POOKIE’S ADVENTURES: Mostly Mendocino, September 2023

“I always feel like a traveler, heading somewhere, towards some destination. If I sense that this destination doesn’t, in fact, exist, that seems to me quite reasonable and very likely true.”

VINCENT VAN GOGH.

I’ve also always felt like a traveler, heading somewhere, towards some destination. I never found it. I suspect Vincent discovered that it did not exist on that sad July day in 1890 in Auvers-sur-Oise, France.

It has been well over a week since I last wrote here. I have been quite ill, experiencing persistent headaches and dizziness. I spent most of that time in bed. Even today, I still feel unwell, although somewhat less than the past seven days. Severe depression accompanied my physical ailments.

I don’t recall much of what transpired during the few hours I was awake and mobile during that time. I do remember a day when Naida cried out, “I am a worm wiggling in the mud.” On the morning of another day, Naida woke up and decided to recite some poetry. Without my hearing aids on, I couldn’t understand the words, but I could discern the rhymes and rhythms. I believed she was reciting Longfellow, specifically “A Skeleton In Armor,” one of her favorites. I was correct. Later I attempted to read my latest novel but gave up after struggling through one chapter.

While happiness often may be as simple as waiting to see what happens next – a principle upon which I’ve based my life – when you feel awful, however, waiting to see what happens next sucks. However, one should never underestimate the benefits of self-delusion. So, I am certain I will feel better tomorrow… or the day after.

During the past week or ten days, I’ve hardly written here. There seems to have been a change in my health and Naida’s as well. I appear to require more and more sleep to get through the day. Today, the first day of September, I attempted my usual stroll through the Enchanted Forest – about a two-mile walk. I had to stop and rest on benches five times to complete it. Each stop demanded about 15 minutes to regain my strength and breath.

Yesterday, I drove to the Golden Hills for my weekly lunch with HRM. He surprised me with his announcement that his true interest for college lies in languages. He expressed no difficulty in learning them. He already speaks English and Thai fluently and has some understanding of Italian. Recently, he has been teaching himself Japanese. He aspires to learn ten languages and listed them for me. When I returned to the Enchanted Forest, exhaustion forced me to bed, where I slept until seven PM.

I’m perplexed about what has been happening to me in recent weeks. Is it psychological, a result of depression and psychosomatic pains, or is it physical? It could be that I’ve been consuming too much news. Watching the news can lead to severe physical and mental decline.

Today, after breakfast, I returned to bed, feeling both physical and mental discomfort. Around 5 PM, I went downstairs. Naida was watching the news. I joined her. After about an hour, I developed a stomach ache and contemplated returning to bed. Would I be better off if I stopped watching the news and spent my time walking through the woods, or perhaps sleeping more and dreaming? I missed the Saturday Morning Coffee again today. I also learned that my dear friend Burma Richard is battling cancer.

On Sunday, I awoke with my usual headache and dizziness. After breakfast, I headed to CVS to pick up some prescriptions, although I shouldn’t have been driving in this condition. As I drove along Howe and prepared to make a left turn at the stoplight leading to CVS, I noticed a young black woman on the sidewalk to my right, screaming and beginning to run backward. A young man approached her angrily. Here began my series of poor decisions. Despite being an almost 84-year-old man, I believed I needed to intervene and prevent whatever negative event I perceived was about to occur. My second example of poor judgment was to turn the wheels of the car sharply to the right, intending to cross two lanes of busy traffic and park by the curb. My plan was to exit the car and prevent the anticipated incident. This resulted in blaring horns and screeching tires from the cars in the two right lanes. I quickly returned to my lane and reached the stoplight for my left turn. As I stopped, I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the woman escaping down a side street, with the man turning around and walking back along the sidewalk.

I continued to the CVS parking lot. As I entered, four cars backed out simultaneously, directly towards me on all sides. Amid the chaos, I considered the incredible mathematical improbability of the situation, along with the equally likely mathematical probability that one of those drivers would collide with me. Surprisingly, none did. The car directly in front of me moved after a few back-and-forth maneuvers, allowing me to park in the space it vacated.

After collecting my medicines, I returned home. It was a gorgeous day, around 80 degrees with a gentle breeze. I decided to take a walk despite my headaches and dizziness. I had to stop at each bench along the way to rest. The weather was so delightful that I took some photographs. While resting on the second and third benches, I thought that Naida would enjoy this more than I did, and I decided to head back home instead of continuing the walk. I still needed to stop and rest on my way back.

Once home, I encouraged Naida to pause her memoir revisions and enjoy the day by going for a walk. So, she and the dog went out. I was still battling pain and dizziness, so I went upstairs for a nap. I considered increasing my thyroid medication slightly to alleviate the dizziness. I slept until around five o’clock. Although my headache and dizziness had eased, I was famished. I had dinner, and we watched “Schindler’s List” before going to bed – not the most uplifting film to dream about.

The new week began with a dream that left me awestruck for about ten minutes as I lay in bed. I was convinced that this would be one of those dreams forever etched in my memory, becoming an integral part of my life. Alas, by mid-morning, it had vanished. So it goes. On a positive note, I woke up feeling better – no headaches or dizziness throughout the morning. Maybe it was my thyroid after all. As positive as this seemed, we managed to watch “The Hours,” one of the greatest downer movies of all time, before leaving the house for lunch.

As we set off for lunch, we hadn’t decided on a suitable restaurant yet. While driving down Fulton near Fair Oaks, I remembered a place where we used to dine outdoors on the patio. We hadn’t been there since before the pandemic. Although we used to frequent it, I stopped going because I thought the menu had become mediocre. Since it was a beautiful day to dine outdoors – sunny and around 80 degrees – I suggested we give it a try. Naida agreed.

We were seated near two other residents of the Campus Commons, whom I had dubbed Big Bill and his girlfriend, Cheryl. Bill had once been the head of the FBI in Utah but resigned due to the Mormon influence there. He became a PI in the Bay Area until retiring and moving to our community. Cheryl also lived in our community and served on the HOA Executive Committee. After exchanging greetings and pleasantries, we sat down at our table and placed our orders. The menu seemed different, the food tasted better than I remembered, and I hadn’t enjoyed a meal this much in years. The prosciutto and melon appetizer with a sprinkle of pepper and sea salt, the caprese salad, the gnocchi with roasted peppers, and the corn risotto were all divine. I ate slowly, often closing my eyes to savor the flavors. As we were waiting for my espresso with lemon peel, Naida said, “Do you know what’s going through my head right now? Dry bones.” And then she began singing it softly. I joined in. Just in case here is the refrain:

Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk around.

Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk around.

Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk around.

Now hear the word of the Lord.

After lunch, we returned home – and I still had no headaches or dizziness.

Around 5 PM, I decided it was a good time to go for a swim. I did just that, and it was refreshing. There were more people at the pool than usual, about eight in total. As they gradually left, I found myself alone by about 6 PM. So, feeling rejuvenated from my swim, I left the pool as well and headed back home.

Tuesday morning was great. I was awakened by the dog barking more hysterically than usual. I realized he was barking at the tar-spreading trucks that were to cover the streets and alleys of our neighborhood today. I had forgotten they would block our garages for the day. I had lunch scheduled with HRM, so I threw on my pants, put one arm into a shirt, slipped into some shoes, ran downstairs and into the garage, and drove the car out. I squeezed through two tar spreader trucks, passed the barricades by driving up on the curb, and eventually parked the car on one of the streets not scheduled to be covered today. I got out of the car, put my other arm into its sleeve, cinched up my belt, and began the walk home. I had not taken my walking stick with me, so with my uncombed hair flying about, my generally rumpled outfit, and my stagger, I trundled on looking like some ancient drunk just getting home after a long night.

Following breakfast, Naida and I listened to about two hours of the divine Ella Fitzgerald. I have always loved her. In person, she looks like everyone’s favorite aunt, and when she sings, she sounds like a 19-year-old skinny ingenue in a skin-tight sequined dress standing in the spotlight of a smoky nightclub somewhere in Harlem. On one song, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, I think, Naida joined in. She held the keynote while Ella’s voice sparkled around it like fireflies on a hot August night, with Sachmo laying down a cool, raspy bass line. It was magnificent.

Although I had always enjoyed Fitzgerald’s singing, I was really introduced to her music by Bob Cavallo when we were freshmen in College. We went off to college together at Georgetown in DC and supported ourselves by running bands for college dances and holding crooked card games for the wealthier students who seemed to enjoy losing. Bob then went on to open a nightclub in DC, then managing the Lovin Spoonful, Earth, Wind, and Fire, Elvis Costello, and many others. One day I was in his office in LA, and he was extremely upset. “I’m selling a defective product, musicians. I’ve got to get out of this business.”

“What would you do?” I inquired. “Movies,” he responded. “I am thinking of making a movie, a rock movie.”

“Who will you get for a star?” I asked. “I have this kid in Minneapolis. He says he will fire me if I don’t get him a movie.” And that’s how “Purple Rain” was born. He followed this up with 12 Monkeys and a string of movies starring Bruce Willis. Later he returned to the music field as CEO of one of the major recording companies. I do not remember which.

Later I left for lunch with HRM. On the drive, I pondered my similarities with Leonardo Da Vinci. I am left-handed, so was he. I’m of Italian descent, so was he. He, of course, was a genius, and I am not. He, however, rarely finished anything, neither do I.

“You can’t change the path you walk; you can only change the side you walk on.”

  Smirnoff, Karin. “The Girl in the Eagle’s Talons (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo Series)” (p. 349). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group.

I guess I also thought about the book I was reading, the seventh in the Millennium series that began with Stieg Larsson’s first of three books, “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo,” and after his death continued with a trilogy by another author followed by the first book in another trilogy featuring the same main characters, “The Girl In The Eagle’s Talons” by Karin Smirnoff. Perhaps I will write about it later.

Hayden and I had lunch at a Mexican restaurant that we like. He was excited about his upcoming trip to Phoenix on Friday for his sales training to market a new television broadcasting service. I, less so, being somewhat jaundiced about sales schemes like this (having participated in one or two myself). I then returned home, went for a swim, walked the dog, ate dinner, watched some TV that I promptly forgot, and went to bed.

The next day was even less notable than the day before. I did not leave the house or even change out of what I had worn to bed. Well, tomorrow is another day.

Thursday was worse. I tried to figure out what was happening. I failed. I considered going to the emergency room. Didn’t. I stayed in bed all day writhing in pain. I was convinced (not for the first time) I was going to die before morning. Didn’t. For some reason, I woke up feeling good for the first time in over a month. Not great… I still felt like an old man, even older than I felt a month ago, but the dizziness was gone along with the headaches. What was that all about? Will I feel good tomorrow also? Naida’s daughters opined that Naida and I have been suffering a virus, flu, or something. If so, why did she handle it so much better than I did? OK, I’m a wuss and a hypochondriac.

I do not recall what happened on Friday. Nothing good I imagine. Saturday started out the same, but Naida and I had a nice lunch at a nearby restaurant. At about 6pm, my sister and George arrived to spent the night. We went out to dinner at the marvelous Nepalese restaurant that Naida and I discovered a few weeks ago, Namaste Sacramandu.

The following morning we packed and left in Maryann’s car for Mendocino. Along with a stop at a the Blue Wing Saloon in Upper Lake for a late lunch. After the six hour drive we arrived in Mendocino and went right to sleep.

The Next morning we got up at about 10AM. It was sunny and warm for Mendocino so we took a walk with the dog. I tired quickly and returned to the house.

Views of Mendocino.

From upper left and then clockwise: Naida receiving a bouquet of sunflowers from a neighbor of Maryann and George; Naida sitting in the sun enjoying the view; A view from our window; Naida preparing breakfast.

George dressed in his Mendocino VFD outfit was called out on an emergency. When he returned Naida and I were sitting on the sofa reading. We asked him what was the emergency. “An old woman was dying when we arrived,” he said. “A member of the family showed us the old woman’s ‘please do not resuscitate me’ document. She was unconscious, so we waited for her to die.” 

Naida and I were shocked at this. “In your long career a a paramedic, did you see something like this offer?” “It was not common during my time in San Francisco but it did,” he said. “It was sad.”

“What was the saddest thing you have seen?” I asked. “Children,” he responded. He then added,

“There was a time, I was not working but at a ski resort when a young woman had been run over and killed. I couple of nurses and a doctor who were vacationing at the resort were trying to resuscitate her. I came by to help I took one look at here and said to them, I’ve seen this several times before, her brain was already oozing out from the wound in head. Then the woman’s fiancé came out and the last thing I saw was him, which her in his arms, rocking back and forth and crying.”

After breakfast Naida, George and I accompanied by Booboo the Barking Dog and Finn the Wonder Dog walked into town to buy some things. Naida bought some practical things like toothpaste which we had forgotten to pack. I, who recalled Naida telling me a few day’s ago that we needed to buy a fly swatter to deal with the invasion of fly’s and mosquitos that had taken over the house, marched into the hardware store and ordered their most effective and painful implements to slaughter small flying creatures that invade a home. I walked out with two traditional fly swatters, one for each floor in the house and one of those electric fly and mosquito killers that looks like a tennis racket. When I showed my purchases to Naida, she grabbed the racket, swung it about once or twice and said, “I’m a tennis player, you know. It’s all in the follow through.” So while George continued his walk, Naida and I, two well armed assassins, returned to the house, collapsed on the bed and slept for the next few hours.

We had a nice spaghetti and fish dinner that evening and sat around reading, playing on our computers or reprimanding the dogs. I felt quite well with only a slight headache.

The following morning, after breakfast, I walked with George and Finn to my favorite bookstore. After browsing for an hour or so I bought several books, a Sicilian cookbook for my sister, a tarted up copy of Lord of the Rings for me tarted up books library, a book of E.A. Poe’s poetry and short stories for Naida along with a guide to North American Hummingbirds, a book on Japanese folktales for HRM, and a bust of Inigo Montoya that also recites those immortal words, ‘Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father. Prepare to die.’”

Inigo Montoya

The walk back to the house was exhausting forcing me to stop and rest several times along the way. Maryann attended a Mendocino County Board of Supervisor’s meeting. George played with Finn in the back yard. Naida continued to read a novel, and I wrote this.

After a nap, I took another walk this time towards the cliffs. I contemplated the view for awhile before returning to the house for dinner. I was pleased with myself for having made my step count for the day. That night we watched three episodes of Deathloch, a comic’ mystery that takes place way down under in Tasmania where the gender roles are as reversed as the seasons in the southern hemisphere

Today Wednesday, following lunch we napped most of the afternoon. Later we visited a new brew pub in Fort Bragg. I believe it will grow into one of the city’s foremost attractions. Delightful location, service, and beers.

In the middle of the night, Naida awoke with pains in her shoulder. I had to walk across the garden to the main house and wake up Mary and George in order to get some Tylenol. It seemed to work and Naida slept well the rest of  the night.

The following morning, we slept late. After the usual morning rituals, I returned to the main house where George informed me that the bagels had arrived. Oh happy day.

Later, I walked into town to buy some Tylenol so as to avoid nighttime rambles in search of a pain reliever. I continued on through the town to the store selling random scientific implements and toys. I could find nothing for presents or for my pleasure so I returned to the bookstore. Nothing piqued my interest, but pursuant to my rule to never enter a bookstore without purchasing something, I bought another talking bust of  Inigo Montoya and walked back to Mary and Georges house. So far today I have walked over 3,700 steps. Good for me.

That evening Mary George and I went to a new brew-pub named Tall Guy Brewery that had opened in Fort Bragg. It was a delight. I predicted it would become one of the future highlights of Ft. Bragg.

Later, we all went to have dinner at a seafood restaurant in Fort Bragg. It is a relatively new restaurant that none had eaten at before. It proved to be a wonderful experience. One of the better seafood restaurants that I have eaten at.

As we finished dinner and perused the dessert menu, I glanced at Naida. She was oddly bent over her plate. Initially, I didn’t think much of it, assuming she was pondering something to contribute to our light-hearted after-dinner conversation. Suspecting my assumption was flawed, I looked at her again and noticed she had passed out. We all rushed to her aid. George mentioned he couldn’t detect her pulse. As we attempted to lift her, and she began vomiting and seemed to regain consciousness. We decided to drive her to the emergency room. While George and Maryann supported her under her arms and escorted her to the parking lot, I settled the bill. At the emergency room, she had recovered enough to respond to the medical staff’s questions. After CT scans that showed no signs of a stroke, she was admitted to the hospital for further cardiac tests.

The following morning, George and I returned to the hospital. Naida appeared to be doing well. A tremendously helpful healthcare provider explained the test results thus far and outlined the additional tests required before she could be discharged from the hospital. George and I then returned to his house to await the call. Later in the afternoon, we picked up Naida. She had been fitted with a heart monitor and was instructed to meet with her cardiologist upon returning to Sacramento.

The next day is a bit hazy in my memory, but in the evening, we watched the final episode of Deadloch. I love that show.

On Saturday, I had oatmeal. I had avoided oatmeal for over 75 years because I disliked the taste. My sister served me “backed” oatmeal that morning and insisted I try it. I did, and I’m sorry to say, I liked it. At noon, we departed Mendocino to return to Sacramento. George drove the entire way and spent the night with us. The next morning he left and drove alone all the way back to Mendocino

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POOKIE’S ADVENTURES: Slogging into March 2022 with a few books, some pain, and a trip to Mendocino.

“Do not race your postcards home. Dally long enough for word of your adventures to arrive before you. Let them announce you and lay the foundation for your legend.”

Bancroft, Josiah. The Fall of Babel (The Books of Babel) (p. 792). Orbit. 

 

 

Getting up in the morning is difficult for me. In fact, at 82 most things are becoming difficult for me. Being old is interesting. What I mean is you hear a lot of stories about being old, lots of memoirs, scientific reports and the like, yet when you actually become old it still comes as a bit of a surprise and yes a shock — at least it did for me.

 

Today was sunny again, the skies a deep blue and cloudless. I went for a walk a little after 1 PM. Although the camellias have been in bloom for about two weeks now, I noticed, as I walked along that other trees and bushes were beginning to blush with color. And, it is not even mid-February.

Most of us about my age can recall that old Rogers and Hammerstein tune that went like this:

 

June is bustin’ out all over

All over the meadow and the hill

Buds’re bustin’ outa bushes

And the rompin’ river pushes

Ev’ry little wheel that wheels beside the mill

 

Well, June is bustin out all over in mid February. If Buds’re bustin’ out of bushes now, I wonder what we can expect in “Summertime.” I am willing to bet the livin’ won’t be all that easy.

 

In the last week or two, I have been finding that about every other day I feel so bad I can hardly get out of bed. I do not know what is going on with my body. A doctor I knew once told me:

 

“We can cure most illnesses today. But, as patients get older the illnesses begin to come so often and close together the medical profession cannot keep up with them — And then the die.”

 

Anyway, I felt awful today so I spent most of it in bed. I got up at about 4 PM and looked out the window. The day looked bleak. The sky was overcast and not the warm sunny days of the past few weeks. Maybe, I will go back upstairs to bed and try again tomorrow.

 

Today I am up and about again. The sun is shining, skies a deep clear blue, the temperature hovering in the mid to low 60s, and a stiff wind blowing. I have no idea why I seem to wobble back and forth between feeling good and feeling awful. It seems to alternate almost every day now. This is new. It has only been going on since I fell during my walk along the river a week or so ago. It is always something. As I grow older there seems to be an awful lot more of somethings I can do without than I recall ever having to deal with before.

 

It seems all I write about recently are my maladies and infirmities. Perhaps it has something to do with my age. Well, I just write this stuff, I don’t have to read it. It is all about me of course. I pretend it is not, but it is.

 

`One of the reasons I spend so much time waiting about my ailments and afflictions is that I spend so much time here in the house obsessing on them. I do do other things, however, to pass the time. One of them is to read. I haven’t written much about my reading lately, preferring instead to spend my time describing the exquisite pleasure of wallowing in self pity. As I think I mentioned before, I try to avoid reading any fiction requiring thinking or providing new information or concepts. At my age, neither adds any benefit, amusement or wisdom to my current condition. Unfortunately, I did read a novel recently by Ken Liu called the Veiled Throne that was both interesting and difficult. It was a fantasy novel, the third of four, set in a world that resembled the Middle Ages in Eastern Asia. Much of the story revolved around the particular form of logographic calligraphy and ideograms and the philosophies of the figurative language upon which it is based. It is a great novel, but one I did not necessarily appreciate struggling through.

 

After finishing Liu’s novel, I began reading a novel by Kevin Hearne, sent to me by my daughter Jessica. Hearne is more my type of author. Light, humorous, entertaining and requiring little effort on my part. He began with a series that I enjoyed consisting of nine novels or so about the Iron Druid. The Iron Druid was a 2000 year-old Druid named Atticus fleeing through the ages from the wrath of some Irish divinity whose sword he stole. He is accompanied in his adventures by a large Irish Wolfhound called Oberon with whom he talks. Oberon is the more witty of the two, For example: 

 

“She’s kind of like a Mary Poppins just before she turns to the dark side of the Force,” Oberon said. He was still behind the counter, but he had a good look at her as she exited. “Let go of your anger, Malina! There’s still good in you! The Emperor hasn’t driven it from you fully!” 

― Kevin Hearne, Hounded

 

And,

 

“That’s what a skinwalker is: a mean asshole with a meaner spirit squatting inside.” 

“I’ve run into some of those at the dog park,” Oberon said. “They’re usually attached to Chihuahuas.” 

― Kevin Hearne, Tricked

 

Okay one more:

 

“You don’t even know if she really likes you, Oberon said as we exited and I unlocked my bike. 

She could be doing her customer service routine and stringing you along in hopes of a big tip the next time you come in. With dogs you just go up and smell their asses and you know where you stand, it’s so much easier. 

Why can’t humans do that?” 

― Kevin Hearne, Hounded

 

 

Oberon has his own series of novels (Which I have not read). Anyway, I guess after nine or so novels Hearne tired of the Iron Druid’s hijinks and began writing new series with new heroes. The one my daughter sent me is a new series, Ink and Sigil, about a 60 year-old Scotsman with an extraordinary white mustache named Al MacBharrais (the person not the mustache) who can cast spells using enchanted inks and magical symbols. He along with four other’s like him stationed around the world are charged with the duty of preventing the Gods, spirits, demons, and what have you from other plaines of existence bothering the world in which they live. His job and that of the four others was created by the Fae matriarch Brighid who becoming unhappy with the Iron Druid’s performance in the same job, created the new arrangement. MacBharrais (pronounced Macvarris or something like that) is accompanied by a hobgoblin named Buck Foi  (reverse the first letters in each word for the joke. You will have to read the novel to understand it, however). Buck carries much of Hearne’s often ribald humor (see Today’s Quote below). Oh hell, I cannot resist. When in the second book of the series, Paper and Blood, Al directs Buck to say something about the Iron Druid to divert the attention of a monster from some other world from eating them. Buck says:

 

“Tell ye what, ol’ man, I’ve been wonderin’ about sumhin for ages. Does the Iron Druid’s aura apply to his cock, and if he cannae perform in the bedroom does he say he’s rusty? And that dug of the Iron Druid’s: Do ye think he’s aware of the double entendre on sausage? I’m bettin’ he doesnae, because otherwise he’s a legendary straight man and he’s the sort who would tell ye he’s legendary for sure.”

Hearne, Kevin. Paper & Blood (Ink & Sigil) (p. 167). Random House Publishing Group. 

 

I love Hearne’s books. After reading both books in the new series, I turned to a newly published book by another of my favorite authors, Caimh McDonnell, whose series about the Irish copper Bunny McGarry, I have written about here before. The book is the second in his new Stranger Times series about a magazine like the Enquirer on steroids dedicated exclusively to alien contacts and mysterious unexplained events only to discover that the world is actually being run by a small group of humans who call themselves the Founders, magic is real, and there exist a group of people who look like us but are not human and are called The Folk.” I may write more about it when I finish the book.

 

Reading has taken up a major part of the week, I, having little more to do other than feel sorry for myself, listen to Alexa playing old Louie Prima songs, and watch ancient black and white movies on TCM. We even missed the Saturday Morning Coffee today. I did have a pleasant walk however. 

 

It is Sunday evening. After breakfast, playing on my computer for a while and reading a bit more in my current novel of choice, I had a nice long nap after which I went on a long walk through the Enchanted Forest. It was a bit cooler this evening than it had been for the past few days. The sky was not its usual deep blue but a whitish-grey as though it had been covered with gauze. As I walked, I felt as though the Forest was wracked with indecision — was it early spring or still winter? Many of the trees and bushes that had flowered early had seem to have shed their petals in disgust and returned to slumber. I sat on one of my favorite benches (actually any bench to hand when I tire is one of my favorites) and drifted off into that type of indeterminate musing that fails to leave a trace on your consciousness except for that moment some bit of discomfort startles you back into reality.

 

In the evening, while I was reading McDonnell’s The Charming Man, Naida played the piano. Among the pieces she rumbled through was an utterly amazing rendition of Blue Moon. Ever since she realized she no longer can see the music or remember much of it, her playing has become incredible. It is as though whatever memory of the music left in her fingers have taken over. Not only are the pieces she plays now great in their own right, but she seems to be able to wander off into astounding bits of almost magical improvisation. Right now she is playing Clair dr Lune. In the middle of it she left the melody and wandered off into an incredible extemporaneous jazzy riff before returning to the melody again and allowing it to to drift off into the night — its last notes floating away and disappearing into the darkness. 

 

Ah, Monday morning, a new week begins (or does a new week begin on Sunday as the calendar tells us — no matter, for me it always begins on Monday). Out the window it is one of those glorious February days that signify the end of the world as we know it is rapidly approaching. Putin and his Russian mob are poised just outside the Ukraine threatening a new kind of war in this post atomic age. A war in which no one came and even fewer cared. The Winter Olympics in China ended in a way that argued that they never should be held again and instead be replaced for winter television spectaculars with scenes of ice breaking off the Antarctic ice-shelf and plunging into the sea. And, confirming that Caimh McDonnell’s Stranger Times are now truly upon us, in Florida Bernie Madoff’s sister and husband have been found dead in an apparent murder-suicide. Naida sits next to me reading the obituary pages of the Sacramento Bee that now seems to include the editorial opinions. The dog lies on the rug and stares at me with those dark brown luminous eyes, waiting for the soggy crumbs from my coffee dunked bagels with gravlax and cream cheese to tumble from my PJs and fall onto the carpet each time I sigh as I write this. I am in a good mood nevertheless, having realized that I can dunk my bagel into my coffee while typing this at the same time. Empires have been built on less.

 

Tuesday began with Russia moving some forces into the eastern Ukraine and the United States imposing economic sanctions on Russia and interestingly also on the Russian “elite.” The media appears relieved they have something to be hysterical about other than COVID. Donald Trump should be pleased that the daily dripping of snippets of revelations about his perfidy will be overshadowed by this new great crisis. I, on the other hand, am occupied with the questions of whether the appearance of large puffy clouds losing like giant cotton balls floating across a deep blue sky are harbingers of rain and if I should spend the day moping about in my PJs or go upstairs and dress as though I believe I have something important to do today. 

 

Naida suggested we have lunch out somewhere and so we did. We went to Ettore’s, one of Naida’s favorites. She used to hold a writer’s critique group where a few authors would get together in a back room, have lunch, and critique one another’s current literary efforts. That is another reason, beside lack of talent, why I refrain from becoming a professional writer, I despise being criticized. Even more, I despise people not criticizing me when they should. I prefer getting into a fist fight, rather than being criticized. Should someone mention I had improperly used an Oxford comma, I would lock myself in a room in shame for a week, or simply punch him in the nose and let it go at that. Anyway, after lunch, I felt ill and put myself to bed where I dreamt I was being assaulted by Oxford commas, Oxford creative writing professors, and Oxford shoes (Note: I used to wear Oxfords every day when I was an attorney. I hated them. When I retired I threw them all out and began wearing Crocs. I wore Crocs every day for ten years until my brother-in-law, George, refused to let me into his house unless I was wearing “real shoes.”.

 

Today is Wednesday. I always liked Wednesdays. It is the middle of the week. I feel if you made it to Wednesday, it’s all downhill to Sunday. Sunday is not a real day. It’s a day of leftovers from the rest of the week. A lot of people used to go to church on Sunday, perhaps they still do. I think it was because they had nothing else to do since all the doing was done during the rest of the week, and it was a good time to hope the next week was going to be better. It usually wasn’t. I don’t think many people use Sunday like this anymore. I believe that is because Saturday has become another Sunday and people do not really know what to do with themselves for at least two days and perhaps Friday evening, so they stress themselves trying to think of something to do that was better than what they did the rest of the week. Most of us fail at that and secretly are pleased when Monday comes around and they no longer are obliged to figure out what to do with themselves. This applies only if you are not retired. If you are then every day is Sunday.

 

On Thursday we drove into The Big Endive by the Bay. I had an appointment with a throat and mouth specialist to see if he or she had any solution to the ongoing pain and irritation in my mouth and throat. Well it seemed she did — Gargle a specific mouthwash I had been using for a full five minutes three times a day, and take some anti-fungus lozenges 5 times a day. The doctor and her resident were from India and Pakistan respectively. Where would our health system be without immigration? After my appointment I dropped off my granddaughter Amanda’s birthday present and spent a pleasant time with my son Jason and his family. Then I returned to Peter and Barrie’s house. Their next door neighbor, Lucy Blake, who runs a non-profit that has preserved over 200,000 acres of the Sierras. She was there with her dog and was somewhat in distress. She was quite sad because she had scheduled the dog to be put down on Saturday because he was too old and infirm to control himself. While we plied her with alcohol and kind supporting words, the dog lying next to her shit on the floor.

 

A Pensive Peter Ponders Peanuts and Pomegranates.

The next day, Peter, Barrie, Naida and I along with the two dogs, Lord Ramsey and Boo-boo the Annoying, But Heroic, Farting and Barking Dog sent off to Mendocino to spend the weekend with my sister Maryann, her husband George and their dog, Finn the Wonder Dog. We all piled into our car and with the stopping for pee breaks for the dogs and the humans and a pleasant lunch in Healdsburg, the drive took almost six hours almost six hours about twice what it normally takes to drive from the City to Mendocino. The weather was great however.

 

From upper left clockwise: The four amigos at Golden Gate Bridge. Having tea with George after we arrive in Mendocino. Dinner that evening. A view of the skyline of the Big Endive on the Bay.

The next day after breakfast we went for a walk through the town with all three dogs. It was overcast and cooler than the day before. I stopped at my three favorite stores Out of this World, Village Toy Store, and Gallery Bookshop where I rummaged through their wares and decided on what I would return to by tomorrow. Then we walked over to Cafe Beaujolais for pizza and walked home. Mary left at about four to travel to a conference she will be attending for a week.

 

From upper left clockwise: Me; Boo-boo by the window; The view from the house; Watching a strange dog come on to the property and shit on the lawn; Peter, Naida, Barrie and the dogs enjoying the view.

On Sunday George was not feeling well so, we left the dogs behind and left for a visit to the Mendocino Botanical Gardens. Early in my tenure as director of the California Coastal Conservancy I received notice of the Botanical Gardens on the edge of failure. The Gardens, run by a non-profit not only provided the public a magnificent example of coastal flora, but it also generated tourist visits to Mendocino Coast resulting in much needed revenue for local governments in the area. There was some question about providing state funds for environmental enhancement and preservation purposes to a non-profit in order to remodel its facilities and increase its revenue. So I provided the needed funds for the facilities upgrade and for the purchase of the entire magnificent coastal head-land adjacent to the Gardens, a parcel several times larger than the Gardens themselves. This provided not only for the rescue of the unique Botanical Gardens, but also created a magnificent coastal park and nature preserve.

From upper left clockwise: Peter and Barrie on the trail at the Mendocino Botanical Gardens; Barrie and Naida at the rose garden; Peter, Barrie and Naida near the heather garden; Peter and Naida on the way to the Dalia Garden; Naida enjoying a rest on a bench by the Pacific Ocean; A view of the Garden showing plants indigenous to the California coastal zone.

Following out adventures in the Botanical Gardens we drove to Noyo Harbor in Fort Brag for lunch at an outdoor fish and beer place that we like, talked and watched the seagulls eying our food and waiting for a chance to snatch some away from us. I noticed that somehow (probably removing my mask at the Botanical Gardens) I had lost one of my hearing aids and was very distressed.

 

 

Clockwise from top: Naida, Barrie and Peter enjoying lunch on a wharf at Noyo Harbor; A happy Joey before losing his hearing aid; An unhappy Joey at the wharf holding us his one remaining heating aid and for some reason a piece of his fish and chips lunch that he was unable to eat because he was too upset and his throat too painful.

We returned to the house and puttered around for a while. George prepared a marvelous dinner of fresh salmon and albacore wrapped in bacon. Alas, Naida had an attack of heartburn and had gone to bed before dinner, George was suffering from a bad sore throat, and I, still wrapped in misery from the loss of the hearing aid, had an especially bad flair up of pain and irritation to my mouth and throat. I’m sure Barrie and Peter enjoyed the meal, however.

 

The next morning, the last day of February, after breakfast, we packed up the car, said a sad goodbye to George and along with the dogs began the long drive back to The Big Endive by the Bay. After about five hours we arrived back at Barrie and Peter’s house in Noe Valley. I was exhausted. I slept for an hour before dinner. Later, after dinner, my grandson Anthony arrived and we talked for a few minutes before my fatigue drove me to bed for the night.

 

The next morning we left for Sally Fox’s farm in the Copay Valley. But that is for the next post.

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