California Dreamin'

There was something about being a kid in the Bay Area (Northern California, San Francisco-region) in the 1970's. Too young for the Haight-Ashbury 60's and not old enough for the drug scene/disco clubs of the 70s. To my mind it was stingray bikes and skateboards and Golden Gate Park and the Russian River. With a little Doobie Brothers and Fleetwood Mac thrown in.


Thank God memory usually leaves room for only the happy residue (save for those key life-chaning moments of evil that can happen) and we mentally float down a lazy river on an inner tube in our minds.

The Russian River is emblematic of this time-period for me. I know if I delved I was a scared, confused kid. But also a happy and engaged one. We used to come up here with the family or friends and float in the river or canoe. It was a very Bay Area local scene and hair was long and puka shells were out in full force. I remember loads of sun which you didn't get in foggy town and even some nudists in the Trowbridge canoe rentals!

(not a nudist, but a canoe!)

And here we are all these years later and there are new generations that have taken over the place. My little sister is no longer skipping off with her friends telling girl secrets to each other, but is now a homeowner here a that River with two kids and I know they they will "grow up" here and have many happy memories. What great joy to be a part of that.

Russian River

We grew up coming up here and now all this time and people have passed and my sister and her husband have bought a place at the river and a NEW tradition begins. We were all here for Christmas and now I get to spend some stolen time with the family enjoying the summer.

I have FIVE (count 'em) nieces and nephews now and the 4 who are of walking age! went on a hike with their uncle today. I cannot tell you how great it is to be in these kids' lives in any way. And Senior Cousin, Mitch used my flip video and shot a movie of our hike!

"Back at the ranch" we had BBQ's burgers and hot dogs and potato salad. Just the greatest summer food fun with my family. Fantastic.

Believe it or not, this is actually a text book! My brother-in-law Jeff is studying for his Home Brew Judges License!

Director Mitch and reality star John review the dailies



And now...Mitch's first film "The Forest of Events"

Mom 1935 - 7/23/2004

Mom died 5 years ago today. That is amazing to me. Isn't it? Aren't we supposed to go, "Wow, I can't believe it has been (______) years!" But I guess I don't know if I really feel any of that.

Do I miss her? Yes, my heart aches with sadness still over her not being here. That will never transfer properly to paper, but it is like I am permanently altered in a way that before this day 5 years ago I was not.

What does amaze me is what has happened in the last 5 years that Mom was not here for. She missed out on so much! But that is death. Yes, I could go with the "she is watching down on us" as her grandchildren (two of whom she never met) grow and I moved to New York and technology moved on and newstories happened and films premiered. I want to believe that, but I don't. The woman I talk to "up there" is me mixed with some of the energy I ascribe to her. I wish she could hear me. In fact I even asked her to send me a sign before she died!

I was fortunate to be here in SF for a day, well Colma (the town where SF goes to after death!) really, on the eve of the anniversary of her death. I know that the headstone is just a marker where her bones lie, but I allow myself the comfort of using this place here as a quiet place in which to think of my parents.

But then again they are everywhere in me. Dad is with me always in New York and mom in my bagpipes and both of them in my expressions and siblings. I have a cup of tea and Mum is there. I go in front of a crowd and there is Dad. They will never be gone, yet they will never return.

I miss them. And I am glad I knew them.

The Impromptu Perfect

By accident I was in San Francisco for one evening. We were supposed to drive up to the Russian River today, but plans changed.

Jon and Marjorie came over and Eileen threw together a great meal. It was all easy and last minute and perfect. I ended being up for 24 hours from the time I got up in New York and went to bed in San Francisco. And I feel so at home in both places which I find so satisfying.

American Folk Art Museum

I was on the phone all day doing my consulting job. I have to say convincing people to do stuff and selling them on it WHILE complimenting them sincerely on their phone message or name is rewarding. You don't know how much until you have been out of the game a while like I have.

It is FUN to work! And it is easy when it is not a con.

I just miss engaging with people on a project and knowing that I will get paid for it. Simple as that. Maybe I should sell vacuums over the phone. Or peanut butter makers. Who isn't happier with warm peanut butter all over their hands, kids and carpet?

Done for the day.

Now time to change hats. I am going home to San Francisco in the morning to see the family. Truly excited about this. But what do you get kids who have an uncle who is underemployed? I ask you.



I know this place on W. 53rd. It is the American Folk Art Museum Store. And it shares space with an actual museum! They have the coolest stuff in this place. Random folksy, silly, fun stuff. I went there to find somethings New Yorky, fun and affordable. I have to keep up my quirky uncle from far away image. "Mommy, why doesn't Uncle Pat have a wife?"

New York has more museums (and ostensibly more museum stores) than any other city in the world. (I am just assuming that statistic, but I am sure I am not far wrong.) There is a museum for everything here. The Museum of the Moving Van. The American Museum of the Monkey Flying Out of My Butt. The Victoria and David Museum. Even the Museum of the Underwear You Only Wear When Everything Else Is Dirty Museum. I kid you not.

Much.



Anyway, I love the volunteer ladies at the AmFoArMu Store. They are always sweet and they ring up your sale on a computer that should itself be in the Smithsonian Museum. I got some cool trinkets for my siblings' wee progeny here. Come I'll show you...

On the upper left is a quilted pot holder. This is for Rita. She is like 1. It can't break and she can chew on it. Below the pot holder is a doggy pencil sharpener. You stick the pencil in its mouth and turn its tail. That is for Oonagh. To the dog's right is a Pinocchio measuring tape. You pull his nose and a tape measure keeps coming out - longer and longer! That's for Mitch. And right to the right is a chocolate chip cookie purse with a zipper for Claire. And up top in green is a tin of band-aids shaped like PICKLES for Johnny! I hope they like them.

Here are the 3 possible scenarios out of all this:

1. They will all be broken and forgotten in minutes.
2. They will be remembered years from now when one becomes an engineer (measure tape), doctor (bandaids), chef (pot holder), graphic artist (pencil sharpener), and President of the United States (cookie purse!) all because I gave them these gifts. Me, Me ME. I was the major influence in all their lives!! Mwahhaahhaahh!

OR

3. 37 year old on therapist's couch. "Well, it all started when I was a kid and my strange uncle Pat who never got married gave me this thing that I hated, but my cousin got this other thing that I loved. I always felt he never got me and it started a life of feeling misunderstood and rejected. All over a cookie purse. Why didn't I get the cookie purse?

John Peterson at the Triad

The Cabaret crowd all settled and waiting. Jinnie, Ellie, Pat, Joan, Bud and Kim


My friend Ellie, the knower and exposer of much talent in New York City, arranged for us to see her friend John Peterson perform at The Triad on West 72nd Street. He is a performer from England who, if one had to pigeonhole for expediency, is a "song and dance man" - a throwback to a softer, shoe-ier time when men were fleet of foot and carried canes for props and not for support.

Wow, he was terrific. He took us through a kind of travelogue of the best including George M. Cohan, Anthony Newley, Fred Astaire and my favorite, Gene Kelly.

I would say he is the Bruce Springsteen of Song and Dance men in that he puts on a show that does not let up and keeps going. Like Bruce, he is pure energy and possesses genuine love for his material. He puts his all into to it and if you were to amortize your money over the evening you would have done well!

Here we are with John after the show.

You can still see him through November. For more info click on his name above.

Frank McCourt (1930 - 2009)

Frank McCourt died at the age of his street address, 78. I hope I live until at least mine.

Frank McCourt is dead.

This leaves me with two regrets and a gratitude.

Funny how death and blogs are a perfect petri dish to make his passing all about me.

Here goes.


1. Regret #1. He lived around the corner from me on 78th Street, staring distance from the Museum of Natural History. I would see him often standing outside his building. I now wish as a semi-professional blogger I asked for his photo with me. It would have been dead good blogging material. But I also felt a connection to him. But I have this "off limits" policy when it comes to celebrities. But I am a blogger and owe "the get" to my readers. And what writer hates being noticed? Except for JD Salinger, perhaps it is okay? But in this case too late. It would have been nice to have me next to Frank on 78th St. to include in my published book down the road.

Too late.



2. Regret #2 Frank and his brother, Malachy, toured long before either was famous in a two-man play called "A Couple of Blaguards." They were performing for a long while in San Francisco and I knew this was the perfect vehicle to take my dad to. We would both have loved it and it would have been a way to bond. I didn't ever do it. Not sure why, but I think it was "easier" not to.

Too late.

3. Gratitude #1

Frank didn't "become" a writer until in his 60's. I suffer from a "too late" infection that attacks the brain and the hand. But this man taught school all his life and then sat down to write and he did it in his 60's. He is an inspiration to me. He is Irish, American and Irish/American and his book spoke so deeply to me. I have yet to read the others though my partner-in-Mick, Maureen, did give me "'Tis." Thanks Frank for living your life and writing. I shall try and do the same.

Never too late.