Bataan

I thought of this topic because of the Bataan Memorial here in Santa Fe. Why here, you ask? Well, a large portion of the soldiers on that march (May 1942 -- more homework)were from a New Mexico National Guard division [200th Coast Artillery--
http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/agency/army/arng-nm.htm]

And Margarita and I have always had the Bataan Death March in mind whenever we think there is something unbearable in our path. Perspective dictates the mantra "It's not the Bataan Death March". Last August we were in Chicago taking Malcolm to his first year in college there, with the attendant sadness, nostalgia, pride, and worry. She and I took a walk over the river there on a handsome iron bridge, mulling over the emotions in all of us during that milestone 5 days in Chicago. It was one of our "not the Bataan Death March" discussions. Yes, it's wrenching to take your youngest to college and leave him in a strange city; contrary to all natural parental feelings. But there are also good, important aspects to such a transition, for all concerned. Hence, not the Bataan Death March. And, as we reached the opposite side of the river we read the bronze plaque naming this bridge(bronze plaques are so often worthwhile). I know you know the name of the bridge: The Bataan Memorial Bridge. Revelation & confirmation.

Territory

The reference to territory is a hark to history, when New Mexico was a territory, not a state. It became a territory, just after the Mexican-American War, in 1850, interestingly enough on 9 September, the same day when California became a state in 1957. New Mexico, however, remained a territory till 1912. Also interesting is that my favorite architectural style here in NM is called territorial (your homework is to research that --- I can't provide all the education here). And does anyone remember the old TV show "Tombstone Territory"? That was pretty enthralling to a small child. Territory has the cachet of a bit of wilderness, something still out of bounds but with degrees of civilization, not too much. And just look at this cool old map.

Astounding

Tonight, just a very short while ago, we had an astounding thunder/lightning/rain storm. I have never seen the dogs so stressed. Poor Folly was panting and shaking beyond belief. The lightning came so close that Marg made us go away from the windows and turn off electrical things. Spooky. And then there was the torrent of rain. While I consoled the dogs with my reassuring presence in one room, Marg had to buffer the door to the annex with towels to prevent water surging under the door and into the room. I made her wait till the storm passed to go outside and sweep the excess water down the drain. The only other time we had to do such things was, actually, in SFo some years ago, before we built the extension off our kitchen. The decking outside the kitchen was clogged between the planks with dirt, etc. and a powerful rainstorm came in that built up enough water on our deck to threaten coming into the kitchen. What to do?? Grab barbeque skewers and go out there in the pouring rain (no lightning, fortunately) and get soaked while sawing away at the grooves between the planks to create a place for the rain to go other than our kitchen. A memorable event. It sure bent the ^&$**#* out of our skewers. Good thing we don't barbeque much.

The Chic Life

So many things are just eternal, wherever one lives, apparently. Here I sit waiting now for 5 hours for the stove repair person, who phoned 2 hours ago saying he'd be here in 1 hour. This would be the first day since I started working here in SFe that there are crucial things I have to accomplish today. But I'm not there; I'm here. I've already: folded clothes, put them away; emailed more than I care to admit; done some obscure searching online for a cooktop to replace the one allegedly being repaired today, just in case; moved my things from one handbag to another; put off lunch because nothing here is interesting and I truly thought I would be gone by now (1 pm)....He's here.

The Iron Grip

I think I have spoken with at least 3 people in San Francisco today and left messages for several others. Everyone says how beautiful the weather has been, but I know they're exaggerating, right?
This seems to be one of the Harder Times: the consuming drama of buying, selling, moving, unpacking, establishing & tidying is now winding down, and the Missing of People has set in with a worrying tenacity. I knew it would come -- I wonder now, how long does it keep its iron grip? Funny how the "To Sir With Love" theme song is now playing on my iTunes. Friends and change and love.

City & Country

We live in town, but our house is on a dirt road. There are chic, high-heeled-shoe boutiques and western boot outlets. Some of our recycling is picked up at the house; the rest we drive way out of town (farther than Tunnel Road?). In theory it's permissible to ride one's horse downtown around the plaza. Posh restaurants abound. The museums attract aficionadi from around the world, and international art fairs draw gallery curators of note. The food is both on the cutting edge of culinary modernism and solid, traditional corn, beans, squash. And there are no fines at the public library.
It's a funny mix: excitement and melancholy.
Still haven't found a horse to ride.

Time Flies

Yes, it's been well over a month since I wrote anything. During that time there has been a brief visit by a disgruntled 20-yr. old (guess who?) and daily invasions by wonderful tilers who are getting the guest annex smartened up a bit so it can welcome our friends and family in the near future. The big coyote fence in the back is nearly finished, so the dogs can run free up to a point. It's called a coyote fence not only because it deters coyotes (although we do live in town) but also because the bark is left on the narrow cedar logs and it looks like coyote fur. A very beautiful fence.
I am officially working at Edible Communities --- we publish all the Edible magazines around the country. Can't believe my good fortune. Such nice people doing interesting good things around food & sustainability & local growers. There's an Edible Santa Fe somewhere around Tognetti's desk for you to check out.....
And I'll bring some samples when we're back for the Tiburon Mile in September. Save the date: Hukilau 14 September. I have to see where to get Frenet here in SFe so we can entice a few of you out here. There is tequila, you know, oodles of it, practically for sale on street corners. Not really.
Today I made 2 trips to the recycling center WAY out of town in a rather beautiful area, among other errands. We have recycling pickup here only every other week, and I'm sorry to say we have too many cardboard boxes around here to be attractive, so I like to get them out of here pdq.
Picnic on the Plaza tonight with some sort of live music on the bandstand. We'll scooter down, since Plaza parking, especially in summer, is just as bad as certain SFo areas.
More photos to come.

Church Bells

At 6 in the evening I hear church bells in the distance. I know they're real, not electronic, because this is New Mexico, with some of the oldest churches and belfries in the country. Sitting in the warmth with church bells ringing vespers calls to mind Italy or old Mexico, perhaps Spain or Portugal(where I've never been), even San Francisco in our old neighborhood. What a lovely, calming ancient sound to hear in the summer. And since it's high desert, we have aspens rustling in the evening breeze as well. Time to make dinner.

3 Coats

Three coats, two cookbooks, a caulking gun, and a Willoware bowl describes the contents of a pretty typical box unloaded in the last week. Who packed that one?? Most likely one of us, because no Devoted Friend would pack so haphazardly. Only we who were on the verge of Just Not Giving A Damn Anymore would go there.

Since a week ago today we've been wearing our little selves to the bone unpacking. It's been wonderful re-connecting with Precious Things, even discovering things we had no idea had been packed or even kept. Of course, several boxes designated as give-aways in SFo stowed away on the moving truck and are now to be give-aways in SFe. Since arriving here we've had most of a coyote fence built to keep the dogs in their own yard, one backed-up sewer line, divine warm weather with several thunder + lightning rainstorms, a mani-pedi, 2 massages, some tequila, a visit from a sister, dinners, and lots of fun figuring things out. And the USPS managed to forward a piece of mail here addressed not to us but to a neighbor on Magellan Ave. in SFo! Oh, dear. Hardly a good sign.

On the way down SE we listened to Sissy Spacek read To Kill A Mockingbird on CD. Since we didn't finish it on the road, we've been listening in the evenings after dinner and in the mornings with tea. Not a word is extraneous in that book. And now we'll have it as a memory of our first days here, knowing that there are good things and good people in a world that too often seems only full of bad.

Capers and More Capers

This has so far been a Memorial Day Weekend full of memories. Saturday the 26th saw the final disassembling of a home of 15 years, down to the milk from the refridgerator and the last bobby pins from the bathroom. We had a stalwart group of dear dear friends show up throughout the day to help/participate/visit. The rations consumed included: coffee, yesterday's pizza, beer, wine, champagne, tequila, sushi (of a vast and colorful assortment---such a welcome donation). The pantry yielded 2 or 3 large boxes of foodstuffs that friends took home with them to remember us by. But the mochi came with us, again. When we moved 15 years ago into that house, we brought the mochi in the fridge from Noe Valley. We speculated that Doug or Malcolm might take it to college with them and that, if not, we'd end up taking it with us should we ever move. So truth is stranger than fiction. This is the mochi from 1992. We will never open it, for that will disempower it as a talisman.

Some friends came away with really good door prizes ---- like a pedestal sink. Various boxes of shoes were given new homes. We kept, however, the dogs. There were, I think, several offers to take Twist, but he is one of our 3 favorites, so we declined. The day moved into the evening, when a little phone call from Doug added a novel spin to moving day. He and 4 friends had decided to walk from Palo Alto to the southern end of the GG Bridge on just that Saturday. We had updates on their progress throughout the day. The little phone call from Doug came at perhaps 6 pm: "We're in Daly City on Skyline Blvd., and my friend has had an allergic reaction---can you come take him to the hospital?" Of course. Two mintues later: "We've called an ambulance instead" . (Better idea.) "Can you come get the rest of us so we can go to the hospital with him?" Again, of course. So off I go with one of the Dear Friends to rescue the college boys stranded in extremely fog-bound Daly City and reunite them with their comrade. Reunion completed, we made sure the comrade was stable and treated, then returned home to stuff the remaining sushi into our v. hungry selves. We then turned round, drove 2 cars (one belonging to a Dear Friend) back to the hospital in Daly C., left one with Doug to ferry his friends back to school with, then went back home yet again. We were very tired. This adventure was described as yet another "caper" by one Dear Friend. It was time to say "See you Tuesday" to all and to all a good night.

Off to Sleep & Dream of Horses

Not I --- our niece, Jade. We will not see her often now, and up to now we've seen her very very often, lots of sleepovers in her plaid sleeping bag on the floor with the flowered lantern for reading. All the dogs wanted to join her there, either burrowed down into the bag with her or, in the case of the dog that weighs more than Jade does, draped across her, pinning her to the floor with love and body mass. Last night on the phone just before her bedtime she mentioned she'd been reading about caribou ("Do caribou lay eggs?"), so I said that there may not be caribou in New Mexico, but there certainly are horses. We'll go riding together in New Mexico, I told her, now off to sleep and dream of horses.

Acquisition

The more I bustle around this Big City getting things done and just getting things, the more I think about the lack of opportunity for acquisition, for nearly instant gratification, that will be in the forefront of living in the Littler City (much littler). Here all is available --- food, drink, clothing, oddities, desirables, temptations, experiences --- and often within a small period of time. And is this a good thing? It certainly is gratifying, and, without slouching toward puritanism, I do wonder if perhaps a bit of deprivation (relatively speaking) isn't such a bad thing. To have to wait just a bit, to reflect on what you think you've decided to do or get. There will, of course, be concomitant frustration, especially for those of us so accustomed to Big City speed and satisfaction.

The Last Pastry

A friend wrote a note recently, a line of which I take liberty in quoting: ".....the countdown begun and every last pastry could be your last for quite some time from that place, whichever one it is." That place. Yes, indeed. It's interesting to contemplate the last meal, the last cigarette, the last kiss. How do we really know (unless we're on the scaffold) that it is the last? And last can be okay: the last lap, the last question on the SAT, last call. I'm not sure I want to get caught up in lasts. I'd like to function more on a continuum, ebbing & flowing, having experiences merge and complement each other. The older I get the less I see sharp distinctions in life; the influences show their inherent relativity and are, to me, somehow more comforting that way. But I've always been an asymmetrical kind of person.

Driving Into Town

This will most likely not be a poetic post. Exhaustion has set in, and coherence may suffer. Our latest adventure was the misguided attempt to trade in 2 cars for 1 at a dealership! Fools rush in.....A tiresome hour later we pulled back out of the lot in our 2 cars, resolving, yet again, never to go near a car dealership. We have now resorted to carsdirect.com. At least there's some distance and the prospect of a car being delivered to one's own house. Amazing. There must be a catch somewhere, right? Ah, cars ---- a bane and a curse, but, oh, so useful! I am more than ever commited to my plan to learn to drive a horse & wagon in SFe, something I've wanted to learn for a long time. Romantic folly, perhaps, but also such fun. Whatever happened to fun?

More Than A House

How do you leave a house that's more than a house? The sounds are salient: specific doors close in ways pertinent to each child; stairs creak idiosyncratically; water flows differently in each bathroom; the hum of the dryer floats up and around from the garage. Occasionally the fridge beeps because it is left open while rummaging happens.
The sounds seem the strongest. Especially at night when there is little to compete with them. The exhalation of breath when the front door softly closes at 2 am, and you know someone you love is home safe, yet again.

We came here a long time ago. To leave is hard for us all in our own ways. But it is inevitable, whether now or later, however later. Home is a House in our Hearts that floats, drifts, settling when the venue and time are right, and becoming a physical presence.

May Day

This is the first day of the last month. It is also the last day of the staging of our house, the tarting-up into "generic hip" that was to have helped sell it. The tray of blue martinis in the back room (non-alcoholic, to be sure) is a dead giveaway on the hipness. Won't miss those. What we will be left with after the removal will be:

1. three beds
2. 3 sofas
3. a desk, a chair, a lamp, this computer (thank goodness), a printer, a fax
4. some kitchen things
5. a dining table and chairs (but not for long because we're selling them--check for the flyer)
6. oh, and some clothes and oddments of towels and sheets

This is perilously close to camping. Only the indoor plumbing and modern electricals lie between me and That Existence. I cling to my duvet for reassurance.

The dogs, too, will welcome the departure of the staging. They will now be able to rocket around on bare floors, hardly a stick in their way, their shrieks echoing, damn loudly, all over the house. We won't have to keep them away from the blue martinis, either. The poor things have been bewildered long enough with their very non-regular last few months. All in all, though, they have been troupers and serve as examples of pluckiness that we humans ought to follow.

Margarita is back tonight from a whirlwind 36-hour trip to Santa Fe. She has lots of lovely photos of the house, so I now remember how much I like it. And since we only ever saw it with a foot of snow on the ground, the revelation of a wonderful rambling 1/3-acre yard is even more uplifting. I feel quite lucky and know I should rise above the crabbiness about the staging since it will soon be Of the Past. So, you see, the title of this entry is not a call for help but a celebration of the coming of Spring & Newness (with a nod to the IWW and Rainbow Grocery).

Distressing Lack of Books

Books in our house are now at a premium. Everything is in storage somewhere in Hayward. Everything. We are so used to saying, "Oh, yeah, let's look that up" or "I know we have a photo of that in X book". Then you turn to the shelf where that book has stood for years, and it's not there. But you see it in your sad, deluded mind. They're like friends with very big vocabularies, just waiting to be consulted and visited from time to time. I tend to re-read books, specific ones in cycles. How nice it will be to see them all again, out of boxes, breathing, looking around at their new shelves, waiting for new friends from New Mexico funky book stores to take up residence as well.
In the meantime it is fun, though, to return to the public library, like when the children were young, and find books you weren't even looking for. Santa Fe has just opened a new library, it's second (at least, I think)---pretty good for a town of about 65K people. Hope it's open on Sunday.

Phone Number Challenge

If you could have the Pefect Phone Number what would it be? A new version of your childhood number? Something very symmetrical? For those of us who have esoteric opinions about things like address numbers, this dilemma is indeed burning. Our new prefix will be 98something. From there I come up with pleasing, lyrical combinations, check with the phone company and have my hopes dashed every time. Other people have commandeered my phone number creativity! Or maybe they don't even know what a good number they have. Margarita suggests contacting those with the best numbers and persuading them--gently--that it is in their best interest to surrender the number they clearly do not appreciate. I think I'll just go with the flow on this one. I shall accept the number the phone company has bestowed. At least it's not too horrible.

The Big Fight

No, not something lucrative on pay-per-view. This is the probably inevitable meltdown when two devoted and committed adults leap over the cliff called "Selling a House". Don't worry--no dirty laundry here, just the admission that the lows in this process come to us all, sneak in at unsuspected moments, and ultimately remind us to look on the bright side!
What did I say earlier about rut-ville? It's now more like traversing a mine-field. Where are those darn sappers anyway?

A Restless Native?

The native is from San Francisco. Now there's a place to leave after 20+ years. Born there. Educated there till college. Ten years away in higher education. What will become of me when I no longer have the cachet of nativity, detailed knowledge, and an elaborate history? I guess there's something to be said for re-invention. Or maybe just a little re-arrangement of the pieces I like best and casting off those I regret. It's all a good obstacle to scale, though, and keeps me (with luck) out of rut-ville for the next few years.
I am happy with the move to a place that is inland but also desirable. Those of us who relate to the New Yorker cover of the northeast coast and the California coast as the only two bastions of civilization girdling a wide swath of hinterland and barbarity can, I hope, see that I am striving here to move beyond the provincial and look for value and depth outside my comfortable, (smug?) position as the San Franciscan.