Wandering Artist's Journal

I’ve been in Redwood City, CA for the last few weeks. My brother is a full-time RVer and he’s agreed to help me finish the van buildout. Since I got here the van buildout has gotten more expansive, involving a lot of electrical substructure, maximum insulation, a big air conditioner, solar panels, a rooftop passive solar water heater, a shower, and so forth. I’m realizing this phase of the van buildout is going to take longer than I had anticipated, and the plans going forward are in flux. I have a feeling I won’t make it to the East Coast this Fall. I’d like to spend the Winter in LA, but I’m not making any plans until I get a better handle on this current process.
This process is challenging. But then, Life has been challenging for the last several years. Living in a van under construction is different in the specifics but not in the physical, mental, emotional requirements.
The good news is that I’m still up to the task. And I have plenty of friends & family nearby. And this i…

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi (So Passes the Glory of the World)
A couple of weeks ago I visited the site of Hobart Mills, north of Truckee, CA. I enjoyed the natural beauty of the area but didn’t see a ghost town, or much of anything else to indicate a thriving town of 1,500 people with schools, a hospital, and a lumber mill once existed at this spot. There were two competing memorial stones at the trailhead, one erected by the Clampers, who keep reminding us of who/what has passed:

Coincidentally, early that morning, I’d just finished reading Yongey Mingyur Rimpoche’s book about his decision to sneak out of his monastery (he was the abbot) to spend the next four years wandering, penniless and anonymous, in what he considered a “retreat,” to deepen his meditation practice. He was unprepared and almost died in the first month but he considered it a premium learning experience that permanently altered his views of life and eternity. And he kept going.

Like most people, and especially peopl…

Most of the rest of the continent has been dealing with unprecedented killer heat for the last week or so. Here in the high desert, it’s the usual summertime killer heat. I don’t do too well in heat - have been having increasingly frequent heat-exhaustion episodes and occasional heat-collapse. In the past, I attributed my ability to survive here to the invention of, and access to, air conditioning. 
Now, I’m developing other strategies. The whole  world looks different when you no longer live in an air conditioned building. Some part of my brain is on constant alert for shade. Especially shady parking places. I’m starting to accumulate a mental file of reliable spots. I have thermometers in the van and the difference is:  Outside, ambient temp- 97 degrees F Inside with no shade- 120+ degrees F Inside with shade- 85 degrees F
This morning, I left my nighttime parking spot and moved to a Starbucks parking lot with a shady area  big enough for my van (8ft x 20ft.) I sat there for  awhile, sippin…

Almost two years since my last posting here. What a journey - but it’s mostly been interior progress. Nothing to report. (Unless you’re a recent widow. In which case, let’s talk.)


Let me just cut to the chase - I bought a van, moved into it (yes, I’m living full-time in the van) and I’m moving in increasingly larger concentric circles as I spiral out from Reno. This blog is written for family and friends and I’m blessed to have many of them, scattered all over the world, mostly on this continent, and mostly on the coasts. I plan to visit all of them in the next year or two, or however long it takes.


This is NOT going to be one of those “how to live in a van” blogs. I think that territory has been covered. This blog is a means of updating people who care about me. A cargo van, built to suit me, is just a tiny house on wheels. I know some of you are worried - how can an old lady do this all alone? Relax. My basic needs are met - a safe, comfortable place to live, dream, read, and make …

My sojourn here in Virginia City is coming to an end and I’m headed back to my studio in Reno - in a much better state than when I got here (one month ago.) It wasn’t easy, but I did manage to learn a few things that I hope I can build on going forward:
- I no longer need people around me all the time. I can pick myself up when I fall.
- I can sleep alone in a safe place now (though darkness still scares me.)
- My in-house source of advice and feedback is gone, but I have good friends who are willing and able to step in. I was reading Seneca’s letter of advice to Serenus recently and this stood out: 
“Nothing delights the mind so much as fond and loyal friendship. What a blessing it is to have hearts with whom you are less afraid to share knowledge  than keep it to yourself, whose conversation soothes your distress, whose advice helps you make up your mind, whose geniality dissolves your sorrows, whose very appearance cheers you up.” (Video calls work amazingly well for this.)
- I can…

A few days ago I went out for my evening walk, heading West, as usual (East in the morning, West in the evening, to take advantage of the mountains as sunblock.) West, in Virginia City, means uphill. I had no agenda, no destination, beyond getting some exercise and looking around. I was crossing a parking lot, looking up at the “V” on Mt. Davidson, when it occurred to me, “This would be a great time to try to hike up there.”
Backstory: I’ve tried this mountain before. Haven’t gotten far. It’s been on my “to do” list for a year or so. Problems: I’m prone to altitude weakness and heat stress. After my last heat stroke incident (trying to find the grave of Julia Bulette) I promised some friends that I would knock it off and quit fainting in public, on this trip at least.
But this evening walk was different. It was cool, low 70s and dropping fast (first clue ignored) and the sun was already behind the mountain. I felt strong, ready to run to the top. I’d been sleeping on the shoulder of …