The Fourth Journey

   The house I purchased was built in 1924.  It sits on the north east corner of the intersection of 10th Ave & Grant Street.  The lot is 100' north/south and 50' east/west.  Directly across the street to the west is Martin Luther King Jr City Park.  I was told that this small section of the city was a black area at the time - thus the name of the park.  The house is a block off 11th Ave - a vital business street in West Eugene today - and is nearly directly behind the Amazon Market - a neighborhood cash & carry -  named after the winding creek nearby.  Now there is only one tree on the property.  It might be a mature Japanese elm and sits in the middle of the backyard.  A large tree used to grow near the front porch on the west side of the house that was cut down by the former tenants.  That stump will mostly have to be removed because it is impacting the foundation.
      I purchased the house outright from a man who had been a Ventura County Sheriff in Southern California but had moved to Oregon in the eighties with his family.  His daughter became involved with a man whose family was living in the house.  As time went by the daughter and son in law came to stay in the place and wanted to buy it and fix it up so the father in law obliged.   Those folks managed to do some - mostly ineffectual -  repair work on the house.  Replanking the front porch while the porch roof still leaks.  Repair floor joists in the bathroom but the floor is already rotten again.  Eventually their relationship went south.  She left him  - and her twenty cats - in the house.  Apparently it was in that situation for two years allowing plenty of time for damage to be done.   Then along came this hapless dude from SoCal......
      When I went north from LA for the second time this year for the closing in Eugene I loaded my car with my cast metal artwork, a big roll of paintings,  a bunch of flatwork, along with other personal items.   The car was heavily loaded but wonderful.  Drove like a dream using no oil and managing the mountains slowly but patiently.  Really quite astonishing for a little grocery getter with nearly 300,000 miles on it.  Just operating the car was a puzzle because of it's age.  Key had to go in right side up or no go.  Rear defroster - actually hooked to fuel pump - always on or dead in the water.  Etc.  But it got me there - and back to LA -  no complaints.   On my third trip to Eugene before Labor day I loaded the car equally as heavily with all my musical gear and other valued belongings and sailed north and back famously again.
     I left only a small portion of my personal stuff in LA for my return after Labor day.   A week after I made it back to LA safely in the little blue car I flew to the midwest for a wedding and to visit family and friends for a few weeks.  I had been in Chicago with my mom for about two weeks when I received a call from the previous owner.  'A couple of things' he said.  'Cops told me someone broke into your garage'.  Kate was good enough to go over and found that yes someone had broken into the garage but mostly for shelter.  She boarded over the broken window for me.  The previous owner said  'The other thing is they told me a homeless guy passed away on your porch'.  Well I had seen this homeless guy there when I was working on the place over Labor day and he was younger than I by years and plenty robust.  I think there may have been foul play on the part of the garage breaker inners as far as a perceived turf war may have been going on.  I called the Eugene police after the ex owner called me to let them know I am the owner, got tepid response, and have heard nothing further about it.  I know I've no corpse on my front porch.  For a moment another homeless had left a remembrance in a little cross stuck in one of the porch pillars but the wind has carried that away.
     After a couple of wonderful weeks with friends in Wisconsin I returned to LA prepared to make my fourth and final journey of the year to Eugene with my remaining worldly possessions.  Crammed in that little car I headed north.  Rolling down the grapevine in fifth gear the transmission jumped out of gear a couple of times - something in 200,000 miles of driving that car I had never had happen.   My mom - god bless her depression era soul - saved the following message I sent to daughter Skye a day later:
       
Well sweetie you'll have to begin to think of me without my little car finally after 16 years.  Yes the transmission locked in fifth gear about two hours north of LA and I only realized it as I got off the freeway to get gas at - of course - Lost Hills.  I was just able to push the fully loaded vehicle from the top of the exit mostly downhill past a truck stop onto a dead end road.  A big yellow traffic sign loomed a few feet ahead that said 'END'.  I drained the tranny and took the bottom pan off Wednesday evening thinking I might be able to unjam it in the morning light.  Couldn't so Thursday I pulled the tranny out of the car thinking that would help me - I've taken it apart and reassembled a couple of times but always had a manual to do it with.  I could see one of the main bearing keepers had disintegrated and I think a chunk of metal got into the shift linkage jamming it up.  Didn't think I could rebuild it in the windy dusty desert without the manual - not to mention having to go fifty miles to get parts.  Found a local mechanic who happily took it off my hands with most of my meager belongings still in it.  I got the essential stuff out but left him my tool kit, a futon mattress, my TV, a bunch of clothes including a tux and a nice Italian suit, and various other odds and ends I'd collected over the years.  Fortunately I'd already transported most of the things I consider valuable - primarily my art work and music gear - up to Eugene.  Tried getting a ride with truckers for a while at a truckstop with no luck.  Then thought I'd head east 20 miles off interstate 5 to Wasco where there's an Amtrak station but in passing the 5 on ramp decided to - illegally - attempt to hitch hike.  Moments later a guy who teaches inmates media at the Wasco state prison picked me up.  We drove north on the five about 30 miles then he said he could get me close to the Amtrak station in Hanford, CA so we drove off the freeway another 30 miles or so.  Then he had to pick up three of his five kids after school so we did that then he said 'I'll just take you to the station'.  Which he did.  So now I sit in the Sacramento Amtrak station awaiting the second and final train ride to Eugene from Hanford.  So a not too bad ending to today's story.  God bless that dude - who also thought I should blog about the house - not to mention the mechanic that didn't charge me to take my car.  Apparently I'm meant to restart my life in Eugene nearly clean as a baby.  So that's the latest story.  Probably haven't told you yet about the homeless guy who passed away on the front porch of my house in Eugene.  This real life thing is certainly turning out to be quite a story!  Train's here gotta go.  Love   dad

    So I entrained at Sacramento and made it safely to Eugene with only what I was able to carry on my back.  That big yellow END sign in Lost Hills said it all for the little blue car.   Since I've been carless.   Sis Kate has been good enough to allow me to use her old white Chev pickup which appears in some of these photos.  And after walking for a while Kate also passed on a very serviceable Schwinn mountain bike - in need of repair & I repaired - that is my current transportation.   I've used the truck three times now.  One beautiful day I picked up a load of horse manure at a farm south of town.  They had a little diesel Kubota tractor with a front end loader that they let me fill the pickup with. Took the shit home and spread it along the west side of the house - about a 12'x60' plot for a vegetable garden.  Later that day I picked up a cabinet with nine drawers I'm using for a dresser, pantry, and tool box I'd found for free on Craigslist.  Another day I retrieved a free full futon and frame and bookshelf near what is getting to be famous Autzen Stadium - Go Ducks!   The third trip was to go cross town last Sunday to an estate sale to get an axe - needed for grubbing roots and stumps.  Otherwise I'm riding bike.

        I'll follow with a guided tour of the garage:

You've just stepped in the door and look to your left and see the living area.  Living area door open.

   Straight ahead is the 'garage' - where I keep garbage, bike, $8 mower from St. Vinnie's, building materials, etc.  The 'garage' door is open.

You step into the middle of the living area and look out the window at the back of the garage.  there's Kate's truck.  It kinda lives there now.  Now we'll turn around three sixty. this is north.

 North west.  The blue chairs came from Jesse.  They're a little broken in the backs and - of course - I cut a knuckle pretty good cleaning them.  You can see the nine drawer dresser I'm using for from top left: pantry - kitchen stuff; tool drawer; miscellany & drug drawer; socks, briefs 'n hankies; pants - nonhanging; shirts - nonhanging; photos; photos; trash & miscellany.  A keen eye can see the urinal at the foot of the dresser - hey it came with the place.  Too you catch a glimpse of my 13" digital TV that I use rabbit ears for reception and get all of four stations on.  Fortunately one is THIS a movie station.

South west living area door closed.

South east closet door closed.

South east closet door open in the evening.  Guitar and amp well evident.  Free shelves.  Too you can see how the fabric drapes the ceiling here.

 North east.  Craigslist free futon with freshly washed cover and comforter.  The oil heater is by the end of the futon with a boombox from Kate behind it.  I listen to bobfm - KEUG - sometimes.  I used coax cable  -  the little house was wired for cable everywhere including the garage - to hang curtains on.

 North and left out the picture window there to get a closer look at Kate's workhorse.  A corner of Martin Luther King Park appears in the background.

North and to the right.  Some sort of third world place or another.  I know how to pick 'em.  Nice trees though.  You can see I cut the fabric to the corners of the windows, folded it under, and stapled for the openings.  Turn to go and see through the open living area door the entryway and the exterior door.

Into the entryway to the left the 'garage' door is closed.  My growing arsenal of tools on the wall ahead.  Rubber garden boots at the ready.  Exterior door to the right.

In the entry way to the right an aging mirror that was hung on the wall of the living room in the house horizontally and about six feet off the floor and very dirty.  I cleaned it up but want to keep the decaying silver around to remind me of the place's state when I found it.

Next we'll go out the garage door.  The stairs to the back porch are right in front of us.  A bit poorly planned.  Eventually I will change this setup to make it easier to get in and out of the garage.  More heavy doin' - those concrete stairs will have to go.

 And there's the door at the back of the porch.  My gloves, truck keys, pant binder for riding bike made from a dryer exhaust hose clamp, & door lock hang on a coat hook between the door and the mirror.  Another time we'll go into the house and take a look around.  It was such a boon to come up with that extensive roll of fabric to fashion a living area out of.  Kate says those rolls show up at St. Vinnie's a lot.  I gave five bucks for it.  Most of the walls have two layers of fabric over them for added warmth.  I'm home for now.     Peace     d