Love in an Elevator

So, Denise, the heaviness you describe is very familiar to me, too. Let me see if I can take you away from that for just a little while.  I'm going to ask you to settle in somewhere very quiet, where you won’t be disturbed. When you are there, and feel you are ready, let me take you to another place.

You know the Livermore Valley, the warm California climate and the hills that roll between the ocean and the central valley. You saw Hummingbird Haven and watched gliders soar with your father when you were a little girl. Now pretend you’re there again now.  Look around at the field and feel the breeze.  Can you see me on the tarmack standing by a white and red airship, waving at you? It’s ok, you can walk over to me.  I’m about to take a flight, and I’m inviting you to join me.

Here’s a jacket. It’s  90 degrees on the ground, but it can get quite cool up there.

I'm going to do the preflight check, everything inside and out. Then I will get the glider towed down to the take off area. You’re going to wear a parachute, strictly FAA rules.

The only person I knew that jumped out of a glider was my Dad. During WWII he was designing and helping to build a transport glider for the Air Corp. It was towed behind a large plane, I think it was four engines, anyway the inexperienced pilot had many hours in power aircraft.  He was not qualified to fly this, but he was a high ranking officer and got what he wanted. And he wanted to fly a cargo glider. It could hold a jeep and guns and i don't know how many men it held, but on that day there were only a few who had worked on it. To make a long story short, he got into the prop wash and the glider broke up and everyone was killed except my Dad and one other guy whose name I have forgotten. They'd taken care to put chutes on. So the conclusion is, it’s alright you’re safe with me. I don't do crazy in the air, I do what I'm supposed to and that is that. I would like you to be as comfortable as you can be.

I see the tow plane is headed this way, so here's your chute.  Slip your arms through, that’s it, and grab those hanging and bring them up between your legs and clip them right here. OK now, let’s get you in and comfortable.

Ok Denise, step over and in and step right there, good now. Let me get the belts out of your way, there now you can sit. Don’t worry I would never do anything to harm you.

Let me show you how this is done. All these belts connect in this center piece, and if you want to release just push down on this.  Let’s pull your belts as tight as you can without feeling uncomfortable. I say this because we might get some high altitude and it’s a fun ride doing big loops and spiral dives. You’ll love it. Much better than amusement parks.  So how do you feel now?  Still a little nervous? That’s ok, you’ll be fine once we get airborne.  Ok I’m getting in, and you can try to feel the joy because I’m in heaven. Well, we are ready. The tow plane has taken up the slack and all I have to do is waggle the rudder and we're off. Are you ready?

I want you to place your feet on the rudder pedals and hold the stick and just follow through with me. OK here we go that’s just the wheels and we are aloft. You can see that the tow plane has yet to leave the runway. We are much lighter than he is, and have more lift so we have to keep just off the ground until he goes up, and there he goes, and now we climb up to 5,000 feet.

I know there’s a wave here and it will be beautiful!  Are you alright?  Well, try to relax. Nothing is going to happen to scare you.  This is real flying!  Denise, stay with me now.  This is important because I would like to see you enjoy this. Well, we are now climbing through 4,000 feet and soon to release.  Alright, follow through with me on the controls. It will help to get you into this because we are going to pull up a bit and then, here we go, a little nose down to give tow rope… some slack, release from the tow, and there we are. And is it quiet!  Just the wind noise, and look at the view!  I can see the whole valley, and look I was right, we’re now gaining 1,500 feet per minute. You can see it on the instrument panel, it’s called a variometer, it measures our up and down feet per minute.

 Sure is quiet. Is everything alright back there? You’re not saying much. And look, we are already at 9,000 feet and still going up… do you feel ok now?

Well, I'm sure glad that you're feeling more relaxed! This is amazing! It’s going up like an elevator and so smooth!  I just love it up here.  Look down at the surface. Here we are up here, free for a time, and no shit Denise look over to your right. Do you see them at 10,000 feet? They are small birds, I gotta get a closer look.  Feel the controls as we turn, gently I move the stick with a little rudder and pull back on the stick a little so the ship stays at the same attitude.  I want you to try later, but stay with me on the controls and you will start to get feel for how they work.  It's not complicated. Look Denise, I think those are sparrows, and they see us. Don't they seem intelligent? Well, maybe that's just me, I love to be up here with birds!

 If we get lucky, and I know we will, there are sometimes hawks and buzzards up to about 11,000 feet.  Look left, there they are!  They’re in the wave with us… now that is heartwarming.  We're still climbing and just passing 12,000 feet. This is perfect, you could not have picked a better time to experience this. It’s clear and now we can see the Bay Area, a little higher and we can see the ocean.  OK, Miss Denise, I want you to fly.  You have the controls, just listen to me as we go. Now, all control is done in small movements, listen to the ship it as has its own signature sound, listen to it. Right now you’re letting the nose down I can hear it.  Just ease back on the stick but keep it level, that’s it, now let’s try a wide turn to the left. First I’ll do it, and you follow through. Get the feel.  See how I ease back on the stick while I turn and just a little rudder at the same time, the nose is at the same attitude as when we were going straight, so you try and I'll be right with you.  Ok, you have it. That’s it, and you’re doing very good, back a little, this ship is easy to get going.

Alright, good job, now let’s go the other way.  Watch the way you feel with the ship. Try to connect to it like it’s an extension of your body.  Damn! We are at 18,000, and I think we should go down a couple of thousand feet.  We need to keep breathing, and the air gets pretty thin up this high. I feel that we are safe at 16,000 and not too long. Now, look at the view and the quiet and how peaceful it is up here. So you feel like doing some more control work?  Good. I knew I liked you, but this really special. You’re the second woman to fly with me. That’s something of itself. Well,  I think we can say this is a great experience. What do think so far?

So here we are at 18,000 feet, and I'm now at 140 mph, and we are zero sink.  That means I have got to find the down side of this wave. I don't want alarm you, but let me explain what we're doing. It’s just like the waves in the ocean.  They rise up and then they come crashing down. Well, up here it’s on a different scale. We've been in the up side, now we have to go down. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable so I'm not going to just pull the dive brakes and put the nose toward the ground, although I have to tell ya it's fun doing just that. No worries Denise, I'll take good care of you. You’re going to feel a rumble when we get to the edge of the wave. I think I can best explain it by example.

You've seen water falls, I know. You know how when you’re on a river, there’s a sound you can hear when you’re near the waterfall. Then it’s over the falls you go. This is quite similar, when we get close to the edge you feel the ship start to get bumpy and it won't be long after that we will be going over the falls, so to speak. Oh shit, hold tight, it's going to be a little crazy! Yahooooo !  2,000 feet per minute down! Oops. Sorry about that!  Everything is ok, the ship is very strong, and I told you I would never harm you, and that's fact. See, it really isn't that bad is it? Now stay with me on the controls. This is critical if you want to fly. You have to stay with this no it  matter what the weather is throwing at you.  We'll get down a ways and then guess what? That’s right, we are going back up. So breathe while there's plenty of oxygen cause we are going back up, and then we're going to fly out toward the ocean.  I just love this, Denise, I'm so happy that you’re with me!  This is such a treat for me.  I just love sharing this with you. OK, here we are back in it and check this out. We're in a stronger part of the wave.  Who said it couldn't get any better?

This is amazing. We are climbing at 120 mph and gaining 2,300 feet per minute. This is gold, baby, pure gold!  Son of a bitch, look at the altimeter! We are just about to hit 20,000 and that’s it for Papa, I'm going outta here like a screaming banshee!  This ship has a placard of 170 mph and I think we, that's you and me, I just think we should see just where that is. Don't feel like that… these ships are capable of much higher speeds than this. I'm not going to push the limit, just see where it is. Just stay with me on the controls; I just love to go fast in these high performance sailplanes. Nose down and let’s haul some major ass here. Listen to the wind it's talking to us, I can hear it saying fly on fly on, don’t stop, just keep going.

 It's a wonderful thought isn't Denise?  I tried to tell you I'm a little weird didn't I? Well, just stay with it. Listen to this thing! It’s loving this, it was made to do this, and we are doing it to it.

On a spectacular day with you, this is true bliss and we're dressed!  Just kidding. Look we are now at top recommended speed and the ship is singing to us, and what a symphony of sound.  Now say something so I know you’re alright, Denise? Hey Lady in the rear seat, I mean you.  That's ok, I keep forgetting that this is your first time in a glider.  Well, how do you like it so far, Denise?  Say anything!  Well, you had me there for a moment, you’re enjoying this on the whole though right? Good, glad to hear that and I do apologize for not being more thoughtful.

I never said I was perfect. Shut the hell up Larry, you talk too much. Now we have lost a lot of altitude, we’re still at 15,000 feet  and we are alright at this point for a while. Anyway, the ship is always headed for the barn.  Mother Earth us calls back, and when she does we hafta go.  So, in the meantime let’s have some fun that doesn't make you fearful. There's nothin ta be worried about, this is one of the safest places there is. Think about it Denise, what can harm you up here?  Oh, I know, an airliner could come crashing into us, or a lightning bolt could come out of nowhere or, or… that's really chickenshit of me.  Damn, I just don't know what gets into me sometimes.

How about sweeping turns just like we are birds gliding over the Earth looking at anything we want, and free as birds so to speak. You’re going to fly this ship, take a deep breath and let everything go. Your life depends on you learning how to control this glider, cause I'm jumping out. Now that would be real chickenshit. So ya ready ta go back there?  Good then follow through with me, it's not difficult. I move the stick a little to the left, and at the same time I'm giving a little left rudder pedal.  As I have said, the tendency of the ship is to speed up when you turn, so ease back on the stick, see how little effort you actually use. It’s  a very smooth type of thing. Learn to feel the ship and rely not so much on the instruments. They have their purpose, but feel is how you really fly, and the ship becomes an extension of you. Wow, Perl, you can wax philosophical. I just threw that in there. I have no idea why, I actually thought you would know. Well, back to the ship. Shit, I'm real sorry I messed up like that.

How do you feel Denise?  You feel good with that, I’m so glad you wanna do it again. Alright let's go, and this time I'll be following through on you. Just so you understand, I like me so I'm just gonna kind of be right on top of you, I really don't think you'll need any assistance, so you’ve got it Gal, let it happen, that's it. That's it… ok… ok… a little… Oh, never mind you got it, good job Denise, I'm so fuckin happy I can't even say it.  I might be able ta drum it though, ya just never know.

OK woman, now show me your stuff and turn right without any help from me, you got it… oh shit, you’re trying scare me, I know you are!  Stop it please!  Well, give it awhile.  I like scared sometimes…  ya know it is a little adrenalin rush, wouldn't you say so Miss- I'm- Flying- the-Friggin-Glider.  What's next?  Y'all will want to vote an everything.  The world… forget the world… we are on top of it and it feels good to me, how about you, Miss Denise? I love that for some damn reason, there's another one you'll probably have the answer to.

 So what do you think we should do next? I’m telling you a loop is not scary, it’s a beautiful thing of grace and harmony and you get to be the witness to it's magic, so what do you say, are ya with me here? I like the sound of yes. Let’s go through it together. Nose down get some speed and can you dig the sounds of whatever it is that makes all this happen?  So relax and go with this. Trust me.  There's 120 mph, that should be plenty, although I have never done this in such a high performance ship. Yeah, I am laughing. You’re going and you know it, cause I just power tripped you, and into a loop no less, and just when you thought you can trust this asshole he pulls this crap on ya!  Oh, over hills and through the woods, yea mama we going now! Oh yea, upside down, now you can tell your friends Perl showed you a new position! You're upside down... Oh here we are coming out and we're picking up a lot of speed!  Ah, dontcha just love it though, tell me what was that to you?

Wow stop! We're too high!  I might jump, I knew you would do that. You're a hard card ta play sometimes. Wanna try a roll? No, hmmmm....?  Well, ok let’s do more sweeping turns and get a little more angle of attack.  The speed will increase some and most noticeable will be the G forces, which I'm sure you’re well aware of what those are.  Ready?  No?

Ok.  Well, let’s leave us up in the air above Mount Diablo for awhile.  I’m glad to hear from you that your heaviness has lifted a bit and you think you can sleep. That’s all I wanted to do for you.

I loved the flight at least as much as you did and we can come back to it anytime you want.

Sweet dreams.

Blues is News

John Mayall at 75years of age!

Last Monday night, I went with a friend to Jazz Alley to see a blues artist named John Mayall. I know just about nothing about blues. It's not my favorite style because so much of it is progressive and "jamming." It plods, to my ear, although the repetitions with slight variations are what the blues fan grooves on. I like a well-defined melody, and that may be because I'm not a musician and can't appreciate the craft beyond the basics.

I will say I like quite a bit of a jazz sampling, because I find those progressions relaxing. Can't explain it past that, but if I'm spun up over a personal situation, Pat Metheny or Lee Ritenour can smooth me right out.

The best way to appreciate blues is to have it served up in the company of a blues musician.  I could see my friend nodding and smiling as John Mayall took to the stage with his younger band members. He informed me that Mayall mentored an infinite number of blues players, including Eric Clapton, Peter Green, and the founders of Fleetwood Mac.

This album includes John Almond, John McVie of Fleetwood Mac, Alan Skidmore, and Dennis Healey

"Fleetwood Mac was a blues band?" I asked my companion.  Indeed they were until some personnel changes brought the new direction which was the way to making better money. There's way more bucks in pop than in blues. Dumb it down for the masses, but these were great bluesmen.

This evening he had unknowns accompanying him on electric bass, guitar, and drums. Mayall himself was playing a Roland keyboard and harmonica.

John Mayall, as you may know, is an old-timer. He's seventy-five years old. He's been performing and influencing blues composition for over fifty years. Wouldn't you be curious to see how he's holding up? I was, and even though I didn't know much about him, I thought here's a chance to see a real legend perform, no matter what his genre.

Mayall opened with a solo compostion. He played a chromatic harmonica with one hand and hit the keyboard with his other hand. Now, even if you're not wild about the sound of the hard blues selection, you gotta be impressed by that kind of coordination. When he blows harmonica, it comes from very deep within, and so it's not the screechy sound you hear from Bob Dylan or Neil Young. It's full and round.

He has an interesting touch on the keyboard. His fingers look light and easy. That's complicated stuff he's playing, I know that. But he smiles to himself as he hears the notes, and he glances over sideways to his band members as if to say, "It's like this." The side players beam with joy. You can tell everyone is in a zone full of love and excitement. Real comradarie at the top of the game.

Small club, Dimitriou's Jazz Alley. I don't think there is bad seat in the house. There are terraced floors, including an upstairs, and the room is accoustically designed so that big PA equipment is not necessary. Sound is clean. We sat at a high cafe table just inside the bar area. Great view, I thought. And for $28 admission I thought we were getting excellent value.

You can get dinner if you want, before the show. Non-diners can arrive later than diners, but I suggest you get there early, anyway. Some seats are better than others in the cocktail-only sections and most people do arrive early who want those better seats.

Jazz Alley is very well-staffed. You feel welcome and important as soon as you step inside the club. You aren't just seated, but choices are carefully shown to you with the expectation that you'll fully enjoy the show.

I wish I could adequately describe the show we saw. Those young musicians were very hot. You coulds see these are future stars, and hanging out with John Mayall is historically proven to be the road to the top. He most definitely showcases each one throughout the night, showing paternal pride in his protoges.

Mayall with the young muscians who appeared with him. I do not have their names.

I found myself actually liking the music. I wondered as I listened if enjoying is a learning process. As you discover the why and how of a thing, it makes it's place in your life.

"Just listen to the groove," said my friend, "The groove will getcha."

Discographies are easy to find on the internet, as are video clips of John Mayall's various incarnations with side players he's brought up. I especially enjoyed "Congo Square" and "Room to Move," and "It's Too Early in the Morning." But the songs were all immensely enjoyable.

If you get a chance to see John Mayall perform, it's something you won't forget. Blues fan or not.

The Moody Blues - Watching and Waiting

VIP

My brother, Steve, called me last Thursday and said something really great might be coming up for me, but he had to know what I was doing on Saturday. Not much, I said. The weekend looks pretty quiet.

"I have VIP tickets for the Moody Blues Saturday night at Chateau Sainte Michelle Winery. It looks like my client's husband can't make it, so I asked Rose if she'd like to have my sister sit next to her. Rose is a very outgoing person, so she said sure right away, but she has let me know if she can get the night off."

Steve works for Youngs Columbia, a major beer and wine distributor. Rose owns a bistro in Mukilteo. It isn't easy for her to get a Saturday night off. Steve called on Friday and said everything is a go, could I meet them at his house at 3:30 for bubbles and appetizers. We should be at the winery by 5:00 for schmoozing, and the concert starts at 7:00. Oh, you bet I could!

Steve and his wife, Ginny, Rose and I met up at the rally point.

The VIP seats are for people in trades like restaurant owners, sales reps, and people the winery wants to reward. I couldn't have bought the ticket for myself. I'd never had this experience and I was very excited as we entered the property. "We'll go to VIP parking," said Steve, faking a yawn.

That was easy. "Look at all the people lined up for general admission," said Steve. Some of them feel they have to get here at 11:00 a.m. and wait hours to get in. They all want that just right spot on the lawn. Seating is open, it's all lawn, and people bring blankets and low chairs to sit on. Some make quite a big deal out of low tables with linens and complete picnic.

We side stepped these unfortunate line people and took an inside sidewalk to the Chateau. As we glided by one of them said, "HEY. The back of the line is over there!" Rose stopped to explain that we were where we were supposed to be, and I said, "Give em the finger, Rose." But she didn't.

We were checked in and hand stamped, wrist banded and name tagged. Then graciously welcomed into the Chateau.

We get a special crystal wine glass and it is refillable, no charge. There is a table full of really elegant canapes; crab cakes, asparagus in phyllo, curry chicken skewers, antipasto... I can't remember all of the things. No charge, of course. We sat on the VIP patio and enjoyed the beautiful weather, and in the distance we could see the line people making very slow progress.

"It is kind of our hosts to situate the line people a fair distance from us. They look sweaty," I remarked to my brother.

Fifteen minutes before concert start, we thought we'd go look for our seats. We noticed that our section of porta potties sat discretely behind the VIP tent. They were a little bigger than the potties provided for the line people and they said VIP on them, too.

I took off my sandals for that Summer of Love barefoot look. Ste. Michelle has lush lawns and they feel so nice. We found our seats, opened a bottle of chardonnay, and looked around. Perhaps we should see what kind of dessert is offered in the VIP tent this evening. There were so many goodies and cheeses you could not fit them on the dainty little plate. I chose three tiny goodies; one lemon, one chocolate and one cheese.

The Moody Blues started promptly at 7:00 and gave a good performance. There are three orignal members, the all-important rich vocals are very much there. The weather was absolutely perfect. People were naturally relaxed due to these conditions and were smiling at each other. We settled into our chairs while the line people got comfortable in their earthy territories.

It was one of those rare nights in the Northwest when you remember that this area can be quite like heaven on earth and people can be nice to be around.

Fantastic!

Hummingbird Haven

One June afternoon in 1962 my father took me to watch the gliders at Hummingbird Haven. It was an airstrip for glider craft just East of Livermore, California, where we lived. The valley rolls toward grassy hills just before Altamont Pass, and the airfield lay in a perfect flat acreage.  As we found a place to park, where we could sit on the hood of the car and watch the flights, Dad told me a little bit about the history of this place.

As he spoke, I discovered that my father came out here often, and knew some of the pilots. Although he'd never been up in a glider he knew quite a lot about them. He said the Northern California Soaring Association had been at this site since the mid-50s and was founded by two men who designed glider aircraft. That's one right there, he told me. It's called a Nelson Hummingbird. It's actually got a small engine that assists it into flight and back to the ground. He'd seen it take off and land on another day, it amazed him that after gaining loft the engine and propeller would retract into the fuselage, optimating the lift to drag ratio.

Nelson Hummingbird developed around 1959

This picture shows the engine out of the fuselage for landing assistance

The thrill, of course, is to fly without an engine. The pilot soars along currents of air, seeking "thermals," or hot currents of air, that naturally rise and take the aircraft up with them. Dad told me about how a thermal is like a column, it kinda rises from the ground to the clouds in the shape of an invisible mushroom. The airship enters the column and glides around and around, up and up. As he reaches the top of the thermal-mushroom, the air begins to cool quickly and grow turbulent. That's his signal to shoot out of the thermal and soundlessly glide as far as the loft will take him. The loft can reach 20,000 feet and last for hundreds of miles, although this is unusual. A glider can travel from thermal lift to thermal lift and stay up quite a long time.

This day, Dad and I watched an auto tow. It may have been a soaring lesson or just some guys goofing around. We saw a kid, no more than twelve years old I'd guess, open the driver's side of a 1948 2-door Ford convertible and climb over some cushions (so he could see over the dashboard). He expertly started it up and drove it about 1000' feet from a TG-3 Redwing glider, pointing the back end toward the airship. He located a cable on the ground leading from the TG-3 and attached it to the car's hitch. He ran back to the car, over the cushions again, and looked toward the glider with excited anticipation. We could see some motioning from inside the glass cockpit and the kid eased the car forward to tighten the slack cable, watching over his shoulder for the wag of the rudder, and then he nailed the accelerator! Blast off!

"That's a Cadillac engine. Hopped up," said Dad, "I've heard about this."

The glider climbed fast, at about a 45 degree angle. It got to a little over 600 feet, maybe, then jerked a bit as it released the cable. Not real high, but enough to get into a pattern that made a big circle and approach to land back where it started. That kid stayed on the gas and made a big fishtail at the end of the runway, his plaid shirt flapping in the wind in synch with the windsocks along the runway, blowing his hair all around his head. From my seat I could feel the absolute joy of it.

Auto tow just before release. You can barely see the cable.

He slowed down to travel the runway back to the starting point, and waited for the glider to return, standing on the cushions and stretching as high as he could toward the blue skies. His right hand shaded his eyes, and when he saw the glider approach the runway and pass overhead with a "swoosh" sound, he raised both arms in the air, waving and whooping.

After landing, the boy towed the Redwing back to the launch point and reattached the cable.

My dad and I watched three of these flights before it was time to go home. He said to me as we buckled up, "That boy really loves the aircraft. I wonder how many times he tows before he gets to go up himself?"

As we left the airfield, I saw the boy at the pop machine, wiping his hands on his pants before he shoved the bottle top into the opener.

"It would be fun to see the boy fly his first solo, when that day comes. And I'm sure it will."

Pink Floyd - Learning to Fly

Look Before You Sit Down in Paia

The condo we stay in is in Maalaea village. It's in between the ocean front and sugar cane fields. I love the semi-rural, semi-neighborhood here. Population is small and people mind their own business. You can sit in your jammies on the lanai with morning coffee and nobody cares.

You can spend an entire day on the lanai, watching the harbor, observing wildlife... doing nothing. There's a monk seal, a couple of eagle rays, a heron, jumping fish, mongoose slipping through the landscaping, geckos chirping, and brightly colored cardinals contrasting the green grass.

Everyone who visits my condo asks about sugar cane spiders, since the field is so close. I've never seen one, I tell them, but I understand they are very big and run fast. They must like staying out there in the cane, and that's fine with me.

One afternoon, Fran suggested we drive up to Paia, on the Northshore, and do some shopping. Maybe find lunch. We might as well bust a move, we've been sitting so much. So Fran and Judy and I drove 18 miles to the former plantation town, now tourist attraction. There used to be a big sugar mill here, built in the 1880s, and the population was once over 10,000 people.



Sugarcane and Red Dirt

 Most of those people, immigrants from China, Portugal, Japan, Philipines (in that approximate order) lived in camp-like housing. Eventually, as they prospered, they moved into tract houses in Kahului. The camps disappeared and the sites plowed into more sugar cane plantings. The storefronts remain, and are occupied now by boutiques, galleries, and cafes. It's very quaint, no ABC Stores here, like you see in most Hawaiian tourist centers.

Paia is a bedroom community nowadays. Commerce is centered in Kahului, but Paia is a nice place to live. Sugar cane fields border on the mauka (inland) side, and some of the best windsurfing beaches on the makai (ocean) side. People who live here know each other, and are very friendly toward visitors.

The three of us covered ground with enthusiasm once we claimed the elusive parking space. It's nice ducking into an air-conditioned shop in the 86 degree weather. Store keepers are good greeters, asking where we are from, and telling stories about how they came to Paia to stay. It's a hard place to leave, apparently. Some residents hold three jobs to get by rather than return to the mainland.

"Oh, look! Crepes!" I exclaimed. I love crepes. I could smell them baking on grills.
"And French wine, too. This is it!" My friends weren't sure at first. Most of Paia looks shabby and dusty because of the tradewinds. They come from the Northwest, remember, and the beach is just North of the main street. All around are those cane fields and that iron oxide dirt. You can sweep it away, you can rinse it away, but you cannot remove the rusty stains it leaves everywhere. Paia is authentically weathered. Old woodframe buildings have survived over a hundred years of tropical storms, termites, and sometimes neglect.

Storefronts in Paia, Cafe des Amis nearest

We sat at one of the shabby chic tables, and the server brought us a bottle of filtered water and three rustic glasses. Oh, that tastes good! Besides crepes, there are curries and sandwiches, but I'm focused. We will have a bottle of that Cote du Rhone and I'll have that mozzarella tomato basil crepe.

You know the food is good when it's on the table and everybody stops talking.

We paid the bill and left the cafe. Judy decided she needed to go back and use the washroom, so Fran and I waited outside.

Judy ran up to us a few minutes later shaking like a leaf. It's pretty unusual to see her rattled about anything, so it must be a big deal.

"The paper towel roll was empty, so I reached up to get a new one. This huge spider jumped out of it and ran down my arm! He's in the toilet bowl!"

Fran had to go look. "Yep. He's still there, and that's a big one."

Now I had to go look. Wow. He's as big across as a tuna can and not delicate. He was inside the bowl, partially under the rim. I walked to the kitchen and told a server about him, thinking he should be removed before the next customer went into the washroom. The girl shrugged and said that they don't bite.

The cane spider, or brown huntsman spider, does not spin a web. It hunts insects on foot, mostly at night. So the slumbering creature was probably as startled as Judy was. In it's sleepy state, it rested in the toilet where it landed, and unless aroused again, it would probably stay put until nightfall.

But I don't think that's likely.

Massive Attack - Teardrop

Beach

I've been on Maui for a few days with two of my best friends. I think it's the fourth year we've taken this week together and it is so very relaxing. There's a four mile stretch of beach between Maalaea and Kihei on the South side of the island. It's county park, so there is no development on it, and most mornings you can have it all to yourself. The three of us set out to enjoy it after breakfast.

Maalaea Bay is shallow and wide. It's here that humpback whales are born in the winter months. The warm waters ease the newborns into the world. Some locals say that on still nights you can hear the calves take their first breaths. It is May now, and the whales have all returned home to the North Pacific where food is plentiful.

There is nothing so delightful as putting my bare feet into the gentle waves. Soft sand and cool water are excellent tonic.

I let my friends go ahead of me, preferring to lose myself in the sound of the wind and the waves. The shoreline changing as I walked along the edge of that refreshment, water ebbing and flowing around my feet, sand scurrying in and out. I stood for a moment, looking out toward Molokini, as my feet sank into the quickened sand mixing with ocean. Little silvery fish darted back and forth with the movement of the small surf.

I felt my mind begin shifting to that good place, that place so hard for me to get to. Where eternity feels unbroken, and I gear down into that slow passage of time. A sort of stillness.

I heard a familiar voice. "Small world," he said.

And there stood Michael just a few feet away from me. I knew him by his blue eyes and his soft manner. He looked older to me than he did last summer in Fairhaven, when we shared cupcakes and good conversation. There were lines in his face and gray in his hair I hadn't noticed then. It's the different light, I thought. It's so bright here and there is reflection from the sea water.

"What burden can I carry for you today?" he asked, with that familiar smile and easy affect.

I showed him my empty hands and smiled back at him. "How was Alaska? And how to you happen to be here on Maui?"

"I always enjoy Alaska.  All the way to Dutch Harbor and back down to Anchorage. I got here by hitching a ride on a cruise ship repositioning from Alaska. The executive officer and I had met in a tavern in Anchorage, and after a beer, he said he had a stateroom for me. So, why not?

 "How is it you are on Maui?" he asked me.

"I came with two friends. We do this once a year, and it's a good time. We've fallen into some routine, enough so that we are very comfortable with each other. I cook, Judy cleans, and Fran makes morning coffee. It's enough to do, some days, to sit on the lanai with good books at the ocean's edge. There's a monkey pod tree that rustles in the breeze. Tour boats filled with happy vacationers go in and out of the harbor."

"The sharing of beautiful things," said Michael, "Joy is enough purpose sometimes."

I nodded. "Joy is a big word. But maybe that's what it is. Never sleeping late because we want to see the sun come up over Haleakala the moment it lights up the sea bright blue. Talking about the events at home with calm detachment because home is so far away. "

"Not all joy comes with balloons and marching bands," said Michael.

"But I feel sad thinking about the flight home. The days here go by too fast." I bent down to look at a piece of sea urchin shell, purplish with a bright constellation of spines.

"What is the difficulty?" asked Michael.

"It's hard to explain," I said, "It's like I'm in two different places at the same time. Since I talked to you in Fairhaven, there's been a shift, and home seems an easier place to be. And that's just it, it seems to be. There is a heavy place in my chest that doesn't want to lift. It is not settled. It says, I'm missing something. I'm missing something very important."

"Explore it," said Michael, "Ask your heart what it wants."

"I'm afraid to do that. I have so much responsibility, so many obligations, pressures from family. For instance, what would my dad think if I threw any of those things off?"

"I know your father," said Michael. And I thought, did I mention him in Fairhaven? We talked about so many things, and I might have told him about the love of my dad and how I've never found it's equal.

"Think of this. You have children yourself. Are any of them perfect?"

I shook my head, no.

"What if one of them quit his job and ran off to join the circus? Would you love him any less? Would you try to force your will on him to change his direction?"

"Of course not. I might be alarmed, but I'd still love him as much as ever. And he's got to find his own way or he won't learn anything."

"That is the way the father loves you. He knows he gave you a compass, but it's your choice how you use it. Consider this: All human beings are connected through the Spirit. We love and take care of each other through relationships. Some people understand this connection and some do not. What one does not understand, one cannot access.

"You might consider that your highest purpose is to love. When you love, you are closest to the Spirit, and your direction is made clearer. If there is an obstruction, like heaviness in your heart, that connection suffers and you feel confusion.

"And I can't tell you what that heaviness is about. It's conflict, certainly, but you must trust that it is there for good reason. You must be free to let it speak without worrying about consequences, or you cannot hear it.

"Your father loves you. That is constant. You cannot earn that love, and you cannot be penalized by it. So, knowing that, first take care of your self, and when self is in order your other relationships will fall into place. To know how to love others you must understand how you are loved."

A gust of salt air, tradewinds from the Northwest, blew sand around my face, and I coughed.

"Must be getting close to the noontime," said Michael. "The still of the morning only lasts until about now."

And that is true. Maalaea Bay is at the bottom of the isthmus between Halaeakala and the West Maui Mountains. A natural funnel carries wind at gusts of 20 to 35 miles per hour as the day heats up until about sunset most days. It is time to wave to my friends for catch up and leave the beach.

"It was a nice surprise finding you here, Michael. I hope you enjoy the islands as much as I do."

"Oh, I will. This is one of my favorite places, too. I have many favorite places, so I always keep moving. It's heaven on earth, if you can see it that way."

And I saw him walk to the shower at the trail head where he rinsed his feet and put sandals on, looking toward the community garden and the residents working there.

Dead Terrorist, We Are Told

Photos of Osama bin Laden's dead body should have been released to the public immediately upon his death.

Some say the images are grotesque, too graphic, inflammatory. Well, tell me anything about this man's terrorist activities that wasn't. Put it out there in full color. This is the grim reality.

And you can't make the fanatics any more fanatical than they already are. I really believe that it is increased intelligence and security measures that have kept them from continuing to kill Americans, not any kind of appeasement or polite press.

The world needed to see this dead body, no matter how bloody or disfigured, without delay. The moment is now lost when Americans could believe that this President is sincere about transparency and moral character. The decision to withhold the photos reminds us that he knows what's best for us and thinks he can control that which is not controllable. Arrogance.

Call the corpse a trophy if you must, but it is best evidence, and there should be no shame in full reporting to the American people (and the people of the world) on the success of the raid. 

No one will win over the hearts and minds of extreme religious zealots. I read that only 10% of Muslims are extremists or sympathize with extremists. Considering that there are 1.57 billion Muslims in the world, that means only 1.57 million of them would like to see all non-Muslims dead. (Pew Forum statistic) I predict that in Abbottabad, at the scene of the raid, a shrine will be built.

1.57 million. Scattered all over the globe.

In London this afternoon, "Islam will dominate the world."

Wake up, Mr.Obama.

Here is a photo taken off the Drudge Report that shows bin Laden watching news coverage of himself in his untidy home. Here's another guess: The disorder and neglect might indicate that he was on that slow burn toward self-destruction that seems to happen to all good sociopaths. I doubt if he was of much value to his band of merry pranksters at this point in his life. Sitting in filth, strolling down memory lane, waiting for martyrdom, which is his best use.

Sexy Eyes

Back in the 1980s I was married to a musician. Steve led a band of four members, they played Top 10 and oldies, some country, and were one of the more well-known combos in the county.

Sidekick played at the Casino Tavern in Everett for a number of years. It was a fairly large venue situated where two main throughways intersected and got lots of business. The customers were a good cross-section of the small city, you'd see people in business suits seated at tables next to people in biker gear. It was a great place to observe humanity, as an island in the middle of a lifestream. For some it provided a sort of privacy. Like the saying "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

One afternoon I came along with Steve as he met with the band to practice new material. That was fun to watch because they'd choose one or two that they'd been hearing on the radio and work them up in about an hour and a half, flawlessly. I think there's some kind of mind-reading in that process. No sheet music (all played by ear), no copy of a recording, just keep trying it until it sounded true.

I sat at the bar where I had a good view of the stage, and chatted with the bartender, a guy in his 50s named Bill, while the band plugged in and tuned. To the right of me sat a wine and beer vendor, who was taking advantage of the quiet of the afternoon lull to tidy up her orders. We introduced each other, her name was Julie, and she'd been working outside sales for a few months.

We noticed two people walk in the side door. A good-looking man in a business suit, maybe early 30s, and a pretty blonde in a red and white sun dress that showed off a tiny waist and slender legs. She wore red strappy sandals with high heels, and somehow looked sexy but sweet. They sat opposite each other at a cafe table next to the dance floor. Bill walked over to get their order, then returned a minute later with a couple of schooners, leaving them alone.

"They look a little out of place here," remarked Julie.

"Nobody's out of place here," said Bill. "I see all kinds."

We watched the two, obviously making small talk in the semi-darkness. They were undistracted by the starts and stops as the band practiced a Dr. Hook song. Maybe fifteen minutes went by. The man reached over and touched the woman's hand. She let it stay there a moment, then slowly took hers away, brushing some hair away from her face. He raised his hand up to her face and also touched her hair, gently tucking a strand of it behind her ear. Then he let a finger trail down her neck and drew back.

Her eyes widened, and she took a sip of beer.

He took her hand away from the glass, and kissed her fingertips, slowly and one by one. She did not pull away. She laid her hand on his cheek, then traced his ear with her index finger. All the while they held each other's eyes.

Julie looked at Bill with amazement. Bill shrugged his shoulders. Julie put her pen down and closed her order book, then turned her bar stool around for a better view.

Now there was hand holding and caressing over the table top. The two of them were speaking softly to each other, faces moving closer to the center of the table. They could have been the only people in the room.

Steve's drummer counted off the start of the new song. I was always amazed how closely he could mimic voices. He sounded quite a bit like Dr. Hook, close enough anyway. And although there was no flute player, the keyboard strings did a decent job.

The man and the woman rose from the table and stepped over to the dance floor. Hesitating just a moment, the woman allowed the man to put his arm around her back, careful not to draw her too close, as they moved slowly in small circles. She let go a deep sigh, as he squeezed her hand and drew her just a bit closer to him.

And a bit closer still, as her head bent and rested against his shoulder. And she put both of her arms around him. The dancing became just a swaying, as his hands moved to her neck and his fingers into her hair.

We at the bar all looked at each other.

"Did you see where she just had her hands?" said Julie, shocked.

"Look where his are," said Bill, polishing a glass.

The song ended, and the couple remained tightly enmeshed for just a moment. As they drew apart, there was a kiss that started soft and slowly became intense. The man spoke into the woman's ear. She nodded and they returned to the table, where the man put down some dollars and the woman picked up her purse.  They left the way they came in.

"Whew!" said Julie, picking up her order book. "I need some air!"

Bill smiled at her and said, "Cigarette?" He offered his pack to her.

"At least!" replied Julie. And she left the bar.

Dr Hook - SEXY EYES

La Vie en Rose

The first nice, sunny day of Spring lifts everyone's spirits here in the Northwest. After long, dark, wet winter, it's joyous and dramatic. We can finally get out of the house and go for that long walk along the shoreline, maybe La Conner's main street. That little town is very busy today.

There's a little wine shop at the North end of the main street. It holds something wonderful, rose wine from France. I bought a bottle a few days ago in anticipation of a day just like this one.

What is so special about French rose? Most people think it's similar to California "blush" wines, which are sweet and ordinary. Blush or white zinfandel is a good vehicle for getting alcohol into the bloodstream for people who don't really like wine. That's my opinion, since many of us "trained" on it in our youth. It's one step above wine coolers.

French rose, especially from Southeastern France, or Provence, is an entirely different animal. It is crisp, it is bone dry. Minerally, fruity, complex. Lovely color in the glass, in appears in all shades of pink. It is a red wine, really, made from grenache and syrah in most blends. The grapes are crushed and the skins left in the juice only long enough to tint it a bit. By removing the skins quickly, there is little or no tanin (which comes from the skins). You get clean fruit, but it does include the minerality of the soil, so characteristic of these roses. Strawberries, red currants and subtle flowers, spice and stone, lovely.

Sorry, California. You guys can't do this. The closest I've found to the French style is a very few from South Africa, and I have no idea why.

It is of interest that French law does not allow manipulation of chemistry in wine making. It's all natural. It's against the law to irrigate or fertilize a vineyard, so each vintage depends on the weather for it's quality. That's why you hear that 2005 was better than 2007 for some wines.  Too much rain makes a diluted juice, just the right amount of draught makes intense, concentrated juice. It seems the harder the vines work, the better the product. It's all climate, weather, terroir (soil) and juice. Nothing more.

Other parts of the world, including the United States toy with irrigation, chemical fertilization, and even additives to the juice to make their product. In my opinion there is nothing wrong with this, but it's kinda over-the-top. In the glass it can be too much, all at once. And the manipulation creates trends, one year California chardonnays are over-oaked, and the next year too sweet, based upon the winemaker's whim and blending with the addition of sugar or ascorbic acid.

And the yeast a winemaker uses is his most closely guarded secret. Many of these cultures have been preserved for a hundred years or more. There is one that Taittinger uses that I swear gives their Champagne a hint of honey. They also use this yeast in their California winery at Sonoma (Domaine Carneros).  Many French winemakers use "ambient" yeasts, which are in the air inside the winery or grow on the grapes themselves. These ambient yeasts can create the finest and most unique wines.

The roses from Tavel, an appellation just north of Avignon, are the best. They blend grenache and syrah, but also use cinsault and mourvedre grapes. There is more complexity and intensity in these. This particular rose has been the favorite of kings and popes for hundreds of years. I'll add my name to that list.

Tavel comes in distinctly embossed bottles, a sign of superiority and tradition

So here I am on a sunny afternoon considering a glass of rose. I just have cheese and crackers, but if I had time I'd make steak tartare. That is raw chopped up tenderloin steak with a marinade stirred into it. I like to use olive oil, lemon juice, chopped shallot, Dijon mustard, salt, pepper, and Worcestershire sauce all whisked together. Stir that in with a few capers and chill it about an hour. I skip the egg yolk. Serve with toast points. Heaven.

Nobody can stand to watch me eat it, so with a little French pop music playing on the iPod, in blissful solitude I am complete.

David Dundas - Jeans On

Eco-friendly treatment for blue jeans offers alternative to controversial 'sandblasting'

Eco-friendly treatment for blue jeans offers alternative to controversial 'sandblasting'

I saw this article in a post on Facebook. It talks about the denim jeans that have become mainstream, all soft and broken-in the day you buy them. Quite unlike the jeans my generation bought when we were kids.

It was about 1970 when dress codes in public schools were relaxed. Up until then, girls wore dresses and skirts while boys wore slacks and button down shirts. No one owned a pair of Levis, unless you lived on a ranch and needed them for work.

Blue jeans were invented in 1850s California, by Levi Strauss. He'd moved to San Francisco from the east coast to open a dry goods store. The Gold Rush created a demand for supplies, and Strauss saw opportunity. One prospector visiting his store told him, "You should have brought pants." He complained that he couldn't buy any that would hold up as he worked the soil.

Strauss first tried making them using tent canvas, but that fabric was so stiff the customers complained of chafing. He did some research, and discovered a fabric from France called "serge de Nimes" that was the twilled cotton cloth we call denim. At first the pants were a overall-type, not becoming the classic "jeans" until about 1920. Over the years, rivets were added at stress points for strength, a pocket stitching evolved to identify the brand, and a red tag added to a back pocket to identify the brand at a distance.

The modern jeans became popular with cowboys and ranch workers in the West in the 1920s. And in the 1950s, counter-culture types such as greasers and bikers started wearing them, and in the 1960s the hippies liked them, too. By 1970, Levis were mainstream, worn mostly by young people of all types.

Rebel Without a Cause, James Dean

The Facebook posting by a childhood friend made me think back to my first pair of Levis when that dress code was relaxed at my school. I bought them at Brown Brothers, a local men's store, for $11. All you could get in those days were 501s, which are the classic button fly, shrink-to-fit, so stiff they could almost stand by themselves. I sewed a blue star on the left thigh, a tribute to my favorite poster artist, Peter Max. They broke in to become soft, beloved and very personal.

As John B. wrote in his Facebook post: "I remember washing them and putting them on wet so they would fit right. And having my legs stained blue for awhile. And climbing trees in the almond orchard, scrambling up the sides of the gravel pit behind the junior high school, sliding down the back side of Half Dome. I never felt the need to pay others to provide that broke in feeling, prefering to have the fun myself.  I sound like a whining elder, no doubt, as I lament on the efforts and money put into making jeans look old and worn out. Wouldn't it be a hoot if there was a similar passion to make ones face and body look aged and lived in?"

"That is poetry," I replied. "Maybe it's good we can buy our jeans already broken in at our age, so the contrast with the face and body is not so stark. And that mullberry tree I used to climb in the fuse works is long gone. I'm thinking about the smell of the hot dusty earth and dry grass, the feel of the rough bark and the knots in the trunk for toeholds, scraping an elbow getting a grip on the branches. And reaching my favorite seat, breathing in the spicy scent of cool green leaves and the sweet fruit hidden among them..."

I am Eve

 Having spent considerable time looking under the hood of an extremely dysfunctional extended family,the dysfunction including incest alongside fundamentalist churching,I've come to wonder about the nature and origin of evil. That includes ponderings of the original Fall. You know, the Story of Adam and Eve from the Book of Genesis in the Old Testament, pick-your-version.

Last Sunday, I peeked in on services at First Reformed Church in Oak Harbor. I hop around churches a bit. I'm not a joiner, but a sampler.  Coincidental to my latest interest, the sermon was on the subject of the Fall. The pastor told of the Creation, the making of Adam and Eve, Paradise, and the temptation of Eve by the Serpent.

Eve took the bait, made Adam take it too, and when confronted by God, blamed the whole mistake on the snake. And as we all know, God threw everybody out of the garden, condemned the snake to crawl on his belly in the dust, and that was the beginning of sin and the loosing of evil upon the land.

Or something else. How about Free Will? What evil act does not come out of a choice, of free will? I saw this on website owned by a therapist who works with sex offenders (I wish I could find it again, I'd cite it): The offender asks the psychiatrist why he offends. The psychiatrist replies something like this: "You do that because you want to. You thought you would try it once and see if it felt good, and it did, so you did it again. You had no consideration for the child whose body you took control over. You are evil."

The church was built to keep man in touch with God, and through fellowship and teaching, keep evil from taking over altogether. Churches, like other institutions, have a leadership structure. To simplify, I'll call it a shepherd and a flock.

What is the shepherd's responsibility? Certainly to keep the flock from wandering off and also to maintain the health and well-being of each individual. In his human flock, the pastor leads his congregation spirtually, chosing the doctrine and delivering the teachings.

The less dissension and more cohesiveness the easier the job. "Discipleship," coupled with evangelism fills the bill in some churches. Campus Crusade for Christ is the best example I can think of, and it also happens to associate with many churches using this programming. (Now that I've looked at their website, they don't talk about discipling out in the open. But Bill Bright, the founder of CCC, created the model in the 1950s. In this model, disciplers program disciples, who when finished become disciplers, "evangelize" to find new disciples, and in this way build churches. It is not for the new convert to discover until he's been prepared for it. Since the website reaches out to new converts, I can see why the model is not explained there.)

In Christianity, disciples were the students of Jesus during his ministry. In Campus Crusade for Christ, and churches structured in this way,disciples are the followers of organization leaders. There is more than a subtle difference between discipling the son of God and discipling a human being. Certainly there is room for error! Classic power abuses bring about such things as isolation (from "non-believers," including family), humiliation, and financial fraud, borne of human arrogance.

Man-made disciplers in some of these churches take unquestionable authority over their parishioners. A member would make no decision in his personal life without the approval of the discipler. He gives full confession in front of full congregations to create intimacy with the group. "He hears such words as obey, submit, die to self, and brokeness." (Mary Alice Chrnalogar). Is this a well-intentioned attempt at throwing off free will in order to get back into the Garden? Whose Garden?

It's virtual enslavement and absence of privacy. By giving up free will, and the critical thinking that goes with that, how can a person navigate moral waters on his own? "Animal nature" does not go away, it learns to hide. And evil crawls around on it's belly in the dark places where light cannot penetrate. In darkness, it keeps secrets.

Free will expresses man's dual nature of evil and good. Yes, free will is indeed an instrument of pure misery, but it is also an instrument of the most profound love.

I am Eve, and I will not live inside man's Garden. I'm outside, and I'm looking into the eyes of the child victim. It is my free will, and I decide to take his hand and say to him, "There are no walls here in the bright sunlight, and you are free. I can love you and accept you. I'll stand by you while you get your balance and your footing, then learn to walk without chains."

(I want to note that not all church organizations are so dangerous. Most respect the individual, and members work as equals to build healthy community.)

Dixie Cups - Iko Iko (Rare clip)

Iko Iko

I've been thinking about blind prejudice lately, ever since I got that email about the 9/11 False Flag Conspiracy. That looks to me like almost-pure antisemitism, which dates all the way back to the Crucifiction of Christ. It's been a constant in world history, and you can find excellent articles on this on Wikipedia. I won't try to reconstruct it here.

When I was a child in the early 1960s, I lived in a small town called Livermore in Calfornia. My father was a small businessman there, but we lived on the same street with scientists and mathematicians employed at Lawrence Livermore Labs, known then as Lawrence Radiation Laboratories. "Where they build the bomb," as locals liked to say. These brilliant people came from all walks of life, so our neighbors were Jewish, and also Japanese, Chinese, and any domestic blend you can imagine.

Equality of races and religions wasn't exactly instructed, it was exemplified. For instance, there was no Christmas tree at my friend, Craig Goishi's house. I may have thought that was puzzling, but there wasn't one at Angelica Hemple's house, either. Hemples had a big candelabra instead, and they called it a Menorah. These things weren't pointed out and compared, they just were.

I heard my parents talk about the camp that Craig's parents were kept in before he was born because that's where his parents met. They compared the stories Watt and Minnie told with the stories they'd heard of the concentration camps of Germany. I was too young to understand the cruelty, and could not process it.

My parents' folks lived in Vallejo, a Navy town about an hour from Livermore. There were many black families there, along with Filipinos and the usual American mix. My cousins and I played alongside all of them at the city parks.

Grandma's famous neighbor

I was thinking of this today because it was so easy then, as a child, to play together. We could see the differences in each other, but we'd shrug our shoulders and get down to the business of sharing a swing set, whoever was next on the swing would push the kid who had the swing. It was understood.

And I was just remembering the four little Filipina girls who lived in a basement apartment across the street from my grandma. They were hitting sticks together and pounding fists on the sidewalk singing, "Iko Iko." I knew the song was on the radio those days, sung by the Dixie Cups, and I thought that must be a Filipino folk song after that.

It's not. Today I looked it up on Wikipedia. It's a Mardi Gras song and it's got a smattering of West African rhythms and Carribean dialects in it, along with other influences no one can really identify. It dates back to the mid 50's, performed in the French Quarter of New Orleans by Mardi Gras Indians. The song is about competition between these tribes; their music, their dress, and their popularity among the revelers.  Mardi Gras Indian tribes? How come they look like black men? Again, Wikipedia has a great article on how this can be.

"The tradition was said to have originated from an affinity between Africans and Indians as minorities within the dominant culture, and blacks' circumventing some of the worst racial segregation laws by representing themselves as Indians."



Big Chief Monk Bordreaux, of the Golden Eagles

 That's how today's musings come full-circle. Here and now. Today is Mardi Gras! Serendipity leads again, such timing! Just as the taking in stride as children can, as they meet their playmates if allowed to do so.

Overheard at the Colophon Cafe

"Today is his birthday," said one old woman to another. "I always remember."

The two women sat together at a cafe table under an umbrella in Old Fairhaven. It was a nice day. They sat in shade but bright blue sky lit the canopy above them, making the silver in their hair shine softly.

"Whose birthday?" asked the companion to the first.

"Someone I knew a long time ago. A very long time ago. Happens once in a lifetime you know someone like that." She dropped her eyes, and stirred her tea with a spoon. The second woman put her hands in her lap and gave her full attention to her friend as she spoke.

"I saw him a couple of weeks ago. I was at Larrabee Park walking the dogs. He was sitting on a bench, and I thought, that's him. I'm pretty sure that's him, but I hadn't seen him in fifteen years or more. So I walked closer to have a better look, and he said, Cynthia, is that you? And I said yes, it's me. Sit down he said, and I did, and I settled the little dogs at my feet. I didn't know quite how to talk to him, but once he began to speak to me there were suddenly lots of things to say. And trying to recall it now, I'm not sure I remember what we talked about, but there we were and it was wonderful.

"I'm sure we talked about our families and our children, and how they'd all grown. And the books we'd read and the places we'd been. The people we knew and how they'd changed or moved on.  And that peace came over me, I wish I could describe it. It's that feeling that's always been there when I'd see him. I could see he still felt it, too. So familiar and welcome it was. I could smell his cologne mixed with the tobacco of his pipe, as it always was.  His blue eyes were the same though they shone through a lined face. His smile still slow and wry. Timeless, I thought, the word here is timeless.

"I don't know how long we sat. A woman approached and sat down at the other side of him. He said, Cynthia, this is Angela, my wife. We've been married ten years now. And I said, it's good to meet you, Angela. I'm just an old friend, I said, I knew your husband when he was a young man. She said my husband has known many women, I could not keep track of the stories he's told me. She took his hand and squeezed it, watching my face.

"She's a nice looking woman, that Angela. She looks foreign, maybe Latin, and I could tell she was very pretty when she was a girl. I'd like to say she doesn't match with him, but how can I say that? How would I know who suits him? And she smiled at me, and he turned silent. It was awkward. I stood up and said I had an appointment, so I had to get going. Polite goodbyes were exchanged.

"I looked over my shoulder, just once, as I walked away. I could see that she was talking rapidly to him, and he was nodding at her words as he looked over the lawns toward trees and ridges. I felt just a whisper of that peaceful feeling as it rose upward and out of me, leaving a chill behind.

"I received a note from him shortly after that day. He said it was good to see me after so many years and that we should meet sometime, soon. I tucked into a shoebox, afraid my husband would see it. I should throw it away. I have not answered the note. I wouldn't know what to say.

"And just now when I see those Latin women, there, over by the fountain with their grandchildren, I feel like getting up and walking away. It's silly, I know, and I'll stay right here.

"It feels cold, suddenly. Could you hand me my sweater?"

"The heart has it's reasons whereof reason knows nothing." Pascal