One of the singular pleasures of living on the central coast of California is the delightful experience, albeit an acquired taste not universally well regarded, of a bracing chill fog and resulting rain like mist in the summer months. While the rest of California is baking to shades of gold and brown, the fortunate residents of coastal communities from Santa Barbara through Sonoma, enjoy highland mists and resulting Brigadoon disappearances and reappearances of houses, dogs, children and beloved landmarks. Today's fog was a gentler herald of the deep fogs of August, that storm tossed month when trench-coats, gloves and hats must be worn. and the fog is a seemingly madly driven fierce force bent on the destruction of all but the hardiest gardens.
Today's silver white clouds gently wafted in, silencing the noise of the city below our mountain, hiding everything, beautiful or common in it's whiteness, enveloping all in sweet silence. It's a child 's paradise of hide and seek but also perfect for a lovers embrace. All is enveloped in a cloud of white. Four grand houses, built in the magnificent neo-Monterey Colonial style popular in San Francisco in the 1920, lavishly spread over simply huge lots. One landed Don's villa next to another, their garden walls, outbuildings and towers deeply rooted on the slopes of the mountain. The sum total of the four, covering in their combined lots. an area half the size of the original village of Yerba Buena, the sum total having a good deal more rooms, better views and far more civilized inhabitants than that town now lost in history's mist. After an hour or so spent wrestling , playing hide and seek and being pulled about the steep streets by a dog aggressive beagle boxer mix in an atmosphere ready made for the Scottish Opera, refreshment, as reward for both master and dog is needed.
The rite, long established but until recently much disregarded, of afternoon tea, provide such refreshment and a perfect moment to reflect upon the goodness of stillness. The choice of tea is a brisk Irish Breakfast with accompanying tea sandwiches made of butter and raspberry jam and other's of cheese. The setting is a warm well appointed room, full of 18th century furniture and 19th century garnd tour art, the tea service a jolly 21st century set meant for solitary use. The choice of companion is the witty conversation provided by Miss Viola Mooney of 1966 Vallejo Street or more precisely the written wit within her 1911 edition of G. Bernard Shaw's,The Unsocial Socialist. Miss Mooney, for I would not dare address the lady as Viola, came into the ownership of this deep blue leather and gold embossed book in April of 1916. I came to own it eight decades later by making a purchase of dozens of books in a used book store on Polk Street, mere blocks away from Miss Mooney's house on Vallejo. The solid and stately house Miss Mooney brought her Bretano's edition home too is long gone, having been replaced sometime in the late 20's or early 30's by large luxurious apartment buildings since turned into co-op's. I've no idea who Miss Mooney was but as she was of my maternal Grandmother's generation and class, or so I have deduced by her clear penmanship, choice of book, quality of edition and address of residence, I have a fairly good idea of her.
My Miss Mooney is a jolly young lady, who has quite gotten on from the terror of the great fire and earthquake that forever served as her generations Rubicon, each survivor having crossed over from the imperial 19th century city's ashes to the start of modern San Francisco. The fair of 1915 had been a resounding success and Miss Mooney, I am certain, was a lady of the ragtime era wholike the city she lived in knew how! Shaw's tale of earnest young ladies of county families boldly moving forth into the pre-world war one social reform movements must have echoed her own views of all that was modern. San Franciscoo was new, well new again and all that had been, had been swept away in the firestorms ten years previous, In San Francisco the grandest mansions and ruins of Imperial America's splendor are daily replaced by even grander modern buildings of the settled modern west.
Miss Mooney's European sister's crossing of their Rubicon, was far more brutal than even the destruction of a city by earthquake and fire. The recording angel would have no end of trouble recording the breach of class and caste of young woman thrust into experiencing the unrelenting bloodbaths, that by April of 1916, had eroded the foundations of Empires in floods of slaughtered men. The collapse of the sweet world of English school girls of County families in 1911 was by than complete. But than for Miss Mooney in the San Francisco of April 1916 the distance to Flanders fields was greater still than even the distance for me in San Francisco of June 2011 to the hillside forward posts of Afghanistan. We each of us, in our time, enveloped in the calming stillness of walking in white silver clouds, fortified by of a cup of tea, taken in warm well appointed rooms, amused by the wit of Shaw and enjoying if for a moment the lifting of the fog which is the passing of time in San Francisco, united if but for 30 minutes across the divide of 95 year's over by the magic of out city's light,air Shaw and tea.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
TAKE A HIKE! .....
I've had the the very good fortune of discovering hiking in the countryside and woodlands. Both right next door in Sutro Forest as well as in the Marin Headlands, the Crystal Springs Watershed and further north in Jack London's beloved Glen Ellen. I have long been a devotee of walks around San Francisco, t hat thanks to the topography of the tip of the peninsula, is part aerobic, part pilates and if done while carrying bags, briefcases packages or a child can be strength conditioning too. Like all good workouts hiking should be done when hydrated and rested. I find I need nothing more than comfortable shoes, thick socks. a sweatshirt hoodie and 5 minutes to warm-up by stretching. Choice of shorts or jeans is dependent solely upon the wind chill factor which is reliably variable in the coastal counties during the early to mid-summer months.
The adventure is greatest for me when I am first on a new trail. The path can at times seemingly go on for endless miles and the novice hiker may need to be reassured that they are not lost nor are they there yet. It is also best to leave at home, for the sake of friendship, any whiners that may be in your circle. A periodic gentle reminder to yourself and any companion that hiking, like all grand voyages, is that the journey has its own justification and is its own reward.
My own rewards have been as varied as being surrounded by wildflowers as tall as a tall man, waiting for a family of wild turkey's to cross a path, mama turkey leading her playful chicks into high wild grass, a gloriously colored snake sliding across a path as quickly and grandly as the Mad Hatter on his way to Tea at the Ritz. A bobcat so fixated on his next meal as to completely ignore my passing presence, a gorgeous baby deer bounding out of the shrubs, followed by a Doe and a rather timid second baby deer. This hikers spellbound into waiting, waiting, watching them fill up on the abundant shrubs and bushes which grow under Redwood trees. Silence broken only by the sweet sound of a stream., bee's and the occasional screeching cries of a Raven or Eagle. There is no end goal other than to immerse yourself, if but for a few hours in a series of moments where the role of modern western man is brought low or at least in line with the natural order.
Given the complete development of the bay area these adventures are more like a fin-de-siele walk in the Vienna Woods rather than the California of my great-great -great grandfathers. I can't but recall the lines of Steinbeck's pioneer grandfather regretting the apparent domestic timidity of his mouse hunting grandchild. A situation he viewed as the start of the end of the triumph of western man. That if that be progress it was in fact our decline. In truth what seems high outdoor adventure to me would appear to my pioneer ancestors or my younger friends from the north of California to be a pre-dinner walk in an estates parkland than hiking in the country. Truth be told for me the fun and adventure of discovery is as real in the near wilds of the headlands and the watershed as in Yosemite. The chief difference being the wildlife is less varied and more used to humans and access to the outback is quicker in the bay area but all hiking has the same risks. A sprained ankle, getting lost or bitten are very real hazards whether one is hiking 10 or 300 miles from the urban core.
The amazing feel of accomplishment one feels after completing an arduous hike is like besting your time in a race. Being in nature,feeling right sided as to your individual place in it simply puts everything else into perspective. I feel a good hike in the country of say two hours duration has a way, in its way, of connecting us however briefly, to our hunter gatherer nomadic ancestors. It is an arch-type brought to motion which does remedy so many ills of our urban life. Joyfully celebrate your ability to walk by observing the glory and power of our mother nature remembering your primal citizenship in meadow,hill, mountain or woods holds no greater weight than that held by the other animals in the wild but sustains us all.
Get out and take a HIKE
The adventure is greatest for me when I am first on a new trail. The path can at times seemingly go on for endless miles and the novice hiker may need to be reassured that they are not lost nor are they there yet. It is also best to leave at home, for the sake of friendship, any whiners that may be in your circle. A periodic gentle reminder to yourself and any companion that hiking, like all grand voyages, is that the journey has its own justification and is its own reward.
My own rewards have been as varied as being surrounded by wildflowers as tall as a tall man, waiting for a family of wild turkey's to cross a path, mama turkey leading her playful chicks into high wild grass, a gloriously colored snake sliding across a path as quickly and grandly as the Mad Hatter on his way to Tea at the Ritz. A bobcat so fixated on his next meal as to completely ignore my passing presence, a gorgeous baby deer bounding out of the shrubs, followed by a Doe and a rather timid second baby deer. This hikers spellbound into waiting, waiting, watching them fill up on the abundant shrubs and bushes which grow under Redwood trees. Silence broken only by the sweet sound of a stream., bee's and the occasional screeching cries of a Raven or Eagle. There is no end goal other than to immerse yourself, if but for a few hours in a series of moments where the role of modern western man is brought low or at least in line with the natural order.
Given the complete development of the bay area these adventures are more like a fin-de-siele walk in the Vienna Woods rather than the California of my great-great -great grandfathers. I can't but recall the lines of Steinbeck's pioneer grandfather regretting the apparent domestic timidity of his mouse hunting grandchild. A situation he viewed as the start of the end of the triumph of western man. That if that be progress it was in fact our decline. In truth what seems high outdoor adventure to me would appear to my pioneer ancestors or my younger friends from the north of California to be a pre-dinner walk in an estates parkland than hiking in the country. Truth be told for me the fun and adventure of discovery is as real in the near wilds of the headlands and the watershed as in Yosemite. The chief difference being the wildlife is less varied and more used to humans and access to the outback is quicker in the bay area but all hiking has the same risks. A sprained ankle, getting lost or bitten are very real hazards whether one is hiking 10 or 300 miles from the urban core.
The amazing feel of accomplishment one feels after completing an arduous hike is like besting your time in a race. Being in nature,feeling right sided as to your individual place in it simply puts everything else into perspective. I feel a good hike in the country of say two hours duration has a way, in its way, of connecting us however briefly, to our hunter gatherer nomadic ancestors. It is an arch-type brought to motion which does remedy so many ills of our urban life. Joyfully celebrate your ability to walk by observing the glory and power of our mother nature remembering your primal citizenship in meadow,hill, mountain or woods holds no greater weight than that held by the other animals in the wild but sustains us all.
Get out and take a HIKE
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Midnight in Paris
If it is a truth widely held by film critics that Woody Allen is one the greatest artist's who is now or has ever worked at the Art of filmmaking than proof of his genius can be viewed in any number of brilliant works produced over a long and prolific career. The cult of Woody reached its peak in the 70's and 80's and while both he and most of his audience has aged the enjoyment that a Woody Allen film provides is timeless. The latest entertainment, Midnight in Paris, has opened to mostly favorable reviews
Midnight in Paris is a gentle piece. The Master attempts no new tricks and his steady direction has given us another poem of love between the prosperous and successful set amongst and in glamorous urban locations. It's one annoying oddity is that the mainstay of Wood Allen's films, the beloved neurotic and emotionally crippled male lead, is played by one of Hollywood's leading men who is consistently voted onto the HOT lists compiled by entertainment magazines. Owen Wilson's comedic timing has previously been limited to the successful hit comedies aimed at 18 to 40 something males that are the B films of the 21st century but he proves himself up to the challenge.
Owen is a very handsome man, has superior comedic writing skills and can do a very good bit of acting.
The test of those acting abilities is in credibly delivering the lines written for a character who is a definitive wimp when he is in fact the poster boy for non-wimps. The lines are written by the far too old to play the 30-40 something character Woody Allen and in fact is a reprise of the character played by Allen in the 70's and 80's. Owen is Woody's bodydouble and covers it well though it just doesn't ring the right bells. It's not the acting but the writing. We are all prone to fantasy football conceits, mine currently tend towards Jude Law and Christian Bale but this conceit, the beloved uber-Jew played by a blonde GOY simply puts one off.
To his credit Owen does a fine job but the viewer can't but help but think of a previous Allen work in which the character admits to changing the story about the end of a relationship because it was his play and he wanted "his"character to look better. Owen certainly looks better but even his skills are challenged by delivering lines that are better spoken by a 70 somethings rather than a 40 something. Woody has a well known personal challenge around age and relationships ( has Mia and Andre ever really forgiven him) but his craft has been no less perfect because of it. Midnight in Paris is a fine film it just wobbles a bit more than others and left me with the distinct feeling that the Master has slowed down.
I'd love to seen a Midnight in Paris casting of Michael Caine and Maggie Smith as the engaged couple in Paris. Mia Farrow and Allen Alda could be the best friends. Christian Bale and Jude Law could be the married kids replace the parents. Than let Allen have at it. Wait. who would be the lioness. Taylor Swift.?
It would be a great film.
Midnight in Paris is a gentle piece. The Master attempts no new tricks and his steady direction has given us another poem of love between the prosperous and successful set amongst and in glamorous urban locations. It's one annoying oddity is that the mainstay of Wood Allen's films, the beloved neurotic and emotionally crippled male lead, is played by one of Hollywood's leading men who is consistently voted onto the HOT lists compiled by entertainment magazines. Owen Wilson's comedic timing has previously been limited to the successful hit comedies aimed at 18 to 40 something males that are the B films of the 21st century but he proves himself up to the challenge.
Owen is a very handsome man, has superior comedic writing skills and can do a very good bit of acting.
The test of those acting abilities is in credibly delivering the lines written for a character who is a definitive wimp when he is in fact the poster boy for non-wimps. The lines are written by the far too old to play the 30-40 something character Woody Allen and in fact is a reprise of the character played by Allen in the 70's and 80's. Owen is Woody's bodydouble and covers it well though it just doesn't ring the right bells. It's not the acting but the writing. We are all prone to fantasy football conceits, mine currently tend towards Jude Law and Christian Bale but this conceit, the beloved uber-Jew played by a blonde GOY simply puts one off.
To his credit Owen does a fine job but the viewer can't but help but think of a previous Allen work in which the character admits to changing the story about the end of a relationship because it was his play and he wanted "his"character to look better. Owen certainly looks better but even his skills are challenged by delivering lines that are better spoken by a 70 somethings rather than a 40 something. Woody has a well known personal challenge around age and relationships ( has Mia and Andre ever really forgiven him) but his craft has been no less perfect because of it. Midnight in Paris is a fine film it just wobbles a bit more than others and left me with the distinct feeling that the Master has slowed down.
I'd love to seen a Midnight in Paris casting of Michael Caine and Maggie Smith as the engaged couple in Paris. Mia Farrow and Allen Alda could be the best friends. Christian Bale and Jude Law could be the married kids replace the parents. Than let Allen have at it. Wait. who would be the lioness. Taylor Swift.?
It would be a great film.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
How the regular use of smoke and mirrors may result in a state of delusion
As June arrives the reminders to send birthday greetings, wedding presents and graduation congratulation reach a fever pitch. What begins in mid May as a gentle spring shower of reminders set in dairies reaches storm level proportions around Memorial Day and continues as a regular summer shower clear through the end of June. This year is no different save for the change of a country June wedding for a suburban christening or a graduation in the exotic east replaced by a friends business opening in San Francisco. The birthday's thankfully are by their very nature set and can be planned for well in advance and are loving highpoints of the month's socials. Last June's noted birthday celebrations, a charming and lively afternoon tea party for a beloved lady celebrating her 90th, is replaced by this years touchy marking of another passing year alive of a man who has stayed far too long in the world inhabited by street arabs on the make as a street arab on the make. The joy of a 91st birthday of a genle cultures lady is fast followed by a marking of another year in a fools life. The fool saddened by hisown perceptions of what desirability is and challenged by what stares back at him in his mirror enters his 50th year in a mood more depressing than June gloom over Rodeo Drive!
The wry quip, " it's all smoke and mirror's" while a desirable truth when describing the interior of nightclubs is less so when used to describe emotional states, investment portfolio's and provenance of antiques. It seems the enjoyment of self, the truth of self, as the well adjusted individual actually lives, is a grace not given to this man or his circle. That very singular benefit of being older, chiefly being comfortable in your own skin as robustly celebrated by a very young 91 year old friend has alluded this man. The gloom is the only end point possible in a rather long sad personal narrative which would best be shelved under minor works of mid 20th century American fiction concerning train wrecks rather than autobiography. From a stated pedigree of descent from landed Californio's ranch owners(debunked by his mother who was raised in an apartment by children of immigrants) a childhood upbringing in St. Francis Wood ( Southern Hills in Daly City-West Portal in San Francisco),to a proud Italian-American heritage ( Paternal bio grandfather was American Jewish) to claims of being a Psychologist ( an M.S from San Francisco State) to his decorator's claim to having attended U.C.Berkeley (a U.C. Berkeley extension course) the man's life gives proof to the truth there is one born every minute! The end being that in comparison, attendance at Doris Fishbein's wedding would have more cultural gravitas and resulting social desirability than an invitation to a celebration of a life led as a study in fraud.
It is, I suppose, a reason to play dress up, get gussied up in fake fur, dig out and sport that naughty cache of fake Rolex's and counterfeit couture that none of us have and prance and parade amongst the birds of a feather that Mission District socialites attract, a sort of waspish carnival, or Chad goes to the Cotton Club for a dress up party. It's just a matter of the right attitude, being the perfect lady and gentleman at a party, not signing anything, or making future lunch date plans with the attendant Mafia, checking the crib notes as to what the party line regarding year of birth is this year and by no means bringing a date and staying for no more than an hour, to succeed in enjoyable the affair. The one good thing that comes of the boldness of the lies that this man, his family and inner circle of friends live, is that no one but they believe the charade and no one but a rather odd and strange lover street arabs drinks the host's cool -aid. The disagreeable business of mingling with liars is that they are more fearful not of the guests finding where the bodies lie or the gravity of the crimes committed but rather of the actual dates and years said crimes were committed.
A gentleman is a gentleman in any social situation and a personal lesson can be gained if attendance at said event is used to celebrate the truth of the beauty of a life lived discretely and honestly. It is than a foil, the contrast serving the true well. So than honestly it is easy to say "many happy returns of the day" to the assembled crew of the ship of fools. and hasten on to another summer fair with a true heart!
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