Boy Loses Afro

Gumbo had been asking for a haircut, not a head shaving, for a long while, so Mama took him down to Snippety Crickets in Albany for a new 'do. Some say that the cowlicks you see correspond to his wildness. Shit, I'm so wild that most of my hair took a permanent vacation, so go figure; apple, tree.

Maria pointed out last Sunday night that the boy reflects my id with uncanny accuracy, and while I'm not quite ready to explain that statement in essay form, the innate truth of it resonates with my myriad moonlit visions of our Sinbad-style sailing future seasoned with hilarious inside jokes.

Vitrine at St. Regis

To celebrate a little engineer certification hurdle I recently cleared, my officemates took me to lunch at Vitrine, inside the St. Regis Hotel, next to the SFMOMA, posh deal. The art, the staff, the elevators, all pointed to awake relaxation, I liked the fire you see in the photo a lot. Carol and I got excited enough about the food that our cheeks flushed and we got all giddy, while Al, 40+ years my senior, got less worked up. Truly a delightful lunch that concluded with a butterscotch pot de creme that invoked my dear departed maternal grandmother's presence in such a precious way that lucky stars a million light years out felt my loving gratitude raise their core temperatures ~1,000 C.

After lunch we strolled out onto 3rd Street, and at the corner of Mission & 3rd, just after the light changed I caught a fat raindrop on my tongue just as I had opened my mouth hoping to catch one. I grinned wide, feeling like Mama Natural had just dosed me, let me connect with all my faraway friends, my near friends, and the real deal electric tangerine fun-loving me. Got to get me back in my groove, and this kind of stuff points the way, as did Schoggi Chocolates, which we hit hard before cruising back to lofty office.

Colorado Elk Turns Me Into Wolf

Mikey went to grab us some bush meat as the family & I prepared to depart he & Nay's enchanted Guerneville homestead. Christmas Eve day shade covered missions had us all in somewhat of a hurry, so Mikey lacked sufficent time and patience to dig for the pile of meat he usually gives from. That means we got a pack of the high-end Colorado elk steaks, which generated unnamed fears and reservation in my wife's appetite, while offering me the promise of edible adventure. I broiled them, both kids loved it, took me a minute to get used to, but then I felt the sinewy strength of the elk rise up within me. As my hair and nails grew my incisors swelled and pulsed to twinkling dog star waves of canine brilliance. I called Nay, told her that each steak ate like an Italian poem harvested with grace from the heyday of Italian poetry. Now I'm the new, post-elk me, the me that always lay within, waiting for the right revolution minute.

Swim in night netherworlds much more of late, since we joined a club with a picture perfect outdoor saltwater pool. Every sixth stroke I glance up at the moon and trees, then take the energy from that powerglance, dig a little faster, kick more like practicing Tae Kwon Do, terrific races for breath in howling winter wind. The moon takes me deeper within her transformative rays, caresses away whatever forgotten teardrop worries that placed these creases in my brow. The deep end of the pool stays warmer.

Pink Poodle & Silver Needle

We had this fabulous pink poodle named Emma on loan from our dog groomer. Her shop just happens to be named Deseree's Pink Poodle. Deseree also has a Clydesdale that the kids have both ridden, eternal gratitude for that. The dog wanted to live with us forever, but mommy came to get her, maybe to visit again after a minute. That dog was heck of trippy.

Just finished up a nifty half-ounce of Silver Needle, a rolled white tea. My good friend that hails from Canton showed me how each leaf dives to the bottom and then floats back up to the top three neat times. Memories of my toy submarine from a 1975 box of Cheerio's, that did the same trick powered by baking soda tablets that were apparently difficult for my parents to procure, because that worked like once, and then remained forever without fuel but with me always hoping. The tea leaves from this mega-high quality tea I picked up at Far Leaves did the trick perfect though, and then lay ever so mesmerizing with their stems sides down and the tips risen, like heck of good whole tea leaves should. The color brought memories of dawns that made me cry with joy, like dear Emerson crossing his field of snow, self-reliant. It'll heal all time when you drink it right, laying waste to both future and past, along with their seventy-seven billion legions of demonic ghostriders. Blessed are the tea growers.

Waxing Winter Moon

Took this photo of the waxing moon on the solstice. Now almost a month has passed, and the moon moves colder, growing again.

Easy to indulge in feeling bad what with all the "bad" poking sharp sticks at me, but little blessings distract me from that ancient pasttime with poised regularity. Smiles hide in vain, laughter erupts star gazer faith through tired eyes. What would my health coach say? Make a goal, follow through, feel good. Mardi Gras season has arrived. Who has time for all this life? Just a few more laps, another minute in the sauna, one more story before bed, a final fifth of 12-year old single-malt, unplanned delights, stolen afternoons, missed oppurtunities, devoured by thick coastal fog and falling temperatures, salty water and sand.

Train To A Castle

"I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream.
I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream.
Ah, child of countless trees.
Ah, child of boundless seas.
What you are, what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me,
Born to me..."

--from The Grateful Dead's Cassidy, words by John Perry Barlow

Gumbo explained that the reason for the semi-precious colored stones were used as base material for the railroad tracks involves the fact that this particular track leads to a castle. If you have the means, go to the extremes, like the bottom of the deep blue sea, or mountains on high, to push luck, first time's free.

Master Engineer Preparing to Put His Socks On

Notice how he used regular blocks as column supports for the elevated section of track and platform. Who would not love a giant rain stick with a stair bridge over it running through their town, who? His track designs of late have blown me away with their elegance and color schemes. My mom got him an old "how-to" video about the world's fastest growing family hobby - garden trains, and the obscession grips him with no mercy. It does look fun. Look how much fun Mr. Roger's had.

Big Storms Love Me

Big storms all lined up to take their turns with California, just like in my life. Sixty-plus mile per hour winds expected on the flats, which means we can expect gusts past 75-mph at my house, lucky enough to have been constructed along the centerline of a ancient laughing demon wind tunnel. I can hear the howling souls rip by already, going to get my head shaved in a few. This lovely grandmother off downtown Oakland wields a straight razor and bottle of sting juice with charm reminiscent of my adolescent fantasy image of Dr. Feelgood, for a reasonable price, winter be damned.