Dog Tags

I mentioned a while back that my niece gave me the idea of making ceramic dog tags as gifts for Burning Man. I thought it an excellent idea and as I have access to a kiln, it seemed easily do-able. To make it simple, I made a stamp to stamp them out. I roll out a slab of clay and go to town stamping my design in the soft mud. Then I cut them out.

In a 4-hour session, I can roll, stamp and cut several hundred dog tags. I began making them in February & now have about 1,000 made up. To keep it even simpler, I left them unglazed but used various oxides to color the white clay.

I was sitting in Open Studio making several hundred dog tags one Friday and my introvert’s brain began telling me, “These things are really stupid. No one’s going to want one of these things!”Yikes! Self-doubt crept into the room. What was I doing?

The following Saturday, I showed them to my friend Sy. Sy is painfully honest: tells the truth no matter how brutal it may be. And he has good taste, too! Sy looked at my bucket of hundreds of dog tags and exclaimed, “I want one! I want one now!” So I strung it up on a length of hemp and he’s been wearing it ever since.

He reports back whenever he gets a compliment. Sy & I are in Pilates class three days a week and in every class he’s telling me about another compliment received. Yesterday, another friend begged me for one & immediately tied it around his neck.

Self-doubt has been chassed from the room.

One Monday, during virtual cocktails with our friends in Seattle, Garret asked, “So, Jer, are these dog tags you’re making like for a dog or like a military dog tag?” Now, that never occurred to me! I call them dog tags only because I used my military dog tags as a reference for size. And, yes, I still have my USAF dog tags issued to me in 1970.

I now have a box of 1,000 Burning Man dog tags individually strung up and ready for Burning Man. I’ve been talking with a veteran burner who’s giving me pointers on the protocol for giving. I appreciate Jim’s advice. I don’t want to just “hand them out”. There should be purpose behind the giving of gifts.

Today, I was thinking about the money I’ve put into making these dog tags, not that THAT would stop me. Breaking it all down, it comes to about 3 cents each. That doesn’t include my time/labor.It is certainly affordable and I’m now wondering why I made only 1000 of them!

Chelsea, that was an excellent suggestion!

Thank you for listening,

Jerry L. Hanson

Why Hike

I love to go hiking in the hills that surround the Coachella Valley and Palm Springs. Sometimes, my love of hiking clouds my thinking.

Last week, I received an e-mail notice from one of my hiking groups. Steve wrote: “Celebrate the Summer Solstice. It may be heating up in the Valley, but up Highway 74 temperatures are still in the 70's…” I’m suckered in & reply that “Yes! Of course I’ll go! See you there!

Today being the Summer Solstice, I notice Palm Springs temps are expected to be 113F and I’m supposed to go on a hike. As I’m driving to the usual meeting point, I realize I can always back out. I committed to show up but did not commit to actually, like, hike. Several of the other hikers had this same thought.

Our group leader reminded us that the temperatures are 10 to 15 degrees cooler in those elevations. Well, OK! Let’s go! We did not stop to think: 10 to 15 degrees cooler than 113 is still hovering around the 100F mark! Ah, well, I have my 2-liter camelback, a peanut butter & jelly sandwich and a baggie of M&M’s.

We drove the 22 miles out of Palm Desert up into the hills along State Hwy 74. We parked in the convenient parking lot near the Elk’s Club and Cactus Canyon. Sixteen of us headed into the canyon: beautiful blue skies, warm weather and sun-caressed skin.

In my infinite wisdom, I had decided to wear my new Doc Marten boots – to break them in for Burning Man. These boots are way cool. All leather, steel toe, water proof and just too cool looking. Thirty minutes into the hike, I notice my feet are on fire. These damned boots are hot as hell! They don’t breathe. There’s no air circulation. And I’m working on a blister on my right heel. What was I thinking???

We’re hiking in a spectacularly beautiful canyon. The yucca is in in full bloom. There is brittle brush past their bloom tempting us with seedpods. The Manzanita’s red bark is just too beautiful. We’re hiking down hill most of the way into the canyon but I’m distracted by the flora.

We hiked 2.5 miles down to Horse Thief Creek. The trail is well maintained and clearly marked. Steve, our guide, spent much of last year creating the trails we hiked. Clearly, he loves this area of Cactus Canyon. We hiked down 2.5 miles and 900 feet into the canyon to the creek where we stopped for lunch.

This was the turn-around point. We lingered for an hour & a half. Most of the guys took a dip in the river to cool off. My refrigerator is set at a higher temp than the creek. I decided NOT to freeze off various sensitive body parts. I hung out on one of the huge boulders soaking up the heat & sun.

And then it was time to head back. Sixteen guys, just finishing lunch, drinking our share of water: time to walk back up the hills – 900 feet of hill. It was 1:30 PM; the sun is high in the sky, We are an older group of men. OK! We’re old farts with a median age of 55 or better. This hike back was no easy task.

I imagine the Butana Death March felt much like this. Several of our group are not seasoned hikers. The hike in took about 90 minutes: the hike out too more than twice that long.

I have COPD… There I’ve said it. I have Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. Twelve years ago I quit smoking after 32 years and it’s taken its toll on my lungs. I did it to myself. So, if you smoke, quit. If you don’t smoke, don’t start! This brought to you by the American Cancer Association…

I have lots of strength. I have little stamina. I can pick up & move 5 tons of rock: just not all at one time! Space it out over the day & I’m OK. Same with the walk back UP the 900-foot rise. I needed breaks along the way: along with Mark and John and Jay and Joe. To complicate matters, they ran out of water. You do NOT want to run out of water on hike in 100-degree weather.

We plodded on stopping in the shade as it presented itself. Why do you not notice there are few shady spots on the way down?

We all made it back to the parking lot and our cars AND more WATER by 3:30PM. I had another three bottles of water in my truck and thankfully drank one down even though it had the heat of tea without the Earl Gray.

This is not the first time I’ve been on hikes with these guys. This is not the first time several of our group had difficulties hiking back from the turn-around-point. Why do we do this???

We go on these hikes because we still can. It may be difficult but we can do it. Jay had a rogue virus 6 years ago and was paralyzed from the waist down. He had to learn how to stand up; how to walk; how to use the bathroom;. Mark nearly died of HIV, and through modern medicine his life has changed. John is 75 years old, healthy and determined. I have COPD and refuse to let it stop me. We go and support one another. We can do this.

These hikes are a bitch and I love them. If I can do these hikes, I can do pretty much anything.

Oh, and those M&M's? They melted into a messy glob at the bottom of my backpack.

Thank you for listening.

Jerry L. Hanson

Camping in Yucca Valley: Part III

The last time I went camping was in 1977 or 78: just me and my dog, Zeke. We used to take off across the desert with a backpack for me & saddle bags for Zeke. As Zeke ate his kibble, I off loaded my stuff into his saddle bags. Hey! He’s a dog! What did he know? He loved it.

Forty-plus years later, I’m going camping again. This time I had a truck loaded with supplies. How can you go camping without that portable iPod speakers? Or an eight-man tent for two? Or a down comforter? Sheesh!

We went camping at Star Struck. The name sounds idyllic. Names and places are often not in synch. At this campsite, the stars were definitely the draw. (Read my prior two blogs to catch up, if you’ve not already.) Steven & I retired to our spacious, luxurious accommodations after an evening of gin rummy, dinner and two bottles of wine. OK, we drank three bottles of wine if you count lunch.

The wind had kicked up while we were playing cards and having dinner. The wind was howling by the time we returned to our tent. The tent was holding up to the wind and performing admirably. AND it was cold. We hung a spotlight from the center point of the tent and placed other on each “night table”. The tent was aglow with warm light.

Then we dove under the down comforters for warmth. We talked for what seemed like hours. “Hey, Steven. What time is it?” “9:30….” “That’s ALL??” We both dozed off. I dozed off… Steven is a light sleeper. He didn’t doze off.

I awoke with a start and a bladder in need of emptying. Steven was still awake. The lanterns were still alight. The tent seemed alive. It felt as if we were inside a living, breathing being. The tent’s walls were expanding. Contracting. Expanding. Eerie

“I gotta pee.”

“Me too.”

“It’s cold out.”

“Yeah, but I’ll bet the stars are incredible.”

“Let’s go.”

We did. The stars were incredible! We identified the Big & Little Dippers, Orin’s belt and others Steven knew. The lights were also on in the neighbor’s cabin. Curtains open. Yikes! Back into the tent and the warmth under the down covers.

I fell asleep. I can always fall asleep. Although, I woke often during the night to the breathing of the tent and the wind. Canvas tents don’t’ make much noise. These modern nylon/plastic tents make a hell of a racket. I’m half deaf. If it can wake ME up, I can only imagine how noisy this tent was! Did I say Steven is a light sleeper?

I woke again with the tent aglow with dawn’s light. I knew I was awake for the day. You know, it’s the type of awake where you just know you’ll not roll over for another 30 minutes of shut-eye. The kind of awake where you just gotta get up & moving.

Steven was awake. “So, What would you like to do this AM?” I asked. There was a brief pause. “I want to break camp & have breakfast in the truck on the way back to Palm Springs.”

I volunteered to head up to the kitchen with the tea kettle to boil water for our tea while we packed up. That done, we packed up our belongings, carried it all up to the truck, stuck the tent & folded it up in the howling wind. It was an excellent exercise in folding up that tent. We were able to get it down, folded up and stowed in its bag within 15 minutes! AND in howling winds! We froze our butts off in the process. Thankfully the sun was warm.

We were up at 7:55 AM and on the road back to Palm Springs by 10 AM. We dissed Star Stuck campgrounds all the way back to Palm Springs. We both agreed the experience was fun and “trying”. I gained a lot of useful information about my camping gear. Steven lost a lot of sleep.

That evening, Steven & I talked on the phone. “You know, Jer, that campsite just might be fun if you went with a group of guys you knew.” “So, Steven, are you saying you’d be willing to go again?” “Yeah. It was kinda fun in a weird kind of way.” “I know what you mean. The desert there is stunning!” “We did have a good time.”

Is that why the place is called Sun Struck?

Star Struck

The view from our campsite

Last week, I talked about my idyllic camping trip to Star Struck, a 10-acre campground in Yucca Valley. The surrounding landscape is breath taking, wild and relatively untouched by man. Yeah, there are houses dotting the landscape but for the most part, it is untouched.

Steven, my camping buddy, and I pitched the tent on flat piece of ground a bit removed from Sun Struck’s infrastructure. We had a wide-open view of the surrounding mountains and could see for miles and miles. There was only one Sun Struck structure visible from our camp sight. We count our blessings.

After our simple lunch of turkey sandwiches, potato salad and chips, we decided it was time to head out into the countryside. We had pitched our tent along the pathway down to the valley below. Our tent became the reference point for our hike: if we can see our tent, we know where we are. And at times, the tent was several miles away.

Walking down into the wash, I felt as if I was walking back in time. There were no telephone poles. No roads. No tire tracks anywhere we could see. We could see our tent off in the distance but there were few other traces of man. OK, you cannot ever get away from the jet contrails. There were contrails.

We followed animal trails through the brush. We watched jackrabbits nibbling flowers. We frightened a bevy of quail: two adults and about 15 chicks. We watched Red Tailed Hawks circling overhead. We did not see Rattler Snakes, thankfully!

The desert is in full bloom this time of year. The creosote bushes were covered in yellow blossoms and the honeybees were in full attendance. Steven is allergic to honey bee stings. We retreated. I carefully avoided stepping on any of the plants blanketing the desert floor. At times, it was impossible.

After about two hours hiking in the sun, we were ready to head back to base camp. We could still see our tent off across the arroyo. We set our course and began the return trek. If you have ever hiked in the wide-open deserts of California or Arizona, you will know that it is impossible to walk in a straight line to that point off in the distance. There are just too many impediments in your way.

The hike back was nearly as long as the hike out. Sounds like a no brainer…. However, on the hike out, you’re meandering up the hill, smelling the flowers, backtracking, photographing one other, the rock formations and the plants. On the hike back you’re making a straight line for camp. Screw this meandering crap! You want to get back to camp and a martini.

That “straight line” back to camp slogs through the erosion gullies, cholla cactus patches, steep hills and cats claw shrubs. The Cholla cactus and cats claw shrubs should warn you off if the unstable terrain doesn’t. Especially if you are hiking textile free. We took the meander trail back to base camp.

We loved the hike. It was stunningly beautiful. It was sunny and warm. It was exhausting. I needed a drink.

It was too early for dinner so we grabbed a bottle of wine, chips, salsa, a deck of cards and headed to the multi-purpose room. The tent site was hot with no shade and the wind was kicking up. The communal kitchen was being used and we figured the dinning room would be occupied soon after. The multi-purpose room was cool and it was empty.

Empty is a relative term. There were tables and counters and couches and bookcases. Every horizontal surface of the multi-purpose room was covered with…. I don’t know what it was covered with…. dreck? It was just junk; bits of this and bits of that. Ok, it was trash. One could have swept it all into the trash can and no one would have been the wiser.

We cleared off a 3 ft by 6 ft folding table. We washed the surface of the table. We washed it again. We set out our chips & dip and cracked the bottle of wine. Steven dealt the first hand of Gin Rummy after we’d spend 20 minutes talking about how to play the damned game. That settled, we talked, laughed, drank and munched on those corn chips & dip. We had a grand time. And we played Gin Rummy not keeping score or worrying about who was winning.

At about 8:00 PM we realized we’d not prepared our dinner. Back to the tent, we trekked. We gathered up our dinner “stuff” and headed back to the multi-purpose room. Steven had prepared an incredible meal of basil pesto chicken, herb sautéed green beans and salad. Camp may have been squalor, our meal was not. It was yummy.

We dined, drank the third bottle of wine and cleaned up after ourselves leaving no trace – other than an unusually clean and empty table. We headed back to camp. The wind was howling and the air temperature had dropped about 30 degrees.

We had another embarrassing moment walking past our closest neighbor’s window. We’ll not go there,.

The tent was a welcoming sight. We dove through the tent flap & zipped up the windows and doors, sealing ourselves in for the night. We turned on our lanterns, which gave a warm, diffused light. We crawled into bed snuggling down into the warmth of down & flannel. And then we talked into the wee hours of the night. No horror stories, though.

Thank you for listening

Jerry L. Hanson

Camp It Up!

I’m headed to Black Rock City for Burning Man this year. Have I told you this? This isn’t new information, is it?

Anyway, my friend, Steven, called me a month or so ago and told me I needed to take my camping gear on a practice run before heading out to the playa. Absolutely every piece of camping equipment I have is brand spanking new. Steven doesn’t want that new equipment to spank ME. My new tent had never even been unwrapped. I had no idea what color it was.

I thought it was a good idea. “Great,” he says, “Lets go camping!” We decided Memorial Day weekend would be good; lots of other campers taking advantage of the sun & warm weather and it was a long weekend. We found what sounded idyllic: private camp ground – Sun Struck – It is clothing optional with the wide open deserts to hike through, communal kitchen facilities, showers, etc. The website looked great with verdant, peaceful looking campsites.

I called & made a reservation for one night with the option for a second night. I modified my Burning Man list (read last blog) for this trip, culling out all the unnecessary items like a solar shower, bicycle, wild Burning Man costumes. I shared my list with Steven to see if I’d neglected anything.

He laughed. OK, I will admit my list is a bit OCD-ish. His only comment: “Honey, I thought you would have at the least put it into alphabetical order! AND you forgot the tent stakes.”

“Um… no, they are on the list. See? Rebar stakes, tent.”

“OK,” he says, “if a towel is a towel, hand or towel, bath, then the damned stakes should be stake, tent, rebar!”

“Yeah. He’s right. Now I need to re-do my Burning Man list.”

We did our food shopping on Friday. Next morning, I picked Steven up at 8 AM. We packed up Steven’s gear and off we went to Yucca Valley and Sun Struck, our idyllic campground out in the wide-open space that is California.

We arrived at the Sun Sturke gate - at the very end of a long corduroy dirt road. The directions were clear: enter through the gate and bear left at the old tractor.

Sounds clear, but, which of those old rusted out hulks was a tractor? We made a guess and arrived at a building Jedd Clampett would have been proud to own when he was still shootin’ for some grubb.

There were supposed to be cabins. All we saw were those 8 x 10 garden sheds from Home Depot. They were set about the grounds without rhyme or reason. Oh… those WERE the cabins! And those trailers sitting cockeyed by one flat tire? Those were the other accommodations! Thank god we brought our tent and booze!

We checked in. Our host looked absolutely comfortable in these surroundings. Scary thought.

We asked where we should pitch our tent. “Oh, just about any where.” We looked around. Just about anywhere looked undesirable. We asked if we could camp off a bit from the center of the grounds. Yep. Clem took us on a tour of the property. Clem pointed out the sites: “That there’s the spa. No one can figure out how to turn it on. You’re welcome to use it.” “Don’t camp there. cuz there’s a leak in the septic system somewhere over there.” “There’s the garden spot. We’re trying to save that there tree what fell over 5 years ago.”

We settled on a spot around a hillock from center camp. The only building in sight was the only occupied guest cabin. The interior of the cabin was taken up by a huge king size bed. We could tell because that side of the cabin was a sliding glass doors that remained uncovered and open the entire time we were there. That door/window WAS the end wall of the cabin. Small. We had to walk right by that open sliding glass door every time we headed towards the main buildings. It got to be embarrassing. I think the occupant enjoyed it. Sun Struck.

We pitched the tent. It took 10 minutes to erect a 12 foot by 16 foot tent. From unzipping the tent bag to driving the last stake: 10 minutes. Our view (other than the show going on in the cabin) was of the wide-open valley. Stunning view, in that direction. We had our camp chairs out, beds made up and gear sorted out by 11:30 AM.

Camp was set. We ate a simple leisurely lunch and were ready to explore and hike the surrounding landscape. We zipped up the tent and took off to explore. I’ll continue my story next week.

Oh, the tent is green & gray. The photo is my tent pitched next to some sort of sculpture. At least I think that’s what it is.

As always, thank you for listening

Jerry L. Hanson.

Musak to My Ears, Those Liszt....

Had I’d known about Burning Man 40 years ago, I would have checked for gas money and taken off for Black Rock City thinking I would pick up the “crap I need” on the way. And I would have been perfectly happy and content. I would have had a great time.

Not today.

I’m older, but not necessarily wiser. I’m going to Burning Man this year. That’s probably NOT a wise decision. I’m over 60 years old, for crying out loud! I need more assurance than enough gas money. I need a list…

That list protects me. I check it daily – yes, you’re right; I’m not heading out to Black Rock City for a few more months. What’s your point? I need to know what I need to take and I need to know what I’m taking. The list is fine tuned daily as I accumulate the “crap I need”.

Forty years ago, I used a hatchet to pound in tent stakes, chop fire wood AND open the Pork & Beans. Today, I pack a rubber mallet, a 3-pound hammer, can opener and cork screw. No hatchet. Swiss Army knives are so out of vogue these days. I tossed one into the tool bag none-the-less.

Forty years ago, my tent was a pup tent: a flap of oiled canvas, two 3-foot poles, rope and 6 stakes. No floor; open on both ends. It worked and kept me dry. Sometimes.

Youth and ignorance seem to protect the young: I’m not so hardy these days. I have a real tent for Black Rock City which requires its own subheading on my list. It documents everything I need for this tent including tennis balls and clothes pins. There are fifteen separate entries under “tent.” I’m not sure it’s complete.

My list has over 160 line items. My mentors, Joe & Bill, have nearly 1,000 items on their list! I figure I’m roughing it. Last evening, I ordered a solar charger for my iPhone, MacBook Pro, camera and Nano. I need to remember to add those items to my list along with the music to bring. Franz Liszt is an obvious choice. It’s rough.

This excursion to Black Rock City may be the most challenging trip I’ve taken in my 62+ years. I’m looking forward to new experiences and challenges. I’m looking to re-connecting with that 22-year old geek who could take off for a weekend with a few cans of beans and a case of beer to explore the unknown. And I plan to have the time of my life!

While I’m obsessing about Burning Man, check out my web site at www.JerryLHanson.com . Contact me if you see something you like.

Contact me if you want to buy one of my pieces or if you have any questions about a specific piece. My contact information is on my website or you can leave a comment on this blog site for me to contact you (include your contact info!). You can e-mail me at JeryL@JerryLHanson.com or you can telephone me on my studio phone 760-992-3157. You can call me. I won’t mind!

Lastly, I apologize to any lovers of classical music or of Franz Liszt. I couldn’t resist the word play.

And thanks for listening!

Jerry L. Hanson

Now, Read This...

This was an eventful weekend. Or, shall I say, a weekend full of events? We had a house full of out of town guests. We attended the dedication of our new Synagogue building, theatre at the Mark Tapor Forum and my book club evening. All this in two days.

I belong to a book club that has been around for about 16 years. I’ve been a member for 14 of those years. I initially joined to broaden my reading experiences.

The vast majority of the members of this book club are physicians. Initially, I was one of only two non-physicians. Even today, there are only 3 or four non-physicians. Their busy practices mean they have limited free time to read. We meet every other month to give every one an opportunity to complete the book.

For me, that meant that I would have read at least 6 more novels by the time we met to discuss the chosen tome. I often re-read the novel to refresh my memory for the characters and the plot.

Over the years the format of the discussion groups has changed.

In the early days, we met at someone’s home. We still do. However, what began as a Saturday afternoon discussing a novel over cheese, crackers and wine, developed into an evening sit-down dinner.

What began as a discussion of a novel, changed to include wine tasting with vintages chosen based on the novel. A novel set in France guaranteed French wines. I had some difficulty picking a wine when we read “Little Dorrit.” I took Sherry.

About 5 years ago, someone had the brilliant to idea to select a movie for discussion in addition to the novel and wine tasting. The difficulty level increased significantly.

We were to read a novel, watch a selected movie that somehow related to the novel AND select a wine that had some connection to both the movie and the novel.

That poor novel was often left un-discussed after 14 members tasted bottles 14 wine. I am not a moviegoer. I do not have a palette for wine. Often, I did not see the selected film and I don’t enjoy wine tastings. I enjoy wine. I cannot taste the damned apricot or smell the soil of the Rhone Valley. I’ve been to the Rhone Valley: smells just like dirt.

I stopped participating in the book club. I continued to read the selections. I always welcome a suggestion for a novel or author I’ve not read. I continued to make suggestions for the next meeting. I just didn’t attend the discussions.

I missed my friends. I missed that bi-monthly event where we could all get together outside of work, let loose and have a good time. That was a revelation. This incredibly busy group of physicians scheduled one evening every other month just for this purpose.

The book was the catalyst for bringing everyone together. And isn’t that why I initially joined: to widen my experiences; to break out of my normal routine. I began attending again. I read the book and if we didn’t discuss it, that was OK. I was spending time with friends, friends I seldom see other than at the book discussions.

Oh! The book we read for Saturday’s discussion was “A Thing of Beauty” by Steve Martin. The play at the Mark Tabor was “Burn This.” I don’t know what movie we were supposed to watch and I have no idea what wines we drank…

I can’t wait to hear what the next reading selection will be! And, I’m bringing a wine totally unrelated to the novel just to see if anyone notice and mess with their minds. They’re physicians; it’s easy.

Please take time to visit my website at www.JerryLHanson.com. Take a look at my artwork. Contact me if you want to buy one of my works or if you have any questions about a specific piece. My contact information is on my website or you can leave a comment on this blog site for me to contact you (include your contact info!). You can e-mail me at JeryL@JerryLHanson.com or you can telephone me on my studio phone 760-992-3157. You can call me. I won’t mind.

And thank you for listening

Jerry L. Hanson