alcoholism passes on
When I was twelve, my father slipped on the deck at Strawberry’s recreation pool during a black out and split his elbow open, blood everywhere. I don’t know how he made it home. Continue reading “go away, shame” »
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changing a value
March 7th, 2017
Los Angeles is beautiful
My mother was a snob about Marin County, and didn’t like Los Angeles, because of population, traffic congestion and the heat. We had the Bay, which made our lifestyle better, more naturally beautiful than the Los Angeles desert. I was brainwashed to believe that my Southern California relatives didn’t live in as good a place as we did. Continue reading “changing a value” »
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what is pursuit of happiness?
January 31st, 2017
pursuit of happiness takes work
Pursuit of happiness is my American right. Thomas Jefferson wrote it into our Constitution, along with Life, and Liberty. ‘Unalienable rights” given by our Creator to be protected by our government. For decades I thought I just had to want it, and happiness would magically appear without strings. I didn’t have to work for it. Continue reading “what is pursuit of happiness?” »
roots of confusion
December 20th, 2016
My grandmother Brown was in her eighties when she moved from Baltimore to live with us. She had nowhere else to go. Neighbors helped my mother convert our garage into her bedroom, with a portable heater. My grandma shipped her stuff in moving crates to Tiburon, and somehow I was in charge of unboxing, deciding values of things I knew nothing about. Continue reading “roots of confusion” »
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change
October 18th, 2016
trying to change the world
I thought Beatniks of the 1950’s and 1960’s were the most creative nonconformists in the world. Hanging out in coffee shops with friends, sharing political and artistic efforts that changed the world was important in New York’s Greenwich village. As a kid, San Francisco’s North Beach expanded my desire to create beauty, and tell the truth. I was a fourteen year-old hippie and I sang folk music during the “Summer of Love.” It was the year before my father committed suicide.
Pete Seeger was a brave role model, and I memorized Turn Turn Turn and the time for every purpose under Heaven. My friend’s brother in-law Earl was the first Marine I knew who was killed in Vietnam, leaving his widowed young wife and two baby girls. Singing Dylan’s Blowing in the Wind reinforced my belief that I did not want any more people to die.
Courageous ideas were changing America. African Americans were marching for equality. My Episcopal minister in Mill Valley divided members of his congregation because he marched in Selma, Alabama.
In college, I protested against Plutonium and the proliferation of nuclear weapons. I do not want more bombs dropped on this globe.
I believe the adage, “Think Globally, and Act Locally.” I want artists to continue believing in causes, organizing fundraisers to make the world better. I taught in public schools because I love young people, and I want to empower them.
We can inspire each other. We have a history of music inspiring hope. Listening to the old folksongs continues caring.
Each generation includes people who want change. Long live activists who strive for change. Long live vibrant young people.
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Nearly Gone
September 20th, 2016
fire took it all
Lynn and Charlie lost nearly everything in the 2015 Butte Fire of Calaveras County. They physically survived and for awhile lived in a tent city at the frog jumping fairgrounds. Fortunately an insurance settlement allowed them to buy another home in nearby Amador County and relocate within the year.
Their story is better than most, but it’s so sad. Our fire anniversary is coming up. Anniversaries are often cause for reflection. I had a reflective conversation with Lynn and Charlie yesterday at their nearly empty new house, with no trees and neighbors who can see into windows. Far cry from acres of shady privacy.
“You see things like this happen to people on TV when they lose everything. We see and feel sad for them, but turn back to our own lives. The intensity of their loss has to be lived to be believed…I am never going to be the same.”
Lynn lost her genealogical heritage in the fire, revolutionary war antiques and precious things in keepsake boxes stored away for future generations, gone.
I was moved to write poetry for her.
Blessings to all who lost so much.
2015 Butte fire legacy
my jeweler friend no longer works
a blobmelt inventory breaks her heart
incomprehensible to those who weren’t evacuated
transform twenty minutes before the house burns down into an ugly nightmare
only rubble survives its raw beauty
cherry-pick my jewelry box when my brain says
“I’m coming back”
who wears melted gold around her neck when its clasp no longer opens?
what does the new back look like?
how does a dish cope in a new shape?
will the teacup hang without its handle?
rusty hacksaw suspends in burnt wood
where is the bed when only its twisted box springs remain?
remember heat snap shards in gray ash dirt
water turns to mud where there was once a garden
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listening to my heart
September 13th, 2016
my godson fishes in Alaska
During the four years I lived on Prince of Wales Island, Alaska, my dearest friend asked me to be her son’s godmother. I felt such honor to be asked. He was a month younger than my infant son. If I had stayed on the island, the boys would have grown up to be like brothers. But I left POW as a single mother, remarried, and raised both of my sons in the same California neighborhood where I grew up. Continue reading “listening to my heart” »
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thinking through craziness
September 13th, 2016
dysfunctional families are like mobiles
American parents are supposed to train children to handle life, and deal with problems. The big families of our past assigned children to raise each other. Older sister takes care of younger ones, and the oldest one paves the way. Continue reading “thinking through craziness” »
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eggs to flight
July 19th, 2016
in less than a month they fly away
My twenty four year-old son sent me a text photograph with a nest full of robin’s eggs. Then he sent a shot of the hatched robins in their nest. Ten days later, he watched the birds fly away. He watched the last bird fall from the nest and fly away, and observed that the nest was truly empty. Continue reading “eggs to flight” »
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church matters
May 31st, 2016
this glass is from my church
Our family sat on the left Gospel side of the Episcopal church, third row from the front. I tried to keep my back straight up and my posture righteous, because old people needed to rest their butts. I sat beside my grandpa when he visited from Los Angeles, , staring at his left hand with a missing thumbnail resting on top of the pew rail. He’d lost half of his thumb in a sawing accident, so weird. He stood tall, with his hymnal open, singing baritone with all his heart, perhaps recalling his minister dad back in Minnesota when he was a kid, and then growing up to be a deacon in Washington D.C. when his daughters were small and he went with my mom up to New York for all of her operations after she was burned=
My grandpa filled up with strength, surrounded with lush purple energy and blues mixed with gold hills of Tiburon, and the grey of Richardson Bay. I sensed his personal conviction that God was good and loving service to his family and friends made life worth living. He was a good man and his happy heart showed.
My mother kneeled during church prayers, resting her rump on the pew. My mom whispered her hymns, and kept pace with what was going on, but didn’t seem as committed as her dad.
I still go to church and sit in the same spot. Familiarity and common prayer calm me down. The family tradition still matters.
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