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Today I regretted not saying yes to the Marine sitting behind the desk in the Oakland Processing Center who had asked me, a young newlywed man who had just been drafted, if I wanted to be a Marine. As a Baha'i, I was classified Non-Combatant, and as such I would surely have been trained as a corpsman and sent to the maelstrom in Vietnam. Would that I could have served valiantly, and given the fullest measure.

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Cement Plant Road, Santa Cruz County.


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*South San Francisco

It's hard to miss the sixty foot concrete letters which spell out the slogan of South San Francisco, situated on Sign Hill at the foot of San Bruno Mountain just south of San Francisco. Constructed in the 1920's at the prompting of the Chamber of Commerce to promote the city, it has become an icon viewed by millions over the years, as it fills the windshields of northbound travelers on Highway 101 into San Francisco. It was recently added to the National Registry of Historic Places.

One day when we were ten years old, my twin brother and I set out to hike up to the sign and cover up one of the letters. After a rigorous climb, the ground turned out to be as hard as rock and completely devoid of anything capable of concealing even a square inch of the letter "I".

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Tug

Morning Zen



Tug

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My nephew Nate.




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It's a Wonderful Life

From IMDB:

James Stewart was nervous about the phone scene kiss because it was his first screen kiss since his return to Hollywood after the war. Under Frank Capra's watchful eye, Stewart filmed the scene in only one unrehearsed take, and it worked so well that part of the embrace was cut because it was too passionate to pass the censors.

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CALIFORNIA COAST NEAR SAN GREGORIO

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A Turkish Lullaby.



A rough translation:

Dandini, Dandini, the child with the calf
Henna on a small child’s palms
Mom and dad love her
A gentle baby sleeps and grows

Dandini dandini dastana
The Calves strayed into the garden
The gardener quickly chased them away
They can’t eat the cabbages!

Dandini dandini danadan
The moon was born from the mother’s womb
Spared from being hurt
Protected from the evil eye.

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When I was twenty I worked at a hotel in Carmel, California, and was fortunate to have a free room in what was referred to as "The Annex”--a dilapidated two story roominghouse across the street from the hotel, which was about four blocks from one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. The Annex was comprised of about ten rooms of various sizes and configuration, but all of which had a toilet and either a shower or a bath tub. I really dug my funky room on the ground floor.  It was all I needed. My back door opened into a private yard overgrown and unkempt, and it was a joy to me.

One morning before work, I went into the backyard as I was in the habit of doing,  just to enjoy the morning and smell the ocean mixed with the various long-neglected trees and shrubs that filled my private space. To my surprise, in the most remote corner, I found a cigar store Indian! I recognized it as the one from the Monterey wharf, and I assumed that the neighbor’s teenage sons had stolen it and tossed it over the fence. I called the police, and a patrolman showed up in a few minutes and the two of us managed to lift it and carry it to the patrol car and put it in the trunk. I was never questioned about it afterwards, nor do I know whether the police, who at that time was very lenient with respect to teenage crime, brought the thieves to justice.

The most memorable part of the experience, and for some reason it seemed like a dramatic way to impress it upon me, was the inscription on the brass plaque on the front of the statue. It read: “Don’t criticize you neighbor until you have walked a mile in his moccasins.”

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Get to Know: Air Station Barber's Point

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On the Old Coast Road, Big Sur, California




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Jeffrey Cobb Ewing

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JEFFREY COBB'S FIRST DAY AT JUNIOR HIGH

Cobb looked cool leaving in the morning for his first day at Mission Hill in his department store outfit. When he came home that afternoon, he said school was fine, and that he looked like all the other "Mervyn's kids".























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Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772)

Emanuel Swedenborg, an 18th Century scientist, philosopher, Christian mystic and theologian, had a view of the spiritual nature of life which in many ways parallels my own.

Reality of a Spiritual World
(from the Swedenborgian Church's website):

Swedenborg asserts that we live in a world of spirit as well as in the material world, although we are usually unconscious of that dimension of our existence. With death we become conscious in the spiritual world, where our personal identity is retained and we are revealed as the person we inwardly are. The final "judgment" is our own realization of our individual essential nature as we face our real selves, rather than an evaluation and dictate by a power beyond.

We decide our own afterlife, choosing our own heaven or hell as we align ourselves with the loves we have affirmed in the natural world. If our love is solely selfish in this life, we will later abide with others of selfish motives. Just as we choose our own company and values in this life, in the afterlife we choose our destiny. Further, the life in the spiritual world is similar to this one; we pursue activities and work which enable us to continue developing and growing. The spiritual world is a continuation of the inner regenerative process that is life as we know it.

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In the Bahá'i Faith, heaven is nearness to God, which is achieved by conforming our spirit as closely as possible to His Will (as revealed through His Prophets, or Manifestations), and is a condition, not a place. Swedenborg's concept of the 'Final Judgement' (bolded above), suggests that the condition we find ourselves in when we abandon our physical body is the result of our own doing---a concept to which I subscribe. As of this writing, I can say unequivocally that even a brief moment of self-assesment makes me grateful that there's still time!

I do get the sense that Swedenborg felt that advancement in the next world occurs much as it does in the physical plane, i.e., through our efforts. In my Faith, however, such progress is the result of three things:

1. Prayers on our behalf

2. Charitable works done in our name.

3. The grace of God.

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Years ago I ran into a friend soon after I had lost a son, and he pointed out to me that there is no time or place in the spiritual realm, and therefore my son is not 'waiting' for me, for in reality I am already there. Coupling that thought with the concept that our condition in the next world is dependent on our choices in this one (i.e., through free will), I've come to realize that God has created a reality wherein we have eternally existed in the condition we have chosen for ourselves. Still, there's advancement through grace, so it can't be static.

Oh well, back to the drawing board.

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GO GO GODZILLA!



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THE BIG CHEESE

The Mediterranean Market was a long-time landmark in Carmel, California, located downtown at the northwest corner of Ocean Avenue and Mission Street. While the assortment of exotic, imported foods and the aroma of cheeses and salamis and the sawdust on the wood floors made for an interesting experience, the huge cheese that hung in the window was for me by far the market’s most interesting feature. It was the first thing I noticed about the market when I first moved to Carmel in 1963, and there wasn’t a single time that I walked past the middle arched window on the east side with that huge cheese hanging in it that I didn’t contemplate its age and taste.

Like cheese, cities age too, and on my last visit I found that the Mediterranean Market was no more—replaced by a home furnishings store, much to my chagrin. I couldn’t help but wonder about the fate of that cheese. Where would it go? Was it eaten?


As I always do when I visit Carmel, I looked in on my old high school friend, John Z., who is a third generation Carmelite, and who knows everything about that town. Over lunch, I asked him about the big cheese, and his face lit up (he’s a sentimental fool like me.) He told me that the store owner had retired, but the cheese lives on. After lunch, we walked around the corner, and he pointed to a window on the second floor of the building that once housed the Mediterranean Market. Sure enough, there hung the cheese! I would have never noticed it, even though it had only moved about thirty feet from its long-time home in the window. I’m glad it’s still there.

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Coffee Break



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Hardwicke House, Silver City, Nevada





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Squeeker Prank 2

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Vice is a monster of so frightful mien
As to be hated needs but to be seen.
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.


--Alexander Pope

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Michael Buble & Nelly Furtado Quando, Quando, Quando

Thea Graver



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My sons watching Saturday morning cartoons, many years ago...




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Cat and owl playing

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Jeffrey Cobb Ewing






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* A quick in situ sketch using my versatile Tombo Dual Brush pen.

Same cabin rendered quickly in pencil at home.

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One day in 1958, when I was ten years old and living with my three brothers in Burbank, California, we decided to ride our bicycles to Hollywood, which was about ten miles or so away. Besides just doing goofy kid things, we checked out Grauman’s Chinese theater, where various movie stars have immortalized themselves since 1920 by putting impressions of their handprints and signatures, and in the case of Jimmy Durante, his nose, in wet concrete. Of course I found riding our bikes in the pedestrian tunnels below the enormous Highland Av/Cahuenga Blvd intersection much more exciting at the time.


Looking back, though, I would have to say the highlight was our good fortune of visiting the Hollywood Bowl. It so happened that The Champs, whose “Tequila” was tops on the charts at the time, was rehearsing for a performance that evening (or perhaps the next evening---I can’t remember), and we had a front row seat . Other than Dick Clark and a few technicians, we had the place to ourselves. What a treat it was to hear their hit song performed for us---I can still hear it as if it was yesterday:

Tequila!



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My cat Tuffy (a.k.a. Tug).

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Snow today.

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Backyards.

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When my boys were growing up, I made an effort to teach them to be descriptive in their speech. For example, describing something as 'that thing' would always make me inquire exactly what that 'thing' was. One day, when my eldest son was about fifteen, he came running into my room, saying "Dad, come into the living room---I want you to see this thing."

"Son, what exactly is the thing you want me to see?", I asked.

"C'mon, dad, hurry! Come look at this thing!"

"I'm not going to look unless you tell me what the thing is" I said.

"Dad, you're going to miss it if you don't hurry."

He grabbed my arm, and practically pulled me to the front window, where I looked out on the street, and what I saw can be seen Here .


















Yup, it was a Volkswagen 'Thing'.

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Chloë was a terrific cat.




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FIRE ALARM.

HAHAHAHAHA!



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This has been bothering me for 40 years.

When I was receiving tear gas training in Basic Training at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, we were instructed that the command to take off our masks was “all clear”. Okay, that’s reasonable enough. We practiced responding to that command about fifty times (the army doesn't like to leave anyone behind), and then we were driven to an old ramshackle house in the middle of nowhere, where we were to experience tear gas up close and personal.

We were all commanded to don our gas masks, and then in groups of twenty or so, were led into the living room of the old house. We assembled in the living room (yeah, I could tell that once upon a time a family gathered around a radio in this cozy room listening to Fred Allen), where in the middle of the dirt floor was a smoking pile of tear gas pellets. I’ll tell you, looking around the darkened room at this group of men in olive drab uniforms, all of which were wearing helmets and gas masks was off-putting to say the least.

Anyway, the sergeant told us that after we removed our gas masks, we were to shout our name, rank and serial number (which at that time was our Social Security Number---I wonder if they’ve changed that due to the specter of identity theft in today’s world?) and then exit the room via the hallway, which led past the kitchen and bedrooms to the backdoor.

Before I knew it, I heard “ALL CLEAR!” and everyone was removing their masks. But not me. As I could see the billowing clouds of tear gas, I knew very well that it was anything but ‘clear’, so I stood there, not knowing what else to do, while everyone shouted their names, rank and serial numbers.

"Why aren't you removing you mask, Private?" The sergeant shouted.

"Sergeant, you said that it's all clear, and I can see that it isn't."

The sergeant then ordered everyone to exit the house, but pointed at me, and said “but not you.” I could tell from his tone of voice that my immediate future was in the hands of a sadist. After everyone left and I was standing mask to mask with the sergeant, he said “Take off your f*ing mask!” Okay, I understood that, and immediately complied to his order. Then things got a little bizarre.

“Where are you from, troop?” he asked.

“Monterey, California, drill sergeant!” The first whiffs of the gas kinda hit me, but it really wasn’t too bad.

“So” the sergeant asked, “have you ever been to the ‘Guilded Cage’?

I realized that he had once been stationed at Fort Ord, as the Guilded Age was a homosexual bar in downtown Monterey. I also realized that, in a not too subtle way, he was calling me a homosexual , or a Nancy boy, as he believed I was afraid to take off my mask.

I managed to say “no, drill sergeant, that’s not my bag” before getting a huge dose of tear gas in my lungs. I kind of reflexively gasped, but damn it, I would have stood there, in a room full of gas, answering questions until I either passed out (which was a distinct possiblility as each passing second the atmosphere increasingly resembled that of Venus), or I was ordered to leave: I really was a good soldier. To the best of my recollection, he did ask me a few more questions, and then told me to ‘get the f**k outta here’.

As soon as I was outside, my nose and eyes exploded like a cloudburst in the Amazon, and my skin felt like it was on fire. When I got on the bus, all the other wimps (yeah, wimps, they had to deal with less than ten seconds with the gas, while I managed 30 or 40 seconds minimum) were staring at me. I didn’t think of it then, but afterwards, and to this day, I wonder whether they all thought I was a coward, when in actuality, it was merely my instinctual objection to a ridiculous command.

To set the record straight: I wasn't afraid to take off my mask. The order "All Clear" was absurd. I hope the modern army has changed the order (in training) to something like "Remove masks"--something I would have complied with immediately.

On the other hand, the army expects soldiers to obey commands, and in this case, perhaps I was wrong. I do know this: If I could go back in time, I would have removed my mask at the order, and then afterwards suggested to the sergeant a more appropriate command, saving myself a lot of grief, not to mention face.


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Jeffrey Cobb Ewing

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This is one of my favorite sketches.

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Pigeon Point Lighthouse, San Mateo County, California

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Billy Joel - And So It Goes

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And So It Goes

In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along

I spoke to you in cautious tones
You answered me with no pretense
And still I feel I said too much
My silence is my self defense

And every time I've held a rose
It seems I only felt the thorns
And so it goes, and so it goes
And so will you soon I suppose

But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break

And this is why my eyes are closed
It's just as well for all I've seen
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows

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In every heart there is a room

A sanctuary safe and strong

To heal the wounds from lovers past

Until a new one comes along

I spoke to you in cautious tones

You answered me with no pretense

And still I feel I said too much

My silence is my self defense

And every time I've held a rose

It seems I only felt the thorns

And so it goes, and so it goes

And so will you soon I suppose

But if my silence made you leave

Then that would be my worst mistake

So I will share this room with you

And you can have this heart to break

And this is why my eyes are closed

It's just as well for all I've seen

And so it goes, and so it goes

And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you

That's if the choice were mine to make

But you can make decisions too

And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes

And you're the only one who knows.

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Watch the Earth's weather here.

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Bizkit the Sleep Walking Dog

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I moved back to Carmel for a few years in 1993, and I was on top of the world. I lived in an apartment just a few blocks from downtown, and even better, I was dating a beautiful woman with red hair and a Cadillac. One Saturday we agreed that she’d pick me up on the corner of Ocean and San Carlos at five in the afternoon, and we’d go for a drive down the coast to Big Sur. As it happened, I ran into an old high school chum at the corner as I was waiting for Sandi to show up, and we shot the breeze, talking about how great it was to be standing on a corner watching all the tourists scurry about in the warm afternoon sun, and appreciating that this was our home.


As I spied Sandi driving up the street, I said to my friend: “This is really just about as good as it gets, but you know what would make it perfect?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I wish a beautiful redhead in a Cadillac would drive up and take me away!”

On cue, Sandi pulled up, lowered the passenger window and said “get in.”

I turned to my surprised friend, shrugged, and then climbed into the Cadillac and away we went.

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Van Morrison - Days Like This