Blog

Today was hard. It’s bad enough having to cleanup a space that has become the domain of semi-feral cats. Cat detritus. Cats fighting, fucking, and farting and leaving signs. They used some of my good coats as shredding posts. Then there is the smell. I thought I liked cats.

OK. Make a list. First on the list? Cleanup. When I bought this place, I dumped the accumulation of decades of stuff into it. This week I’m going through everything I own and toss.

Yosemite Mountaineering School wasn’t just a program. It was a cathedral tucked in the wilderness—stone fireplaces, wood floors, big beams that looked like they’d been lifted straight from the forest and blessed with permanence. The building itself breathed purpose.

This All Started with a One-Way Ticket to the Wild It was mid-July, 1974. I was 18, freshly released from Glendale High School with a diploma and a vague sense that something big was supposed to happen next.

Reinvention 101 So here’s something I didn’t see coming: I’m a student again. Yep. Backpack, class schedule, ID card with an unflattering photo—the whole bit.

A Change of Scenery, and Maybe Also a Soul It’s simple, really. Something had to give. I’ve just been laid off from Silicon Graphics. Again. That’s two layoffs too many from the same company, which feels like the universe whispering, Hey, maybe it’s time to go.**

The Whim That Stuck Well, I did it. I bought a house. In Quincy, California. It has a creaky entry, a roof that looks like it’s held together with good intentions, and a view that will inspire absolutely no one.