Are You Kind?

This was posted this a few days ago, then put into my drafts while I played around with it a bit more. 

I found myself feeling that old, familiar guilt about being honest, Plus, it's nothing but someone else's dirty laundry to those who are unfamiliar personally with me or my strange little world.  I took it down and decided to sit with it for a few days. Very glad I did, because it only reinforced so much of what bugs me. I felt guilty because I always feel guilty, and I'm so over it. Nothing else has crippled me more emotionally in my lifetime. Perhaps one day I will understand what happened and when, but it doesn't matter. I now reject it in the name of self-preservation!

Some of my extended family may read here on occasion. Also, long-time friends from various phases of my life. This has 

often been a factor in what gets said. We all have our own versions of life's stories, and some may find fault with my particular version.  I mean no harm to anyone--- I just want to write. And that means just writing, free of the self-editing that occurs because I don't want to upset people I care for. What if I'm upset? Can't I just write what I want?

It can't all be pretty pictures and blah blah blah. That ain't me, babe. 

A very long time ago, my mother told me that I worried far too much over what other people thought. She never taught me how to stop it, either. She wasn't much of a builder-upper. Parents were different, then.

So, there is my disclaimer. My preface to the post below and any other posts that may contain my personal views, opinions, or stories. I just can't be worried anymore, about the unsolicited opinions of people who are thousands of miles away from me-literally and figuratively. 

I have found great peace these last few years. One reason is obvious-Hawaii, duh! There are other reasons and the biggest one is I am learning (at long last) to let go. It's not been simple-I was born an idealist/optimist, and for most of my years have always held out for that "positive" outcome. From my friends, family, and even the government. Ha! 

After more than five decades of often-disappointing outcomes, I've learned to lower the bar. Or remove it completely.

I find myself feeling more and more free of sorrow over disappointing outcomes. Because I've invested little or none of my own agenda in things that will inevitably underwhelm.

Then, when outcomes are positive and uplifting, I am genuinely happy and thankful. This has done wonders for my heart and mind. 

What a fool I was, entrusting those who had no intention of being honest, true, or ultimately kind. They who took so much of my energy and replaced it with their pain. expecting me to carry it for them. It wore me out. I didn't know how to fend them off, then. 

Some recent realizations have snapped me out of my comfy naivety. First I had to recognize some harsh truths, then grieve the loss of things that only existed in my ever-hopeful heart. And finally, leave it behind, replaced with self respect and love of those who understand what unconditional, non-judgmental love is.

You really only need a small number of people in your world, if they are good ones. I just don't have it in me to waste any more time on the shallowness or mean-spirited behavior of people who claim to like or love me. And blood ties do not necessarily ensure positive outcomes- a lesson I was slow to learn. (My children are always the exception.) 

When my father was in his last weeks of  life, an old friend gave me some advice that has (sadly) been spot-on. She told me not to be surprised at how *fucking weird" people would behave at the end of his life or in the wake of his passing. It's almost like his death was the green light. To marginalize and disrespect me in ways they could not while he was still in my corner. He was my champion, despite the fact that I never came close to achieving what he may have expected or hoped for. He loved me. I know it so deeply and purely. The rest of them? Not really sure.

And it's okay! It hurts to wake up to truths I've carefully avoided. But life is short and shorter all the time. So I choose love. And kind people. Or... my happy solitude.

Some would say I drew the short match when it comes to families. The firstborn child in a mercifully short marriage and an ugly, sad divorce by the time I was 7. Followed by minimal contact with my father for the next 5 years, Motherless at 24 (while pregnant with my first child) and always the lesser-than. The upside is my great fortune when it comes to a few real friends. I am rich in that regard. Plus, my children/our family provide everything I longed for but never knew. 

"We carry our parents in our skin and bones, like it or not, and struggling to remember them-correctly or not-is still an act of love."  Janet Zandy

Facing Future

This has been a year of painful realizations. Maybe it's because I now spend more time alone than ever in my life. Which I adore, and wish I had begun sooner. Or, I could blame it on the madness of menopause.  Or the emptiness I continue to feel over the loss of my father.  Whatever the impetus, it's been a raw and rough-edged time.

Many of the friendships which have existed for decades are virtually unrecognizable to me now.  Is it them or me?  Some of both, I think.  

My father spoke of a similar phase in his life about 20 years back.  Same age as I am now. It seemed impossible to imagine at the time.  But I was 20 years younger, and could not have foreseen the changes in myself and those I thought would always be around.

My former tribe has disbanded, due to age, politics, apathy, addictions, and the death of a famous lead guitar player. I'm okay with that.  My one regret is placing so much value on things that were ultimately unsustainable.

What Are The Words?

 What are the words,

 to say goodbye?

Shall we all be high boys,

  waiting for the end?

A calm perspective,

  Is worth... what?

Hysterics?

  not helpful, maybe not

A recap of the shared life?

  Not possible

The end cannot be a coda.

It is the ebbing,

  Almost gone, already.

Ah, could we not run one more time?

  Show them how it should be done.

  Check in with Joe Zambone,

  A call for Mike at the square 

  to exit Stride, and play 

  Polka Dots and Moonbeams.

    Or applaud Ed Wettland...

     or Jim Lowe.

 

 Offer a bottle of good wine 

  to some winsomes.  

    A Ridge Zinfandel, perhaps.

 

 Even then, to the Saloon,&Johnny Nitro,

    And the final stop,

       Gino and Carlo.

  Leaving a trail of big tips along the way.

 Standing tall,

       If only briefly.

  So long, pal

Bill McIntyre, June 2012

(Poem to my father by his longtime friend and confidante, Bill.) At sundown tonight, we will light the candles I received from Robin and Roger on this, the anniversary of his last California  sunset.

Wordless Wednesday

SF JAZZ... Revisited

Doh! (Cue Homer Simpson) I accidentally deleted this post from yesterday.

http://www.sfjazz.org/center
The SF JAZZ Center just opened in my hometown. It is a venue my father would have enjoyed a great deal, which is why some of his friends had his name inscribed there. Immortalized!

My GEM

Today in history, one of my BFF's was born. We met on a gondola at Squaw Valley in January of 1977... When we were ski lift operators. A long, long time ago! She teaches fifth grade in the Pacific Northwest, where she has lived for more than twenty years.

When I went to San Francisco for my dad's memorial last year, she flew down to be with me. Which was great, since my beloved had to stay here on the island and tend to the homestead. Her presence helped me get through that sad, intense time.

Here she is at Gino and Carlo's in North Beach. One of my dad's favorite haunts, going back to his younger days. We stopped in there the day after the aforementioned memorial. I am ever-thankful for her love and friendship. She is a shiny gem, no doubt about it! Coincidentally, that's what her initials spell.

Halcyon Days

November of 1979... Taken at SFO on our way to see the Grateful Dead at The Golden Hall in San Diego.

As if that weren't thrilling enough to a bunch of goofy Deadheads... Several members of the band came walking on to the very same flight, including Jerry Garcia himself. I still smile, imagining what our amazed faces must have looked like to them.

We tried so hard to remain cool, but am sure we didn't look cool! When Bill Kreutzman walked by us, he held out his arms and proclaimed sarcastically: "Heeeere we are!!"

Just Kids

I was captivated and deeply moved by this book by Patti Smith. An artist I was immediately taken with-- from the first time I heard her debut album, "Horses." This, despite the fact that her music was outside the musical boundaries of my social stratosphere at that time (1975), when it had to be "the San Francisco sound", or Southern rock, pretty much. Something about Patti's darkly poetic style pulled me in. My Lake Tahoe contemporaries didn't get it. How could I call myself a Deadhead? Ah, labels...

"Just Kids" chronicles a magical time. A time of immense creativity, combined with the unbridled freedom to express it. A time that came and went like a white-hot flash. It follows the friendship of two incredibly artistic and misunderstood kids. Robert Mapplethorpe was Patti's first friend in New York City in 1969. They clicked from the start, sensing something remarkable in one another. That love and friendship propelled them both toward eventual success and major recognition.

And the rest is history... Smith writes in the most jaw-droppingly beautiful style. Such a tribute to her friend!

Throughout, I thought of my own wonderful friend and muse, James. When we met in 1979, it was love at first sight. Never physical love, though we shared a bed many times. No, this love was different. We both felt like we had finally met that person who really "got us", after feeling odd and misunderstood for the better part of our twenty-something years.

Through life's various misadventures, our love and mutual respect remains steadfast. Through heartbreak, marriages, parenthood, loss, and more. Some friendships didn't stand the test of time. They crashed and burned or fizzled out quietly. But not us. We made it through.

There have been occasional speed bumps in our friendship over the last 34 years, but it always come back to one undeniable fact. That we need each other in a way that no other friend or partner can ever fulfill. It continues to be a necessary force in our very different lives.

Someday, I will fill a book with our own stories. Some day.

Not Quite Wordless Wednesday

Aloha!

Wordless Wednesday

Lake Tahoe, 1976.

" I had the mark just as plain as day-could not be denied."

Wordless Wednesday

The Damage Done

Today marks 13 years since our pal Tim died. He's gotten plenty of press here-with good reason. Here is a picture of his name, engraved in the Circle Of Friends in Golden Gate Park.

The Needle and the Damage Done [Live] - Neil Young

He Would Not Encumber Me

Charles Surrendorf

Friendships seem to evolve or deteriorate by this time in one's lifespan. When they've lasted almost thirty years, they are bound to hit a bump along the road once in a while. The fact remains, this is no time to be casting off any true compadres. He ain't heavy, he's my brother.

Still Life

Dearest Aiko Jim paid us a visit last weekend. We cooked and laughed, drank and danced, and walked about town. Watched a couple of movies, including 'There Will Be Blood'. (Excellent!)

We even found time to make fools of ourselves. Just a little. What the hell. We're allowed to be fools together, because we go back thirty years. Back in the days of wine and doses.

Things are different now. Our lives in no way resemble the wild days of being twenty-somethings. Wait-maybe a few things are the same. Luckily.This friendship is the rarest sort. It evolves. There have been emotional speed bumps, but we always end up buddies. Forever.

I changed my accompanying song yet again. This time it got mysteriously nixed by imeem. Which is alright, because I found our signature song from the night of foolish behavior. Let's just say that our hardwood floors are most excellent for sock dancing.

trippin'

tatiana, enjoying her sunday

we're home. we went to sacramento, where we spent some time at a hospital. a hospital built by sparkly, fez-wearing gents. her spinal curvature was deemed minuscule, but we'll return in half-a-year. she is quite glad to have the good news. i think she worried about resembling a nautilus.


we saw an old friend on our way out of river city. she fixed a lovely brunch, which we three noshed upon whilst catching up on a decade or so. she's a keeper. thanks, carla and honey. x0x


a productive weekend away, with some very nice mom-kid time. we luxuriated at a hotel near the hospital, and had chinese food delivered. (her choice)

Feverish Thoughts

My first sick day. Since February, when I lucked into my new, much-improved job.What an odd thing, when teeth chatter uncontrollably and the fever burns. I burrowed into my comforter and thrashed about a while. We noticed that V for Vendetta was just starting, so we watched it. Despite feeling poorly, it floored me.Two Sissy Hankshaw-sized thumbs-up. Feeling less weird today, but not 100% healed. Maybe a minimal rant will help.





So much to say about so much. It takes me over sometimes. Every day I feel more disillusioned. If only... I were the type that could look away, ignore the insanity, and distract myself in a myriad of ways. I've never been one to deny the obvious, no matter how upsetting it may be. It's obvious (to me) that we are approaching the point of no return. I will not just shut up and watch it occur. I keep up this incessant blogging for my mental health. This is for me. Plain and simple. It's not because I think I am another undiscovered writer. No chance. It is a place for my burgeoning frustration. Sometimes it's for the things in my little world that soothe my soul or make me laugh. Either way it feels sort of obsessive. That troubles me. (Add it to the motherfucking list!) I hope there comes a time I won't need this silly thing for venting about my fucked-up country. That may be overly-optimistic.





My son and his cohorts are driving to Los Angeles (What???!!) this weekend, to see Roky Erickson at the El Rey Theater. As he pointed out: "The City itself is not on fire, Mom." He has friends there, keeping him posted. They're staying at one of his pal's mother's place.In Malibu. The tickets were procured weeks ago. Even though he's 25, I have the maternal urge to suggest that they wear those white masks over their mouths whenever they're outdoors. The particulate down there should be quite something. If I do suggest this, he will laugh at me. No matter, I probably will.






One of my very best friends is treating me to a getaway to see her soon. Gracious! There are now direct flights from Santa Rosa to Seattle. This is less stressful than getting to San Francisco or Oakland. She's a friend from my formative years at Tahoe. One of only a few that have remained friends for about three decades. As I pointed out to Tara Dharma recently, my circle of friends gets smaller as the years roll on. The trade off is... the remaining friendships that I hold dear and rely on are strong. Many others have been lost along the way. Some are mourned, some are forgotten. It's complicated stuff, friendship. Like life is.






I've been wondering about labels. There are labels for everything and everyone. For instance, I could easily be labeled a deadhead. I am one. Or was, depending on your outlook. But is that all I am? Perhaps, to some. No matter, really. I can handle the label. But wait, there's more to me than that, musically. I have seen and/or worked at almost every genre of music you can fathom. From Lollapalooza to the San Francisco Symphony. Due to my years as a blue coat for B.G.P., I saw shows I would not necessarily have seen by choice. Like Tiffany or Duran Duran or Run D.M.C. It's music, and it intrigues me-whether I am particularly fond of it or not. I'm weird like that.



Lastly, I think our kitten has a name that will stick. Dusty became Cassidy. It fits her the best. Finally. I felt negligent, being uncertain. Not Cassidy like the song, or after Neal Cassady. She hops. Naturally I thought of Hopalong Cassidy. Another archaic reference.Consider it's source! Anyway, Cassie works too.

Artifact

Not long before Winterland was to be demolished in 1979, (and condominiums went up on the site.) I went on a mission with two friends.. One of the them was my good pal, Aiko Jim. The venue had been a San Francisco landmark for many decades, long before becoming home to many historic rock concerts. On the front of the building were several of these fancy, framed boxes. They typically held posters of upcoming shows. The hastily-written sign you see was an exception to the norm. This sign was made for the last concert that ever ocurred there, on December 31st, 1978. It was a last-ditch effort (by BGP) to defray those who did not have tickets. They still showed-up. I'll bet some of the scalpers did well that night.

Close to a year after the final concert, we heard that the demolition was mere days away. We decided that we needed something to show for our years spent behind those music-saturated walls. We waited for darkness. In Jim's nondescript Chevy Nova, we rolled up in front of the beloved, doomed venue. We grabbed the crowbar in Jim's trunk, and proceeded to pry loose one of the old boxes. Into the trunk of the car it went, and we sped off into the night. (Laughing like mad, of course.)

It has lived the last almost thirty years with Jim. It weighs too much to hang on any typical wall. The locked glass door has never been opened. We have always wondered whether the sign was written on the back of a concert poster of some sort. (?) To us silly deadheads, this is a sacred artifact, from a hallowed place in musical history. I asked Jim if he'd take a picture of it when we visited last weekend. He did. Is it vandalism, when they're going to bulldoze it anyway?

Market & California Streets

Taken last month. My longtime gal pal and I on the cable car. It's really something, getting older together. Such a history we share, and I could tell you some stories... but won't! Maybe another time. We had just come from dim sum lunch and a walk around the the foot of Market St. and the Ferry Building. Below is a glimpse of our lovely lunch.

The United States Blues

The Grateful Dead ~ 4th Of July 1989 ~ Rich Stadium, Buffalo


Did you watch Keith Olberman tonight? His "Special Comment"
made big tears fall down my face. Click that link to watch a portion. Keith for president! Cindy Sheehan has decided she won't go away just yet, following the Libby pardon. (It's on, motherfuckers!)


The 4th of July parade happens in my town tomorrow. We will stroll to town, observe the event, take a quick beach-walk, then back up the hill to the shack. I will take the camera. If truth be told, I have wimped-out the last two years and stayed home. It's been painful to attend, given the current state of affairs. Nobody likes a party pooper.


Still processing my whirlwind trip to the city. More photos are forthcoming. These days, even familiar friendships have gotten trickier. The last six years of bullshit have revealed some things about a few people I was sure I knew. Belief systems have been tested. More on this later. Besides all of the above stuff, Diva Jood tagged me. Making myself sound the least bit interesting will be a challenge. Meanwhile: Celebrate America~Impeach Bush and Cheney.

The emperor himself makes an appearance at the parade a few years back.

Swept Away

swept away

That link is an mp3 of the song my youngest child recorded a week ago. The audio lab at her high school makes things like this possible for her. I think it's a wonderful first attempt.
She's 14.

The photo was taken in the mid-50's. The woman in the red skirt is my pal's mom. I've been scanning some pictures from old slides that belong to my aiko brother. They are his family photos, and some of them were taken prior to his birth in 1956. I have enjoyed looking at them, and learning more about this person I've known for 28 years.