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Water and graves
Aug. 26th, 2003 09:11 amInstead of sitting inside and debating Burning Man with my LJ Readers, I took my day off and fled to Guerneville.* A day of swimming in the river, reading the Sunday Times and my pile of Anderson Valley Advertisers, and trying not to get burned was just what I needed. Plus I got to hang out with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jactitation** who’s bucolic country sublet is in the neighborhood.
Guerneville historically was a resort town for wealthy San Franciscans before the days of air travel. At some point it fell into disuse by the rich, leaving it open for bikers and hippies to use as their own playground for many years. Unlike the town of Mendocino which has similar history, Guerneville got taken over and redeveloped by gays and lesbians in the late ‘70s/early ‘’80s, making it a place to have fun rather than be herded like cattle to pay too much for overpriced "art" and mediocre California Cuisine.. It’s about a 75 mile drive away, through cow pastures, apple orchards, hideous grape stakes and beautiful twisty Redwood-ringed roads.
Johnson’s Beach is one of my favorite places. They rent umbrellas and inner tubes cheaply and they sell both soft-serve ice cream and beer on tap. What more could you possibly want? Though the town of Guerneville is fairly queer-positive, if for no other reason than the fact that queer tourist dollars keep the town employed, the public beach isn’t the cruising scene/alien gym body type of place you might expect. It’s mostly families and very low key.
The queer events tend to happen in private spaces and I admit I was tempted by Lazy Bear Weekend this year. My co-worker Conorrhea invited me up, promising to let me ride on the back of his motorcycle.*** I was kinda into the idea of partying with a group of guys who all share my body type. But then I saw the picture on their site (since changed, sorry) of a part of the river so filled with Bears than there was only one tiny speck of water visible. I realized once again, sadly, that I like the river more than the boys and it lost it’s appeal.
But yesterday was perfect. All the families were cute together and there was no visible fighting. The teenagers didn’t try to drive everyone away with that "rap" music stuff they listen to.**** The beer stayed cold just long enough to drink it. The water was warm enough to swim in for hours. Jacco and I just lay around all day reading, eating, swimming, and shooing away the occasional bee. I can’t wait to go back in mid-September when the kids will be back in school and the tourists will be away. I just rented a cabin for three nights with my co-workers One-Third, Two-Thirds, and Insane-a. Off-season rentals are my friend.
But because I can’t have too much fun on one day, I stopped by Graton to see my friend’s grave. Jacco’s sublet is about five minutes away from the graveyard and I wanted to see if I could find it again. At the funeral, almost exactly four months ago, I was so fucked up emotionally I didn’t know if I’d remember where it was, but it was easy enough to find. I wanted to see her headstone I guess, but there wasn’t really one there.*****
I decided more or less spontaneously to go, and after about 30 seconds I knew it wasn’t the best idea. Just seeing her grave again made me burst into tears, and I knew that unless I wanted to devote a few hours to crying, I needed to get away from the area right away. I stood on top of where Rachael’s head must be and looked across the valley to her mother’s house. I thought of the sick irony of the daughter who ran away and cut off contact, now forever in her mother’s view. I cut off those thoughts. Visiting Rachael needs to be a separate trip, not a part of a vacation day.
It seemed somewhat disrespectful to not go when I was so close by, and it seemed disrespectful to leave so soon, but I figure I have the rest of my life to mourn. My eyes were red from swimming and red from crying. As I drove home I hoped I wouldn’t get pulled over because I didn’t feel like trying to explain.
*Fun Fact: childhood home ofcandywarhol)
**Confidential to Jactitation’s real life friends: I saw no sign of pods. However, Jacco did continue to insist that she loves living in the country. We may have to chip in to rent her Grandma an apartment in Sebastopol in order to flush Jacco back to city life. Stay tuned.
***I develop mad lust for anyone who gives me a ride on their motorcycle. Just FYI.
****When I was a teen I used to aggressively listen to Dick Dale and Agent Orange at the beach. What a little jerk.
*****Does anyone know the deal with headstones? She still has a small, thin, temporary-looking, metal plate with her name on it. Do headstones take a long time to order or is Mom just using the large Buddha statue as a headstone instead? If you read the linked post you’ll see why I don’t want to ask her myself.
jactitation** who’s bucolic country sublet is in the neighborhood.Guerneville historically was a resort town for wealthy San Franciscans before the days of air travel. At some point it fell into disuse by the rich, leaving it open for bikers and hippies to use as their own playground for many years. Unlike the town of Mendocino which has similar history, Guerneville got taken over and redeveloped by gays and lesbians in the late ‘70s/early ‘’80s, making it a place to have fun rather than be herded like cattle to pay too much for overpriced "art" and mediocre California Cuisine.. It’s about a 75 mile drive away, through cow pastures, apple orchards, hideous grape stakes and beautiful twisty Redwood-ringed roads.
Johnson’s Beach is one of my favorite places. They rent umbrellas and inner tubes cheaply and they sell both soft-serve ice cream and beer on tap. What more could you possibly want? Though the town of Guerneville is fairly queer-positive, if for no other reason than the fact that queer tourist dollars keep the town employed, the public beach isn’t the cruising scene/alien gym body type of place you might expect. It’s mostly families and very low key.
The queer events tend to happen in private spaces and I admit I was tempted by Lazy Bear Weekend this year. My co-worker Conorrhea invited me up, promising to let me ride on the back of his motorcycle.*** I was kinda into the idea of partying with a group of guys who all share my body type. But then I saw the picture on their site (since changed, sorry) of a part of the river so filled with Bears than there was only one tiny speck of water visible. I realized once again, sadly, that I like the river more than the boys and it lost it’s appeal.
But yesterday was perfect. All the families were cute together and there was no visible fighting. The teenagers didn’t try to drive everyone away with that "rap" music stuff they listen to.**** The beer stayed cold just long enough to drink it. The water was warm enough to swim in for hours. Jacco and I just lay around all day reading, eating, swimming, and shooing away the occasional bee. I can’t wait to go back in mid-September when the kids will be back in school and the tourists will be away. I just rented a cabin for three nights with my co-workers One-Third, Two-Thirds, and Insane-a. Off-season rentals are my friend.
But because I can’t have too much fun on one day, I stopped by Graton to see my friend’s grave. Jacco’s sublet is about five minutes away from the graveyard and I wanted to see if I could find it again. At the funeral, almost exactly four months ago, I was so fucked up emotionally I didn’t know if I’d remember where it was, but it was easy enough to find. I wanted to see her headstone I guess, but there wasn’t really one there.*****
I decided more or less spontaneously to go, and after about 30 seconds I knew it wasn’t the best idea. Just seeing her grave again made me burst into tears, and I knew that unless I wanted to devote a few hours to crying, I needed to get away from the area right away. I stood on top of where Rachael’s head must be and looked across the valley to her mother’s house. I thought of the sick irony of the daughter who ran away and cut off contact, now forever in her mother’s view. I cut off those thoughts. Visiting Rachael needs to be a separate trip, not a part of a vacation day.
It seemed somewhat disrespectful to not go when I was so close by, and it seemed disrespectful to leave so soon, but I figure I have the rest of my life to mourn. My eyes were red from swimming and red from crying. As I drove home I hoped I wouldn’t get pulled over because I didn’t feel like trying to explain.
*Fun Fact: childhood home of
candywarhol)**Confidential to Jactitation’s real life friends: I saw no sign of pods. However, Jacco did continue to insist that she loves living in the country. We may have to chip in to rent her Grandma an apartment in Sebastopol in order to flush Jacco back to city life. Stay tuned.
***I develop mad lust for anyone who gives me a ride on their motorcycle. Just FYI.
****When I was a teen I used to aggressively listen to Dick Dale and Agent Orange at the beach. What a little jerk.
*****Does anyone know the deal with headstones? She still has a small, thin, temporary-looking, metal plate with her name on it. Do headstones take a long time to order or is Mom just using the large Buddha statue as a headstone instead? If you read the linked post you’ll see why I don’t want to ask her myself.
