and the wind cries...

mary.

my mother was born on this date in 1929. i cannot conjure up what she would be like as an 84 year old woman.

in my memory, she will always be 52 and stoically resigned to her fate.

here is a photo of mary's eldest granddaughter. she has always resembled my mother, which has been a great comfort. a sort of consolation prize from the universe.

happy birthday, mama. happy autumnal equinox, everyone else.

Monday Monday

Respect and farewell, Richie Havens. As a matter of fact, I AM that old.

My heart is heavy today. Can't say why except that I rarely see where I fit into this wacky universe. Never have, honestly.

I try to blend in. Really I do. But I am ultimately the odd duck in most all situations. At least I am old enough to not give a damn.

I'm most comfortable with the misfits of the world... Misfit power!

Speaking of misfits, happy birthday to one of the coolest misfits ever, Charles Mingus.

Some Sentimentality on a Saturday

My funny, funny Father.
I have not felt loss on this level before.
It's alright, though.
I know that's just how it goes and goes and goes.

Facebook Rehab

It's been a month since I deleted my Facebook account. Here are some observations...

First and foremost, I feel less overwhelmed/frustrated/agitated as time goes on. There were too many meaningless details in that world for my psyche to process. And most of those details had absolutely no bearing or impact on me personally. Yet there they were, all day, every day. From many people who would never think to call me on the phone, or send a letter. Since I speak to my 3 children regularly, I do not need Facebook to know what they're up to. The same can be said for my close friends--the ones I've known for decades. We communicate in other ways.

The thing that really clinched it for me was realizing that more than a hundred Facebook "friends" were observing my day to day happenings, and in some cases, I had never met them, or else we had not communicated since high school-or longer. And that made me feel strange. It wasn't that I had issues of any sort with these people, only that it felt creepy to share personal stuff with people I did not know.. Especially when they rarely, if ever commented or communicated. That felt like straight-up voyeurism, and there are countless lurkers out there, who want to read all about you, yet never share their own happenings.

Blogging is a better format for me. I generally think about what I want to post, rather than the stream-of-consciousness, share everything style of Facebook posting. My blog is an opportunity to write about what's happening, or express my opinions in a more edited and less in your face form. And it's kind of like a diary--a diary that now spans close to 8 years of my life.

The benefits of no more Facebook have been clear. Am reading books like I have not done in years, and am focusing on writing every day. I am less drawn away by the distractions, and able to be present in my new life here. I feel like my life is my own once again, and not public domain. My man notices the changes too, especially since he never submitted to Facebook. My father was on it for a time, until he deleted his account about 6 months before his death. He called to tell me that he was deleting it because he found it tedious, trite, and increasingly annoying. (He was never one to sugar-coat!) I am so thankful he did that, since there isn't much creepier than dead people's Facebook pages. Case in point? My man's now-deceased father's page. Where people STILL comment as though he is somehow seeing it. This despite the fact that he died over 3 years ago! Sigh...

I guess I just am not Facebook material, and am alright with this realization. Many I love enjoy it, so no judgement if you do as well.

A Sad Commentary On Modern Culture

"Drug overdose deaths up for 11th consecutive year."

Published: Feb 19, 2013, 11:07 AM
CHICAGO (AP) — Drug overdose deaths rose for the 11th straight year, federal data show, and most of them were accidents involving addictive painkillers despite growing attention to risks from these medicines. Medication, mostly prescription drugs, was involved in nearly 60 percent of overdose deaths that year, overshadowing deaths from illicit narcotics. Frieden said the data show a need for more prescription drug monitoring programs at the state level, and more laws shutting down "pill mills" — doctor offices and pharmacies that over-prescribe addictive medicines.
______________________________

This is most disturbing on a few levels. People I know and in some cases love are a part of this sad statistic. And yet, thousands are sent to prison every year for marijuana possession and cultivation. Still!

I am all for life, liberty, etc., etc. But people are endangering themselves and those around them *and* are enabling big pharma in creating a nation of numbed-out addicts. And it's legal!

When we still lived on the North Coast of California, I had a dear friend who was a family nurse practitioner. She told horror stories about the hoards of patients she was dealing with who were basically junkies, begging for painkillers. Every day. Many of them fine, upstanding members of the community. And the vast majority did not require these drugs physiologically , but had become addicted when they used them legitimately at some point. This friend has seriously considered changing careers because she sees more of these "patients" all the time, and it has really burned her out. Which is sad, because working in medicine was always her goal.

Recently, a friend of my daughter's lost his stepfather and mother within a year's time, due to both of them overdosing on legally prescribed painkillers.

Our government is in cahoots with big pharma, which means big money for all involved parties. I hope that more will see that there needs to be to be greater oversight, regulation, and control over the industry. How the hell did this happen to us?

It isn't as though I do not enjoy an escape from reality as time and life permit. But I learned early-on that needing to be constantly numb was a very real trap. A trap I have watched too many fall into in my lifetime. Instead, I try my best to face the tough times and seek solutions, rather than avoid them. And that means facing dark moments now and then.

Reminds me of a favorite Michael Hedges tune called "Face Yourself"--which I would love to post here, except that I do most all of my blogging by cell phone, and have not figured that part out. Yet.

Am I Ready For Some Football?

It's Super Bowl Sunday in America. A day to celebrate with slothful behavior, eating unhealthy food and swilling cheap beer.

Typically, I am disinterested in football. As was the man, for most of his life. That has changed over the last few years, and he now enjoys watching a game here and there. Except that he never takes any of it seriously, which is not the case for the average football fan. Like my crazy ex-husband, whose mood was totally dependent on the outcome of a game. Ridiculous.

I now enjoy watching the occasional game with the man. Not that I actually understand what's going on most of the time. Hey, everything looks good in high definition, right? Since we are both San Francisco Bay Area natives, we like the 49ers.

My dad was a lifelong fan of that football team, from the moment the franchise arrived. Through seasons of glory as well as massive defeat, he was right there. He wasn't your stereotypical fan, since he was the dean of a college, loved spending time in Paris, and did not indulge in cheap beer or Buffalo wings. But he loved the team as much as any overfed, undereducated fan did. Perhaps even more so.

Last season, the 49ers came so close to making it to the Super Bowl. Alas, it was not to be. Dad was disappointed, but hopeful for the next season. A season he would not be around to enjoy. I find it bittersweet that his beloved team is playing in the Superbowl today. He'd have been thrilled beyond belief.

So... I'll watch it later today, when the man is home from the farmers market. But it just isn't as exciting as it might have been, had my father been alive to yell and scream at the television. Since I do not believe in the afterlife, I won't pretend that he is "up there" watching. What I will do is keep him in my heart, and root for his team. Even if I rarely comprehend what the hell is going on.

In Her Eyes I See The Sea...

Lotta Crabtree

Let's see. The dead ex-boyfriend list keeps growing. I'm not joking! That is a post-in-progress. Meanwhile, the garden here is happening. This pleases me greatly because I've done all the work. At first, I whined that we needed a rototiller to prepare the patch. One day, I looked down into the neighboring yard, and there was my ninety-something year old neighbor, prepping his garden bed entirely by hand. A shovel and a hoe and an old guy. This snapped me into action, and I went on out there and did the same thing. It felt mighty fine to just do it.

Music is also happening. Next week I cruise south to Santa Cruz to see my dear sister-friend. We are going to the Shoreline show together. Back in the so-called day, we saw lots of music. So, am revisiting another portal from my past. This is the same friend whose camp I'll be in at Burning Man. Seeing and hearing what's left of the boys will be fun at this point in time. And sad too. But really... he's been gone nearly 14 years now. I'm glad to hear anything that is related musically to that thing I loved so much. I surely did.

After playtime, I'll hurry homeward. Youngest daughter has prom to attend that weekend. School's almost done. Again. Then she's a senior. My baby. Shit! No more kids to raise-up. Then what? Burning Man-among other things. Much to be done beforehand, and 3 months (or so) will fly by.

Her Eyes Are A Blue Million Miles (Live Version) - Captain Beefheart And The Magic Band

Daffodil Season

It was heart-shaped. Also itchy. So I showed her, and whoosh! First, an ultrasound of my right leg. Followed by the swift knife of Linda, who "wanted that thing in a bucket." Quickly sewn-up, and off to the grocery store. The work day erased completely from the day's schedule, so as to accommodate these sudden medical procedures.

Then home to my eventual thoughts of mortality, odds, and a pretty much doomed genetic predisposition. Ah, sweet life. How easy it is... to take our unfolding days for granted.

The what-if's are looming today, yet I feel strangely grateful for the chance to face my own mortality. Each day's a gift, after all.

Pata Pata

My mother introduced me to her music at least forty years ago. Lucky me, I know. Other kids got Burl Ives and Mitch Miller.

Fare thee well, Mama Afrika

Whew

Here's Tatiana resting on her perch. She picked it out immediately, back in May. She's tuckered out and we are too. Older daughter was here for about a week. I took the week off to hang out with both daughters. I didn't do much domestically, but I sure enjoyed the days. We even had some people over on Saturday evening, for drinks and appetizers. The new place is nice for such things.

I realized the other day that when my mother was the age I am now, she was a year or so away from dying. She would now be seventy-nine, had she not slipped away far too soon. This realization has messed with my mind in various ways. I feel an odd sense of guilt, since I don't have cancer. Also, a powerful feeling of gratitude, for being alive and here and healthy. And afraid to my core that I'll be suddenly stricken without warning and taken from all I cherish. Such is life when your mother dies at fifty-two. Weird.

I looked out my bedroom window a few days ago and watched nineteen geese fly and land in perfect formation. Crazy beautiful.

Death Don't Have No Mercy

Nope. It don't. This one hurts. He felt like one of us. And there aren't many that do, anymore.

I am so thankful to have caught him in Santa Rosa last March. Lucky break. Those seven words don't scare me! In fact, I have recited them a couple of times today. He was the last one left. Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, Bill Hicks. Now Carlin. Who's left? That doesn't cow-tow or back down when their ass is on the line. Those days are long gone.

What else to say? That he was a brave and brilliant soul who dared to think and (gasp!) make us think. I was on my way to bed last night when I heard the news, and hastily put up a photo and the first song that came to mind. Now that I've had the day to absorb the loss, it felt only right to attempt to express the great love and respect I feel. I mean, he did make me laugh for the last 40 years or so. It's the least I can do. And remember folks, It's all bullshit and it's bad for ya!

Them Changes

Buddy Miles & Jimi Hendrix

R.I.P. ~ Buddy

Gravedigger

Speaking of love and death... have you seen this video ? Maybe it's my half-century thing, but it doesn't creep me out at all. Plus, I love Willie's crazy-long hair! Originally written and recorded by Dave Matthews. This has been your macabre moment for today.

As for your upbeat moment, here is Dick Cavett's take on the current "star search for the next president". A pretty accurate description, thus far.

R.I. P. Peter Chandler Rowe

Peter in the early 80's... (First!) in line at the Greek Theatre, Berkeley


Here's the cryptic email message I got today...

"The medical examiner just put Peter in the truck and drove
away........................."

It came from my frequently-mentioned Aiko-Bro, who lives across the street from the garage in San Francisco where Peter slept for years. Once, Peter was a happy young deadhead, and always first-in-line. He died nearly homeless and in poor health. Ah, but I knew him when life was golden. I hope he gave Falwell the finger, if their matter somehow mingled.




New Years Eve 1985

Visiting Tim, Revisited

My friend and a very old wood carving of St. Elizabeth of Thuringia, in the chapel of the Ocean View mausoleum & cemetary. Being surrounded by catholic customs and icons again was a bit strange for this recovering catholic girl. There aren't many people I would revisit that world for. Especially people that are long gone, like Tim. I promised him I'd never forget him, and I intend to keep that promise. My pal in the photo feels similarly.

In the chapel, in the late afternoon sun.There were no other visitors about while we were there. It was still and quiet. And stuffy.