Hong Kong 2018

Hong Kong Island, Central

50 years ago this month I first was in Hong Kong. Since then I’ve been in this city about 20 times. The first time was on R&R from the war in Vietnam. The last time was with Leslie in 2013, less than a year before she passed away. Most of the times it was on the way into Asia and again on the way out, with Hong Kong bookending two month trips into the magic of travels with Leslie. Now I’m with Jean and the magic is alive. It’s different, of course, but undeniably beautifully magical.

At the moment we’re on the big A-350 jet riding high and smooth above the mighty Pacific Ocean – the same Pacific we see from the deck of our home in Berkeley.

Life!

The first time in HK was a surreal respite from

Exactly 50 years ago, after R&R in HK

war. I stayed in an anonymous hotel, had anonymous sex with several women (I was anonymous; they were anonymous), drank a lot, hung out with several British soldiers, rode the Star Ferry, ate at Ricky’s Café, drank more – one night I got everyone in a bar to stand while I stood on a table singing The Eyes of Texas, yeah – I was a piece of work alright – and most notably spent a few days with a nice Chinese girl. On the way back

to Vietnam, I got a

Jean resting at the (people’s) Fa Yuen Market

quart of gin and a bottle of champagne, which Jeff Wiseman, Mike Noumov, and I drank on an epic drunk at battalion headquarters on Hill 55 before I staggered back insensate into the war.

In 1978 when Leslie and I were living in Austin, she came home from work one day and asked what would I think about going to Thailand? Yes! Sure! We bought one-way tickets in the back room of a Thai grocery store going from Dallas to Hong Kong to Bangkok.

That first time we stayed in a place in the Chung King Mansions. Leslie was nauseated every time we got into the back hallways. We rode the very funky, very small elevators crowded in like sardines with people from across the world – Indians, Arabs, Europeans, Africans, not many Americans. I would wake at 2 or 3 in the mornings and sit all folded up in the tiny, tiny bathroom reading a Larry McMurtry book. We rode the Star Ferry, ate at Ricky’s, and walked and walked and walked, high on life. Then onward to Thailand, Burma, Nepal, and on around the world.

The view from our room

In 2005, David and Jeff and I were there on our pilgrimage back to Vietnam (for Jeff and me) and the first visit to Cambodia (David’s other homeland). We stopped off in HK on the way in and the way out of Asia. Sometime during those days I was riding the Star Ferry alone (I thought probably my last ride). There was a little girl and her father sitting directly in front me. She was singing, first in Chinese, then in English,

“Row, row, row your boat,

gently down the stream,

Merrily, merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream.”

The day before we left we were in Big John’s Café, a small place in Tsim Sha Tsui, and on the sound system was,

“Those were days, my friend,

We thought they’d never end,

Writing on the Cathay Pacific plane

 

We’d sing and dance forever and a day.

We’d live the life we choose

We’d fight and never lose,

 

Those were the days,

Oh yes those were the days.”

And so it has been.

And now it’s three hours before we land (we slept for about six hours)… Jean and I in our life together, 22 months and still our magic unfolding. I’m writing and Jean is creating art – because that’s what she does. My jukebox is playing Brandi Carlisle, Chopin, Van Morrison…

These are the days.

These are the days that

Wonton noodle soup (shrimp) at Tsim She Kee

will last forever,

You got to hold them

In your heart.

I’m so high!

In the Fa Yuen Market (photo by Jean)

Two nights ago we went to a party at Peter N R’s house. It was a total Berkeley party. Stood out front smoking a joint. Inside the question arose, who was Joe Hill? Three people broke into song – “I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night, alive as you and me.” Someone was talking enthusiastically about her meditation teacher. I laid a little something from the Bible on her – “In my Father’s house are many

Tsim Sha Kee

rooms.” Jean danced, I didn’t. An old friend of hers and I talked about how just because someone is gone from our lives doesn’t mean that they have to really be gone. Jean and I were talking with a Jewish woman and Jean said, “I have Jewish guilt.” I could see the woman prepping for something weird. Jean said, “I’m the only person who didn’t bring any food.” LMAO.

From Victoria Peak

New Years Day lunch with David and Charles and John and Sherry at a restaurant on the water in San Francisco. David updated

Jean’s Global Entry on his iPad. We talked of music and writing and art and life.

“Baby, ain’t it all worthwhile.”

Tuesday I went to San Francisco to see David. We talked about travel and Leslie and what David said a few days about he and his Mom and I never really had any issues – any big anger or angst – it has always been all of us trying hard, knowing what we have, just like now.

Life!

A couple of days later (night before last): I went for an evening walk along the crazy crowded streets and saw a place I had looked for several times since David and Jeff and I were in HK in 2005. It was Big John’s Café. I had wanted to take Leslie there, but never could find it, and now here it was! The next morning Jean and I went there for breakfast. On the sound system was The Sounds of Silence.

On the Star Ferry. Deep personal meaning to this photo

Life is a miracle!

 

Another week in Berkeley

Sunday

Door – bedroom/temple

Notes made during a week in Berkeley. Photos were not necessarily taken during this week and most don’t correspond to the text – but they do correspond to the heart and promise of life.

In the morning we had coffee in bed, talked, . Had a bowl of fruit (mango, melon, pear, blueberries), then went to a café on The Arlington for eggs, potatoes, etc. Hanging out at home. Monterrey Market for fruit (Why would the NYT publish a piece on a small independent produce market on the left coast so far from New York?). Home time. I made some maple-glazed pecans.

Mango, melon, banana, blueberries, yogurt, maple syrup

Dinner with friends – another couple, a single friend, the couple’s son for part of the time. What a house! What a meal! What company! The son is headed to a detention camp to volunteer with “detainees” from Latin America. I told him these true words spoken to me by Paul Thai: “If you spend time with refugees, you’re gonna be sad.” True hearts. Tribulation.

Dinner conversation: if you were going to be an expat, where would it be. Everyone said Berkeley, except one person said

BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit)

the town that adjoins Berkeley.

Monday

We had coffee and talked and in the morning light. Fruit, yogurt, levain with almond butter for breakfast. We talked about textiles on the walls in Dallas and ways we are congruent. Went to a friend’s house to look at some prints he was giving away. I took one and Jean two. She then took me to North Berkeley BART to catch the train to San Francisco to have lunch with David.

With David

On the train the thump thump thump began and someone dancing in the open area at the other end of the car. Got off at 16th and Mission, up the escalator and onto the plaza with lots of homeless and drugged people

around. Walked up 16th and a few blocks up the 22 bus stopped right beside me – why not? And I jumped on. There was a pretty Central American woman with a baby strapped to her back, so that was nice. I got off at Church and Market and walked up Market and met David

Walkway to Susan’s house

on the sidewalk. We walked to Slurp on Castro – David had a curry soup and I had pad Thai. We’ve been apart for a week, so lots of catching up. What a highlight of my life these lunches with David are. What warm, easy times these are.

 

After lunch we walked down Market as far as Noe and then I headed back up Market to catch the Muni to BART, then caught Richmond train to downtown Berkeley. My bus home (7 bus) came at wrong time and I was looking at a 30 minute wait, so took Uber home.

Looked at news and FB on computer, then lay down

Jean’s house

on the floor to take a nap. Jean came home and lay on the floor with me, then she went to bedroom to take a nap and I went on internet looking at India, Lonely Planet, FB.

Living room

Made a supplies run to Costco – got 2 pounds Peet’s Major Dickason’s for $14.95. Home: glass of wine, risotto with chanterelles, chicken, salad, bread. As always, we sat at the table for awhile, talking, then cleaned the kitchen, reading and computer stuff in living room. At one point Jean was saying something and my mind kind of wandered back to the computer and I realized that the internet is an expert at capturing my consciousness. I had let it! I started reading the new Alice Waters book, Coming to My Senses. Then Jean gave me a shoulder and neck massage – we lay together on the couch.

We both took showers and now we’re in bed and Jean is reading and I’m writing this and we’re going to sleep in a moment. But then we started talking and kissing and  and we went to sleep.

Tuesday

Coffee in bed, talking, and as day breaks.

Somebody did this and similar art on the far side of the Bulb

Fruit, yogurt, levain with almond butter.

Computer – daily dose of outrage at Trump and Republicans. I think the news is becoming unhealthy for me.

Talked with contractor re sump pump – hey, where y’all at?

Did business paperwork/computer – Aaargh!

Monterrey Market. Sandwich on deck for lunch. Took bulky trash out for the once-yearly pile of stuff. Nap. Went to the Albany “Bulb” for a bayside stroll.

Jean went to a friend’s birthday party for dinner and I stayed home, beef stew, salad, bread for dinner, reading, hanging out on internet – travel, FB, news.

Acme Bakery

Jean came home about 9 and we had tea (peppermint, orange from garden) on the deck. Then to bed, to facetime, to talk, to be.

Wednesday

We lay in bed talking and having coffee as the day dawned. Grey, cloudy day, clouds like stacked folded fluffy blankets.

The usual breakfast – pears (“French butter pears”), mango, blueberries, yogurt, granola, pain au levain, almond butter.

From the deck

Taking it easier today. I think lifting and carrying bulky trash, as well as other activities aggravated my left shoulder pain. It’s bad enough that I’m blunted physically and emotionally – emotionally because I don’t have reserves to truly manifest the love like usual. Taking 600 mg ibuprofen 4xday.

Went to Vik’s Chaat for a great lunch of fish curry, raita, etc., + Dahi Papdi Chaat. Then to http://www.berkeleybowl.com/. There is no

Jean and Marcia in Marcia’s garden

other store like Berkeley Bowl. Central Market in Dallas and Austin comes close, but the BB scene and vibe is beyond CM.

For dinner we had left over risotto with chanterelles, chicken, salad (lettuce, mint, tomatoes from our garden, bread. Hung out at the table talking. Tea inside as it was cold and wet outside. Watched part of an Indian movie about Rajasthan – not a great movie, but a good time with Jean. After movie, talking, drifting off to sleep.

Indian Path

Not having personal existential struggles with reality and truth and so on these days. I used to wonder, is this me? What am I doing here? It’s so fucking painful! Now. Now I am happy. I am fulfilled. I am satisfied. Satisfied!

Thursday

Coffee in bed (I’m the barrista – getting up first about 6 to make Peet’s Major Dickason’s strong coffee), talking, looking down on you, your beauty – love.

The usual breakfast. Then getting ready to go to The City together, Jean to meet Sherry for lunch and me to meet David for lunch – and I finally figured out how to order my last blog post. Drove to El Cerrito Plaza BART station where the train came a minute after we got to the platform. Riding through the East Bay, listening to music, Jean reading the 20th Wife and me writing.

16th and Mission

We got to the 16th and Mission station as I was listening to Desolation Row. Perfect, because here we were, on desolation row… There was a bloody paper towel by escalator. At the top of the escalator an old man with a deformed body in a wheelchair and the old man who lets the pigeons in his hands and on his shoulders and legs was feeding the pigeons as always and of course, there’s pigeon shit on him as well. People slumped against the railing, drinking, in a daze, talking to themselves, the usual, but maybe the energy in the plaza was edgier than usual.

We walked to the Walgreen’s corner, past two people with weird tattoos around their eyes and mouths buying heroin or something in a tiny plastic bag from a tall, unremarkable looking man with a dangerous looking bodyguard. We leaned against the wall waiting for Sherry. Up the sidewalk a man and woman were walking toward us. They began fighting with fists and feet. He quickly got the better of her and then they continued

16th and Mission

walking up the sidewalk. We stepped to the curb toward the bus stop where the guy selling dope was standing with his bodyguard and the couple walked past us, the woman crying. Pretty soon Sherry pulled up and Jean got in the car and I walked up 16th. I’d had enough weird.

You would not think to look at him, but he was famous long ago, for playing the electric violin on, desolation row.

We baked this: sourdough with currants, pecans, cinnamon; sourdough with cheese; sourdough

Got off bus at Church and Market and walked up Market to meet David on the corner, then to Dinosaur for banh mi and a nice time, sitting by an open window. Nice life. Walked to Castro Muni station to catch train to BART.

Persian breakfast for Bill and Lisa

I rode the train back to Berkeley and got there well before Jean, so drove to El Cerrito Recycling Center to drop of a shredder and dehumidifier, then home. Did some writing, then Jean called from an Oakland BART station, so I drove to El Cerrito Plaza and waited for her. We went to Tokyo Fish to get something for dinner, then to Acme Bread to pick up a “pizza Bianca” (a large flat loaf with lots of olive oil) for Friday dinner.

We rearranged the furniture in the downstairs bedroom so I can have some dedicated and more useable office space. We were lying on the bed, talking and ended up in the afternoon, OH!

Bedroom wall. In memorium, Barry

Jean worked on dinner for Friday when David and Charles will come over from San Francisco and I helped – spectacular chicken dish, rice (a long way from plain), Persian salad, za’atar, crab raviolis with cream sauce (these from place that just makes ravioli). I fixed most of tonight’s dinner – blackened catfish with panko, salad, bread with olive oil and fresh za’atar. Tea, reading, writing. Bedtime, facetime.

Friday

Jean coming up the hill at the Bulb – Alright!

Woke at 4:30 with pain. Got up, had bread and almond butter and 600 mg ibuprofen. Never really went back to sleep. Got up about 6, fixed coffee (French roast given to us by our next-door neighbor, Akbar, who owns a coffee roasting company), back to bed, talking, profound.

Fruit, yogurt… My shoulder pretty painful. Jean went to gym and shopping and I started on cake for tonight. It’s a NYT recipe that I had all the ingredients for, but I couldn’t access the directions on my computer. Then I got it on my phone and tried to email it to myself, but it would only send me the link I couldn’t open. I

The cake!

wrote the directions down and by then Jean was home. We had lunch and I continued with the recipe.

After several mishaps, It’s done now!

It’s Friday afternoon. Had a bowl. Hanging out, getting ready for David and Charles. Putting salad together, icing on cake, clean-up…

The dinner and company were great, but I had gotten behind on pain meds and suddenly was feeling very bad and unable to contribute to the conversation. I excused myself and went to the bedroom to be alone. David and Charles stayed for awhile and left, but I didn’t help at all in clean-up. When Jean came to bed,

John and Jack

we talked for a bit and then I moved to the living room and sat up until 12:30 and the pain lessened.

Saturday

This was my day to totally do nothing to really rest my shoulder. Jean made coffee and breakfast and everything else.

Our kitchen, our life, our committment

One thing I’ve noticed during this shoulder pain stuff is how active I am. Lifting things, carrying, reaching up, on my knees under something, garden stuff, just on and on.

But today, I pretty much didn’t do anything. Jean was in the City to meet Chris from Montana and then to a play with Linda. I spent much of the day downstairs. A few days ago we rearranged the bedroom/office so I can use it better and start doing all my business there.

Dinner was leftovers from dinner with David and Charles – excellent!

We watched part of Wonder Woman (? not so great). To sleep early, tired from the night of little sleep.

And thus ends another week in Berkeley, another week in Paradise. What a life! These are the days.

 

Common regrets/questions at the end of life, The Shield of Achilles

I was listening to World One Radio the other morning. Someone was talking about regrets at the end of life and by some miracle I had pen and paper at hand. Below is more or less what the person said – I was struck by the similarities to what I used to teach in hospice training and similar forums. I’ve added to the WorldOne list based primarily on what I taught (and still believe).

What this is about is that we have our life; we have our choices; this is it – no second chances except within the context of this life. In other words, it’s not too late. It’s getting late, but it’s not too late. Common regrets/issues at the end of life include, I wish I had…

Been truer to myself.

Been more loving toward the people who matter the most (what really matters in life is love).

Been a better spouse, parent, child.

Had the courage to express my feelings.

Stayed in touch with friends.

Not worked so hard.

Taken more risks.

Taken better care of myself.

Done more for others.

Let myself be happier and enjoy life more.

(One who sees the way in the morning will gladly die in the evening.)

—————-

The Shield of Achilles

Some years ago I knew a man who had been a doctor in the Iraqi army during the Iran-Iraq War in the 1980s. About 1,000,000 people (half combatants, half civilians) were killed in the desert and trenches and artillery and human wave attacks and poison gas and horror. Since that war, the following poem has resonated in me in an awful way.

Now a question arises, will America fight the next war against North Korea or against Iran? Here are some lines from The Shield of Achilles (WH Auden, 1955).

A plain without a feature, bare and brown,

No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood,

Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down,

Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood

An unintelligible multitude,

A million eyes, a million boots in line,

Without expression, waiting for a sign.

 

Out of the air a voice without a face

Proved by statistics that some cause was just

In tones as dry and level as the place:

No one was cheered and nothing was discussed;

Column by column in a cloud of dust

They marched away enduring a belief

Whose logic brought them, somewhere else, to grief.

—————-

I feel sick

 

 

Honor Thy Daughter (Review of the book by Marilyn Howell)

Honor Thy Daughter is the story of a mother and daughter’s journey through cancer. The daughter (Mara) has a highly aggressive colon cancer. Her mother (Marilyn) is the primary caregiver and the chronicler – what a time, what a terrible journey they had!

Mara

This was difficult to write. I felt that I should truly honor this book, these people, these truths. I hope that I have, to some extent. In the end, I used Marilyn’s words.

—————

Mara experiences the reality of some cancers: one treatment failure after another and symptoms, especially pain, uncontrolled for the most part. The physical disease is exacerbated by Mara’s difficulties in accepting the realities she is facing – she fights the disease, the dying, the realities of being young and beautiful and dying. Her mother supports her in this and in all Mara’s other responses to the disease. Both mother and daughter hope against hope that the cancer will be cured or at least slowed. To these ends, Mara tries virtually every treatment she is offered or can find – mainstream and alternative. Nothing works. The cancer progresses and the symptoms worsen. It’s a hard road. There are respites, but the direction (toward the end of life) remains the same.

I experienced this as a difficult book. The valley of the shadow of death is a tough place. For me, personally there was an eerie sameness in Mara’s experience and the year and few months I spent taking Phana to chemo and other appointments. Phana and Mara’s tumors (primary colon) were basically the same, as were their ages and the progression of the disease. Hours and hours and hours in the infusion room, waiting rooms, exam rooms, the car… But of course, Phana wasn’t my daughter.

I don’t recall if Marilyn ever says this directly, but it seems to me that what she was doing was practicing a radical acceptance of her daughter’s path through cancer – fully supporting Mara’s every decision. “It wasn’t until I returned home that I realized how much fear and grief I had been holding in check. I stepped into my house, shut the door, and screamed” (p. 52).

150 pages into the book, with the cancer spread to lungs, liver, and elsewhere; with pain uncontrolled; with nausea, vomiting, and other GI problems worsening; with weight loss and weakness increasing, with despair… Mara and her mother connect with a man (“Allan”) who is able to give Mara accurate doses of MDMA. She takes MDMA several times and each time she experiences clarity, relief from pain (the first relief since the cancer began progressing), and the return of appetite. But the symptoms return after the drug wears off. She also uses marijuana and LSD, both of which help, but still, the symptoms return. Finally…

“On Saturday morning, September 10th, it was nearly impossible to awaken her. Finally, at midday, she was alert enough for me to ask her if she wanted to take MDMA. Mara mustered all her strength to say yes before returning to her restless sleep – gasping for breath and moaning… I put a tablet under her tongue.

Her breathing gradually steadied and her body grew peaceful…

David stroked Mara’s hair as I read (from This Timeless Moment by Laura Huxley). Those words, my voice, and her father’s caress told Mara that we accepted her passing, that her death could be noble, and that she was not alone.

All at once she began to move. She took her right hand from beneath the covers, reached across to place it in her father’s palm, lifted her chin, opened her eyes, and turned her head toward him. She was radiant. In that moment, she was beautiful again. With her last breath she conveyed the rapture of her being, life’s final gift to her, and her final gift to us.”

—————-

And we live and we breathe and we have our being (Van Morrison).

—————-

Marilyn Howell, 2011. Honor Thy Daughter. MAPS (Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies). Note that MDMA, psilocybin, LSD, and marijuana are being given to people with terminal illness and despair in research studies at Harvard, NYU, USC, and other institutions.

A bunch of names (Vietnam Veterans Memorial)

My friend, George Schools (who fought on Grenada), sent me this from his blog, My Name is Schools. Deeply touched barely touches my internal response. Thank you, George. (I added captions to George’s photos).

A BUNCH OF NAMES

Dear Charles,

The war is over

I hesitated to send you this, but you’ve written about your experiences in Vietnam, and talked specifically about Dwight Laws (KIA 10/30/66), Lurch Donohue (KIA 03/01/67), and Jerry Georges (KIA 03/23/67) in your blog https://ckjournal.com/first-post-vietnam. I’ve read these posts uncounted times, and I probably will continue to until I die.  Everybody should.  Still, they are your memories, and that is your life, and I didn’t want to overstep the bounds.

I just returned from a family vacation to Washington, DC.  You know my family, and you know me pretty well, I think, so you know that means that when we’d seen all the sights their patience could contain, I went off on my own.  I didn’t know if you’d ever been to DC and the Vietnam Memorial, or if that was something that even interested you.  In fact, I wondered if perhaps that was something you had decided you did not want to do.  So here’s the part where I tell you to just delete all this right now, and tell me to erase it all from my hard drive if you want.  I’m totally ok with that.  They are your memories, and that is your life.

So from this point on, here’s what happened:  I knew I wanted to visit the Wall.  I knew I wanted to find the names of Dwight Laws, Lurch Donohue, and Jerry Georges and send them to you.  And I knew I needed to be there alone, even though I never knew them, the war was over two years before I graduated high school, and they were just names to me.  Three names among 58,307 names of dead Americans.  But I was thinking I could find the names of these people who are very real to you, and you are very real and alive to me, and that would help me understand what I was looking at.

Dwight Laws (whose wife’s name was Barbara Laws)

Like my own Greek chorus, as I’m scanning panel 11E130 for Dwight’s name, a family passes by and a kid says “it’s just a bunch of names!” There’s a Vietnam vet volunteer there explaining the war and the wall and the names to people, and I hear him say loudly enough for me to hear a couple of times “just ask if you need any help,” but I didn’t want any help.  And I finally figured out how to find Dwight’s name, and here it is:

After that, it was pretty easy to find Lurch’s name (which was actually Francis, so now we know why your friend went by “Lurch”), and finally Jerry Georges .

And as I’m looking at all these

Lurch Donohue

names, and trying very hard to think about Dwight, and Lurch, and Jerry, I still wasn’t making the connection I’d hoped.  It was still just a bunch of names:  fifty-eight thousand, three hundred and seven names of dead Americans.  And then it occurred to me that your name was not on that wall.  There was no Charles Kemp.  It could have been, probably should have been, but it wasn’t there.  And I knew you, very real and alive to me, and Dwight, Lurch, and Jerry were not.

Jerry Georges (from Santa Barbara, California)

Charles Kemp, father to David, husband and companion, neighbor, citizen. Very real.  Thank you for making the Wall so real to me by being alive.

_________

To George’s post, I added:

And now the war is over.

The main Vietnam War posts.

 

Spiritual care at the end of life and across religions and cultures

Here is what two of my community health students wrote re connecting across religions (Christianity and Islam) and cultures (Western and East African) with a young woman dying from breast cancer. This is from about 10 years ago – all names changed. The students worked in two-person teams. The below words are one of the high points of my career.

Big Sur sunset

Margaret: “I think we were able to form/recognize a spiritual connection this week.  Lucy was sitting on something that looked like a blanket, and I asked Nabila what it was – she told me they were their prayer mats.  So, we started talking about prayer – how we pray, things we pray for – and then, there was a warm pause – not an awkward, uncomfortable silence, but one that communicated something.  I smiled and was comforted that Maryam and Nabila have this source of power and encouragement.  I like to think that we pray to the same God.  Even though we may sometimes pray and practice in different ways, we are still able to share our burdens and find peace in a spiritual being – what a comfort to know that Maryam and Nabila can experience this.

They have changed my life…really…this is one of the first times that I have really formed a relationship with a hurting person, who is not in my usual circle…  This habit, this choice (to choose to love people in this way) can be a part of my daily life – a reality that I want so badly.  And, I have been blessed.  I think about them all the time, and hope that I will not just think but do.”

Lucy: “This week with Maryam was very emotional and deep.  On Wednesday we were able to really talk to her about how discovering she had cancer made her feel.  She actually almost started to cry and it took all I had to hold back the tears.  It’s amazing how much she is opening up to us as we spend more time with her.  I am so glad that we got an opportunity to talk about important issues like what she expects out of life these next few weeks…  I didn’t feel it was the right time to attempt to explain the path of her cancer and that it will lead to death.  I think everyone has the right to embrace illness and death at their own pace and I think Maryam will come to that in time.  So Wednesday was a very emotional day for me because we talked about the “valley of the shadow of death” and that is never easy.  Thursday was a much easier day and we talked about some fun things.  I am amazed at how universal conversations are for women and how much fun it is sitting with Maryam, Nabila, and Margaret laughing and sharing our lives together.”

Near La Honda – looking down on the fog

 

Morning fog, Denver Airport, Bolinas, waking, sunset

When it’s not too cold, we leave both bedroom doors open – “two door nights.” There are no screens, and it’s a very nice way to sleep, with San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge sparkling 10 miles away.

Golden Gate from the deck (January sunset)

Daytime view from the bed

Last night was another two door night with the outside coming in to the bedroom, into the temple, through the doors, into the room and the bed and the outside and in the morning, thick fog between the trees and just past the deck railing, and the filtered light somehow so pure on the railing I had to rub my eyes – am I really seeing this – and the fog drifting three-dimensionally across the deck and the curtains stirring and the fog is in the room and we’re naked in the warm bed together.

——

At Bolinas Museum with one of Jean’s pieces

You flew to Denver from San Francisco and I flew to Denver from Dallas. I got on the shuttle bus at the Denver Airport and… there you were! It’s going to be a good trip – and it was!

———

Last week we drove from Berkeley to Bolinas for an opening at the Bolinas Museum – Art We Wear: Culture and Expression 1960s to Now. More northern California magic… windy roads through redwood forests, the Pacific rolling endlessly along. The opening was good, Jean’s work was presented well, and there were friends and colleagues from the Bay Area, as well as many other people.

David Kemp, Jean Cacicedo, and a photo of Charles Kemp (at restaurant in Castro)

———

We were sleeping, with our faces inches apart. We awoke and opened our eyes at the same moment. Oh!

———

Candy texted Jean to urge us to go out to the deck for a great sunset.