The Goot Blog

Spencer Tunick

2011-08-09T11:02:00.000-07:00

Last week Mizzy and I, along with 100+ other folks, shared a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We posed nude, in the amazing rock canyon just up from our house, for world-famous artist Spencer Tunick. What an adventure!

We prepared for the event by covering one another, head to toe, with sunscreen and as requested, dressed for quick disrobing - sans underwear. Ironically, however, the moment we all got down to the area where we were supposed to pose, and just before we disrobed, we were drenched by a sudden thunderstorm, postponing the shoot by nearly one cold, wet, miserable hour. When the sun finally re-emerged, I can tell you, being unclothed never felt so good. Of course, we then faced the challenge of clambering, naked and barefoot, over huge boulders, and trying to avoid thousands of hidden cacti, to get to the places this artistic madman wanted us to occupy. At one point he asked us men to lie down in a field of small barrel cacti, posed so that the cacti shielded our genitals, making it look, I guess, like we all had thorny green boners. When I got up, I found three clusters of thorns embedded in my back and butt cheeks. (The red rashes are just now starting to disappear.) And to add insult to injury, for the final shot of the day, he asked me and two other gringo guys to step aside because he thought our skin was too white! Ah well... It was still a great experience to have shared with a bunch of our closest friends. In fact, our friend Mary's niece, who was visiting from Charleston, celebrated her 34th birthday naked on the rocks with the rest of us. And what a trooper Mary was, just a few days shy of another chemo treatment, she was climbing up and down the rock formations, with a "Fuck you, cancer" look of determination on her face. A wonderful memory!

If you're not too squeamish, you can view a short video Spencer created of the shoot for our recent San Miguel TEDx conference. If you look closely, at about the 2:15 mark, you can see Mizzy featured in the bottom-center of the frame hugging a lady she'd just met for the first time.

Epilog: Saturday evening, after the TEDx conference, we headed over to Café Rama, our favorite San Miguel restaurant, for mescal and tapas. A new waitress approached us from behind and asked for our order. As Karen turned around and looked up, their eyes widened and both let out a little yelp. You guessed it. She was the "stranger" Karen had shared a nude embrace with just days before.

To Our Female Friends...

2011-08-07T10:38:00.000-07:00

...And Those Who Love them.

Yesterday we attended San Miguel's second TEDx event. For those of you who aren't familiar with the concept, TEDx events use the TED brand identity (Ideas Worth Spreading) and follow the general format of the large international TED conferences, but are independently organized and for the most part, are locally focused.

As you might expect, several of the presenters were less than captivating and the event was plagued by minor technical glitches, but overall we were really impressed and inspired. We heard from a man who does "transformational art," teaching kids in the poorest neighborhoods of Mexico City to create colorful caterpillars -- socks filled with soil and seeds, that when left out in the elements, sprout into living vegetable gardens. Another young guy discussed his efforts to bridge the huge digital divide in Mexico by setting up pre-fab computer centers in poor neighborhoods to provide access and training for local citizens. We heard from a lady trying to transform Mexico's huge, bureaucratic education system and from a passionate South African director who's making a film about ordinary citizens in Mexico's Sinaloa state who are are standing up to the drug cartels. The composer who created the soundtrack for the The Piano, Wonderland and a bunch of other films, spoke and played. And we watched a video made by Deepok Chopra specifically for this San Miguel conference.

But once again, as you might expect, the most riveting presentations were taped talks from previous international TED conferences, the best of which was delivered by the Chilean author Isabel Allende. If you haven't seen it already, I urge you to watch it here. And then pass it on to every young woman you know and love.

Hello Little Rock and Roller

2011-07-26T09:17:00.000-07:00

For at least half of the thirty years we lived in Greenville, South Carolina, we were avid listeners of WNCW, an NPR affiliate out of western North Carolina. Month in month out we heard them announce regional concerts and music festivals, many of which featured an obvious local favorite, singer-songwriter Marshall Chapman, who haled from nearby Spartanburg. In all those years we attended lots of concerts, but never once saw, heard or met her. For a long time, I'm embarrassed to add, I wasn't sure whether Marshall Chapman was a he or a she.

Fast forward to April, 2011. While visiting Greenville, several friends mentioned having seen her (yes, she's a she) speak at the Greenville TED-X event, and one friend who'd recently met her, said Marshall often visits San Miguel de Allende. Who knew?

Last week, we received in invitation from our close friends Warren & Tuli to attend a potluck dinner and private concert at their home, featuring none other than Marshall Chapman.

What a serendipitous delight! After having rained like a bastard all afternoon, the skies cleared, the wind freshened and we were given a perfect, clear, cool summer evening. We sipped wine and tequila as Marshall mingled with us in a tank top and flip-flops. We enjoyed an over-the-top feast. Warren built a crackling bonfire as the sun set. And soon we two dozen guests gathered around Marshall -- no one further than 15 feet away -- and lost ourselves in her funny, sweet, meandering acoustic set. It felt so intimate I never even took a photo. I was afraid to break the spell, the intimate connection we all felt with her and each other. Karen and I agreed, it was truly one of the most magical evenings we've ever experienced any time, anywhere.

At one point, between songs, she looked up and asked "Which one of you is Goot?" Everyone pointed; I think I actually blushed. She said numerous folks had told her she needed to meet the Goots in San Miguel. I suspect we didn't much measure up to the hype, but it was a fine "fifteen minutes of fame" moment nonetheless.

Now Marshall and I are in the same Warren Hardy Spanish 1 class together, three mornings a week for three weeks. It feels sort of like we're new-found friends, the only two South Carolinians in the room. Whatever. It's an amazing, small world we inhabit and San Miguel continues to be an inexplicable magnet for kindred spirits from near and far away. May it long continue.

Have a _______ Day

2011-07-19T11:54:00.000-07:00

Last week this wonderful poem appeared in my inbox, compliments of The Writer's Almanac. Think of it as my call to action, by proxy, to y'all.

Have a ______ Day
by Lou Lipsitz

Have a nice day. Have a memorable day.

Have (however unlikely) a life-changing day.
Have a day of soaking rain and lightning.
Have a confused day thinking about fate.

Have a day of wholes.
Have a day of poorly marked,
unrecognizable wholes you
cannot fathom.
Have a ferocious day, a bleak
unbearable day. Have a
riotously unproductive day;
a grim jaw-clenched, Clint Eastwood vengeful
law enforcement day.
Have a day of raging, hair-yanking
jealousy and meanness. Have a day
of almost grasping
how whole you are; a finely tuned,
empty day.

Have a nice day of walking and circling;
a day of stalking and hunting,
of planting strange seeds and wandering in the woods.
Have a day of endearing nonsense,
of hopelessly combing your hair,
a day of yielding, of swallowing
hard, breathing more deeply,
a day of fondness for beetles
and macabre spectacles, or irreverence
about anything you want, of just
sitting and wondering.
Have a day of wondering if it's
going to help, or if it just doesn't matter;
a day of dark winds
and torrents flowing though the valley,
of diving into cool water
and gasping for breath,
a day of sudden hunger for communion.

Have a day where the crusts you each
were given are lost and you stumble
with your fellows
searching endlessly together.

I Wish I'd Thought Of This

2011-07-19T11:46:00.000-07:00

When my dad died long these many years ago, it was a traumatic experience. But it wasn't a shock -- even when you're young you expect your parents will pass on some day. What threw me for a loop was when my mom remarried several years later. Who was this guy and what was his relationship to me? Even though my mom was happy -- a good thing -- I never got right with him exactly. Anyway, with that in mind, I cracked up when I came upon this funny tweet, from a guy named Craig Baldo, posted on someecards:

Today I shouted, "YOU'RE NOT MY REAL LADDER!!" at my step ladder.

Of All Places...

2011-07-19T11:44:00.001-07:00

Last weekend we attended what was billed as a Corn Festival, hosted by a local organic farmer. Nice event – the farmer provided baskets full of freshly picked sweet corn, guests brought their own picnic fixins and beverages. The farmer, an American guy in jeans and a work shirt, was gracious and folksy, showing off his fields, mixing with the crowd and encouraging them to drive out to buy fresh organic veggies. If we had a car, we certainly would. We were floored, however, to find out this was just his little hobby farm. Turns out he owns thousands of acres outside of town, where he grows cucumbers for Vlasic. He employs hundreds of workers who have to pick the cucumbers when they reach a very specific size – to fit uniformly in pickle jars – and immediately load them onto waiting 18-wheelers. 17 hours later they’re in Texas somewhere being made into pickles. Who knew? So next time you tear into a jar of Vlasic pickles, think of the Goots down here in the agricultural heart of Mexico.

The Spirit of Independence

2011-07-01T11:18:00.000-07:00

I don’t know why, but this poem seems to capture the weird spirit underlying our move to San Miguel. Enjoy.

Bandito

By Eleanor Lerman

What gets you up in the morning?

For me it is the thought
that someday, I will be
as far away from here
as I can get

Watch me
rubbing out the lines behind me
I recommend it

I recommend
fooling everyone into thinking
that you have settled down
and then heading for the hills

The dog will bare his teeth
if instructed and meet up
with you later. It's good
you named him Bandito:
he'll watch your back

This, by the way, this is not a fantasy
It is page 69 (ha ha!) of the manual
I read when we were planning
the takeover

So it didn't happen—so what?
This is better
Wait until I tell you
what's on the next page

A World of Trade-Offs

2011-07-01T10:39:00.000-07:00

A week or so ago I stumbled across this little blog post or tweet or whatever from Guy Endore-Kaiser (whoever he is):

"In some parts of the world they don't have clean water. But they also don't have Kardashians."

Kinda says it all, doesn't it?

Critters on the Shore

2011-05-02T10:35:00.001-07:00

A couple of months ago, we took advantage of an opportunity to swap houses with friends who own a beachside condo on the Pacific Coast of Mexico. Nearly three weeks of perfect weather and unabashed laziness. Not that our "normal" life is all that stress-filled, but we definitely got in touch with our inner sloth.

Other times we'd visited Boca de Iguanas, the wide sandy beach has been perfectly clean. Great for swimming or jogging, less so for shelling. This time, however, for reasons no one could quite explain, the beach was littered with all manner of aquatic corpses. In the course of one week we stumbled across the remains of an old sea turtle, numerous puffer fish, and one of the strangest, most awesomely beautiful creatures I'd ever seen – a yellow-bellied sea snake. [see photo] At the time, we had no idea what it was. But after a little web research, learned that the snake in question is one of the deadliest snakes on earth. And yikes! It had obviously been swimming around in the same surf that we had been the day before.

Most amazing of all, however, were the thousands of jellyfish that washed up on the beaches. One morning you'd come out to find the beach covered with them, as far as you could see. [see photo] After the next high tide, they'd be totally gone. Then two days later, we'd see another glistening batch of them. This pattern continued for our entire stay. Weird.

Ted Kooser

2011-04-25T14:35:00.001-07:00

Today is Ted Kooser's birthday. A former U.S. poet laureate, he is almost single-handedly responsible for getting me excited about poetry again, after a series of well-meaning English teachers and literature profs had systematically sucked my enthusiasm for it dry. So, at this post-60ish point in my life, I was delighted to read the following quote from the now 72-year-old Mr. Kooser as he reflected on his life.

"The image is this: feeling like one of those telephone poles you see on the street on which a lot of notices have been stapled and then torn away, and they leave little triangles of paper, held by staples. On those notices were things lost and things found and the photos of people missing, and now even the photos are missing as a metaphor for what happens in life. All this experience is tacked upon us and then torn away, and we become a residue of all this experience."

Residue. Metaphors don't get any better than that. Happy birthday, my Midwestern amigo!

Mid-Life Wisdom

2011-04-25T14:20:00.001-07:00

Karen continues to chide me for my alleged self-deprecation. What can I say? It's the way I've learned to vent the ever-present Jewish guilt that bubbles away in my subconscious mind. Anyway, after reading a quote from Homer Simpson the other day, I believe I've finally seen the light. Wish me luck. And if it works for you, feel free to follow Homer's advice:

Homer said, "You can't keep blaming yourself. Just blame yourself once, and move on."

Under The Knife

2011-04-25T14:01:00.001-07:00

Last August, convinced that I was a young athletic stud disguised as a graying middle-aged man, I accepted a challenge from my much younger sister-in-law Bonnie to play a few sets of Pickleball. "Damned if I'm gonna get beat by a girl," I huffed as I ran from one end of the court to the other trying to return her deft shots. This Saturday, however, I got my comeuppance: arthroscopic surgery to repair a badly torn meniscus in my right knee.

Having had some minor surgeries in the past, I arrived early and confident. "They'll have me put on a gown, wheel me in, give me some feel-good medicine and next thing I know I'll be waking up to a smiling, watchful nurse, feeling like I just had a fine mid-morning nap." Wrong!

I should've known something was wrong when the anesthesiologist rolled me over on my side and made me tuck into a fetal position. (No sexual jokes, please.) Once he'd jabbed me a few times and taped some tubing to me, he re-placed me on my back to await the surgeon's arrival. Shortly thereafter everything below my naval went numb, while everything above my neck was fully awake. And stayed fully awake throughout the hour-long procedure, keenly aware of every push, pull, request, clank, buzz, sneeze and cellphone call. No, I didn't feel any pain, but Yikes! I was uncomfortable as hell, kinda bored, kinda scared and totally unable to do anything but itch my nose from time to time.

The surgery itself went well. I can already walk around the house and climb stairs with very little pain or stiffness. Our retirement nest egg took a hit, but being here in Mexico, the surgery cost a fraction of what we would have paid "up north." No, the recovery was where my hubris was justly rewarded. Once my toes, then feet, then legs slowly began to regain feeling, I persuaded the doc to let me get the hell outta there. So Karen helped me get dressed. As I struggled into my shorts, My hand came in contact with this strange rubber chicken-y sort of thing. Ohmygod! While I was able to walk, my entire "package" was still out of commission. And stayed that way for several awkward additional hours. Driving home, I was terrified that I might leak, without ever knowing it, on my friend Charles' leather front seat. (I didn't.) It was early evening before everything returned to normal. (Don't even ask about the experience of trying to wipe a numb butt.)

Karen has made me swear off Pickleball (knowing full well that she really wants me to swear off delusional thinking and macho posturing). And I made a promise to myself: If I ever have to undergo another medical procedure, I'll either be drugged into oblivion or suffer the problem in silence for the rest of my life.

20 Truths

2010-11-22T16:09:00.000-08:00

Last week my dear friend and former partner Robbin posted a list of her 20 Truths For Today, an idea she got from yet another blogger, Amber Naslund. Anyway, I was sufficiently impressed to share them with you, whoever you might be. We should probably all give it a try sometime, perhaps as an alternative to New Year's Resolutions.

Robbin's 20 Truths For Today
(per Robbin, these are straight from the heart and in no particular order):

1. Never pass up a chance to quit talking and listen. To your customers, your employees, your nay-sayers, your advocates and your loved ones.

2. Confident people rarely get defensive when faced with criticism. Have you noticed that? They listen, then assess the value of the information and move on.

3. Everything works out somehow. Most problems/struggles/challenges are temporary. Even the really big ones.

4. Love is a very powerful thing.

5. No one likes a cold call. No one likes to get one. No one likes to make one. (Who started using that word in the first place???) It just works better when you draw kindred spirits towards you.

6. We are all in grad school now. There are no social media experts. I might even say there are no marketing experts. Which makes this a pretty exciting time. Full of big shiny opportunity for all of us.

7. Business is changing. The recession of 2009 changed hearts and opened minds.

8. We all want to be a part of something bigger. We all long to have an impact on the world.

9. Social injustice unites us. I am looking at the work that everyone does now with brand new eyes. Asking myself and asking out loud, “How are you making the world a better place?”

10. Passion might be an overused term, but you can tell when it’s real and when it’s real, it can inspire action. Shared passions also unite.

11. If you let your truth shine, you will draw amazing people toward you. If you hold it in, you’ll miss a lot.

12. I have some beautiful friends that I have met online. But the real friendships develop when we have the chance to be face to face. I am not sure that will ever change. Okay, I have never met @jasonfalls and I consider him a real friend. But I know we’ll get even closer when we finally shake hands or share a hug.

13. Marketing is not just tied to sales. It’s deeply connected to customer service and human relations and research in a powerful new, impossible to ignore way. And we have to start figuring out and articulating how that relates to ROI.

14. The truth is ALWAYS the easy way out.

15. Hot yoga is life changing. (Yea, you know I had to say that.)

16. Less is more.

17. I have too close of a relationship with my iphone.

18. I wish there was a way to take a text back once in a while. Don’t you?

19. Like Amber, I am pretty jazzed when I walk in a random bookstore and see Brains on Fire on the shelf, I have to admit, I do a little dance every single time. Especially when there are more than two.

20. Today is my birthday. And I am really glad you’re here with me and that you’ve made it to the end of my list.

As a bonus, let me add an item that was on Amber Naslund's list, which appears to be a reference to Get Him To The Greek, an obscure movie I've never seen. Nonetheless, the phrase cracks me up and will certainly become part of my personal lexicon.

Amber's Truth #6:

When life slips you a Jeffrey, stroke the furry wall.

Rest in Peace, Amigo

2010-10-26T12:29:00.000-07:00

On October 14th my good friend Glenn McKay died in his sleep. I only knew him for these past four years, two of which he spent recovering from a stroke, but he was one of the most exuberant, talented, and in his own weird way, loving guys I've ever met. Although he had a deservedly big ego, and sometimes a bit of a short fuse, his explosive laugh never failed to make my day. And despite his reputation as a world-class artist, these past couple months he generously encouraged my amateurish efforts with humor and restraint. Mizzy and I are going to miss him a lot. Anyway, for those of you who never met him, I've included a sweet farewell poem Lynn Learned, one of his old friends from his San Francisco hippie days, wrote in his memory, plus a 1999 interview with Glenn, when the SF MoMA produced a one-man show celebrating his light show artistry. Enjoy!

A FRIEND IS GONE
Lynn Learned (10-14-10)

Jefferson Airplane, Headlights, long nights

Janis Lyn Joplin and gin,

She gave a little piece

Of her heart to him.

He gave her Lucy in the Sky

With Diamonds, and screamed

“Now, Come On, Come On”

He got smart with Leary,

Searched for Samadhi with Watts,

Partied with the Dead and Garcia,

Proposed an excess of exotic herbs,

And tripped down to Mexico.

Oh, It makes you feel good.

Glenn McKay's light-projection art gives SFMOMA the acid test.

By Glen Helfand

'IT'S A MAGIC DAY," Glenn McKay says in his funky but well-ordered Sausalito studio. The bearded 62-year-old artist who created the throbbing psychedelic visuals for Jefferson Airplane at their mid-'60s apex and at Ken Kesey's legendary "acid tests" smiles and tinkers with brightly colored slides on a light table as he reveals that he just found out San Francisco's Catharine Clark Gallery will show one of his digital "millennium paintings," a narrow computer monitor that displays images of vibrant abstract brush strokes that slowly morph and dissolve into new images.

But McKay, known to some as the Altered Statesman, is clearly more excited about his retrospective exhibition that opens next week at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. "It's every artist's dream, to have a one-man show at MOMA," he admits.

Fittingly, then, his exhibition, titled "Altered States," includes dreamlike content. With state-of-the-art slide and video projectors, McKay will turn SFMOMA's media arts gallery into a theater of time-traveling trippiness. An hour-long compilation of his light pieces from the '60s, '70s, '80s, and '90s (most re-created from live performances) will screen continuously on a Cineplex-size screen, with blobby, throbbing liquids on overhead projectors, op-art geometrics, and pulsating slide shows blending into what they used to call an experience. Each section is set to a different soundtrack; the '60s portion, for instance, is set to Airplane's "Plastic Fantastic Lover."

It's the kind of visual expression that seems more appropriate for a rock show at Maritime Hall than a pristine cultural institution, but this isn't the first time it's happened for McKay. In 1968 he staged "An Evening with Glenn McKay's Headlights" at the Whitney Museum in New York, after a curator caught his show at the Fillmore East. McKay still seems to enjoy the incongruity of his popular form in highbrow institutions. "There's gonna be people toking out in the parking lot and then going up to see the show. It's called 'Altered States,' and that's exactly what it is."

Considering the show's strong connections to the music world and hippie culture, some museum visitors may contest its status as art. Robert Riley, SFMOMA's media arts curator, views McKay's work in a historical context as it relates to multimedia.

"I remember seeing Glenn's shows with the Airplane, and they were so successful," Riley says. "Sometimes, when the conditions were right, the shows were incredibly composed. They couldn't be that good without being organized." (McKay, fortuitously enough, is one of the few light artists of the period who kept comprehensive archives of his projects.)

"I'm taking this seriously, in terms of relationship to other art," Riley continues. "His work not only comes out of a use of machines of its era, it's related to process art. Nothing is meant to last -- it's all about transparency. His work becomes an animated field of light, color wheels, moving mirrors, and surfaces." At the same time, Riley also seems pleased to announce that a mention of the show is already up on the Grateful Dead Web site.

McKay, an engaging, forthright character, isn't shy about revealing that he isn't a Deadhead. A formalist at heart, he prefers performances that are more structured. "I've done light shows, but I'm basically a painter," he says. He describes his use of hand-painted transparencies, film, inks, and dyes with various art-world references. Some of his more recent pieces, he says, are examples of "21st-century abstract expressionism," while others are live, animated versions of Josef Albers's color theories. "The thing that's really consistent in my life is that I'm studying light -- all the time. The quality, the way it affects colors, the way it affects me."

In his gallery statement, Riley nods to the performative and ephemeral aspects of McKay's work in more academic terms. "Each projection emphasizes light and time as content in art, explores the changing nature over several decades of temporal expression, and expresses inquiry into the philosophical notions of transparency and illusion."

The artist, a practicing Buddhist, might add a reference to the notion of paring things down to a simple essence. "All it is, is light, form, color, and movement," he states. "I had an epiphany in Thailand eight years ago in front of the Buddha. From then on [my art] became part of my spiritual quest. I'm not preaching nothin' except being present and opening the mind to an altered state of consciousness."

These days McKay arrives at his visions naturally, but this wasn't always the case. "In the '60s and '70s, the pieces were totally drug orientated. That's what was happening. I still think psychedelics are one of the best things in the whole wide world," he says. "My first psychedelic experience when I went to the acid test was the thing that really formed me as an artist. I was painting abstractly then, and I thought I knew what abstract was. But a good load of acid made me realize, wait a minute, this is abstract."

His current works, the aforementioned millennium paintings, are as abstract as ever. Their form, however, attest to McKay's newfound interest in digital technology. Having just started working with computers last year -- and complaining that "I find things that are created on the computer have no soul, they're cold" -- he has nonetheless produced work that addresses real aesthetic issues. As with his early work, McKay paints his gestural, liquid, and very analog abstractions on slides and then digitizes them. Then he imports the images into a computer program that allows him to create sequences of fades and dissolves that can be played continuously on a high-resolution monitor. The result resembles a melting stained glass window, an effect true to his past.

McKay seems to be entering the next century in his own style, not that of a younger generation. When asked if he had any connection to rave culture, a scene that McKay's light shows have had a clear influence on, the artist scoffs. "I did a show at a rave over in Oakland about a year ago," he says, slipping on a pair of rose-tinted aviator glasses. "It didn't really work; the kids were more intrigued by the lasers." In that regard, McKay may be of the old school, but where would they be without him? 'Glenn McKay: Altered States -- Light Projections 1966-1999.' Feb. 4-June 1, SFMOMA, 151 Third St., S.F. $4-$8.

Hacienda de Guadalupe

2010-10-08T10:50:00.000-07:00

Tonight Hacienda de Guadalupe, a new downtown boutique hotel and restaurant, is officially opening its doors to the public. It's special to us for a couple of reasons. First, our good friend Mario - who has served many of you potent margaritas on the-now-defunct El Campanario's rooftop patio -- is now waiting tables there. More importantly, we recently celebrated our 39th wedding anniversary there.

It was supposed to be a "soft" opening for the owners' friends and family, but when Mario told them it was a special night for us, they invited us in, with our friends Warren and Tuli. The space, which was formerly a residence for nuns, was as elegant as any place we've been in Mexico -- soft lighting, huge potted agaves, a retractable roof for starlit dining, Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald softly crooning in the background... We were all entranced. After margaritas, they showed us the extensive dinner menu, but opted to bring us free samples from the kitchen, soliciting our feedback as they went. We were stuffed and delighted. When we asked to see a wine menu, Mario waved us off. Soon a chilled bottle of Moet-Chandon appeared, compliments of Mauricio, the owner. Then, champagne glasses in hand, we were escorted on a private tour of the unfinished hotel, by Mauricio's brother Alejandro.

With the Big 4-0 looming, we thought this would pass by as one of those semi-forgettable, off-year anniversaries. It turned out to be one of our most magical celebrations ever. Thank you Mario, Mauricio, Fernando & Alejandro for your kindness and generosity. I love this place!!

My Mouth's Watering

2010-10-08T10:42:00.001-07:00

A man can only eat so many tacos. Tonight we're going out, enjoying one of Jason Malloff's special meals. Just thought I'd share the menu with all my foodie friends. Yum.

(I realize these shitty little, two-sentence posts are starting to resemble tweets, but hey, it's better than nothing, eh?)

Another Culinary Upgrade

2010-10-08T10:35:00.000-07:00

Yippee! Our nearby, gringo-friendly tienda recently started carrying an assortment of artisanal salamis from Europe and the U.S. Don't know how long this will last, but for now our cocktail hours are much enhanced.

A Civilized Approach --- Could the U.S. Learn from its Southern Neighbor?

2010-10-08T09:14:00.000-07:00

(Note from Karen: Time again for me to put in my 2 cents' worth.)

Mexico's Illegal Immigration Problem
by Mariela Rosario

Most Americans would probably find it hard to believe that Mexico has a problem with illegal immigration. At best, they may think that it stems from Central and South American's overstaying their welcome in the country en route to the United States. But the majority of illegal immigrants in Mexico are actually from the United States.

According to Mexico’s federal bureau of immigration, many undocumented Americans enter Mexico every year and, unsure of how long they are going to stay, end up with incorrect or expired paperwork. As the Global Post reports, many of the Americans in Mexico are elderly citizens who go south to retire.

In direct contrast to the laws, like SB 1070, in the United States—the Mexican government does not deport people who are in the country illegally. According to Mexican immigration agent Beatrice Amparo Perez Alatorre, there is a process for “regularizing” these immigrants and not sent to jail unless they have committed a crime. After five years, undocumented immigrants who have been living in Mexico can apply to become a legal citizen.

Prof. Jorge Durand of the University of Guadalajara confirms, “To be undocumented in Mexico is not a criminal offense.”

Calling All Tequila Lovers

2010-09-24T15:50:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, enjoying a long, leisurely lunch with our friends Doug & Kate, we decided to start the meal with the featured "bicentennial" Tequila Especial on the menu: Centenario Rosangel. What makes it Especial is that it's subtly infused with flor de jamaica (hibiscus flowers). Who knew? Since we moved down here we've all tried a lot of different tequilas, but this one blew us away. If you can find it where you live, give it a try!

The Half-Full Glass

2010-09-17T13:14:00.000-07:00

These days, it’s easy to get sucked into a slough of cynical despond, with even minimal exposure to the mass media fear machine. Let’s face it, it’s a big world and if you look hard enough you can find a whole lot of bad news. So… as a personal Pollyanna protest of sorts, I’d like to share a handful of positive developments in my little family/friendship sphere.

Brains on Fire: The Book. A couple of weeks ago, my brainy and energetic former partners saw the fruits of their collective post-Goot labor show up on bookstore shelves for the first time. Hats off to them. I called myself a professional writer for most of my 30-some-odd-year career and never came close to writing a chapter’s worth of stuff, let alone an entire book. The fact that I get mentioned a time or two is a source of huge personal pride. But the fact that they’d already amassed 3,000 pre-orders before the book ever came out makes me even prouder. It’s a tribute to the timeliness of their message and the enthusiasm of their considerable fan base.

ENCARNACIÓN. Last month, while we were visiting Karen’s family in northern California, our friend Kate McKenna unveiled her latest photography at Galeria 6 in nearby Mineral de Pozos. We missed the opening, but were thrilled to find out she had hundreds of attendees, many from as far away as Mexico City, and sold six pieces within hours, an incredible feat, we’re told by other local artists, in this dismal economy. We were doubly pleased to find out that several of the purchased pieces featured a newly-turned-60 model who happens to share my bed with me. Check out Kate’s slideshow [Link Above] or this short video walk-through produced by Kate’s friend Suzanne.

Euphoria: Food, Wine & Music Event. Later this month, my restaurateur friend Carl (and his musician friend Edwin McCain) will once again be hosting their audacious celebration of serious food, wine and music in our old hometown, Greenville, SC. They bring in top-flight chefs, sommeliers and musicians from around the world for a 3-day blow-out party, and then give all the proceeds to various local charities. At a time when so many business people are cutting back and hoarding cash, Carl and Edwin are more committed than ever to giving something back to a community that has been good to them. If you're nearby and/or can find your way to Greenville September 23rd-26th...

Marriage. This past weekend, Mizzy and I celebrated 39 years of being life partners, best friends, playmates and sex objects. Two-thirds of our entire lives spent together! What a journey and what a blessing. (The real milestone here, while we can’t pin it down to a precise date, is that we met for the first time forty years ago this month!)

Kids. At the risk of sounding like a bad family Christmas letter… both our kids seem to be transitioning from unhappy job situations into a much happier space. (Imagine: all four Goots in a good place at the same time.) Dustin just moved from NYC to LA (after eight years of Big Apple living) to start working toward his MBA at UCLA, while Ashley has just begun a new internally-focused project at KPMG, which will require far less travel and far more job satisfaction. You can feel their new-found energy and confidence pulsing right through the Vonage adapter. Will it last? Probably not. Are we loving this special moment in time? Abso-freakin’-lutely!

Two Fine Quotes

2010-09-17T07:37:00.001-07:00

Today is the birthday of Ken Kesey, another American author I like a lot. The Writer's Almanac attributes the following quote to him: "I'd rather be a lightning rod than a seismograph." Amen, brother.

Yesterday Karen sent me a quote from fellow Stanford alum Steven T. Murray who, under assumed name, recently translated the wildly popular Steig Larrson novels into English. He was overheard saying, "See, majoring in English may pay off eventually!" I think she meant it as a dig, but it brought a smile to my English major face.

This City of Stark Contrasts

2010-09-14T07:51:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, as we were making our every-other-week supermarket run, I was wandering through the meat department. One refrigerated case was filled to overflowing with a neat succession of pig's heads – big, hairless ears, pink snouts, eyes closed in peaceful slumber – alongside rows of fresh menudo (tripe). Across the aisle, in a freezer bin, I discovered a selection of Kobe beef strip steaks and a pile of creamy Magret duck foie gras. An extreme price and cultural gap indeed, but no different really than walking past Otomi girls from the campo (countryside) selling nopal cactus leaves, huitlacoche and squash blossoms out of little plastic buckets as we make our way to the new organic farmer's market in the park to buy artisanal breads heirloom tomatoes. I don't know how it/we all co-exist so easily here in San Miguel, but all in all, it makes for one happy foodie!

Color Blind? Who Cares!

2010-09-06T16:37:00.000-07:00

For several months now my friend Warren, who at one time in his life supported himself as a watercolor artist, has been painting with our friend Glenn McKay, who's made a living as an artist his entire adult life. Inexplicably, they recently invited me to join them -- perhaps for comic relief. Truth is, ever since moving down here (and having gotten somewhat burned out on writing), I've wondered what it might be like to try and express my creative impulses visually. Well, now I know. It's a lot of fun. My two friends are extremely encouraging, don't allow me to take the thing too seriously and when needed, offer constructive advice as well as the odd glass of Cabernet. Don't look for me in your nearby gallery anytime soon, but hey, at least give me credit for having the balls to try. Fair 'nuff?

Mid-Life Insight

2010-09-06T11:03:00.001-07:00

My friend Warren, having recently been on a rollercoaster ride of personal challenges, sent the following words of wisdom out to a group of close friends. They pretty much reflect my life experience to date. Thoughts?

I have been thinking: Love is rare, Life is strange, Nothing lasts, People change.

A Voice of Reason

2010-08-29T11:29:00.001-07:00

In recent weeks, Mizzy and I have heard from several folks back in the States who are worried about us, or worried about visiting us. Given the barrage of bad news out of Mexico lately – especially the misleading and inaccurate San Miguel kidnapping story Dateline recently broadcast – their concern is understandable. But consider this: Mexico is a big place, and lumping the problems of Nuevo Laredo in with relatively tranquil places like San Miguel or Puerto Vallarta is no more reasonable than saying Detroit's crime problems reflect life in Omaha, Nebraska, or Summerville, South Carolina. So, in the interest of fair and balanced reporting, I thought I'd share this eminently sensible piece written by American journalist Linda Ellerbee.

My Thoughts Exactly

2010-07-26T10:33:00.001-07:00

In the wake of his recent birthday celebration, our most articulate and caring friend Clay Primrose sent out the following share-worthy message. I dedicate it to all our far-flung friends. Come visit sometime soon.

"You know, I think it is always a good idea to know what your top 5 personal values are--the things that you wouldn't ever desert for love nor money. Anyway, at the top of my list has always been "Friends". I live life with friends, find support from friends, joys are multiplied by friends, the richness of life comes in the context of friends, so much of life is defined by friends for me.

"And so, to come to this gold mine of great people called San Miguel, and to find so many really important friendships in such relatively short time--well, it is something I treasure. It is the best."

Viva Mexican Medicine!!

2010-07-25T11:28:00.001-07:00

Our friend Clay just went through a scary little episode where his heart rate suddenly developed a galloping mind of its own. Last week, he went to the new Heart Institute in nearby Queretaro to have his heart "zapped" and this past Friday celebrated both his return to cardiac normalcy and his birthday. Here's an excerpt from the note he sent to all his concerned friends and fans:

"My hat is off to Dr. Maxwell and Mexican medicine as I have experienced it, Hospital de La Fe in San Miguel, Instituto de Corazon de Queretaro, Hospital Medica Tec 100 in Queretaro. It was always friendly, always personal and caring, I never waited anywhere for anything, I was never treated like a number or a risk that had to be avoided, I had my doc's cell phone number and he always answered, he always went with to the hospital and introduced me to other docs. Add to that the whole thing being done for half the cost of my deductible in the U.S. and it's a win all around."

Friendly, personal, caring, effective and affordable… How hard can this health care reform thing be?

Mid-Life Wisdom

2010-07-25T11:04:00.001-07:00

This little nugget, buried in a nice newsy e-mail from Utah, is I thought well worth sharing:

The more I go along this journey the far less I know and the less I care that I

do not know.

Change

2010-05-15T09:04:00.001-07:00

This past week I came across this poem by Louis Jenkins on The Writer's Almanac. Feels pretty right to me. You?

Change

All those things that have gone from your life,
moon boots, TV trays and the Soviet Union, that
seem to have vanished, are really only changed.
Dinosaurs did not disappear from the earth but
evolved into birds and crock pots became bread
makers and then the bread makers all went to
rummage sales along with the exercise bikes.
Everything changes. It seems at times (only for
a moment) that your wife, the woman you love,
might actually be your first wife in another form.
It's a thought not to be pursued….Nothing is the
same as it used to be. Except you, of course,
you haven't changed…well, slowed down a bit,
perhaps. It's more difficult nowadays to deal with
the speed of change, disturbing to suddenly find
yourself brushing your teeth with what appears
to be a flashlight. But essentially you are the
same as ever, constant in your instability.

Wit ‘n Wisdom

2010-05-06T12:55:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I happened upon the Facebook page for Dustin's friend Kelsey Rahn. Along with some photos of Dustin, I discovered these two quotes which cracked me up. Enjoy!

"When life hands you lemons...
stick 'em in your bra so at least your boobs will look bigger!"

"I'm sick of following my dreams, man. I'm just going to ask where they're going, and hook up with them later!" --Mitch Hedberg

One Step Closer.....

2010-05-05T14:22:00.001-07:00

Here it is.....my official Mexican driver's license. (not good for trucks or motorcycles, thank God!) All it took was a valid driver's license from the states, a blood test to confirm my Blood Type, copies of my passport and visa, a utility bill to prove I live here, and a letter from a doctor saying I'm in good health, able to move my 4 limbs with "good strength and form" and don't need glasses for distance vision. Here's how the eye-check went:
Doctor: Are you far-sighted or near-sighted? Do you need glasses for distance?
Me: I'm a bit near-sighted but my vision has improved and I don't wear glasses now.
Doctor: OK.
When the Transito people read the doctor's letter, they filled in the application for my eyesight as 20/20. I love this place!
Don't get the idea that everything in Mexico is cheap, though. The cost of the 5-year license was about $50 USD, not even counting the cost of the doctor's letter and blood test!

Words

2010-04-24T10:47:00.001-07:00

As a former copywriter, I'm always attracted to quotes that involve language and communication. This one, from British dramatist Dennis Potter, made me laugh.

"The trouble with words is that you never know whose mouth they've been in."

The Castle

2010-04-23T12:18:00.001-07:00

Several weeks ago, our amazingly talented musician friends Jack & Frances invited us to a living room concert at a home just up the road from us. It's known locally as The Castle. We'd walked by it numerous times over the years, but had never been inside. Holy shit! We'd never seen anything like it. Apparently, it was originally built by a man Jack referred to as a "high-ranking politico." His objective? Create an out-of-the-way Love Shack for himself and his mistress. She must've been really hot stuff 'cause it looked like no expense was spared – elaborate stonework, high ceilings, a lap pool and outdoor shower off the master bedroom, a backyard pool you can enter by way of the living room, huge fireplaces in every room… Taxpayer pesos run amok. However, before it was completed, real life intervened in the form of an inquisitive and jealous wife, and both mistress and Love Shack were abandoned. Seven or eight years ago, an American stone mason from Connecticut bought the place, now considered a ruin, and has been working on it in his "spare time" ever since. He's added walls, windows, ponds, fountains and a guest house at the bottom of the property. One thing he hasn't added yet is furniture. So about twenty of us gathered in the huge living room space seated on a ragtag collection of ratty old sofas and card table chairs, drinking wine out of plastic cups, but still… enjoyed two non-stop hours of exquisite classical guitar duets, the most magical of which was a medley of pieces from Anna Magdalena Bach's Notebooks. Four years into our Mexican adventure, the surprises keep on keepin' on.

Marta

2010-04-23T10:27:00.001-07:00

This past Monday my friend Bill invited me to join him as a volunteer, essentially doing grunt work out in the hot sun at our nearby botanical gardens. Just the kind of stuff I love doing. So I immediately agreed. Our "boss" – the person supervising all the nursery staff -- turned out to be young woman named Marta. Bill tells me she knows every single plant in the place – which includes nearly every cactus and succulent that grows in Mexico -- by both its common and Latin name. She's also an expert in growing and propagating each of the various species. And she's still in high school!! Bill thinks she's about 16. She already turned down an offer to enroll in the University of Arizona and has a number of other higher education offers on the table. Next time you hear someone use the phrase "dumb Mexicans" keep Marta in mind.

Turista

2010-04-20T14:13:00.001-07:00

Karen recently returned from a week in California visiting her family. She reports she was feeling fine when she left San Miguel, began making frequent, urgent trips to the nearest toilet a couple days after arriving, and didn't return to normal 'til she'd been back in Mexico for 24 hours. Of course it could've been caused by a little virus, or some unwashed lettuce in a salad, but I'm betting it was the water. Thoughts?? Cordell?

Well Said

2010-04-13T08:09:00.000-07:00

This weekend was the birthday of one of my favorite writers (and without a doubt my all-time favorite Christian writer) Anne Lamott, who famously said, "You can safely assume you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do."

Some Perspective on Hard Times

2010-02-08T07:50:00.000-08:00

This morning's Writer's Almanac featured a poem by Michael Blumenthal that puts all our economic hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing in its proper perspective. Love on, amigos. Canoodling is really where it's at.

In a Time of Economic Downturn, I Gaze Up at The Sky

The sun came up this morning, just
as I knew it would. My morning coffee
tasted exactly like yesterday's: a tad bitter,
but nonetheless revivifying. The faces
of our dead Presidents on Mount Rushmore,
are still there, speaking of their trials
and tribulations from their scenic outlook
of granite. Tonight, when I get home from work,
my lover will make her way downstairs,
wearing my favorite underwear. We'll lie
in bed, pretending to watch a movie, both
knowing what we really want. The Dow,
no doubt, will continue its slide, just as the moon,
that lozenge of indifference, will continue
its path downward among the clouds. All of us—
sun, moon, coffee, clouds— might feel a twinge
of guilt: such indifference to profit and loss!
Yet, all over the world, tiny birds with broken wings
and injuries of all sorts are making their way
back to their nests, even the waterlogged anhinga
is drying its wings in the sun. It's good to know
so much keeps going on, despite everything.
Come closer, sweetheart, let's put the film on pause,
let's profit from whatever we've got— before
the closing bell, before the riffraff of recovery
finds us and brings us down again.

San Miguel's Dry Season

2010-02-08T07:37:00.000-08:00

When we first came here 4 years ago this week for an exploratory month in Mexico, it was hot, sunny and clear every single day. By the time we returned home to South Carolina, I was absolutely desperate to see a cloud again. Since we moved here, that's been our typical San Miguel February. The past several weeks, however, our weather has been nearly as weird and extreme as it's been in the States. First we experienced freezing temperatures and a dusting of snow on the nearby hillsides, something that hadn't happened here since the early 1970's. Then this past week, we were drenched with four solid days of steady rains, causing normally dry arroyos to become churning torrents as they raced through town, causing numerous road closings and evacuations. Another solid week of rain is forecast to begin later this week. Dry season, my ass!

Serendipity

2010-01-28T14:01:00.001-08:00

...happens to be one of my all-time favorite, silly-sounding words. Every time I say it out loud I break out in a smile. Anyway, I just came across this wonderfully apt definition attributed to a guy I never heard of before named Julius Comroe. He said, "Serendipity is looking in a haystack for a needle and discovering a farmer's daughter."

P.S. Apparently the word serendipity was recently listed by a U.K. translation company as one of the English language's 10 most difficult words to translate. Other words to make their list include several more favorite words of mine: gobbledegook, poppycock, whimsy, spam, and kitsch.

Role Models

2010-01-27T08:32:00.000-08:00

Last night, our about-to-turn-80 Jewish friend Albert and his just-turned-50 Baptist bride Rhonda surprised us with the news that they're putting all their stuff in storage and leaving San Miguel for a year of travel. California, New Zealand, Australia, Bali, Indonesia and Southeast Asia.

Plan A had been to work full-time for a couple of years -- here or in the States -- to amass enough money for a Grande Tour of the world. Upon further reflection, and a sober assessment of health, age and money issues, they decided, "To hell with the luxury approach. If we travel on the cheap, we can skip the two years of hard work and follow our dreams right now." (Did I mention that Rhonda is an incredibly thorough and resourceful travel/event planner?) They've chosen places they love and/or know people. They'll visit each locale during its most desirable season. And they'll stay in each place for at least a month in order to make new friends and savor the local culture. An excellent Plan B as there ever was.

They'll travel light but enriched. They're buying a couple of Kindles and loading them up with reading material. They'll bring all their favorite music on iPods. And God love 'em, they're packing their copy of Kama Sutra 365, to ensure that no matter where they are, each day of their year-long trip will contain a new marital adventure. Rhonda, who's developed a passion for Yiddish, summed it up this way, "We're going to shtup our way around the world!"

As Karen and I this year each celebrate our 60th birthday, Albert & Rhonda have given us, by their example, an invaluable gift that will inspire, challenge and encourage us for years to come. Rock on, amigos, and thanks!

Great New Word for a Hopeful New Decade

2010-01-27T07:39:00.000-08:00

Mizzy just sent me a link to Garrison Keillor's latest Salon.com piece. It contains the following short anecdote:

My heart was gladdened by an official-looking sign in the Milwaukee airport, just beyond the TSA checkpoint, hanging over where you put your shoes and coat back on and stuff your laptop back in the case: The sign said, "Recombobulation Area."

As a recovering wordsmith, my heart was gladdened too.

Four Faces of San Miguel

2010-01-25T12:06:00.000-08:00

Saturday night, after a farewell party for the family Karen teaches for, we headed up the hill to an art opening. It was at the Kunst Haus Gallery, a cavernous, ultra-contemporary (i.e. cold) concrete and glass building situated in the middle of an unassuming Mexican working class neighborhood. It was teeming with people, but starting to thin out when we arrived as the free food and wine had long since been consumed. The crowd was a Who's Who of the San Miguel artiste and hipster communities -- a mix of Mexicans, both from here and Mexico City, and Gringos; mostly young; extravagantly tattooed; and to a large extent, dressed in retro, thrift shop hippie wear. The owner, a German dude, circulated among the artistic acolytes in chic urban black. The snatches of conversation I overheard revolved around new projects and planned openings in New York, Mexico City and LA.

The next morning, we awoke at six to walk the first 5 miles of a planned 9-day pilgrimage hundreds of devout Catholics engage in each January. The pilgrimage apparently celebrates the miraculous healing of a young virgin by a straw doll several centuries ago. (Or something like that.) We, and our Gringo compatriots, were participating as part of a fund-raising effort to help victims of domestic violence. Anyway, we met in the town square before dawn, fortified ourselves with coffee and beignets at our favorite New Orleans-style bar, and joined the procession of backpack-wearing, icon toting families of all ages; marching bands; indigenous dance troupes; and chanting abuelas with bullhorns. As we proceeded out of town, the streets were lined with well-wishers, offering free cups of atole (a hot corn-based beverage), bolillos (hard rolls), bottled water and tamales. It felt like a surreal reinterpretation of the peace marches we attended in the 60's. Along the way, we were passed by a fleet of large trucks toting the pilgrims' gear to their first overnight stop, most likely a church somewhere out in the countryside. As we walked back toward town, the pilgrims we passed typically gave us a "what the hell are you two doing out here on this cow path?" look, followed by a shy (if they were really poor) or cheery (if they were more middle class) "buenos dias!"

Later that afternoon, after a hot shower and an al fresco lunch with friends out in the country, we headed to a small, candle-lit Episcopal church, where, amid a standing room only crowd of mostly older folks, and seated inches from the harpsichord player, we were pretty much mesmerized by a 13-piece chamber group performing Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

We then ended up the weekend by walking over to our friend Roger's intimate little wings 'n beer place to watch the second half of the NFL Championship game, where we let our expat hair down, yelling expletives at the refs and throwing peanut shells on the floor.

What's San Miguel de Allende really like? And how to manage to keep busy? Y'all can draw your own conclusions.

Classic San Miguel Quote

2010-01-25T11:04:00.000-08:00

Responding to a Guy's Group lunch invitation, my friend Warren said: DON JUAN WILL BE PRESENT and he looks forward to yet another memorable event that he will not remember.

Martin Luther King

2010-01-19T10:11:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I came across this piece on The Huffington Post, from a guy named John Lundberg, and thought it good enough to share with you in its entirety:

The nation remembers Martin Luther King on Monday, so let's take a look at three poems that highlight different aspects of the civil rights movement.

"I, Too, Sing America" by Langston Hughes--simple, direct, but emotionally powerful--is one of my favorite poems. It confronts the extreme race-based inequality that used to be the norm in America, and dramatizes Hughes' determination to overcome it. It's remarkable (at least for someone my age) to think that he wrote this just over 50 years ago.

I, Too, Sing America

I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, am America.

Contrast Hughes' quiet but challenging tone with the anger and violence in Gwendolyn Brooks' poem "Riot" below. So called "race riots" weren't uncommon in the late 60s, and a particularly ugly one (sadly) took place in Chicago in reaction to Dr. King's assassination. Brooks' blunt and brutal poem brings a riot to life, and focuses on a fictitious victim--a man named John Cabot--whom Brooks paints in a very unsympathetic light. Even though Cabot is ostensibly killed in the poem, one could argue that Brooks doesn't want us to see him as a victim at all.

Riot

A riot is the language of the unheard.
--Martin Luther King

John Cabot, out of Wilma, once a Wycliffe,
all whitebluerose below his golden hair,
wrapped richly in right linen and right wool,
almost forgot his Jaguar and Lake Bluff;
almost forgot Grandtully (which is The
Best Thing That Ever Happened To Scotch); almost
forgot the sculpture at the Richard Gray
and Distelheim; the kidney pie at Maxim's,
the Grenadine de Boeuf at Maison Henri.

Because the Negroes were coming down the street.

Because the Poor were sweaty and unpretty
(not like Two Dainty Negroes in Winnetka)
and they were coming toward him in rough ranks.
In seas. In windsweep. They were black and loud.
And not detainable. And not discreet.

Gross. Gross. "Que tu es grossier!" John Cabot
itched instantly beneath the nourished white
that told his story of glory to the World.
"Don't let It touch me! the blackness! Lord!" he whispered
to any handy angel in the sky.
But, in a thrilling announcement, on It drove
and breathed on him: and touched him. In that breath
the fume of pig foot, chitterling and cheap chili,
malign, mocked John. And, in terrific touch, old
averted doubt jerked forward decently,
cried, "Cabot! John! You are a desperate man,
and the desperate die expensively today."

John Cabot went down in the smoke and fire
and broken glass and blood, and he cried "Lord!
Forgive these nigguhs that know not what they do."

It's easy to imagine why some critics accused Brooks of celebrating violence here, though the poem is more complex than that. And notice how Brooks employs an epigraph from Dr. King: she uses a quote from a man committed to non-violence in a way that seems to justify violence. Don't blame the rioters too much for harming Cabot, the epigraph implies, they were "unheard" and needed a way to speak.

While "Riot" mined the anger underlying the civil rights movement and the violence that sprung up from it, Nikki Giovanni's "A Poem on the Assassination of Robert F. Kennedy" meditates on the grief born from the movement's losses. Bobby Kennedy was, of course, a key figure in the movement, and Giovanni probably had Dr. King--assassinated just two months before--in mind as well.

A Poem on the Assassination of Robert F. Kennedy

Trees are never felled . . . in summer . . . Not when the fruit . . .
is yet to be borne . . . Never before the promise . . . is fulfilled . . .
Not when their cooling shade . . . has yet to comfort . . .

Yet there are those . . . unheeding of nature . . . indifferent to
ecology . . . ignorant of need . . . who . . . with ax and sharpened
saw . . . would . . . in boots . . . step forth damaging . . .

Not the tree . . . for it falls . . . But those who would . . . in
summer's heat . . . or winter's cold . . . contemplate . . . the
beauty . . .

Thankfully, we can still contemplate the beauty of Martin Luther King's message, and contemplate the success of that message. Monday, in "winter's cold," is as suitable a time as any to do just that.

From a Recovering Copywriter

2010-01-08T08:53:00.000-08:00

I recently came across this quote from playwright and screenwriter Paul Rudnick. Those of you who had the dubious opportunity of dealing with me as a "professional" writer will certainly appreciate why the quote made me smile... ruefully.

Rudnick said: "As a writer, I need an enormous amount of time alone. Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials. It's a matter of doing everything you can to avoid writing, until it is about four in the morning and you reach the point where you have to write. Having anybody watching that or attempting to share it with me would be grisly."

Who Knew? Once Again

2010-01-08T08:46:00.000-08:00

I read on a recent The Writer's Almanac post that on this particular day in 2003 Marja Sergina, the last known speaker of the Akkala Sami language, died. Akkala Sami was spoken in villages on Russia's Kola Peninsula inhabited by the Sami (sometimes referred to as Laplanders), an ethnic group from Northern Europe who are best known as reindeer herders.

But here's the thing I found most astounding: There are more than 6,000 languages spoken in the world, and on average, one goes extinct about every two weeks. Researchers estimate that from 50 to 90 percent of those languages will be extinct in 100 years.

And my brain cramps just trying to learn two languages!!

A Tale of Two Countries

2010-01-08T08:15:00.001-08:00

Back in October, as I struggled to come up with a last-minute Halloween get-up for a party we were invited to, I happened upon the thick, black, Carlo Ponti, Aristotle Onassis style glasses I inexplicably bought in Vancouver, BC, back in 2005. When I put them on, I was astonished to find I could see WAY better with them than I can with my current pair. As fate (and too much tequila) would have it, I somehow managed to break the plastic frame in the course of the evening's festivities. (Don't ask; it was ugly.)

Fast forward several weeks. I carefully extracted the lenses -- expensive progressives that turn dark in the sun -- and took them with me to California where I figured I could find a new frame for them... and see happily ever after. At Lenscrafters, where I expected a large selection and lower prices, the clerk claimed it was impossible to match old lenses to new frames. Her advice: I'd have to start from scratch if I wanted new glasses. Then she looked me up and down and asked, "Doesn't your insurance cover new glasses?" [Huh?????]

Thinking perhaps a big optical chain just isn't set up to handle special requests or do custom work, we went to a nearby optical boutique, where we expected higher prices, but a better selection of fashion frames. [Woo-hoo!!] After explaining my dilemma to the clerk, she brought out "the man in the white coat" to help me. His helpful advice: forget it; no can do. No frame other than the original would fit them exactly and trying to modify the lenses would destroy them. In fact, he further explained that in California it's against the law! to re-frame lenses. One MUST have an eye exam and a brand new prescription in order to buy glasses... no matter how good you think your old prescription is. At this point, my new-found Mexican tranquilo self transformed into my old red-faced, expletive-spouting self and we stormed out into the Mall.

Fast forward another six weeks. I'm back home in San Miguel. I take the same set of lenses to a local optical place and tell my same sad story. The clerk takes my name, takes my lenses and tells me she'll see what she can do. A couple days later I get a call from her "man in the white coat" who tells me to stop by, he thinks he's found something that might work for me. I come by, try on the frames he suggested and like them. He explains that he'll have to shave a little bit off the sides of my old lenses to make them fit perfectly, but that he can have the thing done in five days. Total cost: $1,000 pesos (about $75usd).

I LOVE this place!

Turning 60

2010-01-08T07:38:00.000-08:00

Yeah, on New Year's Day I crossed over to become what most of my friends optimistically refer to as "the new 40" (whatever that means). Inside my brain, like most of my "middle-aged" friends, I still feel like a grown up kid, certainly not much older than mid-30s. When I look in the mirror, I see a dismaying amount of grey, but for the most part think, "Hey this guy could pass for, well... a well-worn 50-year-old." Not so bad, all things considered. So I thought it was particularly apt that on my birthday, approaching mile 20 on my life's marathon, I happened to encounter the following quote from Paul Thorn (whoever he is):

"Everybody looks good at the starting line."

I'll admit it. At this juncture, I'm obviously sensitized to older guy stuff that appears on my cultural radar screen. But in the past month, I've seen three very different, but very excellent films exploring the relationship of an older guy with a younger woman. (No, I'm not having a tawdry mid-life affair.) Anyway, I'd recommend them all... if you haven't seen them already.

Venus, with Peter O'Toole
10 Items or Less, a cute independent film starring Morgan Freeman
Up In The Air, with George Clooney

So I'm now 60. As I approached this chronological milestone, I expected a little angst, trauma, depression, whatever. But here I am. I feel great. I feel happy. l feel incredibly blessed and grateful to be me. Onward!! Bring on the new decade. Let's party!

English Major

2010-01-08T07:36:00.000-08:00

Karen sent me this today from STORY PEOPLE. It's been a loooong time since I graduated from college, but it still rang true... and still made me smile.

When I told him I had a major in English, he said, too bad for you this is America & he started me out at the bottom.

The Kitchen

2010-01-07T10:21:00.000-08:00

When we were back in California for Thanksgiving, Karen's brother and sister-in-law treated us to a special dinner out as their Christmas gift to us. Dinner out in Sacramento. "Sacramento," I thought to myself. "Hmmmm..." They explained it would be a 4-course, prix fixe tasting menu at a place called The Kitchen. Foodie that I pretend to be, I've been lucky enough to enjoy a lot of memorable tasting menus over the years, prepared by the likes of Charlie Trotter, Thomas Keller and Paul Prudhomme. But I'll tell you straight out, the evening we spent at The Kitchen was perhaps the most enjoyable restaurant experience I've ever had. They have one seating per night -- 50 guests only. You arrive at 6:30 to a welcome glass (or two or three) of champagne, are shown to your table, but invited to wander around... anywhere, anytime. I spent half the evening eating and half the evening in the kitchen, watching the kitchen staff work and chatting with chefs.

The focal point of the room is a large semi-circular bar that surrounds a demonstration kitchen space where the Chef de Cuisine Noah Zonca cooks and acts Master of Ceremonies. He laid the groundwork for the evening with a monologue that would make Jay Leno smile. As you'd expect, he provided a lively overview of the dishes we'd be eating, but made it abundantly clear that we were all there to relax and have fun. He said it was our evening; we were in charge. If we had dietary restrictions or didn't care for something on the menu, let our server know, they'd change it. He took a special little dig at vegetarians. "We might make fun of you, but we'll cook whatever you want." He told jokes. He introduced his staff... with obvious pride but a lot of humor. No Temple of Gastronomy here.

They offered paired wines, too, either a full glass with each course or a half glass (if couples preferred to "share.") And amazingly, Chef invited us to ask for seconds if we wanted them! (We didn't, but when I asked him about an obscure, Italian cheese he used in one course, he came by our table later in the evening with a container of it for all of us to see and sample.)

After the first two courses, they had an intermission of sorts, inviting us out to a back patio (where a wood fire was blazing) to enjoy trays of fresh sushi, sashimi & tempura... along with a glass of sake (priced extra), if we wished. Then we returned to the dining room for the "entree" courses and dessert. We ate, we drank, we laughed, we took photos, and wandered around talking with other diners... for about five hours. And left, filled with a lot of good food yes, but also filled with some seriously fine memories. Let me publicly say it: Thanks Dale & Bonnie. You the best!

Sure, experience Charlie Trotter and Thomas Keller if you get the chance. But if you're gonna be in Northern California, put The Kitchen on your list of "must try" restaurants.

Travel

2009-12-10T09:02:00.000-08:00

We just returned from two weeks visiting with family in California, so I was particularly attuned to this quote, from Bill Bryson, that I came across the other day.

"Is there anything, apart from a really good chocolate cream pie and receiving a large unexpected check in the post, to beat finding yourself at large in a foreign city on a fair spring evening, loafing along unfamiliar streets in the long shadows of a lazy sunset, pausing to gaze in shop windows or at some church or lovely square or tranquil stretch of quayside, hesitating at street corners to decide whether that cheerful and homey restaurant you will remember fondly for years is likely to lie down this street or that one? I just love it. I could spend my life arriving each evening in a new city."

Here's to many new travel adventures for all of us in the upcoming year!

Happy Birthday, George!

2009-11-02T14:58:00.000-08:00

Today's the birthdate of another one of my personal heroes, George Bernard Shaw. To celebrate, let me share a couple of apt quotes:

He said, "What is life but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn't come every day."

And this: "I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. Life is no "brief candle" for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations."

Small World

2009-11-02T11:25:00.000-08:00

When our friend Mister Steve visited us a couple of weeks ago, he joined us for an evening of food, wine and conversation at Clay & Jennifer Primrose's Friday evening salon. Clay, a Stanford alumni a few years ahead of us, and I got talking about our Stanford days. Turns out he was in the same freshman dorm (Larkin) where Mister Steve and I first met. Just for fun, Steve asked Clay what room he'd been assigned to. Yeah, you guessed it -- they spent their freshman years in the same room in the same dorm, three years apart. (That, however is where the coincidences ended; Steve apparently slept in the righthand bed, while Clay had the left.)

You Know You're Getting Old When...

2009-10-31T08:59:00.000-07:00

(From Miz): As you know, I've been homeschooling 2 boys, ages 10 and 12, the last few weeks. And even though the older one, Gus, is exceedingly interested in history, there is one item from the past that he still knew nothing about. Of course, it's hard for me to think of it as already a part of history but there it is. His mom, Jeannie, described it so well in her blog entry:

The funniest thing about our visit to the [Houston Space Center's] Old Mission Control is that the boys were fascinated by the dial phones on the consoles. “What’s this?” they wanted to know. They were sticking their fingers in the holes and letting the dials spin as if this was the coolest new video game. “I see how this works,” Gus said. “You just stick your finger in the hole with the number you want to dial and move it all the way to the little metal thing. That’s neat.” Lord, I know I’m old and that the world has moved way too quickly when my child is awed by a dial phone!

Retirement Fantasy

2009-10-30T13:35:00.000-07:00

Last week our friends Charles and Mary invited us to join them for a long weekend at the beach to help celebrate Mary's 51st birthday. Our B&B owning, across-the-street neighbor recommended a rental property in Troncones, a little north of Zihuatanejo on Mexico's Pacific coast.

The place was next to ideal. The Canadian owners, who'd just arrived from Vancouver, were friendly and gracious. (They went so far as to bake us a cake when we admitted we'd forgotten that little birthday detail.) We stayed in rustic, but nicely appointed, open-air palapas, and had our own private sala and kitchen, which opened onto a large pool. The grounds were beautifully landscaped, palm trees everywhere. Rocky, volcanic tidepools fronted the property and a nice sandy beach was about 100 yards to the south. We spent 4 lovely days reading, lounging in hammocks and playing mindless, if highly competitive, games. When it came time to pack up Tuesday morning, none of us was ready to leave. So... fulfilling a longstanding fantasy of mine, we simply agreed -- what the hell, we're retired, right? -- to stay another day.

What a great decision! That night, we decided to revisit a nearby, romantic beachside restaurant housed in a yoga-meditation retreat. A yoga-meditation retreat I could definitely get behind as it offered a Happy Hour and exceptionally well-stocked bar. We arrived just before sunset, ordered drinks, and proceeded on to dinner as the sky darkened. Much to our surprise, one of the staff walked out onto the beach, inflated a large movie screen, and plugged in a projector. Once it was totally dark, (and beginning to rain), he popped in a DVD of a Rolling Stones concert from the 80's and cranked the volume. There we sat, looking out at the ocean in a pouring rain, martini buzzed and rocking out with about twenty erstwhile strangers from all over the world to some of the best rock music ever! Our last-minute, devil-take-the-hindmost decision to stay on couldn't have been more perfectly (or surprisingly) rewarded.

I'm more convinced than ever, creating memories is where it's at. This one will stick with us for a long, long time.

An Act of Grace

2009-10-30T09:38:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, our favorite magazine is The Week. In fact, we like it so much, we've continued to subscribe since we moved even though we receive it a week late. (Technically, I guess, we ought to refer to the magazine as Last Week.) One of the items I read religiously is the short message from the editor, William Falk. He never takes himself, or the world, too seriously and projects a down-to-earth humanity I much appreciate. Here's his most recent (or next to most recent), which Karen and I especially liked:

More often than I’d care to admit, I am the last fool running down the platform as the doors of the 7:02 flash and beep, signaling that they are about to close. It is already 7:02, and by rights the conductor should leave me gasping on the platform, muttering sheepish profanities as the train pulls away, my fellow commuters gazing out the windows at me in silent reproach. But—wonder of wonders!—the doors stay open and the conductor waves me in. What accounts for this surprising act of forbearance? Is it pity? No, The New York Times reports this week, it is policy. For decades, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority in New York has quietly kept two schedules for all of its commuter lines—one for the public, and one for train crews. On the crews’ schedules—the real ones—all departures are one minute later than the posted times. This is, without question, the most cheering news I’ve heard in ages.

Yes, I know: It’s just a minute. But it’s more than that—a reason to reconsider my flagging hope for the human race. In our modern, digitized world, there is no longer any margin for error; there is only yes or no, right or wrong, absolutely essential or unemployed. Press a “2” instead of a “3” on some bureaucracy’s automated phone system, and you are doomed to wander forever in a hell realm of unwanted options. For a railroad to silently and systematically grant laggards and procrastinators like me some leeway, to make the 7:02 the 7:03 without telling us …. It’s an act of grace. I don’t know about you, but I can use all the kindness and grace I can get.

The Payoff

2009-10-21T11:17:00.000-07:00

Mizzy just finished her first 9-week teaching session and we're both as giddy as any of her students ever were upon reaching Vacation Time. I have my playmate back and Mizzy is rediscovering the joys of free time. Soon she'll be back into lesson planning for Session II which begins in early December, but for now... Yippee!!

Turning The Tables

2009-10-12T13:22:00.000-07:00

While Mizzy wasn't a stay-at-home mom for all that many years, she still bore the brunt of childrearing and household chores. For a whole lot of years, as I tried to build what became Brains on Fire, I assumed the role of workaholic, breadwinning dad.

Since August, here in Mexico, our roles have suddenly been reversed, and I must say, it's been an eye-opener. I haven't adapted as well I thought I would. Since I've been pretty content being retired, I get resentful of her enthusiasm for the job. I get stir-crazy being home alone for long stretches and get angry when she just wants to relax at home in the evenings. And when we do go out, I get sullen when she needs to leave early to get to bed. I get whiny that she doesn't notice the spotlessly clean kitchen or my new haircut. I get cranky when I have comida ready and Karen gets waylaid somewhere. "Why didn't you call and let me know you were going to be late?!" Yikes! If I had kids to take care of too, I'm sure I'd be on heavy doses of Prozac.

On the other hand, after years of being El Presidente, it's kind of fun to tag along and just be "Karen's husband." I swell with pride when her kids enthuse about what they're learning from her, and write on their blogs what a terrific teacher she is. Also, I have to admit, I feed off her energy and commitment. And yes, every so often she surprises me and makes me feel totally validated. Just last month, she bought me a brand-new iron and ironing board!

Well Said

2009-10-02T09:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was former president Jimmy Carter's birthday. Despite his apparent lack of success in that position, this quote helps explain why I still admire the hell out of the man.

He said, "A strong nation, like a strong person, can afford to be gentle, firm, thoughtful, and restrained. It can afford to extend a helping hand to others. It is a weak nation, like a weak person, that must behave with bluster and boasting and rashness and other signs of insecurity."

Two Perspectives

2009-09-24T10:32:00.000-07:00

Last week my friend Steve Lowe, who spends six months here and six months in the States, sent me the following observation:

"I am anxious to be home in San Miguel.  Our wonderful USA has become far too fast, complicated, broken, adversarial, critical, contentious, racist, controlled, political and dumb."

Two days ago, we met a young Mexican waiter who had just moved here from Durango in Northern Mexico, where drug cartels are active. His comment:

"I moved to San Miguel because of its beautiful location and its peace-loving people."

Needless to say, we're glad to be here ourselves.

It's Different Down Here: Part 2

2009-09-01T13:25:00.000-07:00

Many visitors to San Miguel are surprised when we tell them we have no insurance, aside from catastrophic health insurance. They ask about theft. (We don't own that much stuff.) They ask about fire. (Concrete and brick don't burn very well.) They ask about liability. ("What if someone gets hurt on your property and sues you?" is the way this is often phrased.) We just smile.

Once again, Tony Cohan explains how things work here far better than I ever could:

In Mexico your raptures are your own, not prepackaged or branded. The same when things go badly; you're left to your own devices. Nobody to sue, point the accusing finger at; nobody to hold accountable but yourself. I'm comfortable with that view, with its implication that you are, in the deepest sense, responsible for what befalls you. Besides, to pin blame on human or official malfeasance, for the pothole you just stepped into in a country like Mexico, where civic matters are a morass and justice unreliable, is an empty exercise. It is easier, perhaps richer, to regard events as something larger, more random; to allow that fate, or chance, routinely intervenes in human affairs; and to recognize that they respond only slightly and occasionally to the imposition of our will.

Ojalá, people say, meaning the same as the Arabic word from which it is derived, Inch'Allah, "God willing."

A Happy Retirement

2009-09-01T13:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my friend Beto sent me this inspiring e-mail message: As we get older we sometimes begin to doubt our ability to "make a difference" in the world. It is at these times that our hopes are boosted by the remarkable achievements of other "seniors" who have found the courage to take on challenges that would make many of us wither. Harold Sclumberg is such a person.

"I've often been asked, 'What do you older folks do now that you're retired'? Well... I'm fortunate to have a chemical engineering background, and one of the things I enjoy most is turning beer, wine, Scotch, and margaritas into urine.

"And I'm pretty damn good at it, too!!"

Pete Seeger

2009-08-31T05:13:00.000-07:00

What a powerful, principled man! What an amazing life! We just finished watching Pete Seeger: The Power of Song, and even if I'm no longer the knee-jerk liberal I was in my 20's, it made me hugely proud of my American citizenship. If you haven't seen it, get it. And when you do, watch the bonus materials, especially the films he and his wife made back in the 50's and 60's.

One thing I particularly loved learning is that on his trademark banjo, he printed the words, "This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender."

Travel

2009-08-31T04:56:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, we don't have access to any of the American TV networks. What news we get is via the Internet and, occasionally, an English-language newspaper printed in Mexico City. Cool media. So it came as a shock to me last week, when a friend pulled up CNN on a hotel room television, and I saw the recent US town hall meetings in all their sound and fury. Where do all those frightened, angry people come from?

That same week, reading around the hotel pool, I came across this quote from Mark Twain:

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness."

So although it might seem like a shameless plug for our little tourist-oriented town, I'd like to say, "Hey, folks, put down those handguns, buy a ticket and come on down. We'll get you a beer and a taco and take you out to the hot springs for an afternoon, after which maybe things won't look so bad. Maybe you won't be so pissed off." Well, it worked for us...

Escuela

2009-08-31T04:30:00.000-07:00

This past week, public schools here in San Miguel opened for business. We have a primary school just up the street from as and as I was leaving the house last Tuesday, I just stood and marveled at the stream of families walking past, headed to and from the school. Not just just moms or grandmas, but entire families. I watched a young working class couple deposit their daughter then slowly walk back toward their home, hand-in-hand, sharing a liquado. At that moment, everything made total sense to me. Neighborhood, family, connection, seasons, love... Later that day, I happened past a nearby high-ticket, bilingual private school as parents arrived to get their kids. A long line of SUV's and minivans jockying for position, parents anxiously glancing at watches, kids being hustled out of the building.... Who's got the better life? Which family would I like to be part of? And thinking back, which family did my own kids grow up in? Later that evening, this little life lesson came full circle as I came across the following little couplet from the poet W.H. Davies:

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?

What is it indeed?

T-shirt Wisdom

2009-08-25T07:58:00.000-07:00

My friend Mark Brown just got back from a family vacation in Hawaii. While there, he saw a number a folks wearing T-shirts with the following message.

"If can, can. If no can, no can."

His apt observation: Pidgen compresses and expands all meaning.

More from Tony Cohan..

2009-08-24T17:06:00.000-07:00

I love this passage partly because it rings so true in our own life, marked as it's been by stretches of contented enruttedness followed by exhilarating episodes of rutbusting, but also because he manages to use "accrete," a word I've desperately wished to sneak into a conversation ever since high school.

"We accrete histories even in the places we flee to. Empty white rooms fill up with things. Dreams become accomplishments stacked like firewood or abandoned like scrap. We embalm ourselves inside passions of our own devising."

Neighbors

2009-08-24T16:21:00.000-07:00

While I was at the beach with my friend Warren this past week, I read Mexican Days, an insightful travelogue of sorts written by Tony Cohan. In a way, the book is a sequel to On Mexican Time, the must-read-if-you-live-here account of his move, two decades ago, from New York to San Miguel. Naturally, I loved the references, in both books, to my adopted home town, and enjoyed puzzling out the real identities of characters and locations he references. But his new book intrigued me every bit as much because most of the places he visits are places I too have visited over the past two years, and it was fun to see how his observations and reactions dovetailed, for the most part, with my own.

As a recent expat, (whatever that is), I found his insights about the relationship between my current and former homes especially interesting... and worth sharing.

The Aeromexico flight vaulted over the dry northern states, then westward toward the darkening horizon line of the Pacific... The plane was filled with Mexicans returning to work in the States or to visit relatives for Christmas. Somewhere below us stretched the vast, porous frontera, with its yawning expanses of desert, prairie and mountains. Geography is fate, I thought. Imagine England and all of North Africa -- Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt -- sharing a common, unguarded border. Across this mythical demarcation running from Tijuana/San Diego all the way to Matamoros/Brownsville on the Caribbean, two deeply different societies gaze at each other, imagine each other, imitate each other, visit each other, resent each other, violate each other, and penetrate each other in every way imaginable. Labor and drugs and music and food flow north; money and hip-hop and merchandise and retirees flow south...

This great intercambio, involving countless millions of people and billions of dollars, often illicit, also showers hard-won blessings: a man who gets paid three dollars a day back home can make twelve an hour en el otro lado and wire a good portion of it home by Western Union -- and in one of Mexico's countless poor, stacked colonias of unsurfaced brick and cement, electricity blooms, food appears on family tables, new school or football uniforms are purchased, and a student enters the university on the hill.

Living in the crosshairs of this cultural shift, I am both expression and instrument of it: double resident, hence double agent, in the service of both sides and neither. Spiritual migrant, permanent gringo, riding the tidal currents that surge across this semipermeable membrane, la frontera.

Dorothy Parker

2009-08-24T16:18:00.000-07:00

This past weekend fans of the Algonquin Roundtable celebrated Dorothy Parker's birth. Where did her acid-tongued wit come from? Who knows? But it amused me to read that as a young girl she was tossed out of Catholic school for referring to the Immaculate Conception as "spontaneous combustion."

Thanks, Jen!

2009-08-11T08:27:00.000-07:00

Today is my friend and former employee Jennifer Goff's 30th birthday. As she's a theater person, (as well as a terrific writer and all-round smart-as-hell person), she included the following quote on her Facebook page. I don't know about you, but it sure rings true for me.

"My life has a superb cast, but I can't figure out the plot." - Ashleigh Brilliant

Creating Memories

2009-08-09T10:35:00.000-07:00

My friend Warren recently introduced me to Clay Primrose, a smart, thoughtful guy who recently moved down here from Austin with his wife Jennifer. Apparently they've been hosting a Friday night "salon" for interested friends and acquaintances for a number of years, first in Austin and now here. What began as a weekly reminder to attendees has now become a much-anticipated weekly post Clay writes and distributes to an ever-growing circle of fans. This past week's entry, which in part references a full-moon gathering I attended, is something I thought well worth sharing.

Five good guys, wine, Chinese food, full moon, firepit, village lights across the valley, wide-ranging discussion about things that matter.

Just another Wednesday night? Could've been. But, no, this will be remembered--a memory was created.

I have a friend who always tells me that in his life, he is in the business of making great memories. And he does it--with his family, his friends, his co-workers--always looking very creatively at how it could be done.

When I first heard that, I though--that is so smart. After all, the memories are all you get to take with you at the end of your life, at the end of a day, a week, a year. You can feel rich, satisfied, fulfilled, and brimming with life--if you create great memories.

You can feel destitute, unsatisfied, meaningless and without a life--if you don't create them. And that may be true even if a person has a ton of dough and is covered up with possessions and apparent accomplishment.

A great memory does not require money and possessions and accomplishment to be created.

But it does require some intentional thought and real engagement and paying attention to the things that truly matter to you.

1,000-Year-Old Cactus

2009-08-09T10:27:00.000-07:00

Last month I hung out with my friend Charles down in Oaxaca. While there, we visited their botanical garden, which contains specimens of nearly every native plant that grows in the state of Oaxaca. The prize plant: a barrel cactus they rescued from a highway project just out of town. It stood a little bit taller than me and was greeted by a near unanimous "Holy shit!"

Mutation or Miracle??

2009-08-09T10:18:00.000-07:00

Last week I bought a dozen eggs, every one of which had double yolks. Hyper-fertile hen? In vitro fertilization gone haywire? The end of the Mayan calendar? Totally weird, but resulted in a damned good, vein-clogging omelet. Yummm!!!

An Answer...

2009-07-30T15:59:00.000-07:00

...to the question, "What are you doing in Mexico?" (from Karen's StoryPeople download):

There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other's cooking & say it was good.

Now That We're Back

2009-07-30T15:51:00.000-07:00

Today Garrison Keillor wrote a tribute of sorts to choreographer Merce Cunningham who died a couple of days ago. Having recently returned from our Grand Adventure, I was taken by his last paragraph:

Travel is the art form available to Everyman. You sit in the coffee shop in a strange city and nobody knows who you are, or cares, and so you shed your checkered past and your motley credentials and you face the day unarmed, as the great Merce did. Bravery! Adventure! Defeat! Survival! And onward we go and some day in the distant future, we will stop and turn around in astonishment to see all the places we've been and the heroes we were.

Slovenia Revisited

2009-07-10T13:12:00.001-07:00

Since I couldn't figure out how to align photos with the appropriate text within this blog format, I thought I'd share a couple of shots to give you a flavor of the place. One was taken near sunset as we about to enter the Slovenian Alps. The other is of Lake Bled, in the middle of which sits a castle-crowned island reachable only by boat. Enjoy!

Musings on Marriage

2009-07-08T14:43:00.000-07:00

Last week Karen's folks celebrated their 64th wedding anniversary. 64 years! Can you imagine?

We're closing in on a 38th anniversary ourselves, but sadly, over the years we've watched a boatload of marriages fall by the wayside. And the norm for our kids growing up was very much the two household extended family.

Here's what I found interesting. The key distinction they came to recognize was not between married and divorced parents, but between amicable divorced parents and angry, resentful divorced parents. No divorce, I suspect, is easy. But Karen and I have marveled at a number of divorced friends who've managed to move past the trauma of separation -- sometimes for the kids and sometimes for other karmic reasons -- and forged a new relationship with one another, akin to friendship, filled with affection, mutual respect and a little humor. It's a gift.

Anyway, the other day I came across a sweet, candid, non-political posting from Arianna Huffington on this very subject. I thought it worth sharing.

Sound Familiar?

2009-07-08T14:37:00.000-07:00

I just finished a new novel about the high-end jewelry business entitled How To Sell. On page 244 I came across this nugget of insight from the protagonist Bobby Clark.

"I hated moments like this, but I noticed they were getting more common, in more than one of my relationships. It was like we were having two entirely different conversations, and each of us was talking only with ourselves. Yet along the way we managed to say enough to screw things up between each other."

Prague Pissers

2009-07-03T15:10:00.000-07:00

Yeah, Prague is, as promised, filled with one photo opp after another. Gorgeous river, bridges, churches, castles, parks, cemeteries, museums, the whole nine yards. But this funny little piece of public art, not far from our hotel, just outside the Franz Kafka museum, is probably the most memrable thing Miz and I saw during our whirlwind visit. Those wacky Czechs!

A Month (or so) of Bests

2009-07-03T13:02:00.001-07:00

We recently returned to San Miguel after a marathon mid-year vacation, which took us to the Southeast, many locales in Central Europe (Germany, Austria, Italy, Slovenia & Croatia) and finally, New York City. As glad as we were to get back home and reconnect with friends here, the trip completely energized us and filled our brains with sights, sounds, smells and feelings we'll undoubtedly be processing for months to come. Best of all, it seems like every several days, we'd encounter something that would prompt one or the other of us to remark, "Man, that was the best _______ I've ever seen/eaten/drunk/etc." With your indulgence, I'd like to share some of those high points with y'all.

Starting in South Carolina, we've always enjoyed the mussels at 39 Rue de Jean in Charleston, and go there most every time we visit the SC coast. This time, however, the mussels in cauliflower cream was exceptionally rich and creamy, far and away the best mussels either of us have ever enjoyed anywhere.

Sticking with food, we were also lucky enough to be in Europe during their relatively short spargel (white asparagus) season, during which many restaurants in Austria and Germany feature special spargel menus. Our one night in Salzburg we stumbled into a randomly chosen pub-restaurant just before closing, and I had an extraordinary pasta dish with spargel cream sauce, which we paired with a perfectly dry, fruity Grüner Veltliner.

On Karen's birthday, where we stayed in a hill-top walled-castle in Croatia, we dined at a nearby 4-star truffle restaurant. (Who knew?) The meal, almost every dish of which contained fresh shavings of black truffle, was indeed memorable, but the highlights were a locally produced sparkling wine (the best non-French champagne-style wine I've ever drunk), and an absolutely perfect risotto, equal to best risotto I ever had in Verona, Italy. FYI: It's probably not available anywhere outside of Istria (the Croatian penisula where we stayed), but you wine lovers ought to keep an eye for the sparkling wine: Misal Prestige Extra Brut made of 70% Chardonnay, 15% Istrian Malvasia and 15% Pinot Noir.

Our other wine highlight was in Germany. Years ago, we scored one bottle of a 1999 Caymus Cabernet at a Red Cross wine auction in Greenville, and our friend Carl has lovingly stored it for us in his climate-controlled wine cellar. We decided to share it with our German hosts, who have a nice selction of French bourdeaux wines in their cellar. What a treat! The Caymus totally lived up to its reputation and was without a doubt the best wine I've ever bought with my own money. (And truth be told, the bordeeaux wines seemed kind of watered-down by comparison.)

While our entire European trip was fueled with lots of doble espressos, cappucinos and lattes, at all hours of the day and night, the best coffee I had was in another place we chose for a late lunch, almost by accident, a faux-French bistro in Hamburg, Germany. It was like a Turkish coffee and had me so wired I could barely sit in the car during our ride back to Fallingbostel.

We got lucky, too, the one night we spent in Prague. We ventured outside the central tourist area, and with the help of several friendly strnagers, managed to find a small and surprisingly contemporary restaurant called Perpetuum. Their claim to fame? Duck. Oh my God! While every dish we ordered was to die for, the appetizer was beyond outrageous -- a combo plate featuring an insanely rich, creamy duck liver paté with forest fruit; slices of smoked duck breast with onion ginger confit; and a melt-in-your-mouth foie gras mousse on a tartare of apricot dressed with pear chips. Yum!

New York, as you might expect, yielded the most culinary highlights of the trip. Dustin, benefiting from his stint at Time Out New York, consistently chose wonderful little gems for us to try. In Socarrat, a Spanish place so small it only had room for one long communal table running the entire length of the restaurant, they served the best paellas I've ever tasted -- nothing we had in Spain could even compare. And Soto, a tiny, hidden-away Greenwich Village gem, completely redefined sushi for me. We ordered the chef's tasting menu, called an omakase, and course after course, were blown away. I've always had a huge weakness for foie gras, but the fresh uni (sea urchin) they made that love affair seem cheap and shabby.

While we were lucky enough to stay with friends most everywhere we visited -- (starting with Larry & Pam DeMeyers' "any sane B&B owner would kill for it" guest room in Augusta, GA) -- we lucked into several hotel bargains during our European travels. Fleming's Hotel, just a block from the main train station in Munich, was maybe the cleanest, nicest (if small) hotel room I've ever booked, and through a deal on Expedia only cost us about $90USD. Check them out next time you're in Europe.

Slovenia turned out to be the best vacation surprise. The town of Lubjiana, was a total delight. And our trek through their unspoiled mountain region (Slovenian Alps??) was breathtaking. Vienna and Graz, in Austria, ran a close second in the Delightful Surprises category. Both vibrant, alive, 21st century communities cloaked in stately 17th-19th architecture. Then there was Lüneborg, Germany, where Johanna our erstwhile foreign exchange student attends college. It was a center for all the medeivel guilds and was unlike anyplace we've ever been.

Lastly, we had the great good fortune to attend the best barroom concert ever -- a memorial concert for Duane Jarvis, a talented and obviously much-loved guitarist who recently succumbed to cancer at age 51. We just happened to spending Memorial Day weekend with friends outside of Nashville, who just happened to get a call from John Prine, (who was playing), inviting them to attend. Mizzy and I just tagged along. We hadn't heard of many of musicians who played that night, but every one of them was great. And the cool thing was, the entire audience (except for me and Miz) were musicians and music-industry insiders. What a treat to watch musicians make music just for and with each other. I uploaded one of my favorite numbers, sung by the amazing Rosie Flores and an all-star back-up band, to give y'all sense of what it was like.

As We Approach July 4th

2009-07-03T12:59:00.000-07:00

...some timely advice from Garrison Keillor:

Attend to the details. Teach your children manners. Write cogent paragraphs. Drive carefully. And make a good potato salad, one with some crunch, maybe accompanied by a fried drumstick with crackly skin -- the humble potato and the stupid chicken, ennobled by diligent cooking -- and is this not the meaning of our beautiful country, to take what is common and enable it to become beautiful? All our beautiful young people -- so diligent and focused and powered by hope -- you can't tell me those kids didn't have parents who took time to chop the celery and onions and experiment with the ratio of mayo to mustard to achieve a potato salad that is worthy of our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

From The Week

2009-07-02T12:16:00.000-07:00

An especially apt quote from Aldous Huxley:

"The charm of history and its enigmatic lesson consist in the fact that, from age to age, nothing changes and yet everything is completely different.”

A Dose of Real Life

2009-06-30T13:49:00.000-07:00

Our friend Warren just returned from several months at the beach, where he and his wife Tuli have been supervising construction on their beachfront condo. In mid-May he sent us this chilling first-hand account of a family tragedy. [NOTE: If you get emotional about pets, you might not want to read any further.]

Today, Saturday almost noon we are in our condo looking things over. Suddenly we hear a child’s terrified shriek. Then screaming...children…adults…panicked shouts.

We look down (the mangrove is just below us) and see Panchita [the resident one-eyed crocodile] spinning in the water below. Clearly she has a black midsized dog in her mouth. A woman is screeching and wanting, trying, to go in the water to save her pet from the 15-foot-long croc. Two kids, a boy 10 and a girl 12, stand nearby, mortified.

The father comes running up, with him a golden retriever. The retriever immediately goes into the water to save the black dog. The second dog is in the water before anyone knows it and now there is a din of screaming, “Oh my god!!!” As the lab approaches the croc another croc leaps up and attacks it, taking its face in its mouth, trying to spin. As it spins it loses traction on the retriever's face. The dog pulls free, turns and somehow, miraculously, makes it to shore as the other croc pursues.

The woman steps forward to fight the croc and he turns towards her, but goes back into the water. Shrills, shrieks, screams of horror fill the air as the father takes the bloodied retriever away from the water. The woman, beside herself, is emboldened and wants to enter the water to somehow rescue her black dog, who is of course dead. We are screaming, "Don't go into the water!" She comes to her senses and just screams at the top of her lungs, "Fucking crocodile!" The kids are beside themselves with horror -- crying, mortified. Everyone is in shock.

For a long while we stand there watching this most unbelievable sickening tragedy. Panchita just sits, nose and eyes above the water like the croc in Peter Pan… waiting for a second course.

We do not let Kurt [Warren’s young German shepherd] wander off the leash for even a second.

Thanks, Peter

2009-06-30T09:27:00.000-07:00

Peter Jorgensen, another new friend we discovered this year in San Miguel, had the following quote attached to his latest e-mail. As a recovering control freak, I'll add this to my collection of "go with the flow" mantras.

"Both destiny's kisses and its dope-slaps illustrate an individual person's basic personal powerlessness over the really meaningful events in his life: i.e. almost nothing important that ever happens to you happens because you engineer it." ---David Foster Wallace

Anais Nin

2009-06-30T09:14:00.000-07:00

The other night Miz and I an old Philip Kaufman film about (in part) Anais Nin, about whom we knew very little. The film, Henry and June, was pretty good and certainly horny enough for a good "date night." But yesterday, curious and with time on my hands, I Googled Anais Nin and came up with a small batch of terrific quotes well worth sharing:

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world not possibly born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage."

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing."

Eccentric Misfits

2009-06-30T09:12:00.000-07:00

As y'all probably know, it took less than a week for me and Mizzy to become "smitten" with San Miguel and decide to move here.

To anyone who's been in San Miguel de Allende for long, this is a familiar story, kind of a cliché really. But why, exactly? What's the magic that calls to some of us, that tells us we're home? A reporter recently asked our friend Warren his opinion. Warren, as he often does, in my opinion, nailed it:

"I call it a tribal thing. I really do believe that certain people who arrive here are just part of a certain tribe. I call us eccentric misfits. We arrive in San Miguel and we feel for the first time in our lives that we belong."

"We're really a bunch of aliens that have been off on a mission, and now we've completed our mission and they've sent us to SMA for R&R. At any moment they're going to beam us back up."

Thanks, Warren, for your insight.

In Case You've Never Been

2009-04-30T13:55:00.000-07:00

Here's a one of my favorite photos of San Miguel.

Well Worth Reading

2009-04-28T09:22:00.000-07:00

Admittedly (and probably obviously) Mike does most of the blogging in the family, but every once in awhile I'm inspired to make a contribution. And this is one of those times. Although the following article is not my creation, it expresses exactly what I would want to say on the subject which, as an educator and for many years a South Carolinian, is very close to my heart:
Governor Sanford, We All Pay For Poor Education And Obsolete Economic Development

Submitted by: John Warner on Apr 28, 2009 at 3:29 am Source: Swamp Fox

For those of us with a vision of an educated, affluent South Carolina, it is often baffling to figure out what Governor Sanford can be thinking. In a recent Op/Ed in The State, Governor Sanford succinctly stated the driver of his governing philosophy.

In today’s political process, the Forgotten Man seems to be the taxpayer... Each day I find myself asking 'Who will pay for this?'”

Once you see the world from the perspective of an individual taxpayer sending his tax payment to the government, you understand more clearly why the Governor makes the decisions he does. Almost nothing, it seems, is as important in the Governor's world than reducing the size of that check. As a taxpayer who wishes he could pay less, I get that.

But, does that myopic focus on the individual actually cost the individual taxpayer in South Carolina money out of his pocket? In fact, two obsolete institutions where state government needs to spend money for individuals to make money, education and economic development, are costing the average South Carolinian everyday.

If three of us live in a community, each of us can take care of our individual needs every day. But if one of us will develop the specialized skills of a farmer, that is if he will become more educated in a specialized area, he can grow more food than the three of us individually. And if one will be the tailor, through specialized skills he can make more clothes. And if one will be the builder, he can build more housing. And if three of us trade, we will have our needs for food, shelter and clothing met, and we will have a surplus left over, which is the wealth each of us earns from our enhanced productivity.

This is not a new fangled idea promoted by some geeky Harvard economist. It is an ancient insight of why communities form from Plato's Republic. Note that for each of us to be more prosperous, each of us has to live in a community where education improves the skills of others around us. If one of us falls behind, we all pay a price for that in reduced productivity as we compensate.

What those who myopically focus on individuals miss is that no matter how hard any given individual is willing to work, it is much harder to be prosperous in a community where others lack education than in an affluent, educated community. Each individual's share of taxes that support education are not just a charitable contribution to help others, it is an investment made in the enlightened self-interest of each individual who is more prosperous living in a more educated community.

Education and economic development are both obsolete and need to be reinvented to drive prosperity. Public education is based on an industrial factory model where students show up on time, do their job, and go home. Children enter the first grade innately curious and creative, and we spend twelve years beating that out of them. Writing recently in the New York Times, Thomas Friedman observed,

In the 1950s and 1960s, the U.S. dominated the world in K-12 education. We also dominated economically. In the 1970s and 1980s, we still had a lead, albeit smaller, in educating our population through secondary school, and America continued to lead the world economically, albeit with other big economies, like China, closing in. Today, we have fallen behind in both per capita high school graduates and their quality. Consequences to follow.

Like education, economic development in South Carolina is based on an obsolete industrial factory model. The top economic development official in the state has told me he is in the buffalo hunting business; that is, he sees his job as recruiting the next large manufacturer to the state. That model was obsolete before the recent economic crisis, because the competition for the few large manufacturers still building new factories in the United States was intense. The economic situation we are in only increases that competition.

We need a fundamentally different education policy focused on building the creative thinking skills that students will need over the course of their lives, and increasing the educational attainment of all citizens in the state. And we need an economic development policy built on creating deep pools of talent in focused areas that are among the best-in-the-world, with a highly skilled workforce to support those strengths.

We are not individual islands to ourselves, benefiting only from our individual efforts. We are people who live in communities, and each of us individually is more prosperous if others around us are also more educated and prosperous.

To answer Governor Sanford's question, 'Who will pay for this?," with regard to poor and obsolete education and economic development in South Carolina, the answer is we all do.

It's Different Down Here

2009-04-27T15:31:00.000-07:00

A friend recently took us to Chilo's restaurant, a huge, wildly popular, low-priced, family-style seafood restaurant located on the road to Queretaro. The food was good, not great -- but included a seafood caldo (broth) that was obviously made from scratch with shrimp and lobster shells, as you'd expect in a fine bisque. Delicious! But what most stood out, on the day we visited (a national holiday) was the serious drinking folks were doing at mid-day. Note the gigante, yet near empty tequila bottle sitting on the table in the attached photo. When I snapped the shot, these guys had just paid their bill and were preparing to hop in their pick-up truck for parts unknown. And no one in the entire restaurant blinked an eye. Needless to say, we lingered awhile after our comida, hoping they'd already crashed or made it home. Yikes!

A Brilliant, if Metaphorical Take on The Mess We're In

2009-04-17T14:38:00.000-07:00

My good friend and former partner Greg Cordell just posted this on the Brains on Fire blog. I was wayyyy impressed.

A day at the beach

Imagine several families traveling together have stumbled upon the beach for the very first time.

When I say first time, I mean these folks have never seen the ocean before. They didn’t even know it existed and aren’t really even sure what it is. But hey, it’s a beautiful day. The sun is high. The water is warm. The waves are crashing and the people begin splashing, laughing and playing in the great, big, blue wonder they’ve discovered. They are happier than they can remember ever being, until one of children notices something is changing. The water is shrinking. The waves are moving further away and the barren sandy earth they unveil is growing. The child alerts the others. The laughing and playing come to a stop.

At first, they just watch. With sticks they mark where water reaches and soon they realize the child is right. The ocean is leaving. They’re unsure what to do. They have no idea what’s happening and begin to panic. Many fear they’ve done something to anger the big blue water. They offer sacrifices. They chant and cry and tremble. Some begin finger pointing and fights break out. Some run away while others try digging holes in the sand to save the water. All the while the water keeps receding. The ocean steadily gives way to sand and rock. Fear and anger give way to despair and hopelessness. As the sun sets, all hope is gone that the waves of joy and laughter will ever return. The remaining family members gather together. And with heavy hearts, turn and leave the beach.

Not far away, high up on a cliff sits a boy who has been watching over the beach. Here at the edge of the earth is his home. He knows the ways of the ocean. He’s puzzled by what he’s seen happen on the beach. Why did those people get so sad and angry? Why did they leave? Don’t they know that when the ocean unveils the sand you can find all sorts of new things? Don’t they know that when the ocean brings the deeper water closer the fishing is better and the prize can be bigger? Don’t they know that when the ocean reveals the jagged rocks there are hidden delicacies to gather? Don’t they know that that water comes back? He pauses for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders and quickly climbs down the cliff from which he’s spotted big fish in the surf. He picks up his spear and heads out into the big blue water, fully expecting to bring home the catch of a lifetime.

A Cool Story

2009-04-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

My friend Charles recently shared a story he wrote about his dad. Karen and I were so moved by it we thought about posting it on Father's Day this year. But after having both our kids here visiting with us over the Easter weekend, I decided, "What the hell; why wait two months?" And anyway, it's been a long time since we've posted anything. (Yeah, we've been kinda busy lately.) So here's a link to Charles' fine story. Enjoy.

Gratitude

2009-04-02T10:03:00.001-07:00

Yesterday our friend Kate McKenna sent me this piece written by a guy named Gregg Krech at the OMEGA Institute (whatever that is). During these "easy to find shit to whine about" times in which we live, I thought it's well worth sharing.

Your eyes are still closed when you hear the beeping of your digital alarm clock on the small wooden table next to your bed. Your arm naturally reaches over for the black "snooze alarm" button when you notice that it's 30 minutes past the time when you intended to get up. What's wrong with this clock? Now you have to rush, but in a matter of minutes you find yourself unexpectedly delayed by a toilet that won't flush. "I'm really starting off the day in great shape," you think. You get dressed and start the coffeemaker to give you a bit of a jolt, but when you come back to the kitchen there is hot water and coffee grounds all over the table. The filter must have clogged up again. You're beginning to think that this is a bad dream. But it's not over. You open the door to grab the morning paper and glance at the news before leaving for work but . . . no paper! You look to the left, to the right. Did someone take your paper? Did they forget to deliver it? No time to speculate further. Got to get to work. As you drive down the highway to work, you're thinking about how rough the morning has been when suddenly—the person driving in the next lane changes lanes, cutting you off and almost running you off the road. When you arrive at work your heart is still racing and you take every opportunity to share your "frustrating" morning with your colleagues.What a relief it will be when this day is over!

If you've ever had a day when everything seems to go wrong you can probably sympathize with the subject of this story. It's understandable that he or she would feel frustrated and perhaps conclude that the world is a pretty unfriendly place.

To understand the relationship between attention and gratitude we need to turn the story around. Imagine a day when . . . .
• the alarm works perfectly
• the toilet flushes just the way it's supposed to
• the coffeemaker produces a hot, aromatic cup of coffee
• your morning paper is waiting outside your door
• no other car crashes into you or cuts you off on the way to work
Now what happens? Do you arrive at work feeling overwhelmed with gratitude—with an attitude of appreciation for all the people and things that are supporting you on this glorious morning?

Probably not.

Most likely your attention has identified and attached itself to some other set of problems. If there's no particular problem going on that morning, your mind may ruminate about something that happened in the past or anticipate some difficulty that may occur in the future. It is common for our attention to focus on the problems and difficulties we are facing because we have to pay attention to such challenges in order to resolve them. Unfortunately we can develop a "habit of attention" in which we fail to notice the many things that are supporting our existence—our health, our work, our family, and our comfort. The more this "habit of attention" has developed, the less likely we will be able to experience gratitude.

Many years ago I had an experience hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I hiked up a rocky trail that went through a dense forest of pine, hemlock and maple. But I was regularly forced to take detours because trees and tree limbs had fallen and blocked my way. I was frustrated by the constant obstacles and my mind became more and more agitated. When I reached the top of the trail I found a beautiful rock outcropping with an extraordinary view, but my mind continued to ruminate over the difficulties I faced on my hike. However, I began to wonder whether my attention had been so absorbed in my feelings of frustration that I had missed something. I vaguely remembered that there were a couple of places where I had noticed the "cut" ends of logs on either side of the trail—obviously someone had removed the section of the tree blocking the path with a chain saw. So on my way down I did some research. For a period of time I kept track of every tree or limb that was in my way. But I also made a special effort to count the cases where it was clear that someone had removed this fallen timber. At the end of my sample period, I counted 42 obstacles, but I found that there were at least 47 instances where trees had been removed to make my journey easier. This was more than a lesson about trees—it was a lesson about life. And it led to a maxim that is one of several maxims we use to teach Japanese psychology: Your experience of life is not based on your life, but on what you pay attention to.

I discovered more about the connection between gratitude and attention when I discovered a Japanese method of self-reflection called Naikan (like the name of the camera). The word Naikan means "inside looking" or "inside observation." This method of self-reflection is primarily based on three questions:

• What have I received from others?
• What have I given to others?
• What troubles and difficulties have I caused others?
As you can see these questions are very simple. When I participated in a 14-day retreat in Japan in 1989, these questions became the framework for me to reflect on my entire life. I reflected on each stage of my life and on every person who had played a meaningful role in my life since my birth (my mom, dad, grandparents, teachers, friends, colleagues, ex-girlfriends, etc. . .) When I stepped back from my life and began quietly reflecting on everything that had been done for me and given to me (question #1) I was surprised, overwhelmed and deeply moved by how much I had received in my life. The day I left that retreat I felt more cared for, loved, and supported than ever before. It was as if I had a blood transfusion and gratitude was now simply flowing through my veins and arteries. I had learned to notice what I had not been noticing. Through self-reflection I had learned about attention and gratitude.

That two-week Naikan retreat inspired me to return to Japan many times to investigate, in more depth, the Japanese art and practice of self-reflection called Naikan. I have yet to discover a more profound method for cultivating gratitude and reshaping our attitude and understanding of our lives.

Many people assume that they would naturally be more grateful, if only their problems would go away and their lives would improve. But research, as well as observation, shows that gratitude is not a function of our circumstances. Nor can we use our willpower or our intellect to cultivate an authentic sense of appreciation.

It is rare to meet a person who is truly grateful. Most people don't really appreciate what they have until it's gone. But it's quite common to meet someone who is good at complaining. We can complain about the dreadful condition of our economy—but, in fact, we also complained when the economy was healthy.

Gratitude, attention, self-reflection—these are qualities worth cultivating, for they allow us to understand and appreciate our lives while we still have the opportunity to do so. At one level, they shed light on the mysteries of grace and faith. And, at another level, they make us truly grateful for our own miraculous capacity to hear an alarm clock and see the sunlight as we open our eyes each morning.

So True

2009-03-28T10:44:00.000-07:00

This poem popped on Writer's Almanac the other morning. I thought it well worth sharing...

Meditation on Ruin

by Jay Hopler

It's not the lost lover that brings us to ruin, or the barroom brawl,
or the con game gone bad, or the beating
Taken in the alleyway. But the lost car keys,
The broken shoelace,
The overcharge at the gas pump
Which we broach without comment — these are the things that
eat away at life, these constant vibrations
In the web of the unremarkable.

The death of a father — the death of the mother —
The sudden loss shocks the living flesh alive! But the broken
pair of glasses,
The tear in the trousers,
These begin an ache behind the eyes.
And it's this ache to which we will ourselves
Oblivious. We are oblivious. Then, one morning—there's a
crack in the water glass —we wake to find ourselves undone.

Hard Times

2009-03-12T11:31:00.000-07:00

My friend, Mister Steve, just sent me this quote from a recent NY Times article entitled, "China's Big Recycling Market Is Sagging.

"Even trash has become worthless".

A real comment on the current downturn, no?

Half Full Glass

2009-03-12T11:15:00.000-07:00

Each morning, Karen receives a Story of the Day -- an e-mailed bit of wisdom, humor and/or inspiration. Sometimes I find the pieces a little too cutesy, but I really liked the sentiment of this one. Hope you do too.

More Fair

They left me
with your shadow,
saying things like
Life is not fair

& I believed them
for a long time.

But today,
I remembered
the way you laughed
& the heat
of your hand
in mine

& I knew that
life is more fair
than we can
ever imagine
if
we are there to live it

Good Advice

2009-02-23T11:00:00.000-08:00

I just came across this tidbit, and felt it well worth sharing with our blog fan base.

"When you have blown your nose,
you should not open your handkerchief
and inspect it, as though pearls or rubies
had dropped out of your skull."
The Book of Manners (1958)

Foodie Update

2009-02-12T10:26:00.000-08:00

For those of you interested in what Mister Mike has been up to lately...

Aside from boning up on my barely adequate Spanish (classes, homework, etc.) and improving my bocce game, I've been spending a lot of time playing around in the kitchen, with varying degrees of success. As a consequence, I've recently updated my little on-line recipe collection... and even added an index! -- which is about as far into the world of technology as I ever want to get. Anyway, if you haven't see it in while, and want to to surprise your friends or family with a somewhat experimental and intensely flavored dish sometime, feel free to check it out.

You Never Know...

2009-02-07T13:17:00.000-08:00

...who you're going to meet in this magical little Mexican town. Last night our friends Charles & Mary hosted a cocktail/dinner party where we met the guy who invented Gore-Tex; two couples who cycled together around the world, a bracing 12,000 mile jaunt; a lady who wrote a highly-regarded trilogy about Napoleon Bonaparte's wife Josephine; a former journalist who just published a book about her life as a lavender farmer in central Texas; and her husband, a photojournalist for National Geographic. Then in my Spanish class this morning I met two guys who'd traveled around the world skippering yachts. Tonight, at the 5th Anniversary celebration of the largest complex of art galleries and studios in town, we're likely to run into Doc Severinsen and the guy who wrote Poltergeist, plus our friend Rick, who just finished a concert in LA drumming for Van Morrison.

Believe me, I'm not trying to do the name dropping thing. It's just that sometimes Karen and I come home feeling like the two least interesting folks in the entire universe. Much blessed with friends and opportunities, but uninteresting nonetheless.

Advertising. Ya gotta Love it.

2009-02-07T12:25:00.000-08:00

Our friend Mary's new competition in the San Miguel bookselling business recently began running an ad in the paper featuring the tagline:

Because reading makes you look smarter than other people.

I sure am glad I chose to be an English major.

21st Century Music

2009-02-03T13:34:00.000-08:00

Last week, our friends Warren and Tuli invited us to see a solo artist playing an instrument we'd never heard of before -- the Warr guitar. The Warr guitar, which first came on the market in 1991, is an electronic instrument that resembles an electronic guitar (or possibly a sitar). It has twelve strings and a 5 1/2 octave range -- 6 melody strings tuned in 4ths, and 6 bass strings tuned in 5ths. The performer is not required to to pick, strum or bow its strings, but instead touches the strings against the frets with his/her fingertips, causing string vibration that is sensed by electomagnetic pick-ups, and then can be programmed for virtually any sound the performer desires: piano, strings, brass, woodwinds, wind, rivers, rain, etc. The technique is similar to that of a pianist, but instead of strings being struck by a hammer, the strings are pressed against the frets, creating notes with the same piano-like nuances: glissando, legato, sustain, staccato, and a volume range from pianissimo through fortissimo.

Being free to use all the fingertips and thumbs of both left and right hands, the artist is able to play bass, chords and melody at the same time, eliminating the need for other musicians or prerecorded back-up tracks (recorded or sequenced). The result is unique in that it allows a soloist in a live scenario to produce sounds equivalent to those made by several musicians together.

In short, it's an amazing thing to behold. Michael Mirven, whose performance we attended, played one astonishing piece after another, ranging from ethereal new age stuff and lush romantic orchestral-sounding pieces to African-tinged World music and rip-your-ears-off rock 'n roll.

If you ever have a chance to experience this unique and amazing new instrument, jump on it. In the meantime, here's a little taste of Warr guitar work... for your listening pleasure.