A Holiday Celebration -- An Excerpt from "Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd

There are many old friends in this segment. A few have passed from this earth and others have taken another path. I miss them all. We had good times. However, today, I continue to enjoy this place with Blake.

A few days later, on Thanksgiving morning, bright sunshine bounced off our bedroom mirror and hit me in the face. I opened an eye and glanced at the clock, eight-thirty. Instead of hopping out of bed in my usual manner, I rolled over and snuggled up to a sleeping Blake. The red-winged blackbirds’ melodic twills said no hurry—they had the world under control. I wondered if anyone would miss us if we hid in our room all day. I was so warm—so happy here.

Blake shifted, rolled away and stretched. “What time is it?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“What are you still doing here?” Blake asked, wasn’t used to waking up with me.

“Enjoying this place─and you.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?” Blake goaded me.

“Fuck you,” I teased back.  “I’m going to do as little as possible today, for a change. Let everyone else cook . . . it is a potluck, after all.”

I finally sauntered into the kitchen in search of coffee around ten o’clock, only to find the pot empty.  “Mr. Coffee needs a refill.” I smiled at Asna, who was stuffing a turkey into a brown paper bag.

“That’s an interesting way to cook a turkey.” I scooped coffee into a paper filter.

“Well, I don’t have to baste it this way and it stays moist. I still have latkes to make. D’you want to grate some potatoes while you wait for the coffee?”

“No thanks, I’m in lazy mode.  I’ll wok some rice and veggies later.  Right now I want to sit, relax, and have my coffee.”

Asna didn’t seem to hear me as she rummaged through a kitchen drawer. “I wonder what happened to the potato peeler. Have you seen it?”

Ignoring her query, I carried a mug of Sumatra blend towards a seat in front of the fireplace.  Someone had built a fire and I settled into the couch and put my feet on the coffee table. Déjà trotted in behind Blake who had scored his coffee in the kitchen and joined me on the couch. We sat in silence, perfectly coupled, dog at our feet. The doorbell rang.

“Are you going to get that? Blake asked.

“No,” I said.

Blake looked at me quizzically, but didn’t get up to answer the door—it rang again. Neither of us budged, we took another sip of coffee. A third ring and Phil descended the stairs two at a time.

“It’s Joel, Bruce, and Nancy,” he exclaimed as he threw open the front door. Hugs and kisses all around, then Phil led his siblings into the kitchen. Blake and I didn’t budge.

The doorbell rang four more times, bringing with it more food and more people, all of whom gathered in the kitchen.  It wasn’t long before, Blake and I decided to pry ourselves off the sofa and check out the party.

As we turned the corner, I decided that the case of wine Blake and I contributed would be fine—there was more than enough food. Every inch of counter space was covered by someone’s gourmet specialty. And in the midst of it all, stood Bud, beaming with pride and directing the action.

Blake and I dutifully obeyed Bud’s commands for setting the table and unfolding extra chairs. Almost noon, the wine came out along with the first course of salads and hors d’oeurves. By this time the noise level of over fifty people filled the entire downstairs.

Bruce had invited his college friends. I was drawn to a perky bright-eyed student. Her exuberance bubbled out in every direction and her feet seemed to barely touch the ground as she skipped between conversations. Her dancing brown eyes matched her hair—delicately pulled back from her face with little-girl barrettes.

“Hi,” she said to me. “I’m Laura Ann and these are my friends, Paul and Dennis. Paul works at Books, Inc. in Coddingtown, and Dennis is in some of my classes.”

“Glad to meet you.” Before I could say more, Joel, a physically larger version of his brother, Phil, commandeered the action. He donned a green elf hat, and moved through the crowd, quivering in a high-pitched voice, “Follow the yellow Brick Road . . . Follow the Yellow Brick Road.”

“That’s interesting,” Blake laughed as Joel sprinkled us with invisible fairy dust and handed each of us a fresh flower as he disappeared into another room and some other crowd.

More food courses materialized from the kitchen.  I met so many people, that I couldn’t begin to keep the names with the faces. Bud was a permanent fixture near the fireplace; with a ceramic wine goblet set on the mantle and a turkey leg in hand, he looked like a medieval king holding court.  I gave his highness a wide berth.

At the end of the day, as the last car left the driveway, Blake and I shot each other a “let’s get out of here” look and slipped down the side walkway and back to our room.

“I feel guilty about not helping with the clean up,” I said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Don’t worry about it . . . most of its done, anyway. It’s good for you to stop giving yourself away.”

“That’s an odd expression. I don’t understand.”

“You’re a people pleaser—always trying to help everyone. You wear yourself out.”

“Well, I certainly would like to please you,” I whispered.

“Well, that’s different . . . I’m special.”

A Holiday Celebration -- An Excerpt from "Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd

Cuckoo On A Wire 2014

Cuckoo Bird on a Wire

Precariously clings to a thread

of hope and longing

waiting for something to happen

that changes the way things are

or will be

Soon.

 

Cuckoo On A Wire 2014

Green Cuba/How Cuba Survived Peak Oil -- A Review

With all the Beyond Cuckoo hoopla over the last week about President Obama’s push to open relations with Cuba, I thought it was time to re-post my review of this important documentary film I did for Greener Living Today http://www.greenerlivingtoday.com/green-cuba-how-cuba-survived-peak-oil-review   As usual we are quick to judge an entire nation and it’s people by it’s government. This film, available for purchase and at local libraries, takes a look at the Cuban people’s spirit, ingenuity and sense of purpose.

 

Green Cuba | How Cuba Survived Peak Oil – Review

The Power of Community

How Cuba Survived Peak Oil

DVD 53 minutes

This movie is not about politics.  The producers don’t care what you think about the Cuban government.  They do care that world wide oil production has peaked and is now in decline. They care about people and community.  They demonstrate how we’ll need to adapt as fossil fuels become scarce and eventually non-existent.

When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1990, Cuba faced the worst economic and social crisis of its history. The United State’s embargo pushed the country’s economy even further into decline. Because of the fuel shortage many of the large commercial farms collapsed without commercial fertilizers and farm equipment.  Food became rationed and scarce.  The average Cuban lost 20 pounds, children were malnourished, and births were underweight.  Cubans refer to these years as “The Special Period” and they were, in more ways than one.

The magic in this film is the story it tells about the triumph of the Cuban people as they’re faced with what seems like a hopeless situation. Small rural and urban gardens spring up everywhere. Crops are grown in anything that will hold soil and water. Even rooftops turn green with produce. Organic is the only possible way to fertilize and with these sustainable methods the soil comes alive. Then as an added bonus diets change to include organically grown, healthy fare, and the country sees a decline in such diseases as diabetes and heart disease. Bicycles are the main means of transportation and people become fit. Communities become close knit. Everyone knows everyone out of the need to exchange goods.

The film doesn’t suggest that Cuba is a utopia. It does point out, however, that any place could and probably will face these same challenges.  What would you do? How would you and your family cope? It is definitely; forgive the pun, food for thought.

Produced by the Arthur Morgan Institute for Community Solutions.  Visit http://www.communitysolution.org/ for more information.

Green Cuba/How Cuba Survived Peak Oil -- A Review

Bird Blessed -- An excerpt from "Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd"

Bird Blessed

Today is Blake’s sixty-third birthday. Forty years ago we arrived in Sonoma County from Spokane Washington in our sixty-six Chevy camping van, pulling a U-Haul trailer with a German shepherd riding shotgun. We landed on a property belonging to the Trentadue Family. For some Déjà vu (also the name of our German shepherd at the time) today we did some wine tasting at the same location. The winery has changed a great deal, but the “Yellow House” crash pad, though now remodeled, looks pretty much the same. In 1976, the interior was draped in Eastern Indian print bedspreads with cotton Oriental rugs covering the beat up wooden floors. SRJC college students lived in the barn in livestock stalls. It was these students who poured wine for the first Sonoma County Harvest Fairs from laminate folding tables. It cost a few dollars to get in, and if you knew folks you could drink your fill all afternoon. Sex and drugs flowed as freely as the wine and a good time was had by all. Here’s an excerpt from my memoir “Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd” from Chapter 14 titled “Sonoma Mountain”. I guess what’s Beyond Cuckoo is that as much as things have changed; so much has stayed the same. Most of Sonoma County is as rural, protestors are once again in the news–however, the wine has gotten better

*    *    *

September 3, 1976, I turned twenty-four.  No snow tires this year for my birthday—my gift, was a move to Sonoma County, California. We followed Paul’s directions to the Healdsburg ranch. Late afternoon shadows rippled across the driveway as we turned right off of Healdsburg Avenue—gravel crunching beneath our tires.  A tan school bus with brown trim sat parked in the vineyards.  I saw Claudia through the open door.

“This must be the place,” I said. “Pull up there.” I pointed to a grassy level spot a few yards ahead.

Blake maneuvered the van and U-Haul into position. I got out, walked to the bus, and knocked at the open door. “Anybody home?” I asked, knowing Claudia was inside.  From past experience, I didn’t expect a warm greeting.

“Oh. Hi. Here so soon?” Claudia glanced in my direction, then back down at her knitting. The baby next to her stretched, gurgled, and opened her eyes. Claudia frowned. “Well, I guess she’s awake now,” she said with an angry look at me. “I hoped she’d sleep another hour. She’s been so cranky today.”

I shifted my stance on the steps. “Is Paul around?” I glanced over my shoulder to see if Blake was coming.

“He’s at the house.  It’s up the hill a ways.”

I backed out the open door and stumbled into Blake, who caught me before I hit the ground. I winced from a slightly twisted ankle and waited for the blood to drain from my face, before I choked out: “Let’s find Paul. Claudia’s busy with the baby.”

Blake let Déjà out of the van, and he ran ahead as we hiked up the hill. The potholed road, flanked by prune orchards, ended at a rustic farmhouse.  The sounds of music, chatter, and laughter poured from the open windows.

“Déjà, you stay outside. We’ll be right back,” Blake commanded. We climbed the front steps to the wooden porch.  As we approached the open door, we heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, Paul,” Blake called out.

Paul stood and came toward us. “Hey, man, you made it. C’mon in. I’ll introduce you around.”

Paul rattled off our names, then showed us around the four bedroom house. The country kitchen, filled with at least fifteen people, caught my eye.  “Wow, how many people live here?” I could see only one bathroom.

“Only three couples and Carlos. Let’s go outside, I’ll fill you in about the setup.”

Paul led us to the backyard, where several men and women sat in a circle. They had small paperback books on their laps as they talked. No one gave us a second glance.

Paul explained that a local winery family owned this ranch and another house in Geyserville. Their son, Carlos, had a vision to create a commune based on Mao Zedong’s, Little Red Book. We had stumbled on the daily discussion group.

“Is that Carlos?” I asked, gesturing toward a tall, dark, long-haired man leading the discussion.

“That’s him.” Paul took my elbow and steered me away, whispering, “He doesn’t like to be interrupted. Let’s go this way.”

As we strolled the grounds, Paul repeated some of what he’d told us in Spokane: students from the local junior college lived on both properties in exchange for work. There was little structure. The core group lived in the farmhouse and a converted garage.  Several small travel trailers, along with a few green canvas tents housed the seasonal help.  The Yellow House in Geyserville was home to the rest of the community. “The barn next to that house had ten animal stalls converted to bedrooms,” Paul said. “At least fifty people come and go on a regular basis.”

“So, if we leave our van parked next to your school bus, can we use the bathroom and shower in the house?” Blake asked.

“Sure, but it’s first-come, first-served. There’s a waiting line in the mornings, but you can usually get in later in the day. It’s hit or miss. Claudia and I use the vineyard as a restroom. It’s too much of a hassle to climb the hill each time. Grape leaves make good toilet paper.”

I didn’t want to ask where everyone else relieved themselves.  My guess was— anywhere convenient. We followed Paul back down to the bottom of the hill and our van. Paul’s black and white border collie, Moose, met up with us, and she and Déjà took off in a romp. Claudia emerged from the bus, baby in arms, and handed her off to Paul.

“Here, take Eden.  I’m going up to the house for a shower. Where have you been all day?” she snarled at him.

“I went to see Kenny, then to school. Are you going to start hassling me again?”

Saying nothing, Claudia tossed a towel over her shoulder and stormed up the hill.  Blake and I slowly retreated to the safety of our van.

Paul’s voice shook. “Did you guys bring dinner with you?  I already ate and she won’t be back for awhile.”

“We’re fine. Don’t worry about us,” I said. Wondering if it wasn’t such a good idea staying here.

I looked at Blake. “Why don’t we turn the van around to face the other way? That way our side doors will open out with a view of the vineyard and we won’t keep anyone up at night with our lights.”

“Good idea,” Paul said as he carried his daughter inside.

“Whew! A little chilly out this evening, don’t you think?” I opened the passenger door and grabbed for my sweater.

“In more ways than one,” Blake added.

The next morning, I awoke before sunrise. It was too early for dog and man, but I had plans for a shower before the masses lined up. Donning a sweatshirt and sweatpants, I grabbed the toiletry bag and a towel.  The flashlight sent an eerie glow ahead until I reached my destination.  The unlocked door to the house squeaked as I pushed.  As I tiptoed toward the bathroom, I prayed to the hot water goddess. Once inside, I flipped the latch closed and the light on. Hot water! Success, and without awakening anyone. I took a long leisurely shower.

Half an hour later the sun peeked over the hillside.  I lingered on the front porch, surveying the beauty.  A crow sat on the railing.

“Hello, big guy,” I said.

The bird tilted his head and came closer. I held out my hand. The bird didn’t move. He seemed to expect something—food maybe?

“Wait here and I’ll find you some breakfast.”

I went back into the house and found a cluster of grapes on the kitchen table.  I made a mental note to add grapes to our shopping list, determined to replace anything we took.

Back outside, my new friend waited. I settled on the front steps, and the black bird fluttered to my side. He ate freely from my hand—then hopped onto my knee. I surmised that although wild, he had this routine down. We shared the sweetness of the morning, and the tart breakfast, until only stems remained in my hands. I tossed the debris in the flower bed and stretched. Mr. Crow followed suit, fanning his wings until I could see light between the tips of his feathers. I picked up my bag and he flew toward the tall trees in the distance. Clean, fed, and bird blessed, I made my way down the hill.

 

Bird Blessed -- An excerpt from "Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd"