The Breeze from San Juan

?

One year later

Under the ash . . . embers glow orange

Contacting the heat

Honesty and Hope are tortured

posted @ 8:31 AM | Feedback (1)

New Blog!

You can see the ongoing Bob and Rosy story at rosiesdad.wordpress.com

and creolebelle.wordpress.com

posted @ 9:11 PM | Feedback (3)

Overwhelmed!

Two fathers, brothers, with their daughters.

I had no idea!

Or, maybe that was the problem, maybe I had only experienced the pain of not having had children, as a thought, as a concept and not allowed myself to feel the emotion.

Rosie has opened me up to it,

She sent me an email and a poem this morning that is so much of what I am feeling, I could have written it myself. I am grateful to her for saying it for the both of us.

Hi, Dad!

I woke up at 4:30 again and couldn't go back to sleep. There are just too many words inside me waiting to get out, The door in my mind is too narrow for them to exit all at once, so they will have to patiently wait in line.

I can't capture all the feelings I am experiencing right now; I can't even identify some of them. I woke up sobbing, and I'm not sure if that was joy or pain. I never knew they were so similar. If it was pain I felt, it was the pain of the last 36 years. If it was joy, it was the ecstasy of the past two days, so intense that I want to stay awake so I can continue this wonderful dream I'm having. The need to sleep is an inconvenient irritation.

I wrote this for you this morning. Call me when you get up. I'M WIDE AWAKE!

EMPTY SPACE

There is a room in my house no one knew of but me

The door always locked, only I held the key

Sometimes I would go there to dream or to hide

And at other times sat on the cold floor and cried

I tried to imagine the way it would look

Filled with furniture, pictures and interesting books

And I'd think to myself it was kind of a waste

To have nothing and no one to fill up this space

But it remained empty, and year after year

It's purpose became even less and less clear

Til one day you entered and struck up a tune

And the smile that you gave me filled up the whole room

And you reached for my hand, and we waltzed 'cross the floor

And I knew at that moment what that room was for

You are a dream come true!

Love, Rosie

posted @ 8:59 AM | Feedback (0)

Big Day!

Yesterday, I met my daughter, Rosie, for the first time! I only became aware of her existence the day before, and now, there she was before me! Standing in the pasture with my horses, meeting her grandmother, her uncle and cousins, looking into the mirror at the restaurant . . . at the two of us, together, at last!

We shared our music on the way up to Richmond. I was overcome by the reality of that. Playing recordings of our songs for one another and being able to discuss the music in a language that we could both understand.

She is an intelligent, beautiful woman, who I think, is only starting to understand who she really is. I can only imagine what it must be like for her. And what it must be like for her husband who has been married to her for 17 years. I'm looking forward to meeting him. He is attached to her as she undergoes this process. That can't be easy. She, not really knowing what is happening, or what it all means. It must be difficult for him to be on the outside as she goes through what must be a solitary experience, at first. To see your fantasies and realities colliding in front of you . . . surrounding you. To have been disconnected from part of your identity for your entire life and then to be reconnected with it, must be exhilarating . . . and terrifying. Where is the ground? Everything that your life has been built on is seen in a new light. Though, to be sure, she has built a core self that has gotten her through these 36 years of life.

Ultimately, it must be a positive thing to know who you are. To find the truth of your existence. It is easy to see that someone might easily be shaken to the core when experiencing such an onslaught of information. I would be.

The love that I find in myself for her is difficult to describe. I had experienced something like it in bringing up Gretel and Ryen and Nicole, and my love for them is real. There is something so visceral about how I experience Rosie. I feel her to be part of me. I feel in her, my mother, my cousins. Her beauty is so familiar to me! There is something about her that says, "This is the woman that you have always known would be in your life, but the relationship is not what you expected!"

It is so wonderful that she would come into my life in a way that would be permanent. The bond is in bone, not just the heart!

It was very possible that I might have encountered someone that I could not talk to, who could not understand me. I know that family does not necessarily mean resonance on any other level. She sings, writes, dances . . . and she thinks largely. I am moved that these are things that are so central to MY core and they have shown up in her, despite growing up in an environment that was not comfortable with her talents.

The shock on her grandmother's face when Rosie walked through her door was a sight to behold! They are built from the same blueprint! Rosie is the vehicle for those talents to move forward in the world.

I look forward to being a part of her adventure. I look forward to seeing who she is!

I get to be with her again today and I am moved to tears that I am able to receive that gift!

posted @ 7:33 AM | Feedback (1)

I'm a Father!

My daughter, Rosie and son-in-law, Cameron.

Today, I received a phone call that has changed me forever!

I actually didn't hear the first call come in. There was a message from someone who said that I was someone who had a big impact on her life and had some music that I might be interested in hearing. Not an unusual call. It's always a joy to hear that someone has valued my work.

I called back to say that I would be working in the morning, but would be off around noon. I called the number, and got the answering machine. I left a message and received a call back. She seemed a little hesitant and tentative, wondering if I might have heard of her, I asked how I might have heard of her and she didn't quite know. She then asked if I had lived in Portland, Oregon, in 1971. I had, and told her so. She told me that her mother had left Portland after being involved with me briefly, and she had left pregnant. She was married and was separated from her husband at the time. There was some question about the paternity of the child, until she was born and then it was apparent that the child was mine. She was that child. She told me that her mother hadn't wanted to tell me that she was pregnant, as she felt I was too young to deal with it. I was probably around 19 at the time.

I was absolutely floored!

This was something that I did not anticipate, although I certainly have created the possiblity. I had no recollection of her mother, but when she emailed me photos of herself, the resemblance was unquestionable!

She assured me that me wanted nothing of me, just to find out more about herself. She had fantasized about reconnecting with me, joked, as a child about me coming to get her and taking her away. She is now 36 and married and had found my website last night and decided to take the chance of connecting with me.

I can only imagine the anxiety of contacting a missing parent and facing the risk of being rejected by someone who is such a part of you. No, I guess I don't have to only imagine it. I feel it as well. Perhaps, she won't accept me!

We are blood and bone. We are family! She is my only child, (as far as I know! Apparently the status of this can change suddenly and unexpectedly!)

I have no words to express how amazed I am by this! How wonderful it is to be a father in this way.

There are so many things to share. We talked for a long time, though it could never seem long enough. I shared with her our family website. Showed her how she could connect with her grandmother's blog. Showed her my blog. Told her a little about our family. Invited her to the family reunion in August. She asked if I would be willing to meet face to face and I told her anytime she wanted to, I was more than willing. I hope to see her very soon! She is checking on flights from Southern California to the Bay Area.

She told me that her mother had told her, when she was ten, that she had a different father than her two sisters. She told me that she never felt that she fit in, she would sing and make up songs and her family would make fun of her. She was the only musical one in the family. I told her that her grandmother and great grandfather were also musical.

I savored the conversation, and told her what a gift she had given me. That not having had a child, has been a sorrow for me. My life has included so many other people's children and a few that I think of as my own, but no one who carries my blood. No one whom I look at and see myself. There is nothing like that in this world. She has given that to me.

I am thankful that she had the courage to reach out and take the risk of being rejected by me. I will reach out and take the risk of being rejected by her.

Her grandmother just called to see if it she could talk to her. It's a big day for us all!

posted @ 4:17 PM | Feedback (1)

Moving On

I heard yesterday morning that Ric Masten had died. His long reprieve is over.

Nine years ago, he was given three months to live. He wrung those "extra" years out with much effort, deliberation and support. What everyone had been preparing for had finally been accomplished. . . and well!

I was notified through an email from a list that has been going out to update people of his status. It was originally his mailing list for his weekly, "Words and One-liners".

Before I received the notice I saw a response my mother had made to the announcement that his daughter, Jerri, had sent to the list. Jerri had written that Ric had died at 11:50pm Friday night, with the family around him, singing.

His obituary is here.

I was disappointed that I hadn't followed my urge to go down to the canyon on Friday. I let the excuse of my brakes being in poor condition, stop me, though I knew that could be overcome. In fact, I came to understand that it was part of the story, that I must go because my brakes weren't working. Who I was, when I lived in Big Sur, would not have let that stop me. No one, in that state of mind, would let it stop them. I knew that I needed to go and that there was no replacement for not being there.

I drove to Monterey and realized I needed food, which meant stopping at Whole Foods, which was complicated but accomplished. I headed down the coast with my video camera on board, not knowing what I might find. When I arrived at the top of the grade three miles up, Chris Hansen, Ric's son-in-law and Jerri's hubby, was sitting in his truck and there was a shuttle sign in back of him and I wondered if there was some huge congregation of people and he was shuttling people up to the house, but no, it was the neighbors who were having an event at their home, up higher on the road. Chris was waiting for the morgue's van which was coming to pick up Ric's body. I waited with him and when they arrived, I threw my camera in the back of the truck (where it stayed, unused), after parking my car part way up the hill and walked/ran behind the van, hoping that I wasn't going to be too late to participate in whatever was happening.

I breathlessly pulled myself up the rock walkway that someone, probably Billie, had painstakingly built and which had not been used for sometime. I knocked on the door and saw Jerri, April, Ellen (Ric and Billie's daughters, Gaia (Ellen's daughter), Tom (Ellen's husband), Ricky (Stuart's son), Chris (Jerri's husband), Warry (Ric's brother) and who I came to know were the two men from the morgue.

Ric's body was laying in the bedroom, cleaned and wrapped in a beautiful quilt, tied with his own ties. He looked like a poor wax impression of himself. It was the emdodiment of lifeless-ness. Billie was lying in bed near him. Most likely the same place she was when he died. Her awareness goes in and out, but she recognized and greeted me as soon as I walked in room and was lucid the entire time I was there.

I was told I was just in time and after spending some time taking in the scene and the reality of what was happening, we sang "Let It Be a Dance", one final time. and then wrapped him in a sheet put him on a stretcher of sorts and about eight of us four on each side, carried him out through the hallway, squeezing through the doorway, his feet into the living root and then his head out the front door. As Warry remarked, "He's not here! That is just the box he came in." I think that Warry possesses every bit of the wisdom and wit of Ric, perhaps more. I have not spent enough time with him. I hope to change that.

We transferred his body to the mortuary's gurney and then took some moments to release him before they pushed the wheels over the uneven ground and placed him in the fancy Dodge Caravan. I spent some time going around the house collecting photos that I could use for a video project, of Ric and the family. I want to edit some of the tapes of the monthly poetry readings along with some of the Big Sur footage I have shot and see what I can come up with.

It was good to feel that I had trusted my intuition and that it had gotten me where I needed to be. I vowed to try to stay in that place where I could feel it talking to me.

I was given a copy of Ric's latest book of Words and One-Liners, which carried a subtitle, "Not Dead Yet!". The shipment had arrived on Friday, when that statement was still true.

Tom and Gaia, soon left, Ricky had taken off earlier and the remaining six of us, sat down and ate a salad that Chris had made and some lasagne made by a neighbor down at the bottom of the canyon. Neighbor seems such a flexible word. Billie sat at the head of the table.

At one point, before we sat down, April mentioned how we sounded like grownups talking. There in that room where we had all been children together. I felt it.

I looked across the table through the years and realized how connected I am to these people. How important that bond is. Ellen had mentioned earlier about me being the "other brother" and how surprised she was that I had arrived when I did. I was deeply honored by her recognition of my "other brotherhood". It again validated my intuition.

I have gained a great deal from my relationship with this family. It is not simple. It is complicated and unconventional and creative and I often asked myself, when I was younger, "How would they do it?", when I was looking for a creative response to a problem, or situation. It would expand my possibilities.

Not yet ready to point my wheels home, I drove down the coast to Big Sur, as the sun was just above the horizon, out there in the mist. The bridges at Rocky Creek . . . Bixby . . twisting across Hurricane Point in the wind . . . Pico Blanco . . . This first time in 78 years the sun would set on a world without Ric Masten singing, breathing, pissing, moaning and chuckling at himself.

posted @ 9:52 AM | Feedback (0)

Ric Masten's Dance Is Over

It ended last night at his home in Palo Colorado Canyon. His family sang him out with "Let It Be A Dance".

His website is here.

His obituary is here.

I learned a great deal from Ric, both positive and negative. How to live and how not to live. I was given a front-row seat for parts of his life. I lived as a neighbor and as a cohort, a fellow performer and practically, as a family member, though my own inability to feel that I belonged to any family kept me at a distance.

I first met Ric at the Unitarian Family camp at Asilomar in Pacific Grove. He had presented a concert the previous year and this following year he and Billie were tapped to lead the high school age group of Liberal Religious Youth for the week.

I was most affected by them taking us down to their home in Big Sur. Sitting on their porch and looking out at a scene I could never have imagined. The immensity of the mountains and the ocean dancing together. The fog filling Palo Colorado and Rocky Creek canyons like a bathtub. I realized that it was possible to live like this. Not just vacation like this, but to have this as your everyday experience. I know that my life was changed that day.

He often related, even in our last conversation, a week before his death, how I had been the highlight of that week for him, as he told my parents. I think because I challenged his leadership. He worked to bring me around to accept him. I think he also accepted me. I had been attending this camp for years and had expectations of how the week would go, built upon how things had been. I didn't want some newcomer getting in the way. It was not a comfortable position for me to be in, but I took the role I saw as mine. He told me later how frightened he and Billie were about leading this group of kids, how little they really knew about what they were doing. I wonder what might have happened had I not defended my turf so strongly. In that world of awestruck Unitarians, I was a skeptic.

He had a string of beads that he wore, which had been the center of attention. Everyone knew the story of his dying friend, Helen Weston, who had given her necklace to him, with an admonition that escapes me. I will try to find it. At the end of the week, he gave those beads to me and the unspoken challenge to live my life fully. I probably had them for maybe a week, before passing them along like a hot potato. I gave them to my best friend because he felt a little too awestruck that I had received them. Ric never asked who I had given those beads to. Maybe word got back to him. I wonder who has them now?

My mother and he maintained connection, as they were both darlings in the Unitarian world, often following one another onstage.

Occasionally, his family would visit ours, when they were in the area. It was an exciting time. A bit of the magical world of my summer life would emerge in the midst of "everyday". Ric liked my father. They could talk record business talk, probably sports, both having been high school football players. I think they would have been an interesting pair to observe, though I don't remember doing so.

My perspective of Ric changed when, after spending the summer hitchhiking across Canada and down the West Coast, I wound up in Palo Colorado Canyon as construction was progressing the first summer on Byrd Hillegas and Ron Cook's house. They had purchased property down the hill from the Masten's and were building a summer home. This was the first of many summers of work on that house. There were to be many visits from Starr King students getting practical experience in the world and a change of perspective themselves.

There was a disheveled crew of workers that summer from about 12 to about 60, I'm guessing at Byrd's age. I do remember he had a very attractive young girl friend, (Catherine?). That August, we poured cement, dug trenches, carried brick and lumber, tied re-bar, and worked as hard as I have worked. We smoked dope, drank beer, had lunch time competitions of sandwich creativity and basked in the story telling splendor of Ric's brother, Warry Masten, Bob Douglas and Owen Greenan. They let us know there were stories before the one we were living and there would be many to come later. I lived on the building site until the rains forced me back to the Bay Area in December. I returned periodically, until I came to live there full time about 1974, when the house was rented to me by Cook, who had taken the project over, when Byrd moved on to another project and another relationship.

I was treated to the world of Ric from the perspectives of his brother and his best friends. A world in which Ric was not the primary character, nor of particular importance. A world which was richly populated with larger than life characters, like Bob Douglas's telling of his stealing cable from the street at night, by huddling down covered by a blanket, to hide the light from his flashlight as he dug into the pavement. How he heard a strange squeaking sound approaching and jumped up, terrifying the bicyclist who happened down that street that night. There were so many stories . . . of Old Carmel, at least old to me, and of so many opportunities for mischief that were not left untaken.

We lived the story of the rebirth of "El Aguila" and "The Big Pour". I was an honorary "Old Guy". Mostly due to proximity, and the sadness in my eyes, I think. There were many "Old Guy" stories. Often featuring "trail treats".

The dark nights when I would lie in bed until the house was quiet and I would creep slowly down the hallway to April's room and crawl into bed with her, hearts beating with the secrets, though nothing of any carnal significance ever happened there, except the excitement. Ellen's whispers of co-conspiritorial concern, through the thin walls, that we might get caught.

I am often unsure of what my standing is in "the family". I remember one December 31st hitchhiking down to the canyon with some friends, expecting a warm welcome. That night we were just another of the number of wayward youth who regularly showed up at their home, unexpected. Maybe it would have been different had it been just myself. We were turned out to freeze our butts, Traveling up the coast and huddled up trying to sleep on Monastery Beach. Even the nuns across the road wouldn't let us in. The came to the door with their large dogs. At least they sounded large through the huge wooden door. It is the Franciscans who are known for their hospitality. These were obviously something else. It was a long cold night.

I traveled some with Ric, accompanying him on some of his California trips. Having the opportunity to experience what it was like to give the same presentation over and over and the responses from the audience. And the same questions over and over. So predictably. Watching him find his enjoyment in the unanticipated. I watched him rush through his writings so that he could talk about them, after he had read them. He had read them so many times he knew what those words were, his creativity became what he said about the poems and songs, rather than the work itself. That might be alive. There might be something in this part of the sharing that allowed him time to be present and creative.

I watched him take an audience through uncomfortable territory and it became part of my expectation of my own presentations and those I experienced. I was shown what was possible . . . what depth one could attain . . . and I have come to expect it. So often I am disappointed by what I receive from performers because they use so little of the available spectrum.

Ric explored the edge. He liked to find out just how far you could go, just how far the audience would let you take them. He showed that they will often go farther than even they, thought they would go. We are hungry for intimacy.

I came to understand that his brain worked differently than mine. His ability to find fresh perspectives often surprised me. I don't know if it was his dyslexia, his intelligence, or perhaps the two in tandem. It was sometimes painful to see how conventional my own thinking seemed to be.

I witnessed his own estrangement from his family. He would go off to perform around the country and I would be home with those left behind. I saw the pain of his son, Stuart, as he became part of other families that he felt he had more in common with, or perhaps this is my projection, because it is what I have done.

He was the only boy of the four children, when Dad was gone, it was a strong female setting. So he was off with Nathan Pugh, testosterone on wheels. Shooting, smoking, howling up the dusty roads. Dirt and tobacco in their teeth. Stuart was there last night. I was glad to hear that. I remember sleeping out in the chicken coop with him . . . talking, rolling cigarettes. He always shared his tobacco and papers with me.

I remember when Ric was asked to be a guest on Tom Hunter's "God Talk" radio program on KGO. Tom was a close friend of mine, for a while. There was not enough air on that show for those two voices to fit into. I listened knowing that these two each had much to say, but because they were trying to say it at the same time, neither could be heard. and certainly not by one another. There wasn't much listening happening.

There were long spells when my life was elsewhere and I was struggling to find my own voice and I needed to be away from his influence. I realize that some of my value to him was to reflect his work back to him by singing his songs to him. My world certainly didn't revolve around him, but it was helpful to reconnect. Certainly when I was doubting myself, which was often. It wasn't an intimate connection. We didn't talk overtly. He would smile at me like he knew I knew. I wonder if I did. It was more that I was accepted into the group. A valued member who was there in the stories.

I have been fortunate enough to have had three of the most influential people on my work accept me into their lives. First, Ric Masten and then, Pete Seeger, and Faith Petric. I understand that this is a validation of who I am and a challenge to pick up the torch. I know that I am not the only one. Many seeds have been nurtured by their lives. Those of us who have been invited to continue the work can find guidance and comfort in the examples they have given us, both positive and negative.

I am grateful for the experiences that I was given by being in Ric's world, even peripherally. The monthly poetry readings were precious events and I savor the times I was able to participate in these gatherings. The memorial service for Bob Douglas was a look into a world and a man that I would not have had without my connection to Ric.

I know that Ric did not leave this world thinking he was unappreciated. I was happy to be invited to march with him in the First Night parade that his song was the theme of. He seemed to have wrung it all out. To have spent it all. Though you do wonder what might have been left unsaid.

I can only hope that this will encourage me to make sure that my own safe is empty when my life comes to an end. To remind me to spend it all . . . and spend it now!

Remembering to share with my audiences, not what they want to hear, but what I think they might not take the time to think about on their own. To bring us together in our humanity,

"Let it Be A Dance" is not a song you can dance to, at least not in a conventional way. You definitely must think differently to dance to it.

I think, it is not danceable, because we are meant to hear it's message, not to dance to the song. We are meant to dance to our own song, to find our own music.

The last thing I told him was that I loved him . . . he responded in kind.

posted @ 11:05 AM | Feedback (2)

New Year's Camp

Each year, I wrestle with where to be on New Year's Eve. The answer usually winds up the same, though that doesn't lessen my struggle.

For the past 30 some years, I have spent almost every New Years' at the San Francisco Folk Music Club's camp.

I have watched the changes . . . watched young people grow older and people who weren't . . . come into being and pass through.

The place I feel the most connected is when I gather with those people I have known through their childhoods into adulthood.

I savor their presence and wonder at the people they have become. I am truly honored that they value me and my music enough to spend their precious camp time with me.

It is fuel for the new year!

posted @ 5:55 PM | Feedback (3)

A Gift

A gift arrived yesterday

It was something I used to have often

I had forgotten what it was like

to be exactly where I wanted to be

Not to want to be anywhere else in the world

I have tried to live there

recently,

it has been difficult.

Last night,

I got to feel that feeling again.

It was healing

and grounding

I was able to relax

into my belief

that there is something at work

I do not understand

I do not know where I am being led

But,

it is happening!

I have to stay in touch with my feelings

and my intuition

I have been afraid of my feelings

It took a while to get beyond

the wall of pain and confusion

I believe I am through that.

I don't know what awaits on this side

I know that it is real

and that I need to pay attention

My eyes are open

and so is my skin

posted @ 9:43 AM | Feedback (0)

Thank you!

Yesterday, I received a gift.

Some missing pieces

of a puzzle

I have been struggling with.

Not all of them

but

the important ones.

Now

I can understand the picture!

I can see the path from here

to there!

I had lost my faith

my trust in my intuiton

my ability to believe!

They have been restored,

I am grateful!

To the bearer of the gift,

if you should see this

May your grandest dreams and adventures come true

and may you stand on the mountaintop with those you love!

posted @ 7:05 AM | Feedback (0)

Thanksgiving!

I am thankful to know what love is . . .

Though,

it is problematic

I have sung it's song

and heard it's voice harmonize with mine

I have tasted it's lips

placed my hands in the small of it's back

I have dreamed the dreams of those who believe . . .

that the world is working as it should

I have only my Faith

and Hope . . .

that I am not being foolish

Is this the song of Dulcinea?

posted @ 11:37 AM | Feedback (0)

I Hear It

There is a voice that sings in my head.

It took a while for me to be able to let it be there . . .

it brought more emotion than I could hold.

Now the waves have calmed a bit and the voice is there.

I don't think that I could listen to it with my ears . . . yet

that might be too much

But it has found a spot to live in that seems to fit.

It is a part of me, I have missed it

I don't know what this is . . .

I am only feeling that it is!

It is difficult to imagine a world without it and that thought . . .

the pain of that thought. . .

kept me from being able to let it find it's place in my mind.

How that serves me . . . I don't know . . .

Here I am . . .

and there it is!

posted @ 1:51 PM | Feedback (0)

Puzzling

I just spent a week in Colorado with some friends who were concerned about me and convinced me I would benefit from a change of scene. They were right! The weather was unseasonably warm, in the 70's, about 20 degrees above normal.

Just before I left, another friend, spent some time with me helping me to get through a place in which I was stuck. It seemed to help. The next day I had a picture come to me, which I have found grounding.

It was of a puzzle that was unfinished. The remaining pieces would reveal what the picture was, but as yet, that could not be determined. The missing pieces were the defining pieces. All of the pieces available to me had been placed . . . the remaining pieces were not mine. Until I had them, the puzzle would be incomplete and the picture unrevealed.

When I held this image, it calmed me and helped me to understand why I have been so confused. It settled me.

This image was solidified at my counseling session in Colorado.

It was clear to me that I feel my way through life. I trust my feelings. If I don’t, I get lost.

I have very deep feelings, in which I believe.

I do not know how not to believe.

If I let go of my belief, I lose the tool that guides me through life.

So, here I am!

I can only feel what I feel

and be where I am

and hope the pieces of the puzzle appear.

posted @ 4:53 AM | Feedback (0)

Struggle

I stood

in the dark

watching

knowing

the effort

of breaking

confinements

is necessary

for the strengthening

of wings

I wait

helplessly

hopefully

lovingly

outside

of the chrysalis

posted @ 8:12 AM | Feedback (0)

Mom's Anger

I got off of the phone with my mother a bit ago. I meant to call her yesterday. It was her 86th birthday. I felt her the last couple of days, though, I got wrapped up in trying to keep the hay dry in the rainstorm on too little sleep and then, I just forgot! We had a great conversation, though her disappointment never came up.

She has been quite in demand these days. She was interviewed for a couple of PBS documentaries on the minority experience of the war. I think it is augmentation of the Ken Burn's series on World War II. She is featured in an article in "Common Ground" coming out this week and the SF Chronicle has a story this week as well.

Here's her blog!

She told me that she has been feeling overexposed.

She was telling me that an unexpected by product of all of these opportunities to tell her story and to help to facilitate the telling of others' stories, was that she was becoming uncontrollably angry. There have been occasions when she has just lost it at public events. She expressed her concern about it. There is a gala evening coming up and she is afraid that she might have to open her mouth about something and spoil the occasion. I told her that he has dealt with the realities of the past intellectually, but that the emotional charges were still there and now that she has an opportunity to address past wrongs more directly, it was likely that the emotions would emerge as well. She likes to be in control, so, I think that it frightens her. She stuffed the memories for many years without an appropriate place to express them.

She reminded me of my father's story of the war.

He was a senior at USF and enlisted in the Navy. At Fort Lewis, Washington he was assigned to the Great Lakes where he learned that he was to become a Messman. He protested because he joined the Navy to fight for his country and he was given an honorable discharge. It was expressed that, since he was used to being a leader, others might tend to follow him. He wound up in the shipyards, as a helper, since he could not belong to the union, because he was black.

posted @ 12:34 PM | Feedback (0)

Autumn Dawn

This morning got off to a glorious beginning. On waking, I listened to some newly recorded music and let it wash over me. It was still in me as I went out to check the ranch. The sky greeted me with this . . . and more.

I have been a bit under the weather for the past couple of days, as well as having had an emotional thunderstorm, or two . . .

This is a new feeling . . . I am not at all certain what to do with it . . . but I know that it is what I must be doing . . . as difficult as it is.

Autumn is an interesting time. I could've taken my shirt off to feel the sun . . . but, today, I was taking my jacket off to feel the cool rain, as it dropped through warm air. I was walking through the pasture intending to ride Indio, thinking that was the place I needed to be. As I walked across the fields . . . the further I got . . . the more it seemed my bed was the place to be.

I have been striving to keep myself in that place I want to be, to feel that there is nowhere else in the world that I would rather be. That has been more difficult lately. I have been finding things to keep myself occupied. I might be getting better at it.

I was pulled from my bed to write this.

Now that I have written it, I can rest

posted @ 1:53 PM | Feedback (0)

Edges

I am feeling my musical edges being stretched these days. It makes me think about why I am connected to the kinds of music that I am.

I have always felt that I was attracted to good music, good songs, but there were some places that I didn't feel as comfortable. I have been thinking about that this morning, in this darkness before the dawn, before the silhouettes of the trees become seen.

I remember sitting at the phonograph with the songs of Cole Porter, filling in the "Music Minus One" vocals. I enjoyed "Popular Music", and "Rock and Roll", as a kid, and later. I still do, but I would have to say that that world of people, did not attract me as much as the music.

When I found the world of "Folk Music", I felt a homecoming that I have not felt anywhere else . . even though much of the music was unfamiliar to me. I longed to play with the same kind of abandon . . . and connection . . . that I saw in the Old Time String Band folks and I picked up the fiddle and banjo. I gathered every Jimmy Rogers song recorded . . . and listened to them and learned to yodel . . . sort of. I sang acapella harmonies with the Gospel folks. There was something in the humanity of the music and the playing. it seemed so connected to the world I lived in.

Well, . . wait a minute! . . The feeling of playing the music helped me feel connected. . . I think what really brought me into the fold was the quality of the people I was exposed to. It was a collection of real characters with real character. They showed me, indirectly, the importance of Integrity. The way I am thinking of "Integrity" here, is that their lives seemed to fit together, seamlessly. One piece made sense with the others. I was used to being around people whose lives were fragmented, as was mine. I was looking for a way to live that made sense to me. They showed me a number of alternatives. The invitation was not to "be like them" but to to find my own version on what my life of integrity would look like.

I think that is what my connection to Pete Seeger always was. . and . . . in a more abstract way, Woody Guthrie. Woody was someone who existed for me on paper and in recordings, but how he actually lived his life, or even what his life actually was, was not as concrete. Pete, on the other hand, was an air-breathing person who had to navigate the same world at the same time and helped me to see things that I was not aware of. His choices not only helped me to see what was possible, but what was necessary, in terms of responding to the realities of this world we live in.

Pete helped me to see how arbitrary musical labels are. I am finding, more and more, that there is only "Good Music" . . . and whatever isn't.

These days, when I have difficulty finding my musical home, I have to look to the people. Who are they? What do they believe in? How does it feel to be around them? I am coming to understand that there is no destination for this journey . . . that it will always be changing. . . . and that each step determines where I am going.

I know songs that transport me . . that take me somewhere, and there are songs that assist my going even deeper into where I am. The incredible . . . soaring feeling . . . I can get when I have it working. It feels like catching a wave. I don't know where the energy comes from, but I feel it' s presence.

I have been singing like that lately. I remember what it is . . . what I do . . . and what I am here for. I have not been doing enough of it. I know that, for my life to be of one piece, that piece must be there.

It feeds the others!

posted @ 6:51 AM | Feedback (1)

Autumn

I could feel it

It's Fall

and they are falling!

Tony

Maude

And now,

Morgan

It is what happens . . .

We each have a certain amount of time to be here

and do what it is that we are here to do.

I think that the spur of mortality

helps us to get it done.

There is no guarantee that we have the time to do it.

That deadline

helps me to move things along.

Maybe,

this is Morgan

kicking me in the butt.

It seems such an expensive way to do it!

I know she still had cash in her purse to spend,

whereas,

Pavarotti may have been down to his last few coins.

I have lived my time as though I had an abundance of it.

I have savored it . . .

I have squandered it.

Lately, I have come to realize how un-alive I have been . . .

for so long!

It took a shock . . .

and here is another.

I got an email that just said, "Have you seen the paper?"

I couldn't breathe as I read the article.

I wouldn't let it inside of me.

Morgan . . .

I treasure the times we spent frantically getting the job done.

Our work was so linked with death . . . and so full of life.

We facilitated memorials for kids who lost battles with their bodies.

That sweet day, we went looking for "that angel song"

that Merisa wanted to listen to,

in her hospital bed at Stanford.

That was the last time I saw Merisa.

I didn't get to attend her memorial

I was so busy setting up the room for the reception afterwards,

because that is what we did.

I was alone in that huge gym.

It had to be done . . .

and I was the one there to do it.

I never got the chance to say goodbye to Merisa,

old curly-fries Merisa . . .

I find her here, now . . .

On Sunday, I will spend time with you . . .

hear what parts of you others got to share,

Filling in the spaces of who you were to so many other people.

I will sing my song to you

and try to remember to hear the words for myself.

I have missed you . . .

and I will miss you!

posted @ 7:32 AM | Feedback (1)

A Moment

I could feel it

when I stepped outside

I thought it . . .

I went out into the dust

expecting the sun to be unfriendly.

The sky was fairly clear

As I worked the young foals,

I saw the streaks striping the air

Just one or two . . . at first

I wondered

if they were aware of the sky becoming darker

The cloud came over the hills

shielding us from the sun's heat

I saw the sparse drops sucked up

into the dry ground

leaving little pock marks in the dust

and dark . . brown . . wet . . . streaks

on the golden hair of the young horses

It was the first experience

for those not yet born this spring!

They seemed unfazed

I was torn

between standing there in the humid air

and writing this!

posted @ 10:03 AM | Feedback (0)

Music

A wonderful music teacher I once worked with in Goshen, New York, years ago, once told me about an encounter he had with Duke Ellington. He was excited to get a chance to have a conversation with him and he chose to ask Mr. Elliington what he thought of the popular music of the day. His reply was, "That's not music. That's money!"

I think that same music teacher told me of a statement that Leonard Bernstein made to the effect that ninety percent of ANY style of music is crap. It's the remaining ten per cent we must seek out.

Here are some music quotes I found valuable.

I have become inspired to reconnect with my music. I have dusted off some old projects that I had lost passion for and am looking at them in a new light. I think at least one will bear fruit.

Music has been my passion for most of my life. It has been a challenge to find ways to be involved in it that make sense, that don't kill the joy it gives me. I have found places where I fit musically, but it seems they are temporary. Some of the most wonderful moments I have had, have been in exploring and creating arrangements of songs, more so than the performing of them, though, I have found soaring moments there as well.

I know that presenting my music on stage is powerful for me. It has often been the place I feel most empowered to be myself. I have not been in that environment much in the last several years. I think that I have been trying to be true to my voice.

I have had the chance to fulfill some of my rock and roll fantasies by playing in an oldies band. I am happy to have had that opportunity. I didn't have to be the center of everything, just sing my harmonies, my songs, strengthen the rythym and try to remember the chords. It helped me to grow as a musician and made my voice stronger.

Now, it's time to get serious! I want to be able to throw myself into my music and feel that I am truly expressing my beliefs and values. There is so much to be said and so little time to be able to say it. I have learned that, if I want to be understood, I need to be focused about what it is I have to say, knowing that, in the end, misunderstanding seems to be the way of the world.

I am more hopeful than I have been in a long time. I feel energetic and purposeful. Things seem less arbitrary and more possible. I feel as though I am looking at the world through a different window.

posted @ 7:00 AM | Feedback (0)

The Top

I spent Sunday on top of the mountain, riding for about 4 hours. Up on top where I can scream . . . and cry . . . and howl . . . and it just dissipates into the vast expanse. There is SO much room up there. It is quiet enough for my thoughts to be heard loud and clear. Indio keeps me focused, so I can't just drift off. I came back with a bit more calm . . . I'm not sure why . . .

We rambled most of the mountain and managed to avoid the bull. It was a gorgeous day ! We could see the entire Monterey Bay Area, the San Juan Valley, Hollister, Gilroy. The weather was perfect! When we weren't riding through poison oak bushes, I took my shirt off and was very comfortable. Now, I have this bit of a sunburn to remind me of that ride.

When we finally came down, encouraged by the rifle shots on the other side of the canyon, Indio put forth his argument that, no, he was not quite ready to be enrolled in a mounted shooting event. I had not actually broached the subject with him, but as we came through the gate and were on the hillside running parallel to the gravel road, he decided that he was going somewhere in a hurry. I figured I would do my best to go there with him, while proposing an alternative. Now, this hillside is pretty steep and I was concerned that, wherever it was that we were headed, might not find us upright, or together. We weren't headed downhill, or uphill, we were headed across the hill . . . and running out of hill as we went . . . as, it was getting steeper! I certainly understood that the result was out of my hands. I was awaiting whatever was being chosen for me. Somehow, we got stopped! I'm not sure how that happened. I assure you, I was trying my best to be persuasive.

I took him back the way I had intended us to go and took him into the arena and made him work a while longer, so that he wouldn't get to thinking that coming back to the ranch was all milk and honey.

Then, I rushed home to wash off the poison oak and savor my memory of the mountain and collect some of that calm.

posted @ 4:27 PM | Feedback (0)

Breathing

There is this place

in my house

where . . .

if I breathe

deeply enough

I can smell

rosemary

and strawberries

cinnamon

and chocolate

It lingers . . .

The smells are so light . . .

but so tangible . .

I feel as though I could reach out

with my tongue

and taste them . .

mingled there

together

in the air

No longer

separate

Forever

intertwined

posted @ 10:16 AM | Feedback (0)

Faith

I am biting off a big hunk here.

I was going through some of my photos this morning and realize that I need to pay more attention to them.

I came upon this one that I took at the San Francisco Free Folk Festival. I had been asked to sing a song that I wrote in honor of Faith several years ago as part of the closing concert on Sunday night. The organizers had chosen to name the stages after Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie and Faith. I am not sure of the reasoning, but I am sure she appreciated the recognition, if not the adulation.

Faith has played a huge part in my life. Her photo is on my living room wall. I was going to recount our relationship here, but realize that mostly, I did it in song, so here are the lyrics I wrote some ten or so years ago.

Remember The Years We Had Faith
words and music ©1996 Bob Reid

Chorus:
Remember the years we had Faith
And now we must make do with hope
That somewhere inside us she's planted the seed
We'll carry and then pass along
When we raise our voices in song

Well I knew it was love at first sight
The first time I saw her onstage
About to go hitching to circle the world
And showing us all that her age
Was a springboard instead of a cage

When we met I was just 22
My wings were broken and bent
Her family had found me and took me inside
I found hope in a town made of tents
And Faith helped me heal my torments

Chorus:

We'd crowd in dodging the smoke
While she'd tell some bawdy new joke
There was never a twinkle in anyones' eye
Brighter than hers round the fire
as we sang together in choir

She'd leave us for months at a time
But there's a lot more of us than we knew
Songs would stick to her as she flew flow'r to flow'r
And some would remain in return
And we'd all have new songs to learn

Chorus:

She nurtured and tended the songs
She showed us the strength of one voice
She was a bridge to those come before us
and she asked us to join in the chorus
Oh! She asked us to join in the chorus

We sing this as if she is gone
Cause we want her to know while she's here
How much she is loved and while we have the chance
Let's sing her song so she can hear
So, sing it loud so she can hear!

Chorus:
Remember the years we had Faith
And now we must make do with hope
That somewhere inside us she's planted the seed
We'll carry and then pass along
When we raise our voices in song

posted @ 7:26 AM | Feedback (0)

Top of The World!

Indio and I made a visit up to Luis Raggio's marker, up there on the top of the world. I was a little anxious, since I hadn't ridden him in a couple of weeks. He did pretty well, though we definitely have some things to work on! It is a gorgeous piece of of the Earth! We happened on some sort of bobcat that was stalking his meal. He was not too upset by us . . . at least not upset enough to leave his prospective victim. We were allowed to watch.

It was a beautiful view from the ridge. There was just a faint mist that kept me from seeing the whole Monterey Peninsula. The bay was blue the hills were golden with blankets of deep green trees.

This colt was born a couple of days ago.

Another filly was born last night.

The last of the season, so the final tally was . . . Colts 8 Fillies 3!

posted @ 2:08 PM | Feedback (0)

Thinking . . .

I spent the evening out in the pasture across the street with my guys. I haven't spent much time with them this week. Maybe tomorrow morning. Indio and I are overdue for a romp in the hills. If we go much longer we'll lose confidence in one another.

It is wonderful to have this safe place to go to. There is lots of space. I can sing . . . or cry . . . or talk . . . and my horses will just take it in stride. There is a branch that runs low . . . and mostly parallel to the ground. It is a great place to sit back, open up my mind and take a look. It was a lot calmer in there than I had anticipated.

posted @ 9:26 PM | Feedback (0)

Trust

Acala

Today has been very emotional. I spent the early part of the day working with the babies. They were so good! We have come quite a ways in a short time. It had me thinking about my life here on the ranch and how much of it is about relationship and trust.

I wound up here . . . no, that's not the way to say it . . . I am here because I was led here by whatever it is that moves me through the world. The first time I saw this ranch I had a premonition . . . I felt that I was going to be living here. It was just a feeling. I didn't take it too seriously. But, it happened. I could not have imagined that this is where my life would lead me. I know now that I had a rendevous with horses that had it's seeds in my childhood. It was rarely in my conciousness. If it was, I certainly didn't know what to do with it.

I have been learning that I don't have to know what to do. I am learning to trust that the important experiences in my life are there by design and I just need to pay attention and see what unfolds. I must trust that I am being guided. I know I am. (Even when I lock my keys in the trunk).

My horses have taught me so much. They have provided me a place where I feel real . . . where the world seems honest and makes sense. Often, I have been moved to tears standing in the fields with them . . . sometimes, because of the beauty . . . . sometimes, because of their willingness to trust me . . .

Sometimes, as today, when one leaves me to go on to a new life.

Acala, one of my two-year-olds, was picked up today by her new owner. I replaced the old ratty halter she's been wearing and replaced it with a beautiful leather halter, chosen especially for her. It was time to put her in the trailer and she went in, because she trusted me. I hung out for a little while with her and then crawled out. I always feel badly about this part. I feel as though I am abandoning them. They seem to get through it better than I do.

I don't often get to see them once they leave. Today I did. I got to take her out of the trailer on the other end of the trip. I don't know about her but it made me feel better. I followed to her new home in Gilroy and got her situated. She should do well. I am the only person she has ever trusted. The two of us had to do a lot of work to make that true. Now she has had that experience. I hope that the next person can walk through that door. It's open!

posted @ 1:45 PM | Feedback (0)

CCMC

I am home!

I spent a week with a wonderful group of people, brought together by their desire to make better music in the world. I taught beginning guitar and was impressed and inspired by my students. They were ravenous! They soaked up everything I could give them and left me sorry that our time together was so short. I look forward to our next connection.

CCMC does a GREAT job of finding instructors who know how to teach. I feel honored to have been asked back this year. I hope I get to return.

I was asked to consider being the site manager for a week next year. I thought that I didn't want to miss teaching my students, but it was suggested that I could manage a week and teach a week. It would mean that I could go to camp for two weeks and be paid for both of them. I said I'd think about it. I'm still thinking.

This was one of the best weeks of my life. I have had many days the last several months that I am still savoring. This one upped the ante! My tree is still shaking.

Highlights were; getting Amy to her first campfire, crazy singing around the campfire, skinny-dipping under the stars the last night, watching my students' faces light up when they "get it". . . strawberries and cream . . . and many, many more!

I can never say my life was a disappointment! I have received SO much!

posted @ 2:54 PM | Feedback (0)

Home Again!

I awoke to these sunflowers that had bloomed while I was away. It was a sweet reminder that life is a precious and iffy venture.

These plants, like the avocado tree in my living room (that looks as though it would very much like to climb out the window), grew from seeds that I had bought for food. I sprouted them, and they showed a very strong will to get about this business of living.

Of all of the seeds I have bought, it was these that were chosen, at random, for life . . . on their own.

I will not pretend that this is all there is to my experience of them. This is what they have brought to me today. I believe that, whatever their lives may entail, it is better than not having the opportunity.

If I am to live, let me do it fully! Let me feel the highs and the lows and savor the feeling of them.

Belly laughs and heaving sobs are what life gives us . . . if we are lucky!

posted @ 12:33 PM | Feedback (0)

Moss Landing

posted @ 1:40 PM | Feedback (0)

Colts 6 Fillies 1

posted @ 11:08 AM | Feedback (0)