Los Angeleno by birth, Northwesterner by choice, Second-hander by nature. Librarian, housebound chef, father, and lowly subject ruled over by the needs and whims of a very old house. Partial to Mexican, Italian and Vietnamese cookery but will eat damn near anything. Collector of many strange things..the result is chaos and anarchy and a very pleasant place to live. There is pleasure in accumulation, not just "collecting": music, books and film, in all their multi-formated glory. Outsider artists and those kinds of prints you would recognize if you took liberal studies classes in college. Cooking implements and gadgets for recipes still untried or those ventured. Glasses for most types of libations. Flowers in the garden, herbs in the pot. It's a life of the senses and a good home life reflects that. Walking helps take in all the rest. Requires no special equipment, opens up the pores, brightens the taste buds, clears the decks for further adventures, puts on the miles, widens the eyes and helps fuel the imagination.
Live boldly, play graciously and love with all your heart knowing that true love comes only once or twice in this lifetime. Speaking of which..donde estas, Empress of my Heart?
"Lack imagination and miss the better story" Yann Martel
"Life is a great adventure and I want to say to you, accept it in such spirit. I want to see you face it ready to do the best that lies in you to win out. To go down without complaining and abiding by the result....the worst of all fears is the fear ofliving." Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.
"Not I - not anyone else, can travel that road for you You must travel it for yourself" Walt Whitman
And above all, friends should possess the rare gift of sitting. They should be able, no, eager, to sit for hours-three, four, six-over a meal of soup and wine and cheese, as well as one of twenty fabulous courses.
Then, with good friends of such attributes, and good food on the board, and good wine in the pitcher, we may well ask,
Ex-railroad man, homeless guy and library patron. He loved Westerns, biscuits and gravy, his cigarettes and old cars. More than anything, he loved to laugh. Laughing wasn't always easy to do, but he laughed alot. Dammit, Patrick, you're going to be missed.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
A good pie settles everything
Standing under the stars last night I was given a gift of grace and I'll be forever thankful for it.
We've had an interesting time of it lately, my dear Esteemed Companion and I. We had been entrenched in a long slugging match with others, something not of our choosing, a truly fruitless event, a much too time consuming slice of what I've come to call The Covelo Crisis, one that, for a moment it seemed, was out to wreck our wee fragile craft. But being that our hearts are young, that our vision is set, like good lovers should be, on the future and not on the past, we were able to dispel the shadows that have been lurking about and instead do fantastic things with a day. Berries were picked, a library was run, supper was barbequed, Legos were played with, ice cream runs and pies and laughter were shared, all of it, happiness and joy and silliness, were all brought back into the room, set up and played with as if those things, our hallmarks, had never left.
But it was under the stars later on, after the pie and the chat and a bit of sweetness, that made me realize how wonderful and mysterious the ways of the world are.We were standing under timeless skies, under stars and planets and moons and suns that had seen everything and remembered nothing and now there we were, throwing our mere mortals selves into the mix. Would we pass beneath those celestial bodies, like so many others, unheralded, or would we somehow find the way to have our story told and remembered? I couldn't quite get out what I was trying to say that night but I think that being remembered, having our tale told, was what I trying to find my way to.And what better way to have that story told is to show the world that what we have...shining, bright, filled with happiness and joy, something unmatched and unseen in this neck of the woods in a long, long time....is worth commenting on, remembering, sharing, talking about.
We are more than mere public servants, more than parents, more than children of our people, more than just folks out and about in our communities. We are purveyors of an important message and that message is that if you are sincere and approach life with joy, respect, passion and grace your gifts to the world will be reciprocated. And luck, if one's luck holds and finds its way through the thickets of all that its normal and wild and strange in this world, is finding that one singular person who recognizes this prized self that we hold so dear, that finds that connection, that balance, to all the things that are worth cherishing in this world.
Ah, to this grand kind of luck! Thank god for it for we seemed to have found in the other someone who is willing to share in kind, piece by piece, word by word, these quiet and excited exchanges of equity, selflessness and wonder that we thought were lost to us.
Grace is in the little things, the unbidden blessings, the ones that sneak in under the stars and answer the question, Why Me? with more than mere declarations of love, but more declarations of recognition, of acceptance, of belief in the other.
In the midst of the grand silliness we were dealing with it was easy to set aside the simple things that filled us with joy and instead concentrate on all the things that were true ship wreckers. Pie, a bit of play, fewer words, a lot of quiet, somehow restored all that was missing, supplied us with the kind of grace we needed to move comfortably once again in the world.
Here's to gifts of grace found only under the stars on a practically moonless night in a grove deep in the heart of Covelo. Here's to those things that make life, this one and only pass of ours under the stars, truly worth living.