We both know what memories can bring: they bring diamonds and rust.

Because she is on her last music tour and because I have been a huge fan since the late 60's, I have been listening to and thinking of Joan Baez a lot lately. It's easy to download her music but I am old school and so get CDs out of the library to listen in my car. As her friend John Wasserman said, she had, in the 1960-1980's, the voice of an angel.  Her range was huge and when she hit those floating high notes, well, yes, the angels were envious.

And then there are the lyrics and the emotion she conveys in every song. Listen (on youtube) to "Love Song to a Stranger" and tell me that you don't want to go back to being thirty years younger and sleep on a twin bed with a stranger. "Don't tell me of love everlasting and other sad dreams, I don't want to hear.  Just tell me of passionate strangers who rescue each other from a lifetime of cares." 

For me it has been years and years of Joan Baez. Not only have I admired her dedication to humanitarian causes and issues but I admire her honesty and her bluntness about her life, what she has done, what she has chosen and what she has ignored. But mostly I simply love her voice and her songs.  I have seen her perform a couple of times and will see her in Oakland in late November for what might be the final night of her final tour. Her voice now is lower and has less range but it is still wonderful. I am looking forward to seeing her then.

As a side note, Baez has a son named Gabriel. He was born in 1969 so would have been 8 years old when my Gabriel was born. In the early 1970's I was in Muir Woods to see the redwoods, when it was accessible and easy to do so. I heard a mother say "Gabriel, stop!" the way mothers do and I turned to see a small kid, about six years old with crazy curly hair, stop at his mother's command. Could it have been Gabriel Harris?  Maybe. I wasn't cognizant enough to turn to see who the mother was, but from that moment I loved that name. Thus, I have my own Gabriel. 
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Far too long

There are many thoughts and ideas rolling around my brain right now and I intend to write about them all. Soon, very soon. It appears that having what started as a part-time gig at Autocamp (autocamp.com, check it out) has temporarily morphed into a bigger part time job. Not 40 hours a week but more than 30.  It's OK for now because there are new hires coming on and the money is helpful (well, duh) and I know it's not permanent.  Plus it will boost my earnings and therefore translate into a little more Social Security for me in two years.

But all that is just a smoke screen as to why I have not been writing this blog.  A sturdy smoke screen but smoke and mirrors just the same.  I have things to say, things about books, food, music, sleeping and eating and drinking, everything that makes getting out of bed worth putting that foot on the floor.

I will write tomorrow. I would do it now but Holy Cow!!!! Look at the time!!! I hate staying up after 11:00 unless I am hanging out with friends, chatting and sipping something delicious, so off to bed I go.  The only friend I have with me at this moment is asleep on the couch and does not share my enjoyment of drinking, chatting or hanging out with friends.  (That's my Cooper, I love that guy but what a boring date!)

More to follow.......  and thank you for your patience.

Thoughts of dogs

Because of a comment by my lovely daughter-in-law Annie, I have been considering the thoughts of dogs.  We know (or we presume) that they don't have cogent thought like us mere humans, but we also know that they can be very smart.  Dogs have been known to discriminate between toys, being able to go to a basket of toys and pick up the toy carrot or squirrel or book, depending on what their owner has asked for. They can make decisions based on some trained or innate knowledge, such as not to cross the street when they hear the noise of a car approaching.  Service dogs can be trained in ways us simple mortals cannot imagine. 

So that leads to the question: in their down time, what goes on in their minds? Do they think in images or sounds or smells? Do dogs ruminate on past experiences (i.e. do they remember stuff) or are their minds purely in the present tense, only harkening back to training when necessary or prompted?

In other words, what is going on in those pea-sized brains when they are not looking at us longingly or anxiously or happily? When they want a cookie, what do they see in their mind's eye or do they see anything other than a picture of a cookie?  Is it any shape of a cookie or just one they are most familiar with?  Do they imagine a chicken leg being handed to them or a fat, juicy steak and are they then disappointed when they get a tiny, dried morsel of pressed stuff called a dog biscuit? Do they long for a real biscuit with butter or chicken gravy?  (Well, hell yes they do, I long for a real biscuit with chicken gravy almost every day!)  When they appear to be staring at the wall are they perhaps rolling film of a past day, a former romp in the sun, and if so, does that make them happy or sad or am I reaching too far here and anthropomorphizing them too much?  Quite possible, of course.

Obviously I need to do some internet research on this and find out what the experts say. I will do so and I will report back. If you are  a dog owner, stay tuned.  If you are a cat owner, I can't help you..... do your own research.  Cats don't think about biscuits, and that is sad for them. 




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"Anatomy of a Miracle" by Jonathan Miles

It is difficult to explain this novel which at the outset pretends to be a true story, a reporter's account of Cameron, a paralyzed veteran from the war in Afghanistan who suddenly gets up and walks.  (Since this happens in the first three pages of the book and is the major focus of the story, this is not a spoiler.)  No one can explain this sudden medical anomaly and therefore it begins to be seen as a miracle, a gift from God. Before long, the parking lot of the cheap convenience store where this "miracle" occurred becomes a shrine to Cameron, his primary doctor begins pouring over scans and X-rays and medical data to explain what happened, the Vatican gets involved to turn an adjunct to this miracle into a saint and we get flashbacks to Cameron's days in Afghanistan.  

This is one strange story, at first just a bit amusing, sometimes laugh-out-loud funny. But slowly the story becomes more than a kind of miracle, slowly things begin to unravel for Cameron and we see other sides to his life, we see his faith in everything questioned and a modicum of truth about the "miracle" slides into view. 

Mile's descriptions are clear and vivid:  His black hair was veined with gray and combed assiduously back, and the lines of his face were straight and severe, as though sculpted from some impossibly adamantine material. He wore a midnight-colored suit that even Hat, attuned to the fineries of menswear, recognized as expertly tailored, and in his hand was a briefcase made from a leather more supple and mellow than any leather she'd seen. Approaching the counter he carried himself bluntly but with aristocratic poise, the air and light seeming to part for him out of an ancient deference.  Hat noticed a silver pin, on his suit lapel, consisting of two crossed keys that were banded beneath a bejeweled triple crown."  The writing is simply wonderful.

"Anatomy of a Miracle" is a dialogue about faith vs reality, belief vs imagination, the past and the present at odds with the future and mainly, in the end, about compassion and love.  While this story flies out in many different directions, it always comes back to Cameron and the story of a life.  Check it out, it's a great read.

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April 13: When I look in the mirror, I see my Mom's face.

Ah, this is difficult. Tomorrow, April 13, is the first anniversary of my Mom's death. I know a lot of people out there who have lost their parents, so I know this is not anything unusual. My Mom was old, she was 96 when she died, she lived a long life and for the last 20 years I think she was happy.  Before that, I believe she had some happy times but not a happy life.

When I look in the mirror, I do see her face. Maybe my brothers see our Dad's face, maybe not, I don't know. None of us have talked about that, maybe no one thinks about it.

As much as I knew it was Mom's time to die, it was so hard being there on that last day. Not to go into details, but I try to erase that span of six hours from my memory card and focus on all the times before that. 

Mom wasn't the best at raising six kids on a very small income. She had a few good moments, like when she made fried chicken or pies, or when she and Dad shared a cocktail before they went out to dinner without all of us kids. She had a lot of bad moments as well and I think both of my parents were unprepared for life, especially with six kids in nine years.

I do not miss anything about my childhood (except that chicken and those pies) but I miss things about the past 20 years relative to my Mom. I called her every Sunday.  Every. Sunday. No matter where I was.  I called her from Paris, Rome, Istanbul, Tunisia, from a small island off the coast of Sicily after Tom and I climbed up an inactive (not dead) volcano and we smelled like sulphur and Mom thought that was amazing. I called her from New York, New Orleans, Montreal, Hanoi, Oregon and Amsterdam.  I loved calling Mom from anywhere not in California because she loved that I was calling her from anywhere not home.  She always asked the same question: "Where are you and what time is it there?"  She delighted in the 5 - 8 - 12 hour time difference wherever I was. 

I miss those calls on Sunday. And I still read something and think "Mom would like this article" and then immediately skip to "Mom would have liked this article."  It's simply so strange that she is gone.  Well, physically gone.  I believe that she's out there somewhere.  Or she's been assigned a new body and is beginning again. Or maybe she's in heaven, like she always wanted to be, seeing her Dad and Mom again. Who knows?

I just know she's gone.  But it's okay. 

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Update on new job at Autocamp

The good news:  my coworkers are nice, helpful and mostly funny and smart.  The setting is lovely, a nice meadow with grass, the whole property surrounded by redwoods, a creek whispering in the background, those Airstreams gleaming in the sun. The main clubhouse building is open and airy and a fire pit adds warmth and a nice glow.

The bad news: in the end, it is just another high-end hotel with the same high maintenance guests and the same frantic day-of problems.  Sadly, people think it's a fine place to bring their kids and it isn't really set up for kids.  Even sadder is that a lot of parents pay no attention to their offspring, even when those little monsters tykes are tossing paper cups into the lit fire pit. Things break and things fall apart, maintenance is barely one step ahead of the guests' arrival to fix those broken things. The tents get flooded in the rain, slugs and ants crawl into the tents to get out of the rain and guests do not like crawly things in their bedrooms. And on and on.

But it's a decent job, it is certainly one that I can do easily, and it's only part time. The days are busy so the time goes by quickly.  It is beautiful when it rains and water pours off the sides of the clubhouse and the redwood trees smell like heaven. When the rain stops maybe it will still be beautiful.

Nothing else much to say.

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For all dog lovers, see "Isle of Dogs"

Even if you don't have a dog, even if you don't totally love dogs, just if you like oddly enticing movies, go see Wes Anderson's "Isle of Dogs."  It's really good. 

To tell why I liked this movie would be like telling why I like dogs. And that's just too complicated.  But this movie is very funny in the Wes Anderson manner, it's very endearing, very realistic in the political way his movies are. To get a little sense of the dogs in this picture, go to www.isleofdogsmovie.com  and watch the little clip. It doesn't tell you about the plot, but you will be introduced to a few of the key actors/dogs in the movie.  Plus, you can always simply google the title and see many  other clips.

See it. When you watch it, pay attention to the dogs eyes, and their paws and their ears. Wes Anderson captures not only their "voices" but their physical dynamics as well. The story is charming but not overly sweet, the dogs are as real as they can be and you will walk out of the theater smiling. 











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