prelude to a farewell

i’ve been mulling this over for a while now. in fact I’ve probably been putting it off. but the reality has caught up with me and it’s time i finally pull the plug on this show and send everybody home.

almost 3 years ago I began this little experiment. the idea was fairly simple. a post each day sharing a haiku. a meditation on the day. it became a kind of creative healing. a place to play and park so many of the thoughts that go rolling around inside my brain. this endeavor kept me active and more engaged with the world around me as i looked for new inspiration.

but time has caught up and shifted me now to a different place. the purpose has, i believe largely been fulfilled. i had wanted to share some things and the way i see the world. and i’ve done that. and sure, i could keep it up i suppose, but now it’s time for other projects.

thanks to all of you who joined me on the journey and who are reading this now. thanks for your comments of encouragement. it means a lot. i plan to leave the blog up indefinitely (that is to say as long as blogger allows) and invite you to visit the archives. if there are any missing links or files related to earlier posts, and you would like some more info or the original file, just shoot me a comment and i’ll be happy to respond as i am able.

and finally for those of you who were always wondering or never thought to ask, here is a little insight on the origins of the name “toastrobot”. back at the beginning of this as i was trying to think of a name, i was looking for something that sounded like two opposing ideas, like “iron butterfly”. i love robots, especially the shiny metal toy variety. and the contrast of a warm piece of toast appealed to me. like something fresh. add to it that my motorbike is commonly referred to as a “toaster” and it just seemed to work. anyway, it’s certainly taken on its own life and given me some in return.

so there you have it. may you continue to be blessed as i have been blessed.

mattb

calling card of a dead man

i was thinking about a ray bradbury book i had never finished reading, and decided to go look for it in the garage. i found it and began to read it again from the beginning. as i made my way through to the point where i had last left off some 20+ years ago, a little business card fell from between two of the pages. i picked it up and studied it. it had a name, address and phone number, but no mention of any business or service. and it took me a minute before i remembered where it had originally come from.
one day those many years ago as i was on the 5 fulton bus, heading from golden gate park to downtown, reading that same ray bradbury book, an older gentleman spotted me reading, and struck up a conversation. he commented on how he seldom saw young people reading anymore, and we talked about books and authors and the city. and then he asked me if i would like to earn a little money, helping him organize some of his own writings. he said he had been working on his memoirs and needed an assistant. being broke and somewhat curious i said i would be willing to help. and that's when he must have handed me this calling card.
on an agreed day and time i showed up to his studio, way out at the end of fulton, a block from the beach. in fact his view of ocean beach was quite enviable. he wasn't quite sure where to start and had me locate various papers and letters for him. and then he began to make dictation, which i was supposed to record. it was slow going, with a lot of stops and read backs, and at one point the old guy snapped at me when i asked what i thought a very innocent question, and after a couple hours i made my excuses, and made my way out of there.
i never did go back or call, and so when i discovered this calling card again i was curious to see if anything ever amounted to the old man's memoirs. i didn't locate anything published by him, but a google search informed me that he had lived quite the interesting life. he had lived in both new york and san francisco, and rubbed elbows with writers, theater folk and even a famous sausalito madam. he was a child during the 1906 earthquake and witnessed the horrors of the aftermath of that tragedy as he made his way through a burning san francisco that grim day. and as i thought about that anniversary today, i thought it worth sharing that i had once crossed paths with this really interesting old guy. perhaps if i had been a little more patient, i might have helped him record his story that remained largely untold.

a reminder of
life in time of disaster
here written in stone

tears from heaven fall
on hardened hearts and begin
to melt them away

baby we were born to be mild. you know, live to ride, ride to live. yeah.

over 30 years ago today, you taught us all to play. thank you and goodbye mr. duey.

ground control to major tom...

soul's home

on a recent trip to golden gate park my wife took the above photo. as she was editing it for her own bloggie i was struck by something i had read recently. the author as he moved through differing landscapes began to connect them to people he knew. the deserts reminded him of the ones who on the surface appeared reserved and dry, though the real life within them remained hidden. the lush green landscapes where leaves grew large reminded him of the ones who took every bit of life in. as i reflected on this a little i liked the idea of landscapes as people, although i honestly believe we all move through each one at different seasons in our lives. people spend time up in the mountains, but eventually come back down to live in the valleys. and despite all of our best efforts to remain lush and watered, we all most certainly have made trips through the desert. i guess the lesson here is to know the metaphysical terrain you're navigating in the moment and to respond accordingly. it's easy to move through the green pastures and along still waters that restore our souls. a little more difficult walking through valleys with the shadow of death hanging over.

small houses 08

location: hwy 49, north of placerville
rolling through the golden chain highway from auburn to placerville and following a 5 dollar guidebook of the finest roads in america some 5+ years ago, i flew past this little structure right off the highway. when i headed back the other way that day i stopped to snap this picture. i never did understand its purpose for being there. there were no nearby signs for public transit or some such indication of its purpose. just one xs home.
and this reminded me today of how my access to it is now so much more removed. i can't just as easily hop on a bike and blast from my home out to hangtown and back on a sunday loop. and the fact that this has changed and all that goes with it continue to feel like a sort of death that i haven't fully processed. the bar across the street from where i work now is a constant hive of what my boss might call "transients". people like driftwood seem to move in and out of the place all day and night long. one of them even knocked my bike over the other day in an act of ignorance and carelessness.
and yet even as i considered the word "transient", isn't it what we all are? moving from one place to another, with and without purpose. whether we carry a 30 year mortgage or a duffel bag, we're just shuffling through this place. and somehow when i spot one of these little come outs from the weather it warms my heart.

the nobility
of misfortune is that it
teaches us the truth