Gone Fishing

I believe it was around 1985 when we first packed up post-Christmas and joined with three other families to a rented lodge up in the Sierras. The “snow trip” quickly became an annual tradition, our five-day taste of real winter before returning to a San Francisco with magnolia trees already beginning to bloom. Five days filled with skiing (downhill and cross-country), sledding, snowshoeing, snowman-building, snowball fights, walks out in a winter wonderland. And then the anticipated return at the end of the day to the roaring fire and steaming cups of hot chocolate and kitchen filling with dinner smells and board games and hearts games and charades and storytelling and singing and silent reading and jigsaw puzzles. A community life with kids as babies, toddlers and beyond growing to teenagers and then young adults. It was glorious, wet, exhausting and exhilarating and in retrospect, don’t know how we ever did it!

As kids went to college, the tradition wavered, but carried on until the early 2000’s and then changed to the closer and snowless West Point Inn on Mt. Tam in Marin County. Two days instead of five, but still the same people and the same spirit and the same frustration when the same guy always shoots the moon in Hearts! Now those kids are in the 30’s and Zadie the first of the new generation coming up (though more on the way). And isn’t it fine to create and maintain these traditions that mark the passing of time and fill it with stories of the blizzard and the snowless year in the Sierras and the New Year’s resolutions shared around mulled wine and spiced cider.

And so that’s where I’m off to now, slipping in this blog before going off the grid for three days and looking forward to the remarkable view from the front porch and the hike through live oaks and rolling hills and catching up on everyone’s news and gathering the threads of the year before turning to the new one with renewed energy. Refreshed by the encouragement of plants and stars and morning sunrise over distant San Francisco. Fishing in the deep pool of the natural world and the human community to feed the future.

See you in a few days!

Follow Her Bliss

I’ve written much about the joy of grandparenthood, but now it’s time to confess— it can also be exhausting! Five days with my darling 3-year old Zadie has been glorious, but she is a different person and that delight is also the difficulty. She has an iron will and her own value system about what is worthy of a smile and what suggests a scream or a cry.

For example, don’t even think about unbuckling her seat belt or opening the car door when it stops. She knows how to do it and is determined to show you again and again— and again. If you have a lapse and dare to transgress that sacred territory, be prepared for five minutes of tears and scowls where one second ago was a smile. Likewise with opening the front door of the house, putting on the Christmas lights, unwrapping the presents.

I think a lot about Maria Montessori, who warned us a century ago never to do something for the child which he or she can do him or herself. She had a whole pedagogical system behind that thought, but who knows, maybe it was inspired by a little Italian 3-year-old like Zadie. Zadie is also very clear about which songs you can or cannot sing and how you must dance when she plays the harmonica. Standing up. In the place she points to. When it comes to things like that, another Italian comes to mind—Mussolini.

She’s a pretty good eater, but if you give her a fried banana from a Caribbean restaurant, no logic will convince her that that dirty thing is really a banana. It’s not yellow and though she’ll make mud pies with real mud and smear her face and such, she will certainly not taste that dirty banana. Or tamales, another dirty food that must be kept a minimum of five feet from her eating arena.

On the plus side, it’s a delight to take her around to help out with the little chores of the household and as Montessori suggested, see her pride in beginning to master the details of daily life. And equally— or perhaps more for my own artistic sensibility— sheer joy to listen to her play the piano and sing or tell little stories to herself in the car seat or cook you pancakes using drink coasters. Her imagination is firing on all cylinders and her little observations and comments a constant delight to behear.

Being the only grandchild, she’s surrounded by five doting adults— grandparents, parents and aunt— all with the same agenda of making her happy all day long. Sometimes it seems a bit much and I’m sure it will change with more children in the mix, but when it comes to this vacation time, the cardinal rule is “Follow her bliss.” All schedules revolve around her naptime, our traditional Christmas Day movie got nixed, playgrounds are suddenly the number 1 San Francisco tourist site. Combined with negotiating each day’s activities with the other family members, vacation can truly be exhausting!

But still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Oops– naptime and Zadie is calling for a story. I have to run right now— or else!!!

December Sunburn

Yesterday we shopped on Haight Street and sat outside Whole Foods for a little lunch. It was unseasonably warm and the sun on my face had me thinking I need to carry sunscreen, even though it’s December. Of course, it’s a short step from that thought to fear of climate change, a topic that is— and/or should be— on everybody’s mind. Such thoughts can be paralyzing in their scope and leave us feeling hopeless or empowering and determined to work to turn things around. And often both at once.

If, like me, you need some reassurance anywhere you can find it, watch the movie White Christmas. It takes place in Vermont where everyone is expecting snow— and yet it’s 60 degrees and there isn’t a speck of white anywhere. And this was 1954! (Of course, you know the snow will come when Bing Crosby starts singing White Christmas and Hollywood does not disappoint.) Not to use this as Republican repression that all is fine, but just interesting to note.

Meanwhile, we took advantage of the balmy weather and went boating on Stowe Lake with Zadie. Such a joy to have her here in San Francisco and in our home. She’s playing some hot harmonica, painting with watercolors, building blocks, delighting us with intriguing conversations and monologues— and also getting her share of time outs when her considerable energy overtakes her and she explodes into throwing things or kicking or ear-piercing screams. After writing so convincingly about not stooping to spanking or candy to manage behavior, I find myself promising ice cream if she has a time-out-free day and reminding her about Santa’s naughty or nice mandate. Let’s face it, survival demands whatever it takes and the unbridled energy of a three-year old can be enough to defeat the mighty amongst us. The old nursery rhymes comes to mind—“When she was good, she was very, very good, but when she was bad she was horrid!”

 But yesterday was a good day and Zadie was charming, fun, cooperative (she walked two miles in Golden Gate Park without once asking to be carried) and adventurous. She loves doing little jobs like opening the car door, answering the telephone, helping put up the stockings— and equally loves the fantasy life of cooking us pancakes using coasters. We’ve had some piano duets, drum jams and singing with the guitar. At the end of the day, she completely forgot about the ice cream.

But if tomorrow is as hot as today, I think we should go get some.

Joyerists Unite!

Last night was our 31^st annual Christmas Caroling Party at our house. The old neighbors who have moved away still come back, the kids who used to tag along are now the adults and some of their kids—including granddaughter Zadie!— are now… well, the kids! We begin with mulled wine and a social gathering, then to the front room to sing around the piano and then out to the streets with the guitar. We look for lit houses and gather under the windows until we get someone’s attention. If they open the window or come out the door, we finish our song and ask for requests.

Feels to me these last few years that the general state of the nation’s Christmas Carol literacy is declining. When we ask, “Do you have a favorite?” there often is a long silence. So my new strategy is “Pick a letter!” “G.” And off we go with Good King Wenceslas or God Rest You Merry Gentlemen (we have alphabetized song sheets and we know how to use them!). People in general are so tickled to be sung to— that’s a good sign.

The past couple of years, we’ve swarmed on to the N-Judah streetcar like an invading mongol horde and filled the car with song—and so we do it again. I ask permission of the driver and he is a bit Scroogey, but finally relents. And so we jingle bell our way down two stops and always fascinating to watch the reaction of the people. Everyone’s portable device whips out, most to film and record, a few to bury themselves and pretend we aren’t there, and some— with my boisterous encouragement— to actually sing along. We get out at the business district of my little neighborhood, further than we’ve ever gone and get the idea to continue our caroled assault in various establishments.

And so we continue like stormtroopers of joy. We deck the halls of Pasquales Pizza, silent knight Easy Breezy Frozen Yogurt and go through the entire 12 days of Christmas as Yancey’s Saloon. And lo and behold, the customers (including an old alum sitting at Yancey’s bar!) are delighted and join in at the end. Then we take the N-Judah inbound to return home, another driver bah’ing and humbug’ing as we asked permission rather than forgiveness, but finally people just start singing and he gives up.

I believe we’ve created a new anti-terrorist strategy— the Joyerists! Randomly attacking unsuspecting innocent people with beautiful songs about peace and goodwill and chestnuts roasting on open fires, bringing a spark of happiness to sullen streetcar rides, overriding bad disco blared at bars, reminding pizza eaters what a neighborhood can be and how people joined in song brings solace and comfort and happiness, freely available to all (with a few rehearsed guitar chords and people brought up in good music programs).

And where was the newspaper? Where were the headlines about the Joyerist invasion? Where was a media more interesting in sowing hope than cynical despair? Maybe all those news pundits were out caroling with their families.  Ha ha! In my dreams.

Meanwhile, all ye Blog readers, hire me out to your neighborhood and I’ll lead the hordes to the streetcar and restaurant of your choice. Joyerists unite!!

1964

In my book, The ABC’s of Education, the chapter on Orff Schulwerk talks about the year 1924. Not only was it the starting point of Orff’s life work in music education as he began teaching at the Guntherschule, but it was a remarkable year of flowering in the arts. George Gershwin premiered Rhapsody in Blue in New York, Louis Armstrong recorded Chimes Blues with King Oliver in Chicago while Stravinsky and Schoenberg were dismantling the Western tonal system over in Europe. In the other arts, Josephine Baker was dancing in Paris and Isadora Duncan in Russia, T.S. Eliot, W.B. Yeats, James Joyce, Thomas Mann, e.e.cummings and F.Scott Fitzgerald were turning literature down new roads, as were Picasso and Dali and others in the visual arts. A remarkable time.

Forty years later, there was to be a different kind of flowering. In the theater of history, Martin Luther King received the Nobel Peace Prize while Nelson Mandela was imprisoned in South Africa, the Civil Rights Act was passed while Medgar Evans was shot. U.S. bombings in North Vietnam began, Che Guevera spoke at the U.N., Cassius Clay defeated Sonny Liston and changed his name to Muhammed Ali and the G.I. Joe doll hit the market. There was a race riot in Elizabeth, New Jersey, a mere ten minutes away from my house. A volatile, unstable time in politics— as in 1924—translated to a rich time in the arts.

It was the year of the Beatles Invasion. They appeared three times on the Ed Sullivan Show and had their first U.S. tour. I Want to Hold Your Hand and She Loves You were the number 1 and 2 songs on the year’s Top 100 songs on popular radio. And what was number three? Hello Dolly sung by a 63-year-old Louis Armstrong. Number 4 was Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison, number 5, I Get Around by the Beach Boys and number 6, a surprising Everybody Loves Somebody by Dean Martin. 10 was Where Did Our Love Go by the Supremes, 11 was People by Barbara Streisand. Can you feel the remarkable range here? A British group next to the Father of Jazz, California surfers in company with Detroit Motown, an Italian-American entertainer alongside a Jewish Broadway star. Further down the list are more British invaders— Peter and Gordon, the Animals, the Dave Clark Five, Chad and Jeremy, the Kinks (and the Rolling Stones in their first U.S. tour), more American Crooners— Four Seasons, Jay and the Americans, Lesley Gore, Roger Miller, more Motown—Temptations, Four Tops, Mary Wells. And a surprising number 1 hit for several weeks (number 51 for the year)—The Girl From Ipanema featuring Astrud Gilberto and Stan Getz.

But that’s not the whole story. Simon and Garfunkel had released their first album and Bob Dylan put out two— The Times They Are A-Changin’ and Another Side of Bob Dylan. Joan Baez, Peter, Paul and Mary were big on the folk scene (the Kingston Trio waning), Tom Lehrer would put out his satirical songs the following year in his album That Was the Year That Was. In the world of jazz, John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme transformed the jazz world— and just the other day, I took part in the SF Jazz Center’s celebration of its 50^th Anniversary. Because yes, all of this took place a half-a-century ago, yet those like me who were around at the time still know the words to the Drifters’ Under the Boardwalk (number 20) and the Dixie Cups’ Chapel of Love (number 21), still don’t know the words to Louie, Louie (99) and still enjoy shaking our booties to Dancing in the Streets (17) and Twist and Shout (40).

Put Louis Armstrong, Stan Getz, John Coltrane, John Lennon, Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger, Paul Simon, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Astrud Gilberto, Barbara Streisand, Diana Ross on a stage together and you get some idea of the rich mix of culture that represented the United States in 1964. What will they say about 2014 fifty years from now?