The Adventures of Bloggard

Meltdown

03.13.2011 by bloggard // Leave a Comment

Jade Garden Chinese Restaurant, May 18, 2004: Adrienne said, “Let’s go to dinner!” and so we did. The food was good, and we were noshing on garlic prawn and rice and some peppery-hot thing.

And then the waiter brought our check, and there were two fortune cookies. I picked them up, and then remembered.

Adrienne saw me, and began to cry.

It’s been just two months since Tulip our border collie died in our arms. Now what you didn’t know is that Tulip’s favorite food was fortune cookies. In fact, back in San Anselmo, at Christmas-time before we moved here, I gave Tulip a present which was a huge bag of fortune cookies. It was a big hit.

Tulip loved to go get Chinese food.

Adrienne cried, remembering. I said, “We’ll just have to eat these fortune cookies for her.” Adrienne nodded.

I loved that Tulip, and then she died. It leaves such a hole in our lives, that she doesn’t come stretching to see us, waking late as we drink our coffee. Sometimes in the middle of nowhere, it comes back, and it hurts all over again.

Dogs Not Allowed

03.13.2011 by bloggard // Leave a Comment

Spring 1990: Some ten years earlier at Christmas time, Adrienne had rescued Holly the black cockapoo from the Humane Society, as a Christmas present for her father. Holly, with new puppies, had been abandoned upon a freeway. The puppies were adopted fast, and Holly then found a happy home with Adrienne, back in those days in Berkeley.

Her father, back in New Hampshire, was an avid climber and one of the founders of the Appalachian club. Twice he’d taken her climbing the mountain. The first time she loved it, and the second time, becoming a teen, she hated it, as was proper.

Back in New England, he’d been a “tramp” printer. That means a printer skilled in setting type, fine art books to newspapers, who was very good and who moved from job to job. They lived in nice houses, and he built a stone fence, and he liked to garden, and often worked a midnight shift.

When he’d been a young teen, his own father had left one day, and never came back. Clifford, oldest of six, had to drop from school to earn for the family. He read and studied anyway, and became a liberal intellectual, and when the war came he met Helen the actress and a week later they were married.

So now that he was retired, living in Pacific Grove, it seemed that Holly was to be his Christmas present.

But it didn’t work out that way.

Pacific Grove, not far from Monterrey, is the home of the Monarch butterfly. Every September, you can see them arriving from as far as Washington state. How can such a small creature travel so many hundreds of miles?

The Monarchs are black with bright yellow and orange designs. Some are huge, and to see them thick in the trees, and the air bright with their fluttering designs … it’s stupendous. Clifford and Hazel probably moved there because of the mild climate, and because Clifford was a lighthouse enthusiast, writing articles about lighthouses and lighthouse keepers, and visiting lighthouses up and down the coast.

The lonely point in Pacific Grove, and the lighthouse there in the grey air … perhaps it gives us an image of the man and his life.

Clifford was happy to have Holly, but love had been at work in the weeks before. Holly pined when Adrienne left. When Adrienne returned, Holly leapt with joy. And after a few visits, when Adrienne was about to leave, Clifford said, “You know, I never really wanted a dog, and it’s really clear that Holly is really your dog, so why don’t you take her back with you?”

“You mean it?” said Adrienne, thrilled.

He nodded, smiling.

And over the years, Holly and Adrienne had adventures together. Once Adrienne awoke, and found a hole dug beneath the fence. The trail led to the home next door. There, in the pool, Holly weakly treading water. Having fallen in, she could not climb up the ledge. Pulled out, she lay on her side, heaving to catch her breath. Whew!

And now this weekend, being Springtime and us feeling adventurous, Adrienne and Holly and I drove the surveillance vehicle down to Pacific Grove, where I’d made reservations. “Make sure they take dogs,” Adrienne had told me.

The year before, when Clifford had passed away, in his mind he was directing a movie, and one day he’d pulled all the tubes out of his arm, and faded into black during the night. Adrienne’s mother Hazel now lived in a home in southern California. But Adrienne wanted to show me the town where they’d once lived.

We drove to the motor hotel and I went in to sign us up. “You take dogs,” I said. The lady at the desk confirmed that dogs were just fine.

We drove to the room, and I made a great show of parking the car just so. “This place doesn’t take dogs,” I told Adrienne, “so we’ll need to smuggle her in.” Adrienne nodded. I went to unlock the door, while Adrienne waited in the car. “OK!” I called out, “The coast is clear!”

Quickly, Adrienne ran into the room with Holly wrapped up in a towel. I brought things in and we unpacked. When we went to see the lighthouse, we pulled the getaway vehicle so that our doorway couldn’t be seen from the office. When Holly needed to pee, we made sure to climb out the back window into the vacant lot next door. Late that night, we made sure to keep Holly from barking at neighbor sounds, to prevent discovery. And the next day, we cleverly smuggled her out again.

Later, as we were driving home from Pacific Grove, Adrienne read through the pretty brochure we’d picked up from the motor hotel. Suddenly she stiffened.

“Hey!” she said, “That place takes dogs!”

On This Day: Bay to Breakers

03.13.2011 by bloggard // Leave a Comment

San Francisco, May 7, 2004: Once again, today is the famous Bay to Breakers race where thousands of runners run from the San Francisco Bay to the ocean. That is from way downtown, up Market Street, and then out past the Panhandle Park and through Golden Gate park to the beach.

In years past, I’d wake in my fourth-floor garrett at Lyon and Oak, fuzzily wondering what was the hubbub. Peering down from my kitchen windows, I’d see the runners — many in oddball costumes — pouring up the street and through the skinny park. There, watching them and drinking my coffee, I would ponder life and experience the gratitude that comes of not being among them.

This year, there’s bad news about running naked.

It seems that every year more and more people run the 7.5 mile race without clothes, and let me tell you some of these folks are way too floppy, but in the main, skinny people run, and so it generally works out, if you follow me.

Last year, more than 200 skinny-dippers trundled through the streets, sort of like very late streakers joining the party twenty years later. However, this year the police have decided to issue citations to naked runners.

In fine San Francisco doughnut shop fashion, however, the police have announced that they will only issue citations to the folks who fail to clothe themselves after the finish line. After all, a tradition is a tradition, right?

And of course, when interviewed, it came out that the policemen felt that running into the race, demanding a driver’s licence, and writing up a ticket while trotting alongside the nudie runner … well, it’s just not their thing.

Calling Lonesome Cowboy Tim

03.13.2011 by bloggard // 37 Comments

Some time back, I referred to telephone recordings made by “Lonesome Cowboy Tim”. These used to run on a (secret) telephone number in San Francisco, and the story changed from time to time. The story in general was that Lonesome Cowboy Tim lived out on the prairie with a lot of critters, and they had various adventures which were very, very funny.

It seems that lots of Cowboy Tim fans still remember those days. I heard from Frank Mitford from south Florida and several others. Some of them have recordings.

In an attempt to bring these recordings back to the world, I’ve registered “lonesomecowboytim.com“, and will be putting a website up in that location. Hopefully, I’ll be able to garner recordings and post them there, and perhaps some other fans would like to help with this project, so that you can return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear.

Lonesome Cowboy Tim will ride again!

Bear Tangled with Rabbit, and Lost

03.13.2011 by bloggard // Leave a Comment

Highway 89: Chad Henson from Mount Shasta was driving toward McCloud this morning, and as he neared the Ski Park, a big bear came barrelling down the slope, across oncoming traffic, and careened into Chad’s Volkswagen Rabbit.

“I slammed on my brakes,” Chad said, “but the bear didn’t even slow down.”

The Rabbit survived. The bear didn’t.

Ron’s Chinese Dinner

03.13.2011 by bloggard // Leave a Comment

Canoga Park, California, Summer 1962: Ron, the Megatar shop foreman, was a junior in High School, and his pal Johnny Blevins worked for Lim’s Chinese Food restaurant at Sherman Way and Topanga Canyon Boulevard. One day Johnny told Ron he needed some help.

“I’ve got to go on a vacation with my parents,” Johnny said, “and if I don’t get somebody to fill in for me at Lim’s, I’ll lose my job!” Ron stared.

“What do you do?” he asked.

“All you do is answer the phone,” Johnny said. “Mr. Lim doesn’t speak English very good, so you just take the orders. It’s just for a week.”

“OK,” Ron said.

“And ask him to feed you,” Johnny said, “That’s part of the deal. He’s supposed to give you dinner.”

“OK,” Ron said.

Vacation time arrived, and Johnny left with his parents, and Ron showed up at Lim’s Chinese Food restaurant. Mr. Lim looked him up and down.

“Huh!” said Mr. Lim, pointing to the phone. “OK. You take order!”

Ron took the orders. It was quite busy, one order after another. It turned out that Mr. Lim spoke very, very little English. Ron had to write down the orders by number. For example two orders of pot-stickers was “two number four,” and one order of beef and broccoli was “one number seventeen.”

In this way, they worked their way through the evening.

It grew late and Ron was hungry. He felt a bit timid, but finally he stuck his head into the kitchen.

“Can I have something to eat?” he asked.

“What?” screamed Mr. Lim. “You got no mother? You got no father? They don’t feed you?!!“

Ron’s head shrunk down to his shoulders. Hungry, and crushed by the harsh words, he slunk back to his ringing telephone and took another order.

Then, another order. Then, another. While Ron was writing down these orders, there suddenly appeared before him a heaping plateful of rice and vegetables, steaming, with a heavenly smell!

Mr. Lim took the written order. Ron fell on the food.

“Huh!” said Mr. Lim.

Sunset Dinner Train

03.13.2011 by bloggard // Leave a Comment

McCloud, California: Today I knocked off building megatars early, and went home for a rest and a bath, because I’m being taken to dinner on the train!

McCloud is a former mill town, ten miles around on the south side of the mountain. Very scenic it is, and at the depot we checked in and got large tickets. After a spell of sitting and watching the other passengers milling around, the conductor came along calling “All aboard!”

The dining cars have names, like Trinity, Lassen, Shasta, and Siskiyou. Although in railroad tradition, parties of two may be combined with other parties, Adrienne had arranged a private table for two in the Lassen car. We entered past the galley, where lanky young chefs were preparing the first course. In the car proper, the interior was dark and polished mahogany, with carved shapes to decorate and fit the curve of the car, and old-fashioned light fixtures.

Our table had streamers and confetti and sparklers of stars and birthday cakes, saying Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday! Tre festif!

The couple across the way wished me Happy Birthday, and, seeing that their table had the same decorations, we wished them Happy Birthday as well, and asked which of them was having the birthday. As it turned out, both of them were. The husband said, “We were very startled to find we had the same birthday, twenty years ago. She didn’t believe me, and made me show her my driver’s license.”

Behind Adrienne, a larger group had lots of rowdy fun, and behind me, a very tall and stunning blonde was sticking the Happy Birthday sparklers onto her breasts. Her muscle-man husband said quietly, “Probably one is enough.”

The train clickety-clacked into the woods beyond McCloud, and we wound along the side of the mountain, to a switchback where the conductor dropped off the train as we slowly passed. We stopped, he threw a switch, and then the train started in the other direction, with the engine pushing our dining cars, as we climbed up a slight grade and wound further up the mountain.

The deep pines began to yield to spruce, thin oak trees, and manzanita scrub, and from our higher position we could see distant ridges of blue mountain, and beyond them, faint white peaks further still. The light was lowering as we wound around the mountainside. On the way to Mount Shasta we were served appetizers of sauteed vegetables in filo dough, fancy breads and spiced applesauce, and we’d selected a dry Sauvignon Blanc which turned out quite pleasant.

As we passed through the twilight pines, a sadness came over me, as did the fancy that I could imagine our dog Tulip running and running through these wild woods, somehow happy and in the wild. Tulip died not long ago, and I miss her bitterly. Why these woods? Why did I picture her so? I don’t know, but somehow I saw her there, and felt her loss.

Our train wound higher and emerged on the west side of the mountain, and we found ourselves above our town of Mount Shasta, looking west where the sun in a huge sky had dropped below the Eddys mountain ridge. Looking down through flowering trees and shrub, we could see into the fields of Shastice Park, where we once walked Tulip and Lizzie, and now walk Lizzie alone.

The train slowed to a gentle stop, and paused for a few minutes, there on the mountainside above our town, and then slowly we reversed direction and started back along the way we’d come. The light in the sky was failing, the darkness gathered beneath the trees.

We passed a few outlying houses, lit windows looking warm and cheery in the woodland. In our dining car, piped music brought us saxophones and country ballads, and old songs like Love is a Many Splendored Thing.

Rosemary our waitress brought us warm dinners of salmon, asparagus, and new potatoes. The woods grew darker and darker, and our dining car grew louder as the wine bottles were emptied.

At the table just beyound the couple who had the same birthday was a young couple. He was probably a soldier, and had seemed kind of nervous back in the station. She was a tall and somewhat gawky girl, who seemed to think the world of him. Along the way, he left his seat and knelt on one knee in the aisle beside her. Opening a small box containing a ring, he was asking a question.

She said yes.

Deep in the dark woods, Rosemary brought desserts of cheesecake and berries in whipped cream, and coffee. We listened to the clack of the rails, watched the dark trees passing our window.

In the fullness of night, we pulled slowly into McCloud, past the illuminated hotels and into the station. “Good night,” we told Rosemary. “Good night,” we told the wine steward. “Good night,” we told our neighbors.

Good night. Good night. Good night.

Seasons

03.13.2011 by bloggard // Leave a Comment

Spring in Mount Shasta, 2004: More than anyplace I’ve lived, the seasons here arrive with a flourish. In our yard, the pear tree already sports thick white blossoms in the chill early air. The sunlight peeps over the mountain and slants down into our back yard.

The apple tree sprouts tiny pink flowers above the deck, the birch on the corner shapes itself into a shower of green, and the lilac outside the big window grows leaves and white blossoms as you watch. Time flows. The force that through the green fuse drives the flower.

Spring. And I’m 60 today.

My life looks like seasons now.

This morning Kyle and Jeremy arrived at 7:30 up to the front door, alarming Lizzie most wonderfully. They’re stringing tough networking cable from my office by the garage. Under the grass, beneath the earth and around the side of the house, to include Adrienne’s computer. She’s building her Bandana Canyon website to sell bandanas, dog toys, and K-9 cookies.

SEASONS IN LIFE
Kyle and Jeremy are around 23. When you’re a guy at 23, you’re starting to know stuff about the world. You just get stronger and stronger, up to about 35, coming into your power. Your power in the world continues to grow till at least 45, but your bounce and energy level off, and perhaps begin to fade. Now, at 60, I’m starting to have some creaks. Moving more carefully.

You get smarter. But I’ve heard it said, and believe it true, that it’s amazing how much ‘Mature Wisdom’ resembles just being tired.

I’m not tired yet, but I can see how it might come to pass.

Some day.

reviews