister zinester who misspelled a word and made a whole movement out of it. I about jumped up and screamed hallelujah. The point being that with fanzines the information is current and was often printed up quickly to spread like a good wildfire of communication. I knew this to be true.  Her talk gave meaning to my community. We need to keep writing and self-publishing.”

I don’t mind misspellings or incorrect grammar and dates because they add value for collectors and make things feel more real. I get that it’s important to strive for accuracy, especially when we have the tools to achieve it. When I see errors in a pretentious book, it brings me joy. I focus more on the main ideas rather than the mistakes.

Since I wrote this post, something truly amazing has happened! We’ve embraced the beauty of Ash trees as tree fences, and on our property, there’s one proudly standing on our front lawn. This Ash tree is tall and strong, bringing a renewed sense of joy… an Ash tree has beautifully returned to my life!

The Wabanaki Indian tribes, who craft their baskets from ash splints, have a tradition that humans were first created from black ash trees as well. The Chitimacha Indians believed ash was poisonous to rattlesnakes and would use ash canes to drive away snakes. Some Great Plains tribes, such as the Ponca, used green ash wood instead of cottonwood for their sacred Sun Dance poles.

~ http://www.native-languages.org/ash-tree.htm

An Ash tree is being cut down tomorrow in our neighborhood. My neighbor told me so as she walked by one evening while I was outside.  Shock quickly ran throughout my body as a strange sad sensation.

From my yard I can see the Ash tree. It’s been home to hawks and ravens and many other animals over the years. It is a family of two other giant Ash trees on our neighbor’s property.

We too have one in our front yard which stands about 12 feet. It is only a two-year-old. Our gardener and I are watching the tree closely. It is being trimmed and we will not let it get too big or start the process of spreading its multitude of seeds.

We now also have a fence on either side of our yard of Ash trees that are groomed to be just that.

Today I walked by the neighbor’s home and talked to her about the tree. It was growing into their homes foundation and there are issues of telephone and electrical lines. I told her.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying a prayer for the tree. I know of the hawk and ravens who live there.”

We agreed it was the best thing to do. I walked away happy. Then this story revealed itself to me.

The Ash tree story.

My parents planted an Ash tree near their home the day one of my brother’s was born. He is two years older than I.

Growing up with that Ash tree is something I sure did enjoy. Out of my parent’s second story house I often looked out at the tree throughout the seasons. There once were some steps that ran by the tree from the hill down to the home yard below.

As the years went by seeds from this tree blew over to the other side of their house. An Ash tree grew wild there a few feet away from the carport. The carport was above their house since they lived on a hill.  

I was pregnant with my second boy when the mother Ash was cut down. Seems the Ash tree was on the border between to property lines.

I threatened to tie myself to the tree so it would not happen.

I had countless arguments with builders and my parents yet could not stop it from being cut down, Dad and mom agreed to it being cut and taken away. They kept tree wood for their fireplace.

I grieved the tree for a long time.

About ten years later I was talking to my mom on the phone. I heard her scream.

“Your father just drove the car over the carport.”

She hung up on me. I went into shock. I called my husband at work. He left to go see how my mom and dad were. I lost time until my husband came home and told me what had happened.

When he got to my parents’ house it was surrounded by three fire trucks.  Dad was still alive. He was in the car unable to get out. The car was facing front side down and the tail end up. What kept him from rolling down the hill in his car to the house below was that same Ash tree that grew up from a seed long ago. An Ash tree saved my dad’s life.

How dad’s car was towed up the hill is a blur to me. The fact is after a few hours the firemen got him out safely.

Dad was washing the car that day on the carport. He stepped on the gas instead of the breaks. This is what sent him over a 12-to-15-foot drop.

The Ash tree in our neighborhood will be cut down tomorrow. In my yard are several Ash trees that came forth from such a mother Ash tree. Hawk and raven are always welcome here. Their flying patterns have changed.  I can see that they already know that a change is coming.

Hey pretty kitty

You gots the drooling cat blues

Hey white Mr. Po Po

You gots the drooling cat blues

You lay around all day

And sun yourself in the morning dew.

Hey white puss

You gots the drooling kitty blues

Hey white Mr. Po Po

It is smelly old news

You lie around all day

And you gots to take that morphine too.

But you knows pretty kitty

We all loves ya too.

Hey pretty kitty

You gots the drooling cat blues.

~ Hudley 3/9/21

The risks we take , it is not the time.

What is nice in my neighborhood today. Low key, safe, neighbors are running and walking. No crowds or large parties…. no protests. I can feel safe here. I hope you have a safe home too.  The bees are here, the butterflies are moving through, and the wind is warm. The dogs bark and the raven sings. 

My John is home sleeping on the couch. He is not at the hospital taking care of too many sick people today… makes me sad. Yet, my cats are playing and sleeping, and I am safe.

I used to go see bands, promote them, and do anything to be with them. Not now… I will not risk spreading covid19 or getting sick for them. I hope they are all well… as well as well can be for these crazy times.

A very contrary good frustrating place to be… yet I hang in my cave , I am dew on a rose…

Hot buttered rum was a drink my uncle Royal made up for the Holidays in Autumn and Winter. He had a small store-bought bucket with the ingredients. He put a tablespoon in a cup of warm water and rum. The smell was cinnamon, butter, and pumpkin spices.

As I watched him make the drinks for the adults. He would give me his cocky smile while making one up for me without the booze. We gave each other a wink, a click of the mouth and a nod… after uncle pulled out his cigar. “Just like James Cagney.” Soon the men would be playing poker.

Years later I lived alone on the east coast in Rochester New York during the same holidays. One evening after work I went into a bar and sat down, I asked for a hot buttered rum. Surely, they had the same bucket of goodness sold at most liquor stores behind the bar. The hostess looked at me like I was a moron, who I most likely am. I saw some talking behind the bar. Then the bartender came out with warm water in a cup, a jig of rum, and a tab of butter. Now I looked at him like the moron.

Before I put the chemistry together three jigs were brought up and turned over before me. Whack, whack whack … the three pints of local beers were welcomed. I learned then the customs of local drunks. The moral of this story is that the Butter Rum Life Savers taste like my Uncle Royal’s Hot Buttered Rum cocktail.

He had a big old ranch style house and farm in Anaheim Orange County. Not two miles from Knots Berry Farm. When the big deal was jam. fried chicken and mining for gold. Pomegranates, oranges, and avocado trees once strummed his house for a few miles. It is now a house landmark. His sons had the house and land protected. It is most likely a stranded place surrounded by fast food joints, apartments and who knows what. I should go see the old farm again someday!