by Victoria Lucas

A Door Closes

Ruth Clark Lucas, 1897-1966

Except inside me, the door to my mother is forever closed. If anyone should wonder where I’ve been these past few months, the answer is grieving. In November my mother died and my partner Mel and I drove to Tucson to sell my house (the one I paid the mortgage on while going to Stanford), pick up whatever seemed right, deal with legal and funeral home details, and then drive back to SF again, and our little place at 29 Hodges Alley.

While we were in Tucson the funeral home had a memorial service, and I attended after some consultation (coffin closed). She had so few friends, only from where she worked. When I got home I finally looked at a copy of the death certificate I had acquired. It gave me a shock. It said she died from alcoholism.

Actually, I think it slammed

My pal Joe Bfstplk

I was completely clueless, but my man Mel claims to still be a recovering alcoholic after many years of being sober, admitting that he is still on the road to recovery rather than having accomplished a “cure.” He said he had recognized the signs when we were in the house–a random liquor cabinet full of bottles, all open and most with very little in them, and other things. The house gave me the creeps so bad I insisted we sleep in our van in the driveway rather than in a bed in the house. It was as if the cloud over Joe Bfstplk in Li’l Abner cartoons had escaped and was looming over my old home.

A door hanging open

Why, that looks like our bus

The vehicle we slept in, though, is a door to the future, and I must leave my grief before I get these pages wet. Mel and I had begun to talk about taking the transfer and raise he has been repeatedly offered at his place of work, Hartford Steam Boiler, to go to New York City, as Phase I of our overall plan to visit Europe. In preparation for driving there we bought a VW van from some friends, a Lesbian couple who have settled down and have no further need for a vehicle they can sleep in. Mel and I sold our individual cars. Now we are planning the trip across country.

Magazine in a box in my future?

Aspen Magazine No. 4

Partly to get a taste of New York, and partly because of the contents, I bought a “magazine” produced in New York City that makes me want to look up the publisher when we get to that city of publishers. This one, though, is a bit odd. It’s a “magazine in a box” called Aspen.

The spring issue is just out, and I am really fascinated with the concept and the content of this issue, which includes John Cage and a tiny record with electronic music.

The contents of Aspen Magazine No. 4

The move will mean leaving the publications we’re used to buying, or in my case, writing for, here. (Fortunately, I'll still be able to write for the Journey!)

Goodbye, Barb

The first Barb of the year

The Berkeley Barb has been my paddle in strange waters, sometimes my sounding board.

Goodbye, Oracle

A recent Oracle

And the San Francisco Oracle has been a predictor in uncertain times, a wad of possible futures, many of them hopeful. I don’t know if we will be able to get it in New York. We shall see.

Oh, wait, I forgot that I've already written for The East Village Other, and I've been reading that paper for awhile. And there is so much music, so much in NYC! I'm looking forward to John Cage concerts and St. Mark's Church events, and so on I've seen in the Other, and oh, the museums!

The Guggenheim

Museums and Concerts and Protests, Oh, My!

I especially want to see the Guggenheim both for the art and the architect. And the 59th Street Bridge, just so I can feel groovy! And we'll want to visit friends at The Bead Game (an old pharmacy building with drawers of beads). I've never been to New York before.

In fact, when I think about it, I've never been east of Arizona. Just crossing the country will be, yes, OK, a "trip," a learning experience. We aren't doing a lot of fitting out of our bus, because travel expenses are included in Mel's deal, and so there's money for motels and meals out. We're also taking camping stuff so we can stop at nice places to camp and put up a tent. I was taking a course of allergy shots in SF, so there's a spot in our new Coleman ice chest for my vaccine, and Mel will administer them. We will join protests in New York City as we have here. So much to do, tee do dee, please excuse me. I'm just bursting into song. I'll be happy to report from time to time.

I hope you'll keep tuning in!

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