POOKIE’S ADVENTURES: Almost a June Bride (May2022).

 

“—— the substitution of a metaphor for an equation. She had revealed something useful for scientists to consider — only a conscious being thought in metaphors.

                Moore, Christopher G.. Dance Me to the End of Time (p. 306). Heaven Lake Press.

 

 

Well, it is Sunday evening. It was a hot day outside. While no warmer on the temperature scale than any other day recently, Naida and I were exhausted from the heat after a brief trip to have lunch at Zoccalo’s an upscale Mexican restaurant we like near our house. After some food shopping at Raley’s, we arrived home so tired we went straight up to bed and slept until 5:39PM. It frightened me a bit. To feel so weakened and enervated from such a short exposure to a not particularly hot day made me wonder how we will fare in the much hotter days expected this summer.

 

While riffing through the internet today I discovered that Machiavelli once wrote that Dante said. “it does not produce knowledge when we hear but do not remember” (see below). Since I now read, see, hear and touch but do not remember much, does that mean I am not learning anything? I don’t think so. At least I am learning to take it as it is, even if I fuss about it a bit. That’s learning something. 

 

“After all, consequences were only the concrete expression of how awful everything was.”

                Howard of Warwick. The Magna Carta (Or Is It?) (p. 36). The Funny Book Company. 

 

Several days passed of which I have little recollection. On Thursday morning, we left the Enchanted Forest for Mendocino and the festivities planned for my sister’s daughter, Katie Dreaper and her consort Quinn Dubin. The temperature in the Great Valley was expected to reach 104-5F today. It was already in the mid 90sF when we departed a little before noon.

 

During the early portion of the trip Naida told a long story. I always listen closely when Naida tells a story because it is usually fascinating even if I have heard it before. Inevitably there would be something new, new facts, story lines, points of view or the like. She did not disappoint me this time either. We also listened to more of Cloud Cuckoo Land. After about 5 or 6 hours we arrived at Hill House, the hotel a few blocks from my sister’s house.

 

Hill House.

Following an annoying check-in process and dropping off our luggage on our room, we drove to my sister’s home for dinner. When we arrived we noticed a large tent had been set up for Saturday’s celebration.

 

 

There were a lot of people there for dinner, including Pat and Jay Dubin the groom’s parents who I had not met before. She is an accomplished artist and he a producer of music videos. There were a number of other people there most of whom I had met before but did not recognize. The dinner consisted of several Sicilian dishes which were delightful. Jay, like me, was from the east coast. He from Brooklyn and I from the Bronx and nearby cities. He, like me was a compulsive storyteller. 

 

The next day, we slept late arising a little afternoon. After a late lunch at the Goodlife Cafe, we returned to our rooms and prepared for the rehearsal dinner at the community center in nearby Casper. A master chef friend of the groom prepared an excellent Indian themed buffet. Good conversation, speeches and, wine followed.At one point, George my brother-in-law came up to me after dinner and indicated that Jay had been holding court for a long time and a few of the guests were feeling a bit trapped. He asked if I would join Jay and swap stories so the other guests could escape. And so I did. Earlier in the evening, perhaps because I was eating too quickly, I suddenly vomited on the table.

 

The Rehearsal Donner. Outside beginning at upper left and going clockwise: The chef; Jay Dubin, the grooms father giving a speech; the soon to be married couple Quinn Dubin and Katie Dreaper congratulating the chef (Andrew Lord in the foreground); a tableful of happy people eating while others line up to fill their plates. In the center photograph are Pat Dubin the mother of the groom and Naida West, my beloved.

The following morning there was a slight drizzle outside. We did not leave our room until the afternoon spending much of the time reading. The dog expropriated the bed and slept. 

 

Naida in our hotel room reading

At about one, we went again to the Goodlife for brunch. After lunch, as we were walking back to the car, we met Pat Dubin coming out of a shop. She told us that someone had just run into their car in a parking lot near by. After commiserating with her for a few minutes, we walked back to our car, got in, and as I backed out another car ran into us. Sometimes serendipity sucks. So does alliteration. So does being a smart ass.

 

[W]hat a bawdy bitch is fate when the best bit of a bloke’s day is a brace of bloody mermaid murders.

                Moore, Christopher. The Serpent of Venice (p. 174). HarperCollins.  

 

“You know excessive use of alliteration is a sign of madness?”

                Moore, Christopher. The Serpent of Venice (p. 392). HarperCollins. 

 

After spending the rest of the afternoon back at the hotel napping and reading, we dressed and set off for the wedding. We drove the short distance from the hotel to the wedding venue at my sister’s house. Because of the number of people attending the wedding, we had to park almost as far away from the house as the hotel. The weather had gotten cold, windy and rainy. We struggled along the paths through the fields to the wedding tent where we joined the other shivering guests. Despite the weather the presence of all of us together, the festive occasion, and the slight protection from the elements afforded by the tent, whatever discomfort the might have been feeling disappeared as we laughed, greeted each other with air kisses and smiles, nibbled at the wonderful display of finger food, watched the event planners and wait persons scurry around setting things up, and waited for the ceremony to begin.

From the top left clockwise: One of the many announcements of the wedding; The guests begin to gather; Debbie smiling; The chairs are set and awaiting the ceremony to begin.

Eventually we took our seats for the ceremony. The wedding party began their march down the aisle culminating with the father of the bride turning her over to the groom.  They then faced the minister. He told me later he can conduct a Catholic, Protestant, Jewish and perhaps even Muslim marriage ceremony. The ceremony that day began Catholic and ended Jewish complete with the smashing of glass by groom

On the top left: the mother of the groom and the groom. On the bottom left: The father of the bride and the bride march down the aisle. On the top right: two members of the wedding party, the brides brother Brendan and his wife who is due to give birth next month. On the right bottom: the mother of the bride giving her advice to the soon to be married couple. In the center: The minister and the exchange of rings.

The first post marriage kiss.

“Every step is a first step if it’s a step in the right direction.” 

                Pratchett, Terry. I Shall Wear Midnight (Discworld Book 38) (p. 340). HarperCollins. 

Immediately following that first kiss of their married life, the celebration began. If was still cold and windy but the rain had stopped. The antipasto was brought out by a parade of servers and we got down to eating and conversing. After a while, we sat down for dinner. I spent most of my time hugging the heaters to keep warm. After dinner, the dancing began. Naida enjoyed herself dancing and even I amused myself with a step or two. Eventually we, being the oldest people there, became exhausted and so we left.

From top counter clockwise: the servers bring in the food; the guests waiting for the festivities to begin; the bride and the father of the bride in the first dance; a vies of sunset; the mother and father of the bride; the cutting of the cake. In the center: the guests waiting for dinner.

And so the day and the celebration ends.

As we left to return to our hotel, we looked back toward the tent all lit up. The younger guests (and a few of the older) remained to dance and celebrate well into the night. As we drove away, we could still hear the music floating up into the night sky.

About 11:30 the next we drove up the coast to Pacific Star Winery where we were to have a post wedding lunch with many of the guests who still remained. Pacific Star Winery is one of my favorite places on the coast. The beauty of the setting and the excellence of the wine always makes the day special. Even that is increased by the vivacious owner Sally one of my favorite people.

Clockwise from upper left: View of the entry to Pacific Star Winery picnic area; Pookie; The wedding guests enjoying a picnic; The bride’s brother and wife; Quoth the raven “forever even more”; Happy people.

That night we had the final dinner of the weekend.

\

“One t’ing life’s taught me: where there’s no capacity for joy, there’s no capacity for goodness,”

                Galbraith, Robert. Troubled Blood: 5 (A Cormoran Strike Novel) (p. 275). Little, Brown and Company. 

After breakfast with Maryann and George and the few remaining guests, we drove off to return home. It took about five hours of driving. By the time we arrived home I felt as exhausted as I have ever felt in my life. 80 year-olds should not be driving for five hours straight. There is some question if we should be driving at all. Anyway, not long after arriving home we went to bed.

The next morning I awoke spry and in good spirits, That remained all morning and well into the afternoon when Naida engaged in emotional discussion regarding the telephone. In seems the only issues that divide us are the mysteries of modern electronics.

In the afternoon I had a Zoom conference with my oncologist at UCSF. I described all my symptoms and maladies to him. He said none of that had much to do with my cancer. He opined that it all may have something to do with my brain, so he scheduled a brain MRI in June or July.

On Wednesday and Thursday I did little more than complain that I did little more than complain. I did have an appointment with my primary care physician where I also described my symptoms and maladies. He also thought it had something to do with my brain but more psychological than physiological. He suggested I consider upping my happy pill dosage.

On Friday, the morning was spent with the appraiser regarding the damage to the Toyota after which I drove into the Golden Hills to have lunch with Hayden. He is to leave tomorrow to spend a month in Thailand with his friend Jake. This will be the first time the 17-year-olds will be spending time away from home without too much adult supervision. They are both excited and nervous. It may be a bit risky, but is all a part of growing up. Good luck to them. I will miss him.

I drove back to the Enchanted Forest, picked up my repaired hearing aid, watched some movies and went to bed feeling a bit melancholy. And then it was Saturday again.

“He should have risked more. It has taken him his whole life to accept himself, and he is surprised to understand that now that he can, he does not long for one more year, one more month: eighty-six years has been enough. In a life you accumulate so many memories, your brain constantly winnowing through them, weighing consequence, burying pain, but somehow by the time you’re this age you still end up dragging a monumental sack of memories behind you, a burden as heavy as a continent, continent, and eventually it becomes time to take them out of the world.”

               Doerr, Anthony. Cloud Cuckoo Land: A Novel (p. 542). Scribner. 

 

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POOKIE’S ADVENTURES AT THE START OF THE NEW YEAR.

 

 

 

New Year’s Day.

 

I awoke early this morning, not so much to enthusiastically welcome the New Year but more to gratefully acknowledge I had not awakened in the old.

 

It is traditional, at the beginning of a new year to write resolutions about things one intends to do to make themselves better. At my age, what’s the point? I think I’d rather commit myself going forward to doing whatever it has been that I have been doing recently in the faint hope that I will be able to continue doing it for far longer than I expect.

The initial political news of this new year I learned was that Congress overrode the President’s veto of the Defense spending bill. Independent of the merits of the bill or the intentions of those for or against the override, I wonder why it is that we seem to be so able to join together to enthusiastically support the funding of the mechanism of death, but seem to rarely agree upon the funding for making life better. Why is it unquestioning support for governmental control over that which can kill us all is deemed patriotic, while governmental support of those things that can make out lives better are so often criticized as threats to liberty or the frenzied raging of foreign ideologies?

This was also the third anniversary of Bill Geyer’s death. Naida was very sad and so was I. He was always a good friend to me. We spent most of the day as we often do, working on our computers and watching the news and movies on television. I searched for some interesting poets and poetry. I found a 19th century poet of whom Poe said of one of his poems that although part’s were praiseworthy “…the greater part of it is utterly destitute of any evidence of imagination whatsoever.” That ended the poets career and he died a few years later at the young age of 25. Nevertheless, that poor young man is considered by those who keep track on such things “…one of the early American Romantic poets who made a notable contribution to his country’s literature.” (https://mypoeticside.com/poets/joseph-rodman-drake-poems)

Day Two.

 

This morning, I decided, instead of dressing before breakfast, to remain in my new silk pajamas. So I wrapped myself in Bill’s old scarlet robe and headed downstairs where Naida chuckled and the dog barked gleefully.

The Cardinal of the Enchanted Forest.

 

A bit abashed, I made my breakfast of cinnamon rolls and coffee and began perusal of the day’s doings on the internet. Among other things, I discovered that Keith Lampe, the Ponderosa Pine, who wandered the streets of San Francisco during its heyday as the center of world hippiedom had died in 2014 somewhere in Ecuador. I have written about Keith here before. How he was a well known newspaper reporter and environmentalist who travelled to San Francisco, grew his hair long, gave up speaking except in growls, and traveled around town with a seven-foot long single-stringed instrument upon which he would strum and accompany with his deep-throated howls much to the amusement of the citizens of the city and bewilderment of out-of-towners. One night, while I was living in Noe Valley, I recall he spent an evening in the apartment above me baying at the full moon. If anyone is interested in knowing more about Keith here is his obituary that was printed in the Point Reyes Light: (https://www.ptreyeslight.com/article/ponderosa-pine-who-chanted-bolinas-dies-ecuador)

Naida played on the piano most of the morning, singing and rummaging through old tunes like Roll Out the Barrel and Home On the Range. She halted playing the latter tune to inform me that the composer of the piece was married six times — about as many times as me.

That evening we decided to take a bath. The bathroom in the master bedroom has only a shower. It is large enough to accommodate three or four people comfortably. The guest bedrooms have a bathtub in their bathroom. For sanitary reasons a shower is better but there is nothing as relaxing as a warm bath except now and then sex if you can get beyond the doubt.

Naida and I have developed a tradition these three years we have been together to take luxurious baths now and then during the winter months. Not together as we sometimes do in the shower, the bathtub is too small and we are striving for maximum self-indulgence.

So, that evening, I filled the bathtub with water so hot I almost could not stand it, lit a few scented candles, dumped a good amount of bath oils and various bubble bath concoctions into the water turned on my smartphone to music, shut off the lights and gingerly slipped into the water.

It was glorious lying there in water almost hot enough to burn my skin off, the bubbles caressing my nose and ears, the candles flickering gently in the darkness and the music drifting into the air.

The only music I have on my smartphone is The Girl From Ipanema. It played over and over. I consider it the greatest song ever written. The perfect blend of rhythm and melody and balance of instruments and voice. I listened to Astrid Gilberto while lying there until all my senses were overrun and I left the bath. Naida then took her bath. After bathing and dinner we went to bed and read while listening to Norma (the Opera) and Miles Davis before falling asleep. So far so good for 2021.

Day Three.

The next day was a bit of a setback. I slept most of the day, the dog pissed on the rug, a tape was released of an hour long telephone conversation between Trump and the Secretary of State of Georgia during which Trump directly asked (demanded) the Secretary to recalculate the vote in his favor.
“So what are we going to do here, folks? I only need 11,000 votes. Fellas, I need 11,000 votes. Give me a break.”
The President of the United States soliciting voter fraud.

Also,10 former Republican and Democratic Secretaries of Defense have found something concerning enough to write a letter warning that using the military to resolve election disputes would be “dangerous, unlawful and unconstitutional.”

Later things got a bit better. Naida made a fire and we sat on the sofa in front of it, drank eggnog, and listened to Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet. Later we danced in the kitchen to Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue. We then watched a delightful silent movie entitled The Star Prince, made in 1918 during another pandemic 102 years ago. It was a children dress up play with five to eight year old children fitted out as kings, queens, fairies and ogres. I like children’s books even more than I like young adult fiction.

All in all, I have had much worse days.

Day Four.

 

On the fourth day of the new year it rained. Not a downpour by any means but a weak drizzle that lasted throughout most of the day. I decided to drive into the Golden Hills for lunch with HRM. As I entered the Mitsubishi, I found the windshield wipers did not work so I called HRM and cancelled our lunch. As I exited the car the anti-theft device went off with a loud screeching sound. I sat there trying to figure out how to shut it off. Failed. Thought I should drive around the Enchanted Forest so no one neighborhood has to bear the discomfort. After about 15 minutes of frightening strollers and other drivers, I figured how to shut it off. I went home dejected and asked Naida to put my pandemic hair up because its flopping in front of my eyes was annoying. I came out looking like an Aztec soldier.

Day Five.

 

 

It was sunny outside today so I drove the Mitsubishi into the Golden Hills to have lunch with Hayden and to exchange the few remaining Christmas presents. I received a nice shirt and some things for the bath and gave Hayden, Dick and SWAC portable survival kits. We had a nice lunch at Bella Bru after which I dropped him off at the skatepark and I returned home.

 

 

Today was the Georgia Senatorial runoff election that will determine control of the Senate. I sat before the TV and awaited for the returns to start coming in. The first reports were not encouraging. The youth vote appears down and  although the black vote remained steady the white vote increased slightly.

 

 

At about 8:30 it appeared as though Warnock had pulled ahead of Loeffler by a small but significant margin given the number of votes remaining to be counted. Ossoff on the other hand remained tied with Perdue.

 

 

By the time we went to bed, Warnock had given his victory speech and Ossoff remains tied. If Ossoff prevails with the remaining votes, Georgia once the heart of the old Christian racist, conservative South will have elected a  black  and a Jewish Senator both of whom are strong progressives.

 

 

 

Day Six.

 

 

I got up at six o’clock. I could not sleep because I suddenly remembered last night I left the Mitsubishi parked in the alley behind the house where parking is prohibited. I went downstairs, checked to see if the car had been towed (it hadn’t) made myself some coffee, opened my computer and discovered that Ossoff had been projected to win Georgia. So far this appeared to be a good day. Later the Congress is slated to certify the results of the election. Given the President and a group of Republican’s opposition to the results in several states it looks like a mess.

 

 

Now, I am watching the assault on the capitol. Where was the security? Where were the police, the national guard? What would have happened if these were black men protesting? On the other hand, we are watching history being made. It is ugly. It is always ugly. As Dan Simmons wrote, “history viewed from the inside is always a dark, digestive mess, far different from the easily recognizable cow viewed from afar by historians.”  

 

 

Ironically, while the Trump zombies were taking over the Capitol, the media declared Ossoff the victor in Georgia. With this Democratic victory, Trump, during his period in office, has lost the House of Representatives, Senate and the Presidency.

 

 

 

Seventh Day.

 

 

This morning I left the Enchanted Forest for my infusion appointment. Traffic was light and I spent most of my time as I usually do on long drives, allowing my mind to wind out long essays on one thing or another, convincing myself how brilliant I am, and promising that I will write it all down as soon as I get home. Alas, always as soon as I arrive wherever I am going and turn the key shutting down the car, I forget everything. This time I at least wrote down the subjects of my musing, my walking stick and voters rights. As for walking sticks, I have always been fascinated by them and even had a large collection of them at one time. About ten years ago, I began carrying one because of my tendency to stagger as I walked had gotten worse and I thought I looked cool. Most other people, I am sure, thought I appeared ridiculous. Anyway, my thoughts were about how the walking stick or a cane was the most effective and purely defensive weapon. But, later when thinking about it free of the semi-dream state of the drive, I recalled the 1854 almost fatal caning on the floor of the Senate of Senator Charles Sumner of Massachusetts by Senator Preston Brooks of South Carolina. Some have considered it the symbolic of the “breakdown of reasoned discourse” and the use of violence that eventually led to the Civil War. It reminds me of the symbolism of yesterday’s assault on the Capitol building. To a great extent, it is over the same issue, full citizenship of people of color seemingly at the expense of vulnerable white men.

 

 

Anyway, after my treatment I returned home to the Enchanted Forest. I was too exhausted for day-dreaming on the trip back and went to bed not long after returning home.

 

 

January 8.

 

 

Morning brought the talking heads to discuss impeachment. The White House argued it would divide the country. What the hell fomenting an attack on the Capital does to foster national unity was not discussed by the White House. The President has flown off to hide at Camp David. He said he will not attend Joe Biden’s inauguration. Biden agrees he should not. Meanwhile for the 11 days or so remaining before the inauguration of a new President, Nancy Pelosi seems to be all the nation has for a head of government. She has already moved to deny Trump control over nuclear missiles.

 

 

That evening we decided to light a fire in the fireplace and enjoy an eggnog in front of it. For some reason we could not light the fire and sent smoke swirling throughout the house requiring us to spend some time outdoors in the cold waiting for the smoke to clear. After we returned to the house we discovered we were out of eggnog. So, we put some brandy into glasses of Ensure and sat before the TV drinking our Ensure-nogs until we went to bed.

 

 

Have a good day.

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Today’s Poem: Affirmation by Donald Hall.

Affirmation

To grow old is to lose everything.
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young,
we glimpse it sometimes and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
Then we row for years on the midsummer
pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,
that began without harm, scatters
into debris on the shore,
and a friend from school drops
cold on a rocky strand.
If a new love carries us
past middle age, our wife will die
at her strongest and most beautiful.
New women come and go. All go.
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary. The bold woman,
middle-aged against our old age,
sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.
Another friend of decades estranges himself
in words that pollute thirty years.
Let us stifle under mud at the pond’s edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.
     Donald Hall

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Pookies Adventures Continue in the Enchanted Forest and the Big Endive by the Bay.

A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST:

These are gloomy days. Moody skies cover the Enchanted Forest as the winter storms pass over the Great Valley. Threatening they may look, but they leave behind only a ceaseless cold drizzle and little silver droplets on the branches of the trees — the only bright spot in the muted and silent landscape. I assume the storms reserve their wrath for the mountains depositing layers of new snow to the delight of skiers and those who fret about reservoir levels.

My mood is bleak also. There are three daggers aimed at me now. My cancer of course, but also an enhanced threat of infection and a shut down of my ability to pee threatening irreparable damage to my kidneys.

Naida had a bad cold. We walk around the house with masks on, wash our hands constantly and I try to avoid touching places she has touched as though…well, as though a dread disease lurks there — which of course it does. As Rosanna Rosannadanna says, “It’s always something.” And, at my age, that is probably truer than ever.

My daughter Jessica is in San Francisco, thanks in part to the government shutdown and to attend a funeral she is hesitant to talk about. I am very excited to see her. It has been a long time, perhaps two years, maybe more.

(Note: As I type this, I am also watching a movie about Giant carnivorous rabbits attacking a town in the western US. This has got to be the nadir of my existence.)

During the past few days, a lot of the usual annoyances of life sped by — towing my car and the rush to get it out of the pound, confusing discussions with pharmacists and medical professionals, and so on. Naida remains sick, Trump remains not my president, life continues as it usually does until it doesn’t, and I find myself unusually bored. But, tomorrow is another day (Scarlett O’Hara).

On Sunday, my daughter Jessica arrived. She drove up from San Francisco to see me. Seeing her after almost three years made me very happy. It has been too long. She looks well. She’s recovering from a series of concussions she experienced playing soccer over the years. The concussion injury to her brain caused several perception and other problems. We talked about our various maladies and other things. He Who is Not My President’s governmental shutdown has had one good result, my daughter, furloughed by the shutdown, was able to return to California and visit with me.

It is now Tuesday night. What I wanted to write here since that time has passed on from when I thought it important or at least depressed enough to think so. It appears another of my medicines had caused an allergic reaction that resulted in me wanting to simply give up. It has passed.

I don’t often give up. Not giving up has always been important to me. In the almost incessant fights I found myself in during my youth, I would not give up no matter how badly I was beaten. And, I was beaten most of the time.

During my years as a trial lawyer, I asked only to be assigned cases no one in the office would touch because they believed those cases were losers. I still managed to amass the third longest string of consecutive victories at the beginning of a career in the history of New York (while also losing my marriage because of my obsession).

I refused to be daunted by opposition from the medical profession and my own colleagues in setting up NY’s Mental Health Information Service that reformed NY’s mental health hospital system from the horror it inflicted on my mom and innumerable others. It became the model for the nation. That agency still exists today.

There was no option for me other than the approval of California’s Coastal Program as it was expected to be, and the successful establishment and financing of the innovative California Coastal Conservancy no matter the cost to me (another marriage) and to those that worked for me. That occupied 13 years of my life.

The same can be said for the law firm on whose management committee I served and obsessively fought against often unanimous opposition to alter the economic and social mores of the firm for the benefit of the workers, women attorney’s and the firm as a whole by, among other things, demonstrating that the health and profitability of the firm did not depend solely upon the efforts of those with the largest books of business who inevitably end up plundering the firm for their own benefit. The health of a firm depended as much upon the lowliest of paralegals and junior partners and that balanced practice groups are necessary in order to weather the effects of the various business cycles and that those groups adversely affected by a business cycle should not be punished by those groups benefiting from the cycle (e.g., bankruptcy and real estate often operate on opposing cycles).

As a member and later Chairman of California’s High Speed Rail Commission during a period when it appeared to be foundering, I put it back on track so to speak, by pushing through its EIR, changing its tendency for locating its stations at the edges of the cities to bringing them downtown where they would revitalize the communities, developing the concept of the HS network as a backbone transportation system for California whereby multiple regional transportation systems could connect to the downtown stations and service the entire region; and finally fighting against the rapacious efforts of the four of five large engineering firms who sought to control the process for their own benefit and who, I believe, can be blamed for much of the criticism HSR has been subject to since I was removed by Governor Schwarzenegger over the issue.

On the other hand, when I lost (most often a marriage), I usually ran away and started again and again somewhere else. From New York to Pennsylvania, to Rome Italy, to back to the US, to San Francisco, to Thailand, to The Golden Hills and now to the Enchanted Forest. In each place, often penniless, I licked my wounds, struggled with despair, indulged in excess and dreamed of renewal, a new life somehow somewhere, and ultimately I moved on. There was, however, even during these times always something I could not give up on, first Jason, then Jessica and now HRM. I may not always have been successful in their view, but I tried and they kept me more alive and happy than I am sure they believe I have benefitted them. But no more now, they are grown (perhaps not HRM) and despair now is reserved for those times when the pains and discomfort of my various maladies become too much and instead of not giving up, I sometimes long for the peace of oblivion.

Talk about depressing things, the HAC just towed our automobile again. I left them a nasty message and threatened to sue them.

B. UPDATE ON THE MYSTERIOUS ORB.

For those interested in the odd adventures of the Mysterious Orb, it has moved slightly from when it emerged from the bush behind which it had been hiding to show Nikki the way to our house. It has now rolled on a short way and appears to be intending to hide behind another bush to await for whatever the orb waits for next.

It moved from its hiding place behind the smaller bush on the right where it had hidden for a few weeks to the center of the space where Nikki saw it. The Orb has since then moved on toward the bush on the left. Whether it will choose to hide behind that bush or proceed on up the alleyway, I can only guess. I await the next episode in the adventures of the Odd and Mysterious Orb.

The Mysterious Orb —Photograph Taken From Our Garage.

Today about four days after the above was written, the Orb made its decision and is now well hidden behind the bush on the left.

A few days later, during an early morning walk, I passed by the alley where the Odd Orb was hiding. I noticed one of the Turkey Gangs pecking around that part of the alley near where the Orb was hiding. It got me thinking. Do you suppose it is the Turkey Gangs that are moving the Orb around? The birds are big enough to do so. If so, why? Another mystery.

C. OFF TO THE BIG ENDIVE ON THE BAY.

First, we bailed the car out of impoundment. I grumbled and plotted revenge on those I believed targeted me specifically. On the drive home in response to my complaints, Naida said, “I guess we know now that there is a wicked witch in the Enchanted Forest.”

Then we spent some time on our computers doing last minute things. Finally, we and the dog set off to the Big Endive on the Bay. We arrived at Peter’s house in late afternoon. My daughter arrived soon after. We had a pleasant evening reminiscing. Jessica planned to leave on Friday to go back to Washington DC. I will be sad to see her go I do not know when I will see her again.

The next day I met with my doctor and received the first glimmer of good news in at least the past three months. He said that cancer had shrunk enough to bring the possibility of an operation to remove it before the board of surgeons. They then efficiently scheduled all tests and my infusion to occur the remainder of the day.

That night we had dinner at a local Italian Restaurant that I used to enjoy when I lived in that neighborhood years ago. It used to cost about $10 for the same meal I enjoyed that night. Now, that same meal cost me $70. Nothing had changed but the wealth of those that now live in the neighborhood.

Later, Hiromi and my granddaughter Amanda arrived at Peter’s house for a visit.

D. BACK TO THE ENCHANTED FOREST.

We returned to the Enchanted Forest on Friday. On Saturday I drove into the Golden Hills to drive the Scooter Gang around. While we were driving HRM turned to me with a big smile on his face and said, “Pookie, I have a girlfriend.” How does one respond to that? I settled on, “Good for you” and high-fived him. Now I worry.

Among the books I have read so far this month was James Lee Burke’s most recent Robicheaux and Purcell saga. The boys are getting old — and they know it. They still, however, act like adolescents while Burke places in their minds the sorrows and sadness of aging heroes approaching their end. Although, the novel takes place by Bayou Teche in Louisiana and Monument Valley Arizona, the epilogue has Dave, Clete and Dave’s adopted daughter Alifair recovering from their efforts and injuries in a motel in Bodega Bay California and traveling up and down Highway One for entertainment.

Alas, I just got word that Lucia’s bar in Sacile, a place I always considered the happiest place on earth, is no more. It has succumbed to the downsizing of the nearby American military base and the Italian economy’s multi-year depression. Lucia is now working as a barista in one of the other cafes in the town. This is all so sad.

I am losing my hair as a result of the chemo. Great gobs of hair flitter down from my head often falling into my food as I eat, making it even more unappetizing than usual. It all amuses me. If it continues I will become the first person in my direct ancestry to go bald in at least five generations. My head looks like it is covered with down.

hemothera

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Mopey’s Memories: A Ruby Wedding Anniversary and a Birthday.

TODAY FROM AMERICA:

A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN MENDOCINO:

On Friday we left for Mendocino and the celebration of my sister Maryann and George’s 40th wedding anniversary. Despite my illness, the drive from Sacramento to Mendocino was pleasant enough. It was made more tolerable by listening to an audio disk of a book. A book that I had read before and perhaps have even written about here.

It was the first novel in the Arthurian Trilogy by Bernard Cornwall called, The Winter King. Listening to the narrator drone on helped the time pass rapidly. The trilogy is set in the latter part of the Fifth Century about 80 years or so after the Romans had departed Britain and the indigenous inhabitants had begun their devolution into rural barbarism. During this time, raiders from the area around Denmark eyeing the land now made empty by the Roman retreat arrived and settled in the East. They were, at the time of the novel’s setting, driving the Britons before them off the fertile lands and into the mountains. History records a British warlord named Artur active then. Also, there is evidence of a series of battles at about this time between the Saxon invaders and the British won by the Britons that halted the Saxon advance for about 40 years — a fairly long time by the standards of history. The author places the medieval legends back at this time but provides the shining heroic characters with a more gritty and less exalted story than the Medieval bards did.

Anyway, we arrived in Fort Bragg in good order checked into a motel, settled the dog comfortably and left for the Anniversary dinner.

The dinner was held at the Noyo Harbor Inn an attractive fairly newly remodeled hotel overlooking Noyo Harbor.

In addition to members of the family friends of Maryann and George from the East Coast were there also.

Fred and Ellen

F

George and Mary made speeches about the happiness of their marriage and George gave Mary a ruby ring to celebrate their 40th Anniversary.

The following day Naida, I and Boo-Boo went for a walk along the beach and the bluffs.

We then set off to Mary and George’s home for a Barbecue. When we arrived, I was amazed at the additions to their house that had been completed since the last time we were there. They had constructed an all-new patio and garden enclosure at the front of the house. It seemed to bring the house into the garden or the garden into the house I could not tell which.

The Barbecue featured meat and a lovely salmon prepared by Quinn, Katie’s intended.

Several of our friends from Mendocino joined us — Nancy and Duncan, Ester and her husband and a few others who despite the relatively few times were have visited each other, I feel have become as close friends as I have ever enjoyed. There was even a hedgehog who joined us that night. I never really met him in person (in hedgehog?) before.

The next day we returned to The Enchanted Forest. I decided to try driving down Highway 101 and up 80 since on paper it is the quickest drive. Alas, as I feared, the traffic, especially as we approached Petaluma was horrendous.

B. BACK IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST

Monday was my birthday. My daughter sent me three interesting books. Hayden surprised me with a nice gift. Many friends sent me their best wishes through email and social media. Even my grandson Aaron texted me. Naida took me out for one of my favorite things, a root beer float. We went to Mel’s. They even put a candle on it.

Happy Birthday Pookie

Some additional notable events that occurred on my birthday, October 15, during the 16th and 17th Centuries:

1552 Khanate of Kazan is conquered by troops of Ivan Grozny.
1581 Commissioned by Catherine De Medici, the 1st ballet “Ballet Comique de la Reine” is staged in Paris
1582 Many Catholic countries switch to the Gregorian calendar, skip 10 days
1598 Spanish general strategist Bernardino de Mendoza occupies fort Rhine
1641 Paul de Chomedey de Maisonneuve claims Montreal
1654 Prince Willem III appointed viceroy of Overijssel
1655 Jews of Lublin are massacred
1660 Asser Levy granted butcher’s license (kosher meat) in New Amsterdam
1674 Torsåker witch trials begin, largest witch trials in Sweden, 71 beheaded and burned

All and all, except for Asser’s butcher’s license, those were not very good or notable days.

Note also, on the day I was born in 1939:

1939 LaGuardia Airport opened in NYC
1939 Yeshiva of Mir closed after 124 years

So on my next birthday raise a glass to LaGuardia (The mayor and the airport) and shed a tear for the Yeshiva of Mir.

For those of you over 70 and well into the great decline, you probably already experience this. Even as my body weakens, the voice in my head that talks to me all the time seem always to be as young as it was when I was a teenager. Oh, a bit more cynical perhaps, but every bit as vigorous as ever when I feel I have done something that rises to the level of the barely adequate, letting me know how foolish I really am. One would think that at this age that voice would give up and feebly warble, “I no longer give a damn. Do what you want. Who cares?”

The remainder of the week drifted off to same old, same old. Sitting at home playing with the computer, watching old movies on TCM (not much to write about there) and reading the novels Jessica sent me (One was by JK Rowling using her nom de plume, Robert Galbraith. It was a mystery and quite good). I also went to a few pre-op examinations. And, of course, attended to the needs of Hayden and The Scooter Gang.

Speaking of H, he recently acquired a new mountain bicycle to replace his other mountain bike that he said was inadequate. (He was insistent that I understood that the old bike was an “off-road bike” and not a “mountain bike” — Whatever.) It was quite something — complex hydraulics on the seat and well as the front and back wheels. He recently joined the school mountain bike team along with several other Scooter Gang members.

Hayden and His Mountain  Bike

On Tuesday, I had a stress test in preparation for my operation. A stress test for those who have never had one is where you fast for a day and dive to the lab where they the load you full of radioactive substances, lie you on a cot under great machines that make odd humming and clicking noises and then tell you to relax for the next hour or so. I was stressed out.

And so the week played itself out. Finally, after many phone calls, I managed to arrange an appointment with my surgeons. The growth in my neck seems larger and more uncomfortable. The Scooter Gang has begun to evidence teenage bravado and male aggressiveness. So it goes. Most days I sit in the studio with the Mac on my lap watching Naida tap away on her computer editing her memoirs.

The weekend also passed by quietly. On Sunday N decided to bake a pumpkin pie the way the Native Americans taught the illegal immigrants coming ashore a Plymouth or Jamestown — baking the pie in the pumpkin.

It did not turn out that well because, while emptying the pumpkin of its seeds, we inadvertently punctured a hole in the bottom and much of the custard filling drained through during the baking. It tasted pretty good nevertheless. I wonder if the colonists faced that problem.

On Tuesday, I meet with the surgeons.

Have fun. Be cool. Keep warm. Stay hot.

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