POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN AN APRIL LACKING SHOWERS BUT NOT SIGHS. (April 18, 2023)

  “They say that to wait is the most excruciating of life’s torments. “They” in this case refers to writers, who have nothing useful to do, so fill their time thinking of things to say. Any working person can tell you that having time to wait is a luxury.”

                Sanderson, Brandon. Tress of the Emerald Sea: A Cosmere Novel (Secret Projects Book 1) (p. 26). Dragonsteel Entertainment, LLC.  

I am not a writer, but I do spend a lot of time writing here. I also have few things useful to do. I do not find time to wait a luxury. I consider it a prison. So there Brandon. I am enjoying your book however.

April in California this year is a sigh of relief from this past winter and the COVID years that proceeded it. This week many of the trees in bushes in the Enchanted Forest sport a deep maroon luster as the Japanese Maples and similar trees and bushes spread their leaves. The sun has shined for more than two days in a row. He Who Never Was My President was indicted in NY.

Time has passed. On a Wednesday, I drove into the Golden Hills for lunch with HRM. We went to a Sushi restaurant that he and Christa enjoy. During our lunch he discussed his plan to travel to Thailand after which he would spend some time in India. The next day, I had my dentist appointment where we discussed my implant. The contractors continued to tear apart the exterior of our house.

It all got so noisy with the hammers banging, the saws sawing and the dog barking that Naida I and the dog took refuge at Naida’s daughter Sarah’s house were we examined the yard and preparations for Sarah’s son’s wedding. We also watched Booboo the Barking Dog playing with Sarah’s pets, the poodles Andrew Jackson and George Washington and the large black cat called Archimedes.

The next day, Saturday, we attended the Saturday Morning Coffee. There were the usual opening jokes with only one that I remember:

Why did the ghost take the elevator?

He needed a spiritual uplift.

Not a particularly clever bit of humor but, there you are.

For the remainder of the day we alternated, watching TV, walking the dog, napping, reading and typing on the Mac silly things like this. Tomorrow I expect will not be better but, it probably will not be worse. At our age that is probably a good thing.

After reading a number of novels including, Caimh McDonell’s latest Bunny McGarry novel, Escape from Victory; Tress by Brandon Sanderson; Backyard Dungeon; Tad Williams’ The War of the Flowers; Carl Hiaasen’s Skinny Dip; and perhaps one or two others, I began the third volume of the James Benn Billy Boyle mystery  series, Blood Alone. In this episode Billy finds himself in Sicily before the allied invasion of that island in WWII attempting to negotiate with the island’s Mafia leaders their support of the Allied Invasion.

The area around which the action in the novel takes place happens to be that where I lived in 1968 and 69. The town I lived in was named Canicatti. It was the town in which my mother was born and where I still had a number of relatives. During the war about 11 or so residents were assassinated by the American Army in an effort to get other members of the community to reveal where in the town were the German troops which the American commander erroneously believed were hiding. Even when I lived there the bullet holes still remained in the wall where the innocent townspeople were lined up and shot.

Despite the 25 years or so that had passed from WWII to the time I arrived, the culture and economy had remained stagnate and almost medieval. The Mafia was still an essential element of the society as it was in Benn’s novel. I have written previously here is T&T about the night I spent negotiating with the local Cosa Nostra dons to dissuade them from killing my brother the next morning.

Another story I do not believe I have written about, concerns the time my uncle’s store in Canicatti had been robbed of about $100,000 of merchandise. My family negotiated with the local Mafia to restore the value of the merchandise for a 10% fee. Instead of returning the money the their fled to Switzerland.  The mob honored their commitment paid the family $90,000 then tracked the thief down and killed him.

“It is complicated to be Sicilian,”

Benn, James R.. Blood Alone (Billy Boyle World War II Mystery Book 3) (p. 219). Soho Press. 

Anyway, I enjoyed reading in the novel about the sights, locations and peoples mores that I knew so well. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday.

On Easter Morning I woke up and walked downstairs and was struck with extreme dizziness and collapsed on to the sofa in studio room. Naida thought it would be helpful if I drank some coffee. So she made some and added a bit of truffle powder and other things to make it past stronger. After a while, I felt better and we then drove to have Easter breakfast with her daughter Sarah and her family. In addition to Sarah’s poodles George Washington and Andrew Jackson we were joined by Sarah’s son’s large poodle Clair. I was a pleasant day and we had breakfast of the deck. After a couple of hours my dizziness and headaches returned so we left and returned home. I went to bed for most of the rest of the day.

Monday because the sawing and banging of the workers on the outside of the house was driving us crazy, we decided to escape and do some of Naida’s banking among which was payment of property taxes that were due today. Since Naida can no longer drive, I drove her along with the dog around on her errands. Upon our return, the workers were still at it, nevertheless despite the noise Naida and I decided to take a nap. No sooner had we laid down than the dog began hysterical barking at the workers and the odd squirrel. We decided to leave the dog alone to see how long he would go on. Naida turned off her hearing aids and I kept them on. About an hour later we gave up. It was a new family record for ceaseless barking. We then decided to get up and I busied myself on medical things.

My primary care physician referred me to an ear, nose and throat physician because of my continued dizziness and headaches. The ENT physician’s office said he would not be free until the end of October about five months from now, another physician would however could be available in about than three months. I called my PC physician to complain and see if another referral was possible. They apologized, but said not only were there no other ENT specialists on their list but, in general, specialist referrals in the Sacramento area take at least two months to secure an appointment. She assured me she fully shared my anguish.

Later Naida and I watched the movie “The Sum of All Evil.” It brought back memories of when I was living in Rome practicing law with a large American international law firm. Among my clients was one of the two major illegal arms dealers in the Middle East and North Africa. I never met him. Another client was a large respected American corporation that wanted to sell helicopter gunships to both sides of the Israeli/Arab conflict in contravention of American law. They failed. We also represented an American financier who pre-dated Madoff and bore the same first name and had a similar ending to his scam. And finally, we represented a geologist who repeatedly defrauded nations in the Middle East and North Africa about the location of petroleum reserves. Nothing changes only the people.

Tuesday, I drove Naida to Kaiser Hospital to meet with the neurologist. His report was relatively positive — take your medicines and avoid screaming at the computer. Wednesday I traveled into the golden hills for lunch with Hayden. He told me he planned to go to Thailand this summer with his friends Big Jake and Little Jake after which they will spend a few days in Japan. I guess they decided to skip India this year. I do not recall much about that evening but the next day I drove Naida to the Social Security office to apply for a replacement for the SS card that she lost when her wallet was stolen a few weeks back. I recalled something from yesterday evening. I noticed that if I don’t write something down here about the day within a few days, I forget all. Does that mean it does not exist? For me it certainly not longer exists.

At about six o’clock that evening Naida and I took the dog for a nice long walk through the Enchanted Forest to the lake and back. The sun was low on the horizon and the temperature hovered nicely in the mid-sixties. Many of the flowering plants were in bloom. Some appeared confused by the recent weather. The camellias were blooming late in the year and the azaleas early. The dogwoods were in bloom. It was a two bench-rest walk. Last year in was only one. I am getting older and more decrepit.

Friday, the Bang Bang Boys were at it again, nailing the boards against the wall of the house, sawing wood, and making all the other noises that drove the dog into a frenzy of barking and me to remove my hearing aids. At 3:30 the finished for the week, leaving us to enjoy a quiet weekend. They appear to have another two or three days before they finish. We still do not have either heat or air conditioning. Naida is handling getting them back.

On Saturday it was sunny and the temperature reached into the 70s. We attended the Saturday Morning Coffee as usual. I couldn’t hear the punch lines of Gerry our leader’s bad jokes also as usual — so I will tell one I did hear at a previous Coffee:

What is the difference between ignorance and indifference?

I don’t know and I don’t care.

I was feeling quite bad all morning — the usual headache, dizziness, and fatigue — so I paid little attention to much of the proceedings other than to note how well attended it was.

After the meeting, Naida began a discussion with the Mormon art teacher. Knowing it would be a long conversation, I went out to the pool area, sat on one of the lounge chairs, dozed and now and then contemplated patterns and change.

After the conversations and wool gathering we drove back home where Naida and I had a rare contretemps over ephemera. I set off in a huff and walked the mile of so to the nearest Starbucks where I contemplated the similarity between my navel and the vagaries of life. On my walk, I passed one of my favorite spots in the Enchanted Forest, the place that I call the Azalea Den. The azaleas were in bloom and I spent a bit of time there healing my ephemeral sulk with the wonder of natures fleeting beauty.

I returned home and took a nap, my balm for all of life’s irritations and mortifications.

Last night at about 4AM, I woke up and realized that when a fairy tale ends with “and they lived happily ever after” it means the tale is over — the lights go out and the music stops. I have lived many fairy tales and always looked forward to the next — but no more. I now only await February.

It was sunny and warm this morning. We got up late, about 11AM. We watched the 2004 version of The Manchurian Candidate. It stared Denzil Washington who went through the same drama program as I did at Fordham University. I studied under Vaughn Deering. (Deering who died in 1978 coached Lucille Ball, Burt Lahr, Frank Fay and Bela Lugosi.) It also stared Jon Voight who attended high school and performed in musical comedies with me at Stepinac HS in White Plains NY. I ate my usual breakfast of a bagel with lox and cream cheese and coffee while watching the movie.

Since the Bang Bang Boys disconnected our heating and air-conditioning system in order to replace the external siding of the house and could not get it working again, inside the house was colder than outside so we spent some of the afternoon outside in the backyard standing wherever we could find the sun shining through the trees.

In the early evening, Naida and I took the dog for his walk. Along the way we were warned by another dog walker that there was a coyote on the prowl along the paths of the Enchanted Forest. We walked to the Azalea Den and then returned towards home. Along the way, we rested on a bench savoring the gentle descent of dusk on the Forest.

Following a night of terrible dreams I woke up at about 10:30AM to the sounds of the Bang Bang Boys hammering and sawing and the barking of the dogs. I turned on my phone to verify the time and was greeted with the announcement that at 12:30 AM last night something called Pod Save America announced that “Little Ronny Pudding Fingers” was available for viewing. About the same time, Naida began playing a rousing rendition of Saint Louie Woman on the piano downstairs. I decided it was time for me to get up and see what this day was all about. I was intrigued but not overly optimistic.

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Pookie’s Adventures During February 2023.

 

“You can’t trust writers. They make up nonsense for a living.”

                 McDonnell, Caimh. Dead Man’s Sins (The Dublin Trilogy Book 5) . McFori Ink. 

 

It is now Saturday the fourth day into February. Alas, I do not make up nonsense for a living, I do it because I have little else to do with my time. Today Naida and I went to the Saturday Morning Coffee as we usually do on Saturdays. There were not as many people there as on other Saturdays, only about 20 or so. The morning’s nonsense joke was:

 

“Who is the strongest thief?

     Answer:  A shoplifter.

 

Naida and the Reverend spent much of their time trying to console the Artist, an 86 or 87 year old ex-teacher of art and math named Shalla who was having a crisis over having lived as a Mormon but I wondering if she she should die as one. Although Naida and the Reverend urged her to find an different source of consolation, she seemed not too convinced but agreed to think it over. I as usual did not speak to anyone but I took photographs and listened. Someone brought lemons in a pail for us. She had picked them from a tree in her yard. 

 

On top from left to right: The coffee set up and the pail of oranges; Naida and the Artist (Shalla). On the bottom: Some of my favorite stuffed animals. They have nothing to do with the coffee.

After the Coffee we went to Original Mel’s nearby. I had blueberry pancakes, two fried eggs over easy, and and Bacon. Naida ordered poached eggs with avocado. We also had coffee. After breakfast we went home and did nothing memorable for the rest of the day. I couldn’t sleep that night so I went downstairs and read for a few hours before returning to bed. The next morning I felt like an old used dishrag.  

 

During breakfast, Naida kept up a running soliloquy about her memoir for over an hour and a half. She then found an old roll-a-dex of hers ( you have to be of our generation to know what that is). We looked through it trying to remember the people or organizations whose names appeared on the cards. This all made me sad. Not because it brought back memories, but because I really had nothing better to do. So, I did what I usually do when I come face to face with the question of the meaning of life. I went upstairs and took a nap.

 

After my nap I felt much better. Even the sun was shining outside. I thought about taking the dog for a walk. Then changed my mind. Then changed it again. I hooked-up the over excited Booboo to his leash and reached for my walking stick. It was gone. Not there. I ran around the house hysterically looking for it dragging the confused dog behind me. I could not find it. I began shouting somewhat hysterically “Naida, Naida my walking stick is gone.” 

 

“No it’s not” she responded, “I put it somewhere we would be sure to find it, but I cannot remember where.” So we set about of a lengthy search through through the house until we found It in the back of one of the closets, Joy! I grabbed it and refrained from asking why she thought the closet was a more memorable place to store it that the stand by the door with all my other walking sticks. And so properly equipped I set off to walk the dog.

 

Actually, I was not walking the dog, He was walking me and we were not walking we were running. He flew out the door with me, one arm outstretched in front of me grasping the leash and, the other flying behind holding on to my walking stick. We ran that way down the path from the house to the street and up the street a ways until he veered off the road and up upon a small embankment to do his business. I was thankful for the moment of rest. He finished, turned, suddenly began barking and ran into the street pulling me along after him. I stumbled off the embankment and felt myself falling onto the tarmac. I pictured, broken ankles, knees and hips as I began tipping toward the ground. Suddenly my descent halted. I extended my ever present walking stick and saved myself from injury.

 

I then looked over and saw a woman of about my age wrapped in a dog leash at the end of which a tiny little creature tugged and yipped hysterically. It was mostly dark grey and at first I thought it was a rodent of some sort — Smaller than the gigantic Norwegian Roof Rats the haunted the walls of homes of my childhood back in NY and slightly larger than a mouse. Its longer legs indicated it was a dog — one of the smallest dogs I had ever  seen.

 

The woman and I, mutual apologies in our eyes and a silent mouthing of apologies on our lips untangled ourselves and dragged our snarling beasts in opposite directions and went upon our way.

 

It was Wednesday before I resumed writing here as far as I can recall the three days in between were at best “meh*” days, little to write about and little to remember. Last night however, Biden gave his second State of the Union address. It appeared to me to be one of the cleverest and politically adept State of the Union addresses I have ever seen. For an old guy, he gave the young toughs a licking — sort of like Clint Eastwood in his later movies. Or even better Gary Cooper in High Noon.

 

During the walk I noticed the multicolored chalk marks that had appeared on the streets a few dats ago. The marks were of different colors, red, blue, white, green and yellow as though some acid crazed tagger freak had run through the streets pretending to be Mondrian. I later learned the different colors were placed there by different companies to inform their various work gangs where and what to do in tearing up the streets.

I also took note of the brilliant Autumn colors of the leaves on the bushes that I passed during our walk.

 

 

Later when I considered how I felt about today, the best I could come up with was, “Hmm.”*

 

Thursday..;.

 

That is all I wrote on Thursday. It is now Friday evening. I seem to be losing interest in writing here. Maybe it’s temporary. Maybe not. If temporary, why? When I moved to Thailand 13 years ago, I would periodically send letters to a few friends and family members letting them know what I was up to. I also began keeping a Journal from which I would draw information and stories for those letters. After about four months, I combined the two to reduce the time and energy in what seemed like duplicative efforts and because felt it would encourage me to continue writing because it was easy to delude myself that someone depended on the receipt of my letters to brighten their day. Later, as I would now and then read some of my older post, I would enjoy being reminded of things I had forgotten. Recently, given how short my time here will probably be, writing new posts to remind me of thing seems to be a less useful means of self entertainment.

 

I did have lunch today with Hayden. He seems to have become more focused on his higher education  and life goals. We ate Stromboli’s at the pizza place in the Golden Hills that we like so much. The day was another unseasonably warm and mostly sunny day with afternoon temperatures in the mid 60s. (Hmm*)

 

Saturday — Saturday Morning Coffee day. We drove to the Nepenthe Clubhouse because I had stubbed my small toe yesterday and it was still painful to walk. I will worry if it starts to turn black. Gerry our leader was not there. She must be ill again. Jan, Coach’s wife, told me that Coach had had brain surgery last week. She does not know if her will be able to walk, talk or even remember anything. Joan, Peter’s (The Nice Guy) GF reminisced about Italy 50 years ago. Some woman, who along with here husband splits living during the year between the Enchanted Forest and Pacific Grove talked to me about the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey. As we were leaving, the short talkative Asian women who sometimes brings here two year old daughter to the coffee, complained that the “squad” as she referred to them told her not to bring her daughter to the coffee because she was too noisy. I told her, “You should do what I do when I disagree with a rule. Ignore it. If they still complain I will support you.” We then returned home and Naida played the piano while I wrote this. The weather outside was clear but chilly. 

 

Having nothing better to do tonight, I thought I would insert here a few excerpts from one of my favorite political blogs — American Madness Journal by Shower Cap (https://showercapblog.com/): 

 

Joe Biden > Howling Asshats, and Other Observations

The State of the Union put me in mind of my all-time favorite evening spent watching politics: the 2012 vice presidential debate. There’s something about watching Joe Biden play with his food that works for me.

 

It was like a nature show, only better; you were absolved of any feelings of sympathy for the wildebeests, because you knew from previous episodes that the wildebeests were assholes. The look on Joe’s face, when he saw how easy it had been to bait these dopes into a Social Security fight, I’ve never seen that look in real life, only on the faces of 8-year-old boys in black and white movies, when they race downstairs on Xmas morning to discover a bicycle-shaped package next the tree.

 

Jowls trembling with theatrical fury, they bellowed, “How dare you, sir? How darrrrrrrrre you accuse the Republican Party of seeking cuts to entitlements?” and Joe’s grin grew wider, visions of news cycles to come dancing in his eyes like sugarplum fairies. 

(February 10)

 

All Things Being Equal, I’d Rather Be the Jobs Guy

Writing about Republican politics is like babysitting the shittiest kids in the world, and honestly, I feel like these little assholes owe us a good, long nap. Never a moment’s fucking peace. Little shits.

. (February 3)

 

Marjorie Taylor Greene and the 221 Dwarfs

Before we dive into the latest antics from Kevin’s kooky kakistocrats, let’s take a moment to remember the context: this is an audition, folks. This is the Republican Party putting its best foot forward. These are their church clothes, and this is their best behavior. Yikes. Yiiiiiiiiiiiikes.

(January 27)

 

So ends this day. A day I consider not bad*, not bad at all. 

 

Sunday arrived with a thud. It was a day in which I promised myself I would not spend it riffing through the internet and typing T&T. We have just passed noon, I have spent the morning riffing through the internet and typing here in T&T. I am committed to do better this afternoon. The temperature today is expected to reach 70F here in the Sacramento Area (I need to find a better nickname for this City other than Sacratomato.). 70 degrees in mid-February, one would think I was living somewhere at the edge of the tropics instead of here in the middle of the Great Valley. I am confident, however, that February will not disappoint me and I will still suffer through several days of misery and darkness before the month of the roaring lion comes by to remind me that I still have another month to grumble about the weather before the flowers in the Enchanted Forest bloom again.

 

At about 4PM I took the dog for a walk while Naida napped upstairs. My toe felt a bit better she the walk was not unpleasant. The temperature still toyed with 70F and we walked a bit further than usual. I  sat and rested on one of the benches along the way. While sitting there other dog walkers walked by on the path. The first ones do do caused Booboo to break into his usual hysterical barking and pulling on the leash. Surprisingly, the dogs ignored him completely. I think that humiliated him. He sunk onto the ground his head between his paws and did not utter a sound whenever other dogs and their walkers passed by our bench.

 

Today was not bad* either.

 

Monday, Monday, Monday — Lunch with Naida at Ettore’s. Later, a nap. Then a walk with Naida and Booboo the Barking Dog. Then a dinner of leftovers. Read a bit about Scipio Africanis Some television — The Reader a sad film about the Holocaust. And then to bed. Nothing.

 

That night I dreamt of my brother Jim. In the dream he died of suicide. I couldn’t get back to sleep so I went downstairs and watched the skies lighten and a new day begin—Valentine’s day

 

Some believe Valentine’s Day may have been created during the Middle Ages, when it was believed that birds paired as couples in mid-February. Others consider it was most likely created to replace the pagan Roman holiday, Lupercalia.

 

The Lupercalia had its own priesthood, the Luperci (“brothers of the wolf”). On February 15, a male goat (or goats) and a dog were sacrificed. An offering was also made of salted mealcakes, prepared by the Vestal Virgins. After the blood sacrifice, two Luperci foreheads were anointed with blood from the sacrificial knife, then wiped clean with wool soaked in milk, after which they were expected to laugh. This was followed by the sacrificial feast after which the Luperci cut thongs (known as februa) from the flayed skin of the animals sacrificed and ran with these, naked or near-naked widdershins along the Roman Palatine Hill after which many of the noble youths would run up through the city naked, striking those they meet with shaggy thongs. Many women of rank purposely got in their way, and like children at school present their hands to be struck, believing it would encourage pregnancy and ease delivery should they become so.

 

The first recorded association of Valentine’s Day with romantic love is believed to be in the Parliament of Fowls (1382) by Geoffrey Chaucer, honoring the first anniversary of the engagement of fifteen-year-old King Richard II of England to fifteen-year-old Anne of Bohemia.

 

In Middle English:

 

    “For this was on seynt Valentynes day

    Whan every foul cometh there to chese his make

    Of every kynde that men thynke may

    And that so huge a noyse gan they make

    That erthe, and eyr, and tre, and every lake

    So ful was, that unethe was there space

    For me to stonde, so ful was al the place.”

 

In modern English:

 

    “For this was on Saint Valentine’s Day

    When every bird comes there to choose his mate

    Of every kind that men may think of

    And that so huge a noise they began to make

    That earth and air and tree and every lake

    Was so full, that not easily was there space

    For me to stand—so full was all the place.”

 

Today is Wednesday, a spring like day with the sun shining and the temperature hovering in the low sixties. The local water company is putting in new water pipes in the subdivision. This morning  they are doing so beside our house. Their activity has driven the dog into a frenzy of barking, At about noon I left for lunch with Hayden in the Golden Hills. We had a lunch of pizza at Nugget’s Supermarket in town center. While we were discussing old times we had together, he told me that when he was 5 years old he was so afraid of growing up that he made up a song entitled “I want to stay five forever,” which he would sing with tears in his eyes at bedtime until he fell asleep.

 

On Thursday after lunch at Ettore’s Naida and I took the dog for a walk along the American River. It was a grey chilly afternoon. The trees were mostly bare. The storms of last month left many of them toppled or broken. I had not walked along this section of the river since shortly after January’s deluge. At that time the paths that we usually walked on were submerged, flooded by the river. This evening the paths were passable the river receded about 15 feet or more. It still however covered the beach and low lying areas. As we walked along we could see the silt covered branches of the naked bushes and trees extending above our heads. It was hard to imagine this dark bleak landscape was the same as the one we walked through last Autumn.

The same area a little over a month before the storms began.

*Pookie’s classifications of the subjective quality of his days. In ascending order — “Shit,”(Sometimes, “Porca Miseria”) “Meh,” (I am not impressed), “Nothing” (nothing) “Eh”[maybe good maybe not so good], “Hmm,”(Get back to me later), “Not Bad” (But not too good either),”OK” (Good, not great but good), “Good” (Not bad at all), “Great” (Great!)

 

 

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