Big Sur Day 6

Awoke this morning with a Bob Dylan song in my head: she's got everything
she needs, she's an artist she don't look back.

Company arrived at Glen Deven around eleven for a picnic. Judy Murray
Allrich, my friend since 8th grade at Marymount School in Rome, brought four
dear friends from her high school days at Santa Catalina in Carmel: Ellie,
Cara, Dusty and Liz. Through Judy, I've heard regular updates on their
lives, but hadn't seen these girls in forty years. To give still another
example of the magic and coincidence in my life lately, one of these friends
is Liz Mudd, whose parents built Glen Deven. She was married here and had
not visited since her father died six years ago. It was wonderful to hear
her stories and more wonderful that I could be the catalyst for her to
revisit the house and those memories.

O.K. Picture this picnic. On an exquisitely crisp fall day in Big Sur, we
pull chairs up to a round wooden table by the pool. This pool is lined in
river rock with foliage growing between the stones, so it feels like we're
about to dine beside a pond. Before I know it, the table is set with
placemats, Italian terracotta plates, silverware and crystal. Ellie has
brought home-brewed ginger ale, to which we add a splash of pomegranate
juice and a lime wedge. If you didn't love the taste of it, you would
certainly love the look. Cara, whose family used to own the Meditteranean
Market in Carmel (where Judy and I used to go for cheeses and Italian salami
when we were teenagers and needed our Rome fix) is now a caterer and our
picnic included scampi and roasted chicken, fresh baked bread, beet salad
and coleslaw. After lunch we walked to the studio via a shortcut that Liz
knew, straight across the horse corral. It cut fifteen minutes off my usual
trek, but the downside is that my Ugg boots will never be the same.
A wonderful visit in the studio. I showed them a slideshow of the Halloween
Ball I crashed at Cal Arts. Thanks to the costume, wig and mask, I was
so camouflaged my own daughter did not detect me. In the middle of
boasting how I'd boldly gone where no mother dare tread, Cara noticed a
postcard on my desk. It was the invitation to the potluck gathering of
artists at Nepenthe today. I had been under the impression the party
started at 4 p.m. Cara read aloud..."A welcome reception for visiting artist
Susan Thacker....3 - 5 pm." That would be....in ten minutes.

I did not change the jeans or sweatshirt I've worn for three days. I did not change
the manure encrusted boots. I flew directly down to Big Sur, at every curve
lamenting my life long history of being late. It all started when I was
born on the Fourth of July, two days after the expected due date. (My father
was born on July 2nd, and his father was born on July 2nd. To this day, if
I am ten minutes late anywhere, it takes Dad back to that initial
dissappointment and totally ticks him off.)

But one doesn't want to be late if you're the Guest of Honor. I pulled up
the driveway to Tom and Erin's log cabin, whose windows look out onto the
famous Nepenthe patio and the vast Pacific Ocean. About 25 local artists
and friends from Big Sur, Carmel and Pacific Grove came, bringing potluck
and some of their work to share with me. Beside the convivial spirit this
log cabin engenders each time I've come, (every visitor is a "guest of
honor"), it was a privilege to meet these artists, all of whom I hope to see
again. We are talking fine artists of such range to include photographers,
abstract painters, plein air, conceptual artists, muralist, mosaic artist,
even a culinary artist, a couple gallery owners, art collectors, damn nice
people. I genuinely felt welcomed by good company. (If you read this, Tom,
Jill and Erin: thank you so much!!)

Driving north at night on Highway One is taxing. There are no lights
whatsoever save the few oncoming headlights that blind. A glance in the
rearview mirror is one of the blackest sights you'll ever see. So I will go
to sleep tonight with the same song I woke up with in my head: she's got
everything she needs she's an artist she don't look back.

(p.s. To my family, please don't worry. I promise I will return!)

Signing off. You are all with me, Love Susan