A month without internet connection but with Christmas and crab and love

Which explains why I haven't written on this blog in a month!  The nice little sweet cottage where I am now living, in Glen Ellen, hasn't been able to sustain a connection and I haven't been home enough (work, Mendocino, dog sitting, more work) to figure it out and make it happen.  Thus, no blog posts. At this moment I am at work, just letting the two or three people who check this blog regularly to not give up hope: I will return.  Sadly, perhaps they have already given up hope and have gone elsewhere for their quota of boring, useless news. Sigh.

To recap the past month, I moved in the week before Thanksgiving, have gotten pretty settled and I think it will work out well. It's less than 250 square feet but it is very homey and seems more spacious than 250 sq feet.  I will try and get a photo of it for you, but words will have to suffice at this point.

I also had a catering gig with my daughter one night, got to dog-sit the cute Hannah for a week, went to Mendocino for two nights with the kids, their mates and dogs and met John and Diane there and had a lovely, relaxing time. We all enjoyed it and we all hope it can become an annual pre-Christmas get-together. There is something so nice about a nice hotel in a beautiful setting where one can retire to one's room when one needs quiet time, and where dogs are  not just tolerated but openly invited. 

Then Christmas Eve was upon us, my favorite day of the year. Dar and I drove early in the morning to get live crab at Bodega Bay, a beautiful drive for a worthy cause. (Who doesn't love fresh cooked crab, I ask you?)  Lots of tasty bites, lots of good champagne, crab, more snacks and tons of gifts to open, it was the best Christmas Eve ever!  (I say that every year, of course.) 

  YUMMY!

In the middle of all that was work, work, work.

And now it is the last day of the year, the last day of the decade. We can only hope that 2020 is a good year. Better than 2019. We can hope for it and we can do our part to help make that happen by voting, making others vote, by eating better, monitoring what we can do for the environment, helping good causes either with monetary donations or the gift of volunteering our time, loving each other, being kind and generous and by trying to be happy and make others happy.  Whew!  It's a daunting list of things to accomplish but I know we can all do it, do our part, and have a good year.

I hope to be back writing again soon. Thanks for reading.

Mistaken identity: Advil for Ambien

It might seem an impossible mistake, but I have some Advil that are not round, they are long and capsule-shaped and they are a dark rust color. The Ambien I occasionally take are the same color and roughly the same size. In a normal life (not mine!) they would NEVER share the same pill bottle for obvious reasons.

Yesterday I woke around 7:00 to get ready for work, took my shower, reached for a tiny traveling pill bottle, shook out my blue blood pressure pill and a tiny, oblong dark rust colored pill that I was, at that hour, certain was an Advil. (The Advil was in a separate bottle, since they would NEVER share the same pill bottle. HA!)  Down they went with a glass of water. I was staying at Jenn's, so I went into the kitchen to cobble together a salad for lunch since there is little food available where I work. After about ten minutes I began to feel quite odd. A little spacey, light-headed, couldn't quite figure out where my feet were. This never happens to me unless I am drinking heavily (which rarely happens these days) and thus I was a little unprepared for this bizarre physical weirdness. Especially before  8:00 in the morning!

Even with the fuzz in my head, a light bulb went on in my spongy mind and the realization that I had taken an Ambien instead of an Advil became a certainty. Holy cow!  I was due at work in 15 minutes. What to do?  My son was up, I mentioned it to him, he suggested I not go to work. Not an option. He suggested I not drive. Again, not really an option, I was fine.  (Again, HA!)

I floated out to the car, lunch in hand, and somehow my car knew the way; I got to work safely (it's only 3 miles after all) but when I walked into the Clubhouse, my coworker looked and me and very hesitantly said "Good morning..... are you OK?"  

I wasn't.  It was not unlike being drunk, the room was shimmering a bit, tilting a little, my thoughts were as scattered as tumbleweeds in a wind storm, my eyes were a bit unfocused and things remained that way for a couple of hours. 

Trying to stay awake after taking a sleeping aid is quite difficult. Ambien is a sedative and can be a hypnotic. It is an immediate release drug, so no wonder it hit me within ten minutes.  Once the drunk feeling dissipated (after about 3 hours) it was a struggle to not curl up and take a nap. My shift was over at 5:00 and I was certainly "sober" but very tired. Back at Jenn's for the night I spent a bit of time just staring into space, my mind and body exhausted.  

Lights were out before 9:00 pm and when the alarm went off this morning at 5:50 am, I felt like I could have slept for 8 more hours but so, so relieved that I actually just got a good 8 hours of sleep. 

We learn life lessons everyday if we are paying attention. Small ones, big ones, some important and some trite, but lessons nonetheless.  There will never be another Advil-Ambien mistaken identity in my life, of that I am certain. Lesson learned.

    vs  

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Thanksgiving, moving, food and love.

Whining about moving into a new cottage is so, so ridiculous. I would take down the previous post but it's how I felt at the time so it will stay there. But I am a bit abashed about it all. How many people in the world have NOTHING? 

Thanksgiving was at Jenn and Dar's so you know the food was outstanding. There were ten of us, a motley crew, all very different and we had a great time. Jenn and Dar have a pool table in a little funky room and it is such a crowd-pleaser. I think almost everyone embarrassed themselves attempting to channel Minnesota Fats or Fast Eddy. (To be truthful, Dar didn't embarrass herself, she actually plays rather well.)  We drank a lot of wine, ate everything that was be offered and laughed and discussed and argued a bit. It was wonderful!

Moving is stressful and exhausting, we all know that. But to have the ability to move, to have the means and the opportunity to actually find housing in this county, housing that is affordable (thanks to my generous landlords) and good and new, it is something to be hugely thankful for. And I am. 


In a day we a will be a month away from entering a new decade. A new year, a new start.  Old problems, yes. Climate and the homeless, our POTUS and lack of a Democratic candidate who can win in 2020, these are problems that will not disappear. But there is always room for change. Always room to forge ahead. 


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Moving, movers, moved. But not yet home.

All the other times I have moved, it took a few days. Many boxes were schlepped on one day, more on the next, furniture got moved,  and finally, after three or four days it was done. This time I hired movers and therefore packed everything up and waited for them to take it all. What looked like a ton of stuff in my living room hardly looked like anything on the moving truck. What took me several days to box up took the movers an hour to load on the truck, and that included all the furniture I had, which wasn't much.

So everything was deposited into the small new place last Thursday. Most of the boxes were unpacked and some of the stuff was put on shelves and in cupboards and the bed was set up and I still don't know if I should move the bed to the other wall and the couch and TV to a different place. But with 250 square feet of space there ain't a lot of area in which to position stuff. I need other eyes on it, like Annie, to help make sure the space is used to its maximum benefit. 

It has been a very odd emotional and psychological adventure because it has been a very odd move. The cottage was supposed to be reconstructed two years ago but the Tubbs fire, which burned a lot of Glen Ellen, put that off. Then the contractors thought it would be done in the spring, then July 4th, then Labor Day, then October. It has been such a waiting game..... to the extent where I was ready to call the whole thing off. 

Plus, usually when one moves, one scopes out a couple of possible places, mulls it over, decides on one and then moves in, knowing exactly what to expect because the property has already been vetted. In this case, I showed up last Thursday with the movers and all my stuff and it was the first time I had seen it even close to being finished. It was like a fait accompli, a done deal. The cottage is lovely, the contractors did a really nice job, there are nice touches, good materials and it is brand new. But it still is a strange situation. It will take more ingenuity than I have to make everything fit well, but I am trying.  Again, I need another set of eyes on it and I hope that happens soon, in the next several weeks.

Emotionally, I am feeling a little sad and a little hopeful and a lot exhausted. Exhaustion isn't simply a physical reaction, of course. My mind feels overloaded and blank at the same time.

That's all for now. More to be said. Tomorrow.

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Thinking more about the Tom Hanks interview.

These are scary times we live in. Threats from other countries, impeachment hearings in our own country, bombings, fires, floods, more fires, more tragedy. Yes we have a good economy and low unemployment but we also have a joker as POTUS and all that entails. And it entails a lot. It means we often wake up at 2:15 a.m. wide-eyed and afraid and we can't sleep until 20 minutes before the alarm goes off. It means we no longer trust anyone or anything except that stupid alarm clock and sometimes not even that. It means we are sad and marginally depressed.

It means we need to find something that will let us peer over the foxhole we have created for ourselves and not think we will be shot in the forehead.  Grim, yes, but just saying.

Thinking about Tom Hanks makes me feel better. Don't ask me why. He is just a guy, just one more person in the universe but when he said this about being a parent, I cried:  "Somewhere along the line, I figured out, the only thing really, eventually a parent can do is say I love you, there's nothing you can do wrong, you cannot hurt my feelings, I hope you will forgive me on occasion and what do you need me to do?  You offer that up to them. I will do anything I can possibly do in order to keep you safe. That's it. Offer that up and then just love them."

Of course, that's what I have been doing for the last 46 years but it's so difficult to know if that's enough and it is never enough. There is no way to keep anyone safe, we simply try to do our best.

Another reason the article hit home was because I am in the middle of packing all my crap again, moving again. Right now, in Santa Rosa, this is the 7th place I have lived in (not counting the week or two here or there in a friend's place or in a motel) since 2011.  This next move will be the 8th. Is it any wonder I feel dispassionate about the move and displaced? Hanks mentions that he moved a lot as a kid, he has nothing of his life when he was 5 or 6 years old. I can totally relate.... I have nothing much from my 20's or 30's, not to mention my childhood. I don't miss that, but I do recognize that it's odd. Sort of like a huge part of my past is covered with barely see-through white-out, foggy, not clear but there.

I pride myself on not having a lot of junk, not carrying much along the path, but having to pack it all up, finding small reminders of my late friend Martha, of my past vacations with my second husband, finding photos of my first marriage, it's dissembling in surprising ways. Did I fail at that part of my life? Did life fail me? Was I a good friend, am I a good friend, can I just shut the lid on that box and move on?

Ah, the vagaries of life. Maybe it's just my unsettledness of life right now that makes me cry about almost any and everything. But I still think that having Tom Hanks as my neighbor would be sweet.  As Mr. Rogers said, "Please won't you be my neighbor?" 

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Read this, not just to feel good but just because: Tom Hanks

For years I have been wishing I lived next door to Tom Hanks because I imagine asking to borrow a stick of butter, or having spontaneous small dinners, like BBQ or just wine and snacks together. Tom Hanks has always seemed like a smart guy who would be an easy neighbor.

Well, who would have thought he would be morphing into Fred Rogers and asking me "Won't you be my neighbor?"

In the 1970-80's I was working in Menlo Park and living in Daly City, at least a 30 minute drive in the car with my two kids. When I got home from work I would park those two kids shamelessly in front of the TV for 30 minutes and Mr. Rogers would occupy their small yet vibrant minds and calm them down after a day of stimulation.  The key words here are: Calm. Them. Down. Mr. Rogers did nothing to excite kids, he did everything to simply talk to them in a calm, nice, safe voice. However he did it, it worked. The kids watched, listened and chilled out.

Tom Hanks is now Fred Rogers in the just-released movie "A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood" and there is no one who could be better at Mr. Rogers than Tom Hanks and I say that without having even seen the trailer. I just know it.

I just finished reading an interview with and article about Tom Hanks in the NY Times. It is not often that a simple piece about a regular man written by a staff writer moves me to tears but this one did. Not just moved to tears but out-and-out crying.  But I felt in good company because the writer, Taffy Brodesser-Akner also confesses that in the middle of her research/dialogue/interview she also broke down in tears and Tom Hanks said "It's okay to cry. I am here for you. It's good to cry. It's good to talk."

Seriously, what movie star would say or do that? Well, Tom Hanks, I suppose. Which is another reason why I wish I lived next door to him.

Here is the article/interview. Read it. I have much more to say about all this because I have been in a state of .... what to call it? Angst? Unease? Crappiness?  Not sure how to identify it but I am getting closer to figuring out why. More on that later as well. 


https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/13/movies/tom-hanks-mister-rogers.html?action=click&module=Top%20Stories&pgtype=Homepage

Netflix: "Fire in Paradise" Watch it.

A year ago the small town of Paradise was destroyed by a fire that moved 100 yards a second. Not just Paradise, but all the small enclaves around that town were wiped out. Almost 90 people were killed, many burned in their cars as they tried to escape. Named the Camp Fire because of where it started, it was the deadliest and most destructive fire in California history. It burned for 16 days, covered more than 240 square miles and wiped out more than 18,000 structures, most of them destroyed in the first six hours of the fire. The spread of the fire and its intensity were ferocious.

Netflix is showing a 45 minute documentary on the fire and everyone should watch it. It is a portent of fires to come. The last fire we had here in Northern California, the Kincade fire, was small compared to the Camp Fire but some of the factors were the same: high temps, dry grass, very low humidity and wind.

"Fire in Paradise" will chill you with its human terror and it should make you shudder at the number of lives that it could have taken, those who were told to get out of their cars and huddle on concrete for five hours, only to see their abandoned cars burned to nothing after those hours. Told by regular people who were there, it is a testament to the power of fire and the resilience of human hope and its power to survive. The film seems rushed at times and there is so much that happened, so much more than this 45 minute doc shows, that it barely gives you time to catch your breath. But I think that could be intentional:  the Camp Fire was out of control within its first hour, and the video captures that frantic, out of control rage of the fire.

It's just tragic that it isn't a movie. It is real. Out of control is no longer outside reality. "Fire in Paradise" makes you want to turn your head, turn it off. Instead, watch it.

Those fires will continue, count on it.

They continue to burn throughout California. POTUS continues to deride California for its lack of foresight, not mentioning that the current fires are not in a forest but on city streets, in fields, in chaparral, in shopping centers, near the ocean, burning homes, churches, schools and making all of us Californians worried, frightened and incredibly anxious.  We will remain so until rains fall.

And then, next summer, it will happen again. As Jerry Brown said last year, this is the new normal. Fires will happen over and over as our climate changes (fake news to the POTUS until his home burns down or the waters rise and drown his resorts) and as our government does nothing to even try to remedy that.  Time is running out on that scenario.

Scary times. I am not going to belabor the issue except to say that I have talked to at least a dozen people in the past week who are actively looking for another place to live, out of California. Can't blame them. It is getting more and more expensive to live here and not just monetarily. The psychological toll it takes waiting for the mandate to evacuate one's home, waiting for the smoke, the flames, the emergency every summer..... it is getting too much to take.

And the fires will continue. Fire season is not over yet. The nights are cold but it was 80 degrees today in Santa Rosa. We pray for rain.

"Echo in the Canyon" on Netflix

It appears that during my formative years in the Los Angeles area, amazing music was taking place in Laurel Canyon, a small neighborhood in the Hollywood Hills. How I missed all of this is a mystery to me, especially since I was a teenager at that time and should have been in tune with every single counterculture event within 100 miles of my small and unremarkable life. It appears I missed it all.

I missed the likes of Frank Zappa (who never appealed to me) and Jim Morrison of the Doors (ditto.) However, Joni Mitchell wrote her "Ladies of the Canyon"  album about the music scene there and the Byrds, Beach Boys, Buffalo Springfield and Jackson Browne were regulars in the area, playing music, sleeping around, getting high. Sad that I was not privy to all of that. 

On Netflix is a cool documentary, "Echo in the Canyon" about all of the above and more. Seriously, if you ever liked the music of the late 1960's and into the 70's,  you will like this musical history of not just Hollywood but of everywhere at that time. Great interviews with everyone: Crosby, Stills, Browne, Eric Clapton, Ringo, the late Tom Petty, Michelle Phillips, and on and on. The music is good, their stories are poetic, touching and funny and revealing. Jakob Dylan could have been a little warmer and less self righteous but given the talent he was up against, how could he have felt anything but awed by these amazing musicians. It's a great tour back in time and I give it two thumbs up.

Check it out. Free on Netflix.



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And the fires burn on

When I wrote that last post all was calm in my little spot in Santa Rosa. I stayed up until around 1:00 a.m. to see if the winds were going to ever materialize. At 1:30 they did. They were fierce and unrelenting. From that moment, I was awake with my heart pounding until close to 5:00 a.m., when I gave in to the terror and drove south to Petaluma to Ben and Stacey's, (along with another million people evacuating on Hwy. 101) where Jenn and Dar were staying. Sleepless, I was a bit of a wreck, fell onto their couch in my clothes and slept until 8. Three hours of sleep was enough for the moment.

The fire continued to advance, more evacuation notices were mandated. The winds were historically high all day on Sunday but around noon I drove back to my place, planning on not leaving again. Had a nap, a shower, read a book, heated up some leftovers, blah, blah, blah. But when I received a text from my friend Izzy in Coffey Park that the fire was a lot closer than expected, I drove south again and willingly slept on the Petaluma couch one more time, not as much out of fear of the fire but out of fear of those three women in Petaluma who were all but calling out the National Guard to physically move me out of Santa Rosa.

Thank you to Jenn, Dar and Stacey. And Ben.

It is Monday night. It feels like ten days have gone by since Saturday night. My shoulders hurt and I have a persistent dull headache. The fire is as much of a danger right now than it was two nights ago. But Steve, who has been without power for several days (but in no fire danger) is here tonight, sleeping on the floor. There is a sense of safety having someone else here, someone who can moderate my anxiety if need be. (Well, if you know Steve, you know that's not always the case, but we will move on.)
I made an awesome dinner, we watched some TV and it's now time to turn off this final light and go to bed. If we have to evacuate, the hi/lo sirens will come by and let us know. (And Nixel will do its pinging thing.)

Bottom line, there are fires roaring all over California. Please be safe, be cautious and observant and please be kind. If I believed in a god, I would ask that god to please watch over our firefighters. Instead, I ask that of the universe.

Peace. 

xo

Fire, as in California on fire

Unlike tens of thousands in the north bay, I have power. A little pocket of Santa Rosa has not gone dark, and I knock on wood every minute or so because I am in that little pocket. Not that a power outage would be terrible, but it's certainly a lot better to not be in the dark. Plus getting information is so much easier if you have access to it via electricity.

The Kincade fire in Geyserville is burning. We are waiting to see if the predicted high winds materialize. Having just taken Cooper out for his last walk of the night, I can tell you that the winds have not picked up here in Santa Rosa. It is calm and still and cool.  I remember well two years ago when I did the same walk with Cooper, the winds were already hot and heavy at 10:00. The smell of smoke was intense but the thought of a wildfire didn't occur to me, I just thought someone was having a late barbeque.  A few hours later, I knew better.  The Tubbs fire started near Calistoga a bit before my evening walk but because of the winds, the smoke was already hitting Santa Rosa a little after 10:00.

Today I sat with my friend Izzy at an outdoor Starbucks in Windsor as both of us received "evacuate" notices on our phones.  Starbucks closed down. We sat there and watched people leave the shopping center, watched the businesses shut down. Izzy saw her house in Coffey Park burn two years ago and just about two weeks ago she moved into her family's new house on that same location. Izzy and I decided we would sit there and finish our coffee. If we saw flames, we would leave. Bravado comes in all shapes and sizes.

So far, no flames this far south from the Kincade fire but that could change if the winds pick up and shift. Jenn and Dar in Guerneville were mandatorily evacuated. Steve in Kenwood has no power. Me in Santa Rosa, safe and powered up. The vagaries of the weather, the wind, the fates will continue and no one can stop them. It's not our job to do that, it's just our mission to be prepared, whatever that means. My sister Kate asked me yesterday if I had a bag ready in case I had to leave quickly. I replied No. But today I put a little bag together that has dog food, a dog bowl, dog biscuits, a tee shirt for me, a bottle of good wine, wine opener and a little zip lock bag with my toothbrush, toothpaste, passport and some cash. There is also a paper bag with about 50 photos from years ago.  That's it. Everything else can burn.

That's it for now. I am getting texts from many people asking me if I am in danger. Let's see how this plays out.

xoxo

Chalkboard dog

There is a small preschool in a house one down from my place and when I walk Cooper in the morning, early, we often see parents dropping off their kids. We, me and Cooper, always say hello, many of the parents and kids are familiar with our presence near the gate.

This was a dialogue from one of those mornings last week.  I saw the Dad, he was taking the kid out of the car. They both saw Cooper and thus this:

Dad:  Oh, what kind of a dog is that?  (I get this a lot.)
Me: Well, it's the good kind! Sort of a mix, a mutt, basically.
Kid: But what kind? 
Me:  Well, he's not a regular sort of dog, he's like a dog you draw on paper, or on the chalkboard, sort of in black and white.
Kid: Oh. (there's a pause....)   And then he comes to life!

Me: (there's a pause)  YES! And he came to life!
Me and Dad: chuckling.

Seriously, I almost cried. Cooper is now my Chalkboard Dog.
It sounds silly and the entire interaction took maybe 10 seconds but it was profound in its small way and it made my week.

xo

Paul Simon and Joan Baez, hello?

For reasons that are obvious, one needs to acknowledge the power of the internet and especially the immediate joy of sites like Youtube. Archival footage of Johnny Cash singing on Ed Sullivan's show with Bob Dylan, way before we even knew who they were. Diagrams and instructions of how to rewire your car sound system or make a new fob for that key you just lost. How to make bread. Ways to train your kid to sleep through the night or how to train  your dog not to bark at the mail delivery person, aka mailman.

But my favorite is watching music stuff (see above, Cash and Dylan). Tonight I watched Joan Baez and Paul Simon sing "The Boxer" on a stage in New York, just about a year ago. Two of my favorite singers and writers, both born in 1941 (who knew?), incredible on stage and amazing together. This is why Youtube is important.  Well, at least to me.  

Skip the ads but check this out:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fB-8Wr6a-8


Check out so much more, all those old singers, you can relive your love of them in concert or just singing. I wish we had videos from the late 1960's when I first saw performers like Gordon Lightfoot (with his halo of blond hair) and Joan Baez and John Stewart (with his sexy bravado) and Stevie Nicks (!) and so many more. Now we can find them and see them on the TV screen.... makes me want to stay up all night and sing along and dance!

OK, back to getting my nostalgic grove on, which basically means listening to old songs and getting weepy.

sniff.  xoxo

Power outages predicted, but who knows where or when?

If it wasn't serious it would certainly be amusing: PGE is going to turn off power to hundreds of thousands of North Bay residents tonight at midnight but the PGE website isn't working so finding out if you are one of those lucky participants in the "How Long Will My Fridge Stay Cold" sweepstakes is pretty much impossible right now.  I'm sure it's because the traffic to the site is congested and overloaded with clicks, but one would have thought they might have anticipated that situation and upgraded their server (or whatever it takes) to handle the traffic. But no. 

Two years ago on this exact date was the Tubbs Fire. Extremely high winds and very low humidity, dry conditions, etc... and tonight it is a repeat of those conditions. High winds are predicted early Wednesday morning and PGE is shutting off power to prevent downed power lines, sparking, etc.  We all get it, at least those of us who were here two years ago and could see the fire from our front porches. I am fine with cutting the power  but not fine with PGE's website failing, thus making it impossible to get any news updates about their plans. 

For most of us it is simply an inconvenience. (Perhaps more than inconvenient.... right now there is no gas station within 3 miles of me that has gas, such was the rush to fill one's tank this afternoon. My tank is not full. I will see how that plays out.)  If the power is out for 24 hours, nothing drastic will happen. Longer than that some food might be lost. If one had medical needs that demanded electricity, that would be a different story and additional plans would need to be in place. For most of us it means dark at sundown, not doing a lot of cooking unless you have a gas stove you can light with a match.  No TV, no computer. Reading by candlelight. Whatever. 

We'll see how this plays out,  but if it means avoiding another catastrophic fire, more loss of life, then it is 100% worth the "inconvenience" and the frustration of not having electricity for a few days.

As long as we can flush the toilet and the poop goes away, all is well. Seriously. Priorities, folks. Priorities.

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October and scrambling for time

October is typically my favorite month of the year and I am not alone in that. Who doesn't love this time of the year? It's cold at night, warm (hot) during the day (could be less hot and I would be happy, just saying) and the leaves are starting to turn colors. I drive through the Russian River Valley to work and those grapevines are just beginning to bleed orange and yellow and bronze. The sun still lights them up on my way home and they are seriously dazzling. In a week or two, even better. 

This year has seemingly disappeared in a rush of time. Three more months left and it's 2020. Remember when we were all nervous about Y2K and the End of the World as We Know It, the crashing of all computers, the end of the banking ATM world?  HA!  That all seems so old fashioned now. Twenty years ago. A generation.  Now all we have to worry about is a maniac in power, the UK disassembling, Russian spies and trolls, climatic chaos, abuse, detention, deception and destruction of the planet.  Makes one long for the fears of Y2K. 

It's time to plan Thanksgiving dinners. It's time to think about Christmas Eve crab feasts. It's time to realize that there aren't many more years in one's life and it's time to figure out how to cut the crap and stop wasting whatever days, weeks, months, years one has left. 

"Time makes you bolder, even children get older and I'm getting older too." 

That's all for now. Been up since 5:00 this morning, time for bed. But there is so much more to say on this subject, and I will.

LTBT

Too busy to write, but not too busy to read

As much time as I spend working and running stupid errands and taking naps and walking the dog, I still have time to read. As much as possible. Last Saturday I was at Jenn's in Guerneville and I had committed the entire morning to read a small book my friend Tom recommended: "The Order of the Day" by a French writer, Eric Vuillard.  It is a small book in size but a large book in stature. If I tell you a bit about it, you have to promise not to yawn and think it is boring. It is anything but boring. I read it straight through, in one 3 hour sitting.

In 1933 several leaders of commerce in Germany are called to a meeting in the country and asked to fund a new type of government by an unknown political wannabe.  These leaders pony up millions of dollars so that their pockets can be heavy with financial gain and so that this new leader, Hitler, can create and expand his Nazi party.

A few years later Austria is taken over by the Nazi party, the country's government replaced by Nazi officials. Greed wins out and for the moment, those leaders of commerce win. It is the beginning of Hitler's Third Reich. 

It is a remarkable book in its scope of history but even more remarkable in its beautiful narration of an ugly, brutal, atrocity that was the Nazi government. The insidiousness of that government's lies and deceit are presented in such a way that makes you keep reading, almost making you, the reader, uncertain of the outcome. As odd as that sounds, because we all know how that story ends, the writing is so compelling that it's like reading a mystery:  "how is this going to end?"

One can draw parallels to our current political climate but I am not going to walk down that path right now. Do yourself a favor, find this book, read it and understand that the history of 85 years ago is not that much removed from the history of this moment.  Different clothes, different names, same madness.



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Past, Present, Future and Dying

It's age, I suppose, the enigma that forces you to take stock of the past, to dwell on the present and try and outwit the future. Whatever it is, it is powerful. And disturbing and hopeful and depressing and so much more, all at once. There is nothing new about this thought process, nothing new at all, but still, it creeps up on you and pounces, scraping at your heart and soul like a tiger hungry for fame.

A colleague of mine, an amazing young woman, mid 20's, was very seriously injured in a car crash on Monday morning on her way to work. While I hate to admit it, we don't always look at life too closely until some tragedy occurs and then we think "What if?" and "What now?" and so many more "whats and hows and whys."  We should be looking at life a lot more closely ALL THE TIME.  Fucking shit happens and we are NEVER prepared for it, but of course, no one can be prepared for all the fucking shit that happens, especially the accidental variety, but still. We should be thinking about life and love and loss and everything else a lot more often than we actually do.

Even if there were no car accidents, no surprising deaths, no trips to the vet, to the ER, to the police station, to a lawyer's office, to the confessional, even if one's life seemed benign and happy, there is no logical reason to believe those accidents, deaths, vet bills, cop statements, excuses to the priest aren't going to happen and take their toll. They are going to happen. Get ready. Complacency is a menace. 

My Mom would have been 99 years old this year, last month to be exact.  My daughter is 46 years old, my son is 42. I am 69 years old. These are numbers that are not insignificant.  That hooded guy in the black robe with the scythe is waiting in the wings for all of us. While I no longer need to worry about my Mom, thank goodness, I continue to worry about my kids. And my siblings and my friends, my dog, everyone's dogs, everyone's safety and health. 

I say all of this not to be a doomsayer. Not to be the portent of gloom or doom. I say all of this out loud because life is so precarious and precious**, so whimsical and so dangerous that we all need to be aware of that whimsy and danger and love each minute of grace and safety that we occasionally enjoy while, at the same time, be aware of its fleeting existence. In other words, let's all be more grateful and more present and let's all reach out with kindness more often than we do now and let's all acknowledge, even to oneself, that everything we have and love can be shut down in one instant. And therefore appreciate everything we have and love even more.

I love you all. Be careful out there.

xo

** how interesting that those two words, precarious and precious are exactly the same except for that "ar" in the middle. Hmmm.....

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"Chances Are..." by Richard Russo

Russo is one of my favorite fiction writers. We are about the same age and following his work these past 20+ years has been, at times, like looking in a mirror of experiences and life adventures.  This new novel has three guys in their late 60's, college pals, meeting up for a weekend in Martha's Vineyard, ghosts of the past shadowing them every minute and from every corner.

Maybe it's because these three men, Lincoln (somewhat successful real estate guy) and Teddy (the soft, emotional, unfocused one) and Mickey (motorcycle riding softie) reminded me of men I once knew, sort of still know, always wanted to know..... that caused me to really fall for this story. It is not without its flaws, of course. The paths the guys take, the rationale with which they justified their crazy actions, the unrequited love they have for their lost communal girlfriend Jacy, none of it works in real life. But it all works in Russo's hands. He makes you care about these people, flaws and all, negative nuances, every pimple is shown and yet we accept all of it because, goddammit, we like these people. They are our age (well, my age) and they still hum the same songs I do. 

And more than those songs, they still in their souls believe in righteousness and love, kindness and revenge. And in John Fogerty and Led Zeppelin and the Stones.

I really liked this story. It gets tied up too neatly at the end but I knew that would happen after I read 25 pages. Russo is good at characters, at making the reader respond to those characters. Situational ethics loom large here at times, but I sort of think that is part of our (my) generation as well.  "If you can do a bad thing to save a good person, if you can tell a small lie to avoid a large catastrophe, is it justified?"

If you are over the age of 50, I think you will identify with Lincoln, Teddy, Mickey and Jacy. If you are wise and under 50, the same. But hey, I could be wrong and everyone, of every age could hate it. Probably not.

For me, two thumbs up. Put it on your library list.

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"Once Upon a Time ...... in Hollywood" Tarantino's newest film

Having seen all but two of Quentin Tarantino's movies, I consider myself a fan of his work. Yes, his movies are usually bloody and seemingly unnecessarily so but they are movies, not real life. "Pulp Fiction" remains on my top ten best movie lists of all time, perhaps even in the top five of that list. Sometimes the violence is so over-the-top cinematically that it becomes almost funny, an exaggeration of violence that seems mocking at times.

But "Once Upon a Time ... in Hollywood" has no blood and guts until the end and even then it seems somehow relevant to the rest of the movie, albeit in a twisted way. The basic plot is about two aging film "stars", one a B-list actor and the other a stunt man. We get an idea of their relationship from the first take and it just gets better and more personal from there. Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt are so well suited to their roles that I cannot imagine anyone else but them as Rick Dalton and Cliff Booth, respectively.  As he usually does, Tarantino has small cameo and bit parts for so many amazing actors: Bruce Dern, Margot Robbie, Al Pacino, Dakota Fanning, Kurt Russell, Timothy Olyphant and many more.  Plus the movie has one of the best movie dogs ever, a pit bull named Brandy.  And other plus:  there is a scene in which Brad Pitt takes off his shirt.  Oh, need I say more?

Yes, there is the side story of Sharon Tate and her friends at her house in the Hollywood Hills, but in true Tarantino style, that story is a bit warped.  I will say no more.

"OUATIH" takes place in 1969, the same year as Woodstock. The detail to that era is incredible: cars, buildings, movie marquees, TV shows, cultural references. Tarantino's tongue-in-cheek humor abounds in subtle ways. There are time shifting scenes, but not as much as in "Pulp Fiction" but enough to keep you paying attention. There are dozens of mentions of movies of that year and clips of several, some doctored to have DiCaprio's character Rick Dalton holding a starring role.

I loved this movie. Steve and I came out of the theater laughing, a tribute to Tarantino and the entire cast, to the writing, editing and the real-life absurdity of the entire thing.  I understand that many people don't like Quentin Tarantino's movies and I get that. But this movie is like a love song to the 1960's and since that's my generation, I thank him for that love song.

"Woodstock" documentary on Netflix, made by PBS

For my generation, 1968-1969 defined us, solidified us and made us, in many ways, who we still are today. Starting early in 1968, the TET offensive was a blow to the South Vietnamese and to the US forces in Vietnam, exacerbating the anti war sentiment in the US. In April, the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. in Memphis was a shocking and brutal blow not just to the Civil Rights Movement but to everyone who fought for justice.  Then, the almost inconceivable assassination of Robert Kennedy in June in Los Angeles threw many into despair for our political structure and our nation. By the time of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in August of 1968, the country was so divided about so many things, in retrospect the violence in the streets of Chicago should have been easily predicted.

In January of 1969, Richard Nixon was sworn in as President and the Vietnam War continued. The generation born in the 1950's, the Baby Boomers as they would be called, adamantly opposed the war, hated Nixon and felt disenfranchised from the rest of the country, from politics and from what they called "The Establishment."

Early in 1969 a couple of guys from the East Coast decided to produce a huge rock concert, something outdoors, and they planned to sell enough tickets to make a bundle of money. After their original venue fell through less than a month before the festival was to start, they scrambled and found Yasgur's farm in New York. Tickets had been sold, performers had been booked, there was no way the concert could not go on.

This documentary is a pleasure to watch. Not just because of the history of the concert/festival  but the footage of how it actually happened, how people from thousands of miles away converged on this property for the music and the camaraderie and the love, it is all here and it is amazingly fun to watch. I knew a bit about Woodstock (I was 19 years old, after all) but there are so many points made that I was unaware of:  the townspeople gathered up everything in their pantries, made sandwiches for the kids because at one point there was no food left. The military flew in Hueys with dozens of doctors to help those at the festival who needed medical help. The Hog Farm Commune cooked buckets and buckets of rice and corn for the masses and gave it away. It was the first time Crosby, Stills and Nash ever played together. And more. Hearing and watching Jimi Hendrix play the national anthem that sounds, even today, like bombs falling and like exploding grenades while at the same time sounding like the national anthem is still mesmerizing.

Seriously, if you are of the Baby Boom generation, or if you are not, watch this. It will renew your love of music, kindness, cooperation, peace and love, and I mean that honestly. There is doubt in my mind that anyone of any age could pull off such a celebration of peace, love, music, decency and kindness now. Sadly, our world is so different now than it was 50 years ago. Even with all the murder, trauma, hate and political discord in that era, it is worse now.

Woodstock was amazing. As one participant said, "It stopped the clock for three days."  Check it out.