Tuscarora Journal: A Reminiscence

Tuscarora in June, 1993

• Steve, the carpenter whose mother had a sex change. Steve refers to her  as "his Uncle Len."  James's twisted take-off on Fay Dunaway in Chinatown, "My mother, my uncle, my mother, my uncle." Slap. slap.
• First day, utter mess, boards, subfloor, room partitions, masonite, layers of old linoleum, old redwood shiplap siding.
• Ripping layers of wallpaper and newspaper, 1888:  S.F. Examiner, Salt Lake Tribune, Portland Maine Woodsman.  Fine brittle layers, toasty brown, elegant black typeset.
• Reciting poems standing on the subfloor, papers blowing, fallen walls--Helen, Itha, James, Steve, Maisie the dog.
• Lone Mountain Station.  The Piute proprietor who wouldn't let Helen in to make a phone call; the photographs of men holding fish.
• The concept of the western wave--laughing about the etiquette of waving from a pick-up truck, the kinds of waves and what they mean.
• Getting stuck at the dump on the edge of the mine tailings in a brand new metallic blue pick-up, rented from Gallagher Ford--our Thelma and Louise act.  "Who's going to go get Jerry?" James said, "and it's not going to be me," he added.
• Carrying coals to Newcastle--taking a case of beer to two alcoholics as a thank you for the free bed with a good mattress and box springs, a cigarette burn in the plastic headboard.
• Itha says, "It's the hottest summer in thirteen years, the town smells like dead ground squirrels, we're working like dogs, but we're having a great time."
• Itha called Boyak Surveying to see if there was an official map of property lines.  The guy laughed and said,  "We went up there one time. There was so much conflict and disputation,  we just got the hell out of there."