Coos Bay Meditations

A Marshfield High School runner broke Steve Prefontaine’s school record in the 800 meters. It only took 56 years.

The yard got weed whacked yesterday and now I can go to work.

Fencing bids coming soon.

A routine is emerging—bay beach by foot at 5:30-6:00 and drive to ocean beach at 6:45-7:00.

I built my first driftwood fort on my local beach. Elmer and I encountered a sea lion pup that was bawling for its mother. She’d return with the high tide and all would be well.

So many of the businesses in the Empire district where I live have little or no signage. It’s weird.

There is such potential in this gritty neighborhood. All it needs is 20 entrepreneurs to re purpose all the vacant storefronts. I may do this by starting a literary publication. The idea is gaining momentum. At first I’d rite the whole issue but would hope to attract contributors.

I saw a bartender in my local OTA joint take a pull off a bottle of vodka while standing behind the bar. He saw me see him. Big deal. There was no one else around and 80s glam metal was playing at at a deafening level.

I’m really out of Portland.

We had a last meeting of the Old Crow Book Club. More on that in a future post.

My stuff from Portland gets shipped on the 17^th.

I’ve driven all the back roads in and out of the area and they are wondrous.

Homeless are everywhere in my neighborhood. They look the same and different from ones in Portland.

Some of the houses are derelict beyond dereliction. Elmer and I were on a walk this afternoon and we passed a two storey wreck on a gravel road that had more shit piled around it than I’ve ever seen around a house in Oregon. A bearded man was outside sitting on his ass, cutting something with a hacksaw. Not far away, a junior high kid was taking a dump in the woods. What? I could only presume that the house had no water or electricity, and well, you do what you need to do. Our boys at Valley Forge would understand. But the kid didn’t even wipe and then pulled up his pants and ran into the house. What the hell?

An open mic is going on this weekend at a music store a few blocks from house. I will attend and see the state of the local musicianship.

I am feeling new juice in my writing. I’ve got another Christmas tale cooking for the new book out this fall.

I saw a flier for a punk rock show scheduled for July at a motel. Bands from Seattle, Portland and California are barnstorming through town. I wonder what that scene will look like. I’ll never know.

Someone wrote “Eat My Ass” in big letters on my local beach. Why would you ever feel that way at the ocean and be angry enough to take the time and effort to write such stupidity to the world?