Sunday Storm

Sunday Storm
Originally uploaded by Susan Thacker.

As time is condensing, so will this post.
The last few days fuse into a blur of motions, weather, locations, color, light and darks. Late Saturday night, when the rain seemed relentless, I determined that it was not a good idea to drive my car down the road from the studio to the guesthouse. So I set out on foot, sloshed, umbrella and flashlight in hand. I admit: one does have fearful thoughts. What if I fall, what if a hungry mountain lion lurks beyond the curve? What if the road slides down the canyon and I'm on it? You simply walk through your fears, one step after another. I took a hot bath. I was feeling tired and brave, about to go to bed, when this ferocious clap of thunder shook the night. (I don't like thunder.) The electricity blew, lights went out and while I was trembling from those two surprises, suddenly, the estate's generator (located right next to my bedroom) roars on, vibrating the window and I'm sure, we're also now having an earthquake.

The first half of yesterday, Sunday, was a logistical juggle where all the balls dropped. Some local Big Sur artists were going to come onto the property, have lunch, then do some plein air painting. Unfortunately, it was raining. With no way of contacting them myself, I had to assume they were still coming. That meant I had to go up to the studio, get some art supplies, and bring down some food. Except, I'd left the car up the hill. It was a pleasant morning walk in the rain. It was not yet 9 a.m. Jim Cox, who was feeding the horses, offered to follow me in his 4-wheel drive if I wanted to get my car to drier ground. I safely navigated the road. The rain was relentless. By ll:00, I concluded the painting day needed to be cancelled. I have no cellular service here and couldn't reach Tom or Erin from the main house phone. That meant..... back up the hill...on foot, umbrella-less this time, as I'd absentmindedly forgot it in the studio. I fashioned raingear for the trek out of trashbags. And I mean, fashioned. I covered my lower half with one bag, poking leg holes and tying it about my waist, like pantaloons. My face poked out of the other trashbag which slid down over my upper body and a backpack. As I was trudged up the hill, I thought of all the hours I've spent in my life fashioning multi-purpose outfits, clothes that satisfy my aesthetic, but don't offend, let's say, a stepmother's, a Board of Directors, or a PTA. Believe me I was grateful knowing NO ONE would be a witness to this most unfashionable raingear. Almost no one. As I rounded the bend to the studio, the horses caught sight of me. They reared, they whinnied, they snorted, skittering backward across the muddy field. I seriously thought they were going to hurt themselves. Judging by the whites of their eyes, they must have seen what they thought was one ugly black plastic beast approaching the corral.

With the art day cancelled, Erin suggested I drive down to Nepenthe, and join her at her mom Holly's house for the Sunday "stitch and bitch." Should you wonder, a stitch-and-bitch is the 21st century version of a women's quilting bee, in this case, knitting squares for a baby quilt. Holly's renowned for her knitting, an artist with needles. To my eye, most of the women were pretty sophisticated knitters. There were about fifteen of us, some cross-legged on the floor, others cushioned on couches, slippered, barefoot. The only conversation remotely bitchy involved Mel Gibson. Otherwise, it was what women, gathered voluntarily, do best: laugh, assist each other, discuss film, praise the coffee cake Holly baked, reminisce about travels, husbands, children, fret about their teenage drivers. Erin taught me how to knit and I completed half a square for this lucky unborn baby; Holly finished it. The ladies left. Around six, family members began to pour in from all doors at once for Sunday dinner. Tilapia tacos and cake were great, but the company was even better. (Made me miss mine.)

Today is Monday. I am wearing a multicolored cap that in fact was intended as a sweater sleeve. Erin knit it and the colors are inspirational. I will wear this as my art hat, as others have worn berets.