Dozer, the bulldog

Dozer, the bulldog
Dozer: Spring training is upon us!

Backstage at Reggae on the River, 2017...

Backstage at Reggae on the River, 2017...
The author of Mark's Work

Hollyhocks

Hollyhocks
Why I grow flowers

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.
Air-borne bees

HeadSodBuster and BossLady at the coast

HeadSodBuster and BossLady at the coast
Love is the greatest power.

Beauty abounds!

Beauty abounds!
Crossing the Eel River at French's Camp

If you've seen one butterfly, you've seen 'em all, said no one ever.

If you've seen one butterfly,  you've seen 'em all, said no one ever.
Butter in the fly...

July Jewels

July Jewels
Bees to the Kingdom

My souvenir from Reggae on the River, 2017

My souvenir from Reggae on the River, 2017
Something I have always wanted...

Mahlon Masling Blue

Mahlon Masling Blue
My friend and brother.

Mark's E-mail address

bellspringsmark@gmail.com

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Smile for the Camera, Mark


Smile for the Camera, Mark

Well, it happened again. I got in trouble for smoking cannabis. Sigh. Considering I am 62 years old, and have been indulging since 1969, you would think I might have figured out a thing or two. It just goes to show the law of averages is bound to catch up at some point in time.

This time it got poor Annie [and me] tossed out of a motel in Eureka.

Good Buddha. I have been in motels countless times (including the occasion under discussion) when folks in the same establishment committed acts far more egregious, than going around the back of the building and taking a few rips off of a fatty.

I had already been sleeping for quite some time the first [and only, as it turned out] night we were there, when two events occurred more or less simultaneously. Annie says a woman who had been out in front of our room smoking a cigarette, got loud and obnoxious. Imagine that.

Right on top of that, came some sort of car alarm issue, this one more than ample enough to jar me out of my sleep. That was 11:15 and after tossing and turning until three AM or so, I gave up, got up, and did a piece of writing. Did that person, who must have awakened every patron of the motel, get the boot?

We had come up to make a run to Klamath, to do a little shopping, and to stroll around Old Town and check out the junk shops. We usually stay in the same spot, primarily because of the proximity of the best breakfast joint in town, The Chalet, and it is convenient. It does not have CSNBA, so I cannot get the Giants games on TV, but I have managed to cope. Besides, the Giants only play six-er, uh, seven-months of the season.

Now, it’s no secret that I was diagnosed in 2012 as having a mood spectrum disorder, what old-schoolers would call being bipolar. Having tried what corporate ‘Merica has to offer in the way of medication, and having been repulsed by the side effects, I have found that cannabis allows me to function “normally,” whatever that means, and so every few hours I must take my “meds.”

I would never have considered indulging within the room, simply because it was expressly forbidden and comes with a $200 fine, so I would walk down the sidewalk, and around the back of the half-block long edifice, and down an alley. This thruway intersects two windowless buildings, so that there is no one (except the security camera) to view my actions.

Which is evidently what happened, because as we came back from breakfast Friday morning, and I strolled out back to take care of business, Dave the proprietor was awaiting my return on the corner closest to the re-entry sidewalk to my room.

I greeted him with my usual, “The top of the morning to you,” but he gave no indication he had heard me. I guess maybe the top of the morning was a bit of a stretch for Dave that particular Friday morning. He was about to bring our day down as well. 

As we prepared to go out walking, a knock came on the door and a voice identifying herself as housekeeping, asked if we needed anything. I opened the door and told her we were good to go, and that she need not clean our room. 

Annie and I traipsed off to do our walk along the beautiful Hikshari trail but when we returned, imagine our surprise to find that our keys no longer opened the door to our room. Annie made a quick jog over to the office, but was gone far longer than what it might have seemed the amount of time required to take care of a simple logistical function.

There were three touring motorcycles, which had just pulled up and were disbursing the riders outside the office, so there was some noise and confusion; I attributed the delay to the cyclists. I had my nose in a book and was clueless. Odd, I know.

Then Annie was back and she was trying to convey information, but she was struggling. We managed to make our way back into the room, where she informed me that we had been told we had to leave the motel because of my transgressions.

We had been given the boot.

Oh, the ignominy of it all.

To be continued...



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