Cab Calloway

Cab Calloway was one cool hep cat! I remember watching the old black and white movies when I was a kid, and when Cab Calloway did his heidi heidi hei/heidi ho thing—I was positively mesmerized. Calloway was truly the king of scat singing.

Cab Calloway was also way ahead of his time. He produced the first music videos decades before MTV. I always associated ‎Cab with Betty Boop. I loved how the old black and white cartoons had real music scores: jazz, stride piano—you name it. We got a music education without knowing it.

Yep, Cab was one cool hep s-cat cat. Check out  We The Cats Will Hep Ya - Cab Calloway Band from Sensations Of 1945. I wonder what ever happened to the groovin' kid? Elucidate. Elucidate. I love the long coattails.

Amazingly, Cab Calloway, who was born on Christmas Day, in 1907, didn't let old age get in the way. He continued to perform the nightclub circuit until his death in November of 1994 at the age of 86. He was one hep cat alright.


Speaking of scat singing, when I was working for the West Sonoma County Paper, I spent a memorable evening in the 1980s or early 1990s with the incomparable Scatman Crothers at a Guerneville Diner (River Inn?) next to the River Theater.

I don't remember why he was in town. Before that night I had never heard of him. Man, the stories he told—we were riveted to the booth until way past closing—3 AM. The waitress closed up around us, but the Scatman was on a roll. And she had the good sense not to mess with that.

My friend and neighbor, Jonathan London had a groovy poem, Hep Cat, he was working on. (Was he with us that night in Guerneville?) Around the time Scatman blew outa town, Jonathan got a nibble from the big publishers who liked Hep Cat, and could he turn it into a children's book? Suddenly hep was in. And so was Jonathan riding high on a long coattail wind. Elucidate. Elucidate, indeed. hep-hep-hurray. He gave me signed copies. I wonder where those books are now?

Gonna have to dig up that old story and post it. Yepppety beebop, ba beebop yeah.

Post Rapture Hotline

Thank you for calling Family Radio's Post Rapture Hotline: If you would like to report a Rapture, please press 1. If you would like to report an earthquake, please press 2. If you would like to report zombie sightings, please press 3. If you are calling to ask Harold Camping for an apology and a refund of any donations you made for post Rapture bliss, please stay on the line and someone will assist you as soon as hell freezes over...

Well, there weren't any earthquakes, but there was a volcanic eruption!

Maureen Carden wrote: The Rapture happened; we just misunderstood. I can't find my sunglasses or my camera or several other objects that I know were right here in this house. Obviously they were raptured.

It's a wrap.

WCW poem Knockoffs

THE WHITE TOILET

so much depends
upon

a cat litter
box

filled with pine
shavings

beside the white
toilet.


THE HAWTHORNE TREE IN FULL BLOOM

Under

thick 

felt 

sheets 

down 

quilts 

thunder 

clouds 

tease 

cold
white
spring 

mid-May




BETWEEN STALLS

the back doors
of the

old stable where
nothing else

will grow blooms
a dungheap

where steam
rises in full

dressage of white
tule fog

Sutton & Tristano

I stumbled upon a Facebook thread by a Lagunitas School classmate, Kevin McConnell, who posted a link to Pete Sutton's dad, Ralph Sutton. I'd totally forgotten that Ralph, who tickled a mean Maple Leaf Rag in his time, played some of his famous stride piano compositions at a school assembly concert when we were all very young. But after Kevin posted it, minute fragments drifted back from the imperfectly shelved memories of childhood.

What I did remember, was, being surprised to hear such a complex arrangement of chords and cartoon music churning out of the cranky old school piano. Magic music from a strange man dressed in a gray suit who looked more like a school principal (or maybe Willy Loman from Death of a Salesman) than a famous jazz musician. Kevin said that the jazz concert inspired him to become a musician. Me, not so much.

And the vague memory fragment of that concert goes a long way in explaining why my classmate Pete Sutton's best friend, Steve Tristano, was standing on the piano bench banging out a rollicking Boogie-Woogie on the piano at recess. We were all rockin' out. That music was so radically different than the somber proscribed chords of the  America, the Beautiful. The teacher, hearing the infernal ruckus, came bursting into the classroom, apoplectic. We were all so busted.

From this incident, I learned that certain types of music was forbidden, therefore delicious. I also feared our 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Burge, was going to have heart failure right in front of us. I'd never seen such a show of emotion from our right-proper 50s school-marm teacher.

There was always a lot of counterculture going on in the San Geronimo Valley in the late 1950s, and early 60s. But we were so young and we knew no other life—living out so far from the towns and the growing suburbs. Many famous musicians and artists and writers took refuge in The Valley as the Marin Beat scene havens, including Mill Valley and the former fishing village of Sausalito, were beginning to erode into the effluent of mainstream acceptability.

Steve was born with his musical talent. Our 2nd grade Boogie-Woogie champ was the son of another famous jazz musician, Lennie Tristano. But great jazz musicians were also absenteé fathers—always on the road—or more notably playing the clubs in New York, where the real action was.

So to see Ralph Sutton was unusual as it was to see the blind piano player, Lennie Tristano. People often lumped Sutton & Tristano's names together, and said that they were famous jazz musicians in New York. But in retrospect, I can't imagine such a synthesis as they were both such very different musicians.

A bit of San Geronimo Valley apocrypha: Scott Joplin (with whom I share a birthdate) was said to have visited the Valley in the 1890s, and allegedly wrote Maple Leaf Rag at Frank "Speck" McAuliffe's bar in Lagunitas.

Don't know if there's any truth to the story—other than countless would-be ragtime piano players have banged out that archetypal ragtime hottie on every available piano in the Valley. But chances are pretty good Scott Joplin hammered out a rendition of it at Speck's. What was the bar called before Speck McAuliffe bought the place since this was before his time—Lagunitas Tavern & Livery?

Before you go, Whoa there, Nellie! Teddy Roosevelt had a cabin in Lagunitas—Argentina House—and used to water at the Lagunitas trough when he got all hot and bothered. And Joplin was no stranger to The Valley. (Nor were José Revere (Paul's kin), or Alexander Graham Bell—who set up the first telephone in the Dollar barn on Dickson Ranch.)

Teddy Roosevelt liked The Valley for its wildness and isolation. He famously exclaimed, "When I am in California, I am not in the West, I am west of the West."

Another Boogie-Woogied classmate, Adair (Lara) Daley once dubbed The Valley in her SF Chronicle column as The Valley that Time Forgot. Growing up in West Marin, we were all so far west of the west, we met ourselves coming and going. Often shunned by the townies, we were our own universe.

RIP Harry Roche

RIP Lagunitas Elementary School teacher and principal, Harry Roche, born January 28, 1923 in San Francisco; died Jan 4 2011 in Roseville, CA. He is survived by wife Lorraine, son Steve, daughter Laura. He was 88. 

Read more here:

Harry Roche, the Coach, who threw chalk and erasers at us when we didn't get the right answer in math or English. I was terrified of him. I didn't dare open my mouth even when I knew the answer—which wasn't very often. Somehow I survived eighth grade and graduated.

Prince Hal was a dark avenging angel. The tennis pro with a wicked eraser throw.  Tall, tan and blond with white eyelashes—Harry was always disappointed in us. My next math teacher was also an athlete but he was benevolence and light. Poor Archie Williams inherited me, a frazzled, dyslexic under-achieving student, in his Foundations of Algebra class at Sir Francis Drake High School in San Anselmo, CA.

After Harry Roche, the Coach, I was a bundle of raw nerves. I was a young horse afraid of the shadow of the wind. Archie may have been an Olympic Gold medalist, but there was no victory gold in it for me. No math ever took root.

But Archie's stories were a lasting legacy. The way he ran the 440 in the Olympics—inspired us. His running mate was Jesse Owens. How they were the first Black men to receive Olympic medals—from Hitler!

I ran headlong from math. I hardly knew who Hitler was, but I knew the cool weight of the gold medal. Kathy Briones and I broke the school girl's track record running the 660 in under 2 minutes. But it was unofficial and so it didn't count, said Miss Scott. She thought we cheated. But we didn't. I couldn't walk for a week afterwards, I was so hamstrung.

Once we were helping Archie clean the chalkboard, we took the big chalk erasers and "wrote" obscenities on the side of the school wall. Archie was cool, he was all for free speech. But he said we needed to remove it because the principal didn't understand such things. 

Dust in the wind.

"Olympic Pride, American Prejudice" documentary includes Archie WIlliams

Class of 1970

NOTE BENE: I don't think I'm quite ready to take on this post yet. Still gathering info. If you want to follow some of the threads on Facebook, go to Sir Francis Drake High School Alumni page. It stared as an innocuous question on my part and has been gathering momentum as people add their memories. By right it should be handled as an oral history project.


Apparently we were the most politically motivated class (of 1970) at Sir Francis Drake High School. We were the first high school in the nation to shut down a draft board. Apparently we also made the 6 O'Clock news and a mention in Time Magazine too—but I never saw it. None of the other high schools were marching or staging sit-ins at their local draft boards. We were DEFINITELY the odd ones.

The Free Speech Movement (FSM) was in 1965—we knew who Mario Savio was. The political activism wasn't just to get out of class. We began protest marching in earnest in 1968-9. In retrospect, classmates must've had older siblings at Berkeley. Ken Bullock reminded me that Jared Rossman was our class president in 67, his older brother, Michael Rossman was one of the FSM organizers w/ Savio. No wonder we were such gung-ho activists. I do remember a Jared giving an incendiary class speech.

When I asked why we were such firebrands, Ken Bullock said: There were constant discussions in the classroom—Duane Miller's, in particular, but not the only one. And in off-campus groups like Vietnam Summer ... But a couple years before, the biggest single contingent to join the Selma March came from the Seminary in San Anselmo. I remember the day their bus left, with news, I think, of the Viola Liuzzo murder near Selma.

Holy shit!

Linda Brown commented: I went with Jared, Michael, Lisa, Mrs. Houck to one of the first anti-war marches at Berkeley. I think that Michael actually was arrested. Mario went on to be a professor (math) at Sonoma State. Mrs. Houck (than Ms. Bagley) was one of the original writers for the Berkeley Barb when it was still an underground paper. My brother John was also active in the moment later in the late sixties, early 70's. A lot of Drake students were involved in those later years!


I do remember going to UC Berkeley during high school—there was some big event. We all piled into Sue Barry's VW Bug and hung out in Sproul Plaza. Lots of people milling around. My first time on campus. I remember people standing on parked cars and police. I don't know what the event was. Maybe it was the one Linda mentioned.

Many of our high school teachers were wonderful "odd birds" thank gawd. Not just Olympic champ, Archie Williams. Warren Fairbanks (who was a classmate of my mother's at Polytechnic in SF), Mr. Lucy, Mr James, Mrs Makay (sp)—my Freshman English teacher (1966) who wore rose-colored glasses (and lived in the Haight).

Down on 4th corridor by the creek, we listened to Beatles lyrics—Eleanor Rigby comes to mind. I remember Simon & Garfunkel's Dangling Conversation. She wasn't the Mary Mackey, was she? These were the roots of my poetic life.

I remember my history & social studies teacher was awful—it took me years to realize I LIKED history! We had no idea that we were also right in the middle of making history too.

FLIGHT MANIFEST

Silly bumblebee
jhodpurs laden with pollen
couldn't resist sweet tea

and he drowned in it
a silly sweet bumble bee
couldn't resist sweet tea.

Osama Killed

As the buzz went up & down the grocery checkout line like a weird game of telephone—punctuated by real cellphone calls, I overheard the news from a customer that Obama had been killed. I was stunned by everyone's relative calmness and I thought OMG—it was yet another tragic moment for this century: "Where were you when JFK was killed." I wondered why there wasn't more of an outcry. I then realized that I misheard the news. It was Osama—not Obama who was killed. I did not feel elated when I heard the news—nor did anybody else in line. It was a macabre moment in time. An anti-climax, nearly ten years after 9/11. My next thought was: what's next? I thought the more enduring question for this century might be: "Where were you when the Twin Towers fell?" and "Where were you when they announced Osama bin Laden was dead?" And where will this all end Nothing like martyrdom to fan the flames of vigilantes on both sides of the equation.

Mayday traditions at Lagunitas School

When I was young, we used to celebrate May Day at Lagunitas School, giving each other little construction paper woven May baskets filled with posies, and we had a Maday parade to the Maypole, weaving streamers around the volleyball poles. It was great fun. Sort of like a double Easter parade. Then it stopped—with no explanation—sadly, someone must've complained to the school board. I remember asking why we didn't celebrate anymore and was told to never mind. It was as if I imagined it.

The Maypole ribbon dance filled me with absolute wonder—even if it was crepe paper streamers—I got to go a couple of weaves—and soon the braided pole was a hopelessly tangled mess. Bit it was pure magic.

I think we had real satin ribbons one year. In second grade, I thought school was grand with Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's, St. Patrick's, Easter, and May Day celebrations. I liked school. Then we went secular. School became tediously long and dull—thanks to some knee-jerk Christians.

Beltaine

The May Day hills were burning, far and near. —Seamus Heaney

Beltaine: My great-grandfather in Bantry used to drive his cattle between two fires to purify them & bring luck. The God Bel, or Belenos' fires. Eadar dà theine Bhealltainn

Happy Beltaine ~ Féile Na Bealtaine

Happy Beltaine ~ Féile Na Bealtaine. The night of Bel's fires. Light a candle tonight, smudge the house with sage smoke. Jump over the candlestick. This is a night of enchantment, like Halloween, when the doors of the Otherworld open. Magic happens.

The Celtic day begin at sunset. So April 30, at sunset, is really May 1. Got it? Good. I won't mention that the calendar we use, is not the same as the one used in the Middle Ages, so it's anywhere from 4 to 9 days off, depending upon which century you hailed from.

I was driving down Hwy 80 from Martinez when the lurid sunset outdid its own clichés. I was stuck in the mother of all traffic jams and the sky was practicing its own weird version of coastal alpenglow. I thought of Heidi's firebird. A phoenix sky to herald the beginning of summer. (No not, the Summer Solstice, that's the half-way mark of summer.




added & revised 4/30/2016 from a FB memory

Car Thieves

Car thieves TOWED off my elderly Honda Civic during the wee hours about a month ago—and then abandoned it in a local parking lot under the freeway—they must've snagged the wrong red Honda and then realized it was older than dirt. Dented door, broken signal light. And a general sense of outrage. Do I have to pay the parking ticket as well?

Killing my cameras softly

I taught 3 poetry classes at one school (5th grade) in SSF, and 4 after-school art classes at Brett Harte Elementary School near Hunter's Point, a dicey part of SF adjacent to Candlestick Park—I'm deep in the trenches and loving it. Otherwise, it's been a pretty shitty day. An adorable kindergartner decided to hug me for all she was worth for doing art with her and so she launched herself at me to hug me and my best camera, make that my only working camera went flying—this right after my tea spilled all over my MacBook. So now my shutter won't open all the way. The other camera too took the plunge in a similar fashion. All this loving. I'm down two Nikons. And I can't document the incredible artwork the kids did. At least my 23-year-old little red Honda hatchback (Lil Rix) is behaving. Not a place you want to break down while being white. But I seem to live a charmed life teaching these kids art.

added & rev. 4/17

BRAINALITIES

BRAINALITIES

Dyslexia at work:
I misread a banal story
of a director whose concussion
changed his life
and sent him
on a quest for brainalities.
WTF?

4/21/11

Missing conversation (w/o Pete)

A Facebook conversation with childhood friend, Pete Sutton where he removed all his comments. My feelings must be hurt.

You were the first Pete I ever knew! When you lived on Arroyo Road... Somewhere between that long distance of almost 5 and maybe 6. Nick was in diapers. You're older than me. I  remember my grannie stopping off to visit your mom on the way back from the store or church—we had no car. It was always a long walk home. When did you move to Lagunitas? I remember visiting you once or twice. But it was too far away.

Remember red-haired Miss Lenz and her pet skunk? Miss Lenz was the best. They let her go after we moved on—whatfor? Perhaps a tad too rainbow? Then there was the longterm sub, Mrs. Brennan. OMG! And to think we went to LSD school....

I totally forgot her name—Smith. I remember making cut-out trolly cars in math—a measuring exercise. I just wanted to look at the model and make my own which was far quicker way to go to my way of seeing, but she insisted that I had to follow directions (never my strong suit). All I could think of, was that was not the best way to approach it. But that wasn't the lesson. I don't remember her being British! Was there a rotund Mrs. Smith and a spinsterishly thin grey-haired Miss Smith? OK, so then I had MRS Smith! More like midwestern. Did we have two 4th grade teachers? I think not. I guess my ears, attenuated t my grannie's Irish English, didn't notice. So there were 2 4th grade teachers! I think I had Mrs. Smith.

Oh no! That's Miss Smith? Tall angular sunken chested. I had her in 5/6th grade for art (awful). So there wasn't another 4th grade teacher? Mrs. Bryce for 5th grade, then we began to rotate classes. Mr Sliney and Bob Plant for science, Coach Harry Roche (the eraser & chalk thrower if you got it wrong) for math and Miss Kolanoski for chorus. Who am I missing?

No Pete, I said we went to LSD! Not on it.

Remember Mr Brown at Drake? Yes, Jim Brown instilled a love of clay and Thano nurtured it. You used to throw these BIG pots—you practically had to crawl inside to throw. I was duly impressed seeing these HUGE pots grow up to the ceiling. Eric Ahola was in that class too.

Pete, is Thano Johnson still alive? Last I heard he was in Colorado. I ran into his ex-wife on the Airporter returning back from Amsterdam ca 1999—he wrote to me and I never wrote back...horiffic car accident knocked me for a loop. A lot fell by the wayside.

I was in your effing class with David Best for 3 years running ferpetesakes! I was a painting major and minored in ceramics—even took glassblowing with a crabbit of a man whose name escapes me. Yep, Al and I didn't exactly see eye to eye. Good thing I never took clay with him.  I did love glassblowing so I gritted my teeth with Al.

I can't believe we hung our teabags up to dry in the glaze lab. What did we ingest? I did an ash glaze project—very timoku. We had a wood-burning stove (as did most folks in the Valley) and I gathered ash. Newspaper—lead

Oh gawd, the names are churning: Bernerd Leach was at the De Young in the early 70s—a huge show. He was quite charming. I adored him. Sasha the Russian, Ron Blett. There was a guy who had a studio above San Quentin. My first boyfriend Sweet Old Bob (Hamilton) was a clay major so we visited everybody in N. CA. We often went to the big Daly firing at Waddell Creek ... Yeah, some of those guys got famous. Sasha Makovkin—we helped fire a dinnerware set. Oh what a drunken feast followed as we broke in those newborn plates. Vodka. Lots of vodka.

Also was in the theater dept w/ Robin Williams... Yep. Malvolio—Jim Dunn blew a gasket. Ha! Robin Williams' cross-gartered yellow-stockinged Malvolio was, er, innovative to say the least. I was ushering and I laughed so hard I wet myself—a different Malvolio every night.

Shit, Pete—tyou do realized this is probably the longest conversation I've had with you since i was about six... :-) and it takes Facebook? LOL. This makes for a surreal thread, as Pete removed all his comments. Should my feelings be hurt in retrospect?

PINK FLOYD MOON

After the Celtic Games closed,
we all sang in the gloaming
until a pink moon rose
mightily over the tule springs
at Floyd Lamb State Park,
then the peacocks all woke up
and joined in on Hey Jude.

CONVOLUTION

Great Alexander
he cut the Gordian knot
with Occam's Razor.

Petroglyph hunting at Mouse's Tank, Valley of Fire, NV

Petroglyph hunting at Mouse's Tank, a box canyon in the Valley of Fire, NV. (Eastern Mojave Desert). The Navajo Sandstone is the same formation found in Red Rock Canyon and Utah's Zion National Park. The Valley of Fire, once the bottom of a deep ocean basin became a desert 150 to 180 million years ago; the dunes fossilized into sandstone; 65 million years ago, subduction along the North American plate caused faulting, uplifting so older limestone rock is now on top of younger redrock!

There were so many petroglyphs we couldn't see them all in one day! There were two hidden sandstone pools like large baths at the end of the boxw hich are catch-basins for runoff—and occasionally become a cistern for a waterfall.

The entire canyon (1/2 mile) is one vast storyboard. Sad that erosion has taken its toll and sides of rock faces have sloughed off, taking the ancient stories with them. We didn't have time to hike to AtlAtl Rock (even more petroglyphs). Next time.

 The canyon is named 'The Mouse's Tank' because a Southern Paiute Indian renegade,'Little Mouse,' who went wild whenever he got drunk, was accused of gunning down two prospectors and other crimes, hid out there in the 1890's.

 The petroglyphs are 4000 to 700 years old, and many were re-eched later. Different styles, enigmatic symbols. Not necessarily Paiute as the Lost City—aka Virgin Anasazi pueblo is nearby in the Moapa Valley.


added 4/17

Google removed my memorial post of Juanita claiming it went against community standards

This is from a Facebook memory as Google removed my memorial post of Juanita, claiming it went against community standards. I thought it was spam egging me on so I ignored it. Mistake. Now it’s gone and there is no back up—not even in the Wayback Machine. I didn’t even find out about it until Google again removed 13 of my posts in May, 2021. So this is a placeholder. I’ve put the gleaned material in quotes.

I am heartbroken, as I know Google had flagged at least 7 other posts. Luckily I was able to restore the Woodside history play I co-wrote from an old hard copy. But what about the other lost posts?

This is what I gleaned from Facebook Memory: “It's been confirmed: Juanita Musson's Memorial Service is on Sunday, April 3rd at Olompali Ranch in Novato—Noon to 3pm. Please wear bright muumuus & Hawaiian shirts! A cock or a monkey on your shoulder, bedpans of food and wild Juanita stories will do...what a peculiar tribe we've been! 

We met a lot of folks I sorta knew or looked familiar or were at the same place/time thing. I recognized Jerry Tomlinson who lived at Rancho Olompali when it was a Grateful Dead commune. I remember going to big parties there, wading in the grotto. Falling in. 

Before Olompali was a commune it was Martin Ranch, I got my saddle fixed there—so it was a three wave tier of memory rolling in. One woman I met, Caron McCloud was with Greg Davis—so her kids were related to my old flame, Geoff Davis! That’s how I met Caron, Shiloh, and Shannon McCloud-Davis, and Kurt Crowbar Kansas. Shannon McCloud went to school with my brother Guy. 

Afterwards, we all trundled off to Sonoma Valley—up Nuns Canyon to a sculpture ranch, Relais du Soleil right next to Beltane Ranch. We drank and feasted on chicken until the stars sighed. We recited Juanita stories. "The food's good but not necessarily the temperament of the cook". —Juanita's Galley, Gate 4 and a half, Sausalito.

It turns out our host, Tim was a friend of Norton Buffalo's—so sad to see Norton's Ovation guitar silent, by the fireplace. Neil sang some folk songs. We walked in the sculpture garden. Big sheet metal horse running into rust. Amazing place over the hill from Beltane Ranch.”

I wrote a lovely log blog piece written ca. April 3-5, 2011, commemorating the memorial and the funereal supper. This group photo was from a 2016 FB post on Juanita’s page, and it gave me the terminus post quem date, so the missing blogpost that Google removed was still up in 2016. That’s all I know. Since it was all my original writing and photos, it couldn’t  have been a copyright issue. But then again, what do bots know about writing?

Link to Juanita’s page.

“Juanita Musson's memorial at Olompali. April 3, 2011 It was a Gate 5-ish reunion of sorts. Juanita stories abounded. Do you have a Juanita story or photos, etc? Post them here.

We were all trying to remember the 60's with little success — with Jerry Tomlinson, Yerushalmi Ben Yehudah, Larry Otis, Kurt Crowbar Kangas, Shannon Cinnamon McCloud, Stuart Ramsey, Lynn D Kircher, Neil O'Neill, Julia Brigden, Letitia Graves, Caron McCloud, Laurie Steese, and Shiloh Sophia. (Stuart's gone now...). 

I'm uploading the last of the photos to Picasa now. Two more folders to go. I'll leave them all at the end of the album so it's easier to distinguish them form the earlier ones (I had 3 cameras going—and Neil had one too). © Maureen Hurley 2011”

Friends not in the main photo: Pagan Neil and Carolyn Heal 

Alas, Picasa Web Album is no more, but the URL gave me the name of the ranch we went to, Relais du Soleil. Not only did I lose all the stories and tributes, I lost the names of the folks who attended the memorial service. I’m still so angry, I could spit.

Added 4/1/23

Juanita's Gallery restaurateur Juanita Musson dies

My original tribute to Juanita

You rarely got what you wanted at Juanita’s Restaurant, but you got a lot of it

• RIP Juanita Musson

• DEAR GOOGLE, Blogger removed 13 of my blogposts  May 13, 2021. At least they restored these posts. 

Li’l Rix stolen again

I think I need some bottled poetry—Neil parked my car down the hill (in the dicier part of the 'hood) and my 1987 Honda Civic Si was stolen. Im trying hard not to be depressed—Neil's Honda was stolen last year, that's why he was driving L'il Rix—but I feel so violated and despondent.

Waiting for the Advil train to arrive

I really did myself in this time—twist & shout—more like scream in pain! I really need a whine & Advil nitecap for lower back pain, pronto. After crawling home, I took a long shower, until all the hot water ran out, now I have wet hair. I'll look like a frizzy-haired banshee with her finger stuck in the light socket come the morn. I don’t care. I can barely stand. Ah, TG for the small mercies of wine and chocolate late at night while waiting at the lumbar station for the Advil train of thought to deliver its dulcet cargo.

From a FB post rev. 3/20

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig and it’s back to bed with a virus

This morning I taught art classes to kids in Hunter's Point, then came home and went to bed... The virus is back. Occupational hazard. No partying for me tonight. I weep for Japan, the earthquake, the tsunami, and the massive devastation we now all face. 

Tsunami Warning

I was sound asleep and something woke me at midnight—news of a massive earthquake in Japan, followed by a tsunami. Then I saw the tsunami warning for the rest of us on the Pacific RIm. It's bearing down on Hawaii. I used to have nightmares of being caught in a tsunami. But I needs must return to sleep.

Hawaii orders evacuation of low-lying coastal areas after massive earthquake off Japan triggered a tsunami alert. A Hawaiian reporter said fish were in the Honolulu parking lot (2.3 foot tsunami left them stranded) like TILAPIA??? That must've been some big wave to strand African freshwater fish like that. They escaped from their freshwater ponds in solidarity with the saltwater fishes, or what?

Huge earthquake hit northern Japan, mostly affecting Tokyo and areas north. Felt it in Osaka, however, even though Tokyo is some 250 miles away and the epicenter was even further away than that. An extended rolling feeling, like being on a boat. The footage of the tsunami that hit Sendai is a seriously daunting.

Unimaginable damage and devastation. And now the Fukushima reactors are damaged. Is this the end of the world as we know it? Does it begin with radiation poisoning? Now my nightmares are waking dreams.

a bat flew into the classroom

Apparently I need to add a new category under my rescuer of small animals resume: a bat flew into the morning poetry classroom, like the shadow of a leaf and landed on my poetry folders. I covered him with poetry sheets, and let him out the window where he fell like a leafy shadow.

STACKING WOOD FOR THE COMING WINTER

—For Lynn DeWitt, a second step-cousin in-law, but still family, & to Howard McCord who liked my wood post on FB, urged me to use the names of tools. 

At the dogtail end of summer, in deep August,
when the shadows grew long thin fingers
tinged with indigo verging on violet,
an unmistakable acrid odor of red clay dust 
& bleached oat hay, announced the coming fall.

We had only the enameled Wedgewood stove.
My grannie tightened the lyre-handled bucksaw;
tumped a limb into the arms of the wooden sawhorse
that bucked & groaned as the blade bit deeper.
She raised the gnarled cross-shaped sledgehammer
& a cauliflowered wedge—tools no man wanted—
to split the fresh logs to fit the firebox.
The age-old music of the smithy's hammer & tong
flung small fireflies into the deeper shadows.
There was no one else to lend a hand:
a small child and an old woman raised
their frail shoulders against the coming winter.

One time a shim worked loose from the lever. 
As I raised the hammer up against the darkening sky
it flew off, knocked me in the head. I staggered
under the crucifying blow. Oh, my aching stars!
Glad to be alive, I kept on splitting the wood, 
for she could no longer raise the iron weight.
Bay split like butter, pine fought the wedge,
oak was the most stubborn, but it burned the best.


See also Kindling. I seem to return to the theme again and again

Compliment from Howard McCord on my grandmother poems

Howard McCord said: I enjoyed your post on wood and fires. Old tools-- a froe, a spokeshave, a marlinspike, as good as birds' names.

Cheetos

If I fits, i sitz.

We gave Cheetos the orange cat a saline drip and force-fed him—staving off the grim reaper for one more night. He was quite pissed about being forcefed (a good sign). But he was so dehydrated. Not a good sign. I gave him a cornstarch "bath" and used an old toothbrush to groom him—he liked it a lot, he lovingly stroked the brush. He purrped, attempted a purr, and seemed to feel a little better. Stuck his chin out to be scratched. Nothing like a good scratch under the chin.  

Whaddya mean I can't sleep here? It's a BOX lid.

Ginger cats are the best. Great personalities. Not always the brightest of cats, though. Goofballs. The like to sleep in odd places. Inside a laundry tub. On top of your head. Before we knew he was sick, he took to sleeping on my head, and peeing on my pillow. No cat piss odor, I should've guessed his kidneys were failing.

Got my Garfield & the heater vent. Fluff my water bowl and kibble.

As a starving kitten in the TGal parking lit in Petaluma, he devoured a bag of Cheetos, hence the moniker. My cousin rescued him. Like she needed another cat. We're glad she did, we've had 15 years' worth of kooky kitty antics. He never did catch the red spot.

A potted kitty

Not so good news: Cheetos is in the hospital. Perhaps it's a good sign? (and a big vet bill for my cousin.) We were bracing ourselves for euthanasia. But Zana's orange bruiser, Nails, was able to live to 21—with kidney issues. Ah, so sad to see a dear old friend failing, but hopeful too that he'll come around to greet his 16th birthday in April. Only the night will tell.

Nap, blankie, and my little pony. RIP Orange Man.

2 Baja photos published in Medusa's Kitchen

St. Elmo's Fire In Our Fingertips

Sunset, El Dorado del Mar, San Felipe, BC, Mexico

RIP Juanita Musson

My mom worked as a waitress for Juanita at the Galley in Sausalito. She made Sally Lacy's (Marilyn' Monroe's stand-in) clothes—and many of Juanita's muu-muus too. I remember the fawn and the monkey.

My original story: You rarely got what you wanted at Juanita’s Restaurant, but you got a lot of it

Candy Philpot-Hall Good story and memories for you. My unofficial "Auntie" was Sally Stanford a family friend/ Sunday brunches at Vallhalla were a highlight of my childhood. I loved her parrot Lorretta..it swore like a sailor.

Added 2/2017 from Facebook Memories, a good thing too, as Google later removed my entire memorial post and photos, written in April, 2011, ca 2017. This is another Facebook Memory that at least restored the timeframe. A pity I didn’t think to also post the blog link along with the defunct Picasa links.

• 
  

  

  This is how I remember Sally Stanford.

• Google removed my memorial post of Juanita claiming it Went against community standards. 

Juanita Musson, colorful restaurateur, dies at 87

Juanita Musson, the outrageous and muu-muued former Sonoma Valley restaurateur who 40 or 50 years ago might arrive at a table holding her pet pig or monkey and might answer a patron's complaint by tipping a heaping plate into his lap, died Saturday. She was 87....

After running restaurants from 1953 to 1984 in Sausalito, Sonoma Valley, Contra Costa County's Port Costa, Fairfield and finally Winters in Yolo County, a long-sober and mellowed Juanita returned to Sonoma County more than 25 years ago to retire.
Late San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen discovered Juanita in Sausalito and wrote multiple times about her overflowing personality and the eggs, slabs of ham and butter-soaked muffins that burdened her plates. Comics and other entertainers — The Smothers Brothers, Jonathan Winters, Bill Cosby, Noel Coward — made their way their across the Golden Gate Bridge following late-night performances in San Francisco.
"She was something else," Tommy Smothers said Saturday night from his home in Kenwood. He remembers being out late with his brother, Dick, and friends in San Francisco in the late &‘50s and going to Juanita's place in Sausalito at 3 or 4 a.m. for breakfast.
"She was the most intimidating personality," Smothers said. He found her also to be charming, fiery and fearless, someone he equates with the likes of Alan Watts and Margot St. James. "There was a naturalness. There was no pretense about them," he said.
"Juanita never tried to hype herself," Smothers said. "Her sense was very in the present. She didn't reminisce very much. She was right there...."
While in Sausalito, Juanita befriended madam and eventual mayor Sally Stanford. Often enough Juanita was asked if she'd worked for Stanford and she'd reply, "I never charged a nickel from a horizontal position."  —read the entire article at the Press Democrat

Save Baja's Cabo Pulmo Reef from Developers

Please protect Baja's only coral reef from being destroyed by developers in Cabo del San Jose. Sign the petition and pass it on.

Pulmo means lung—and this unique northern reef is literally the lung of the Sea of Cortez. It's a singularity. There isn't another reef like it anywhere.

It's a protected marine sanctuary but massive resort development on land will also certainly destroy the reef.

I have snorkeled and swum with whalesharks there and it is a beautiful garden. Coral reefs slowly evolve over millions of years, often with unique species, they're temperature specific.

Raise the water temperature by a degree or two, and the reef dies. Add siltation or pollution—even freshwater runoff to the mix, and it's certain death for the reefs.

The southern regions of the Great Barrier Reef in Australia is dying from the plumes of cloudy, nutrient-laden, pesticide-polluted freshwater runoff and siltation from the recent Queensland floods. It could eventually stress and bleach all the coral and thus jeopardize the health of the entire reef but this will take years for the saga to play out. A slow death punctuated by the unchecked invasion of crown-of-thorns starfish—real reef killers—three years' hence.

By way of example of what can go wrong with tourism and reefs, Hanamua Bay in Hawaii was completely destroyed by tourists tenderly loving it to death while wearing sunscreen (toxic to reefs).

I snorkeled in Hanamua Bay before it was killed with too much affection in the 1970s and 1980s. I revisited it again when it was bleached bone white barren wilderness pounded to death by 3 million loving visitors per year in the 1990s.

I revisited Hanamua Bay again in 2010. After 20 years' protection and vigilant management, Hanamua Bay is only now just BARELY recovering—even with limited access and patrolling park rangers—constantly blowing whistles like referees at snorkelers standing on the reef (touching it kills the reef too). It's still a shade of its former self with only about 10 percent of its original fish and reef population.

This too will be the fate of Cabo Pulmo if the area is developed on a massive scale. That kind of vigilance and protection that brought Hanamua Bay back from the brink of extinction won't happen in Cabo Pulmo if the resort complex is built. And the reef will surely die from overexposure as well as runoff and pollution. Cabo San Lucas already has been destroyed by unchecked development and rampant tourism. Don't let this happen to Cabo Pulmo.

So, sign the petition.
http://www.cabopulmopark.com/thereef.html

• On June 15, 1995, President Zedillo Ponce de Leon declared the 7,111 hectares and waters surrounding Cabo Pulmo, a National Marine Park.
• Cabo Pulmo region was nearly destroyed due to excessive overfishing until 1995 when the area was declared a marine park. The fish populations are returning to a healthy status after 20 years' protection.
• Cabo Pulmo Reef has eight fingers of unusual hard coral reef
• Home to nearly 800 species of marine animals found in the Sea of Cortez, Cabo Pulmo Reef's rich biodiversity is unparalleled 
• Federal enforcement and financial aid is almost non existent and the quest to protect Cabo Pulmo National Park is a burden on the shoulders of the local community—barely 100 residents—who sorely need our help and support.
• Large-scale tourist complexes (like Cabo San Lucas) will cause irreversible damage, especially because of runoff and excessive use of the area

RANDOM LINES

RANDOM LINES

The tree quivers with excitement
A flock of sparrows with lots to say
alighted amid the lemons.

A tree quiveriing
with excitement of wild birds
amid the lemons.          

Upperton is the embodiment
of kindness from the soles of his feet
to the top of his soul.

1/29/11

GRAND PIANO

A grand piano
was found stranded 
on a sandbar
like a beached whale
in Key Biscayne
above the high tideline
stuck in the key of sea
now a fancy perch 
for the seagulls


See piano

3 photos published in Medusa's Kitchen for Burns' Day

Happy Feels Like A Poem

Robert Burns' desk

Robert Burns' house in Dumfries, Galloway

Highland cow, Argyle, Scotland

Poetry Out Loud, Brentwood News

January 19 x 21, 2011 | Brentwood News, Contra Costs Times, San Jose Mercury News (CA)

Author: Trine Gallegos | Page: 3A | Section: News

A RHYME IN TIME: Pandora Bethea is happy about the success of the fourth annual Poetry Out Loud contest. The Deer Valley High event was held earlier this month, and now the Antioch teacher and event coordinator is looking forward to the next level.
From the Poetry Out Loud database, students choose two poems each by masters of poetry and memorized them for the event. Maureen Hurley from California Poets in the Schools and DV's Bethea coached the students in memorization and recitation skills.

The winners were: Taylor Green, first place; Kayla Alexander, second place, and Brandon Harris, third place.

The judging panel featured poets Maria Rosales and Bruce Moody, county Arts and Culture commissioners P.J. Shelton and Darija Walker (and DVHS grad), school board member Walter Ruehlig, and DVco-principals Scott Bergerhouse and Clarence Isadore.

The fourth annual POL contest was dedicated to Ruehlig, a former English teacher, who has served on the panel of judges at DV for two years. "It was in appreciation of his active presence in supporting literary arts for our Antioch youth, and thus promoting the love and beauty of language," Bethea wrote in an e-mail.

The next level is the county contest, which includes all finalists. They'll compete for a chance to represent Contra Costa in the state championship. For the first time, Deer Valley will host the big event, slated for 1 p.m. Feb. 13. CCTV will be on hand to film it the free event.

For more info, e-mail Bethea pandorabethea@antioch.k12.ca.us

Tom Waits

I once made sweet potato fries with Tom Waits at a friend's 50th birthday party in Sebastopol. His daughter used to take art classes with us at the Luther Burbank Center for the Arts. I never really interacted with him much. Seemed to want his space as it were. So we left him alone.

But at the party he was stuck with me as he didn't want to mingle with the other guests as we were appointed the sudden short order cooks. Apparently I was the lesser of two evils. But he was so uncomfortable in my presence that I was uncomfortable too. Even talking about his daughter didn't break the ice. So there we were, starin' mightily hard at the stove, a 1960s model, with its strange coils glowing red like Dr. Caligari eyes, drawing us deeper into the illusion. Discordant Calliope as background music.

But the sweet potato fries, ah, the fries doused with chili powder and lime, were sublime. For a moment we forgot who we were, we smiled and took pleasure in such a simple delight. Tom's sideburns were an odd aubergine hue—a rough henna job. Romeo was bleeding. Sort of like the color of the chili powder sprinkled on the fries. He hid out in the kitchen as the party raged on in the rest of the house. I gave up, and followed the distant music.

2 photos published in Medusa's Kitchen

Touching A Sore Place

David LaFlamme's hands

It's a Beautiful Day musician David LaFlamme was living on the Russian River during the early 1980s, and to make ends meet, he worked at the Flying A gas station next to the River Theater. Yup, he pumped gas into my blue VW Bug—with those delicate violinist's hands worth their weight in gold. His eyes held the edges of the void within their dark depths. All I could do was weep. His hands, his beautiful hands, so like doves.

Rain, rain

It's raining, it's pouring,
the old man is snoring,
he went to bed and he bumped his head
and he couldn't get up in the morning...

Well, now, that's a bit macabre! Like, the old man's in a coma? The dark side of nursery rhymes? He bumped his head in bed, not before he crawled into bed? Sounds like it was a rather dangerous bed as it seems to have finished off the entire family. So did the old man die? An awful lot of head injuries in Mother Goose, who was a bit of a misogynist.  "She whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed" always scared the bejazuz out of me.

Perhaps that third line should go: he bumped his head, and he went to bed. Then we're talking concussion for sure.Or perhaps a brain bleed.

It's raining; it's pouring.
The old woman is snoring.
She went to bed and bumped her head,
And she couldn't get up in the morning. 

It's raining; it's pouring.
The children are snoring.
They went to bed and bumped their heads,
And they couldn't get up in the morning.

But I learned it with this end verse:

Rain, rain go away
Come again some other day.

I'd sing it, but I don't want to jinx the weather.

Does anybody really know what day it is?

Does anybody really know what day it is?

When the Gregorian calendar was adopted by Catholic countries, many holidays related to celestial events got stranded—so there was a 4 to 14-day lag between the old and the new calendar. All this fuss was spurred on as to when the Vernal Equinox actually was (the weather being what it was—unreliable), so one could calculate exactly when Easter fell.


Russia has even more date discrepancies as they had a different calendar yet. The October Revolution was not October 25 but Nov 7. (October 1917 Old Style Julian Calendar (O.S.), which corresponds with 7 November 1917 New Style (N.S.). Gregorian Calendar.) —Wiki 


The "Old Style" Julian calendar was still used for movable feasts (Easter)  in 1918. By then, the calends of  Russia & Greece were off by 13-14 days. Things you need to keep in mind when reading history!

The Julian calendar was a reboot of the Roman Calendar—which was way, way off by the time Caesar was waging war on the Celts and needed to check his day planner to see if it was summer yet. Summer was the traditional time to wage war—coinciding with the time the senate freed the annual warchest. 


So, when reading classical history, one has to keep in mind that all firm Roman dates are off...as compared to the Julian calendar as compared to the Gregorian calendar...and so on.

An extra 11 minutes per year in the Julian calendar caused it to gain three days every four centuries so the observed equinoxes, solstices and seasons were also way off. Wrong time to party and pray serious stressed out the natives and clergy alike.


By 1582, the Julian calendar was off by 10 days, which threw Easter way off! 


Easter is calculated as the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring solstice (lunar calendar). The problem was, that no one really knew what day was actually Sunday, let alone, when the vernal Eqiunox was! So Easter was celebrated in May in Ireland, and as early as March 11 elsewhere—all in the same year!

The Gregorian (Christian) calendar system had to drop some calendar days in order to realign the calendar and the equinox times.

Because of the Protestant Reformation, many countries refused to switch to the Gregorian calendar until much later. Scotland: 1600, England 1752—so all those folk holidays we love—were also off. So you have to factor this info in with medieval folk holiday customs. 


In 1424 (guessing the date here—can't find ref, ) the English attempted to reboot the calendar and about 2 weeks were tossed out of September—causing rioting—not because people were suspicious, but because they were being short-changed—literally! They were paid by the day, but were charged rent by the month. Their landlords thought it was cool. And I'm sure they celebrated with libations.


Another huge roboot of the English calendar occurred in 1751—which was a very short year of 282 days, from 25 March (Lady Day) to 31 December. So if your birthday, or any other important annual event occurred from Jan. 1 to March 24 of 1751, you were out of luck. Or you gained a year.


The year 1752 began on a brand new date, with the new style calendar, on 1 January. It was reported that there were public riots after the massive calendar change, with peasants demanding that their "eleven days" be returned—but it is a story. (See the 1424 story, above). I'm sure there were plenty of irritated folks. But the sun and moon carried on, as always.

The Gregorian calendar isn't quite accurate either; it has to drop three extra leap year days every four centuries on top of the leap year every four years except during the 100 year marker. Got that?

Then there's the Hebrew calendar year which has never been rebooted as far as I know—it's longer by about 6 minutes a year, and so, after several millenia, is COMPLETELY off kilter....So if you're a Bible scholar, well, let's say, nobody really knows what day it is, and I can't even begin to fathom the workings of the Muslim calendar galloping off on a similar bent!  However, my friend Vins assures me that the intercalary month takes care of that pesky 13th moon.

Happy Perihelion Day! Snow in Death Valley

Today it's snowing in Death Valley—that means it's gonna be a riotous spring. This year, even the desert will bloom—it will be painted in pure California gold! Such a rare, riotous sight, snow plows in Death Valley! Snow level, 282 feet below sea level. When the snow melts, and when Badwater Lake returns to its origins, and becomes a mirror of the sky & Telescope Peak, I'd love to be there to witness it. Happy Perihelion Day! Today, tho it be mid-winter, the earth (n. hemisphere) is closer to the sun than any other day of the year.

On New Year's Eve birds fell from the sky

On New Year's Eve, birds fell from the sky. It was reported that some 5000 blackbirds & starling fell from the sky, dead as stones, and littered the roads and sidewalks, and also some 100,000 drumfish died near Beebe, Arizona. Their strange voices, forever silent. And now 500 more blackbirds have also fallen from the sky in LaBarre, Louisiana? They are lining the roads of LeBarre. And now Gilbert, Kentucky, and Beebe, Arkansas. Blackbird singing a dirge in the dead of night. All those broken wings luffing in the breeze. A wandering toxic cloud?—only it seems to be species selective. Someone claimed fireworks Well, it's happening in a lot of places at once. Either that or the series, Flash Forward is real! All the dead birds falling from the sky. Portent of things to come. 2011, the year all the birds died, does not bode well for the new year. It feels like we're medieval Irish & Saxon scribes recording our doomed year in our own Doomsday books...
 
added, rev. 1/18

1/1/11 at 11:11

1/1/11 at 11:11! It'll happen again tonight!

27th annual ART FROM THE HEART silent auction, silk painting

"Russian River 2" 10x10" habotai silk, gutta, dye batik © Maureen Hurley 2011

Art from the Heart

Founded in 1984, Art from the Heart is one of Sonoma County's premiere fundraising events—an evening of fine art, food, and wine where artists and collectors join to support the University Art Gallery. Art from the Heart is a silent auction featuring original works of art in all media donated by professional artists from Sonoma County and the United States. Stays at local inns and hotels, theater  and museum tickets, unique bottles of wine and VIP tasting at local wineries are also included in the auction.

You may bid on my piece Feb 12th at Sonoma State University.SATURDAY, February 12, 6-9 pm: 27th annual ART FROM THE HEART silent auction to benefit the University Art Gallery at SSU. Free Preview Exhibition Wednesday, 11-8; Thursday, 11-4; and Friday, 11-8. For more information, call (707) 664-2295 or go to http://www.sonoma.edu/artgallery

Feb 13: Great to see Joel Bennett again (and his trips to Cuba) and Joe Jaqua—believe it or not, I've known him since I was 17! Joe, Chester Arnold and me were in Marty Stoelzel's painting class at College of Marin for years and years. And Neil acted with Joe's brother at DVC way back when. Small world. 

So the former (Scottish) mayor of Rohnert Park's wife bid on my piece but it went to the woman who runs J wines! A bidding war. I got to meet both of them. Very cool. Got to visit with Stella Monday, Sylvia Seventy and Marsha Connell too—it's been ages. Didn't see Greer Upton (or her piece!). ;-( Too crowded. A great turnout and a great time was had by all. 

added 2/17 

I made several variations.

 

Russian River, finished drawing 9x12

Outline for silk template