Froggie, the Tough Cat

San Francisco, August 1975: I'd had a fling with Linda, whom I met in a therapy group, pleasant enough, but when she and her daughter emigrated to Australia, they asked me to keep the cat.

I liked the cat. Big orange tomcat named Froggie. I'm guessing that the child named it. My only worry was that Froggie was an outdoor cat, and my apartment a block off Geary Boulevard wasn't the safest place.

Still, I agreed, and Froggie came to live with me. For a while.

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The Vow of Silence

Late 14th Century, China: Three students decided that, for spiritual purposes, they would take a Vow of Silence. It was only for the weekend, but they felt sure it would help them.

Meeting at the the first student's home, they silently meditated during the morning and the afternoon. In the late afternoon, first student as their host gestured for a servant to bring tea.

The servant brought the tea, but spilt it. "Clumsy!" exclaimed the first student.

"You spoke!" said the second.

"I am the only one who has not spoken," said the third.

Winter

Mount Shasta: We've been seeing neighbors up and down the hill preparing vasty stacks of firewood. In the early AM, still dark, we see boats towed by pickups containing duck-hunters in camo suits and rifles. Sundown comes earlier and the dawn is tardy. The air has a chill. Winter is coming.

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!

-- Ezra Pound (1885-1972)

So Long -- Robert Palmer, Simply Irresistable

Paris: British rock singer Robert Palmer died today of heart attack. Known for his hits "Work to make it Work", "Addicted to Love", and "Simply Irresistable", Palmer was 54.

His first hit album and single hit the charts thirty years ago ("Sneakin' Sally through the Alley"), and more recently, his "Addicted to Love" video, with miniskirted models strumming guitars, was an all-time favorite MTV clip, drawing mucho grumbing from the feminists.

Of late a resident of Switzerland, in recent weeks Palmer had been working on a video in Britain. Always appearing in stylish suits, Palmer showed a sense of class remarkably absent from the dirty-boy image cultivated by lotso musicians who never rocked half as hard. Palmer was named 'Best Dressed Male Artist' in 1990 by Rolling Stone magazine.

"I loved the music," Palmer reported, "but the excesses of rock 'n' roll never really appealed to me at all. I couldn't see the point of getting up in front of a lot of people when you weren't in control of your wits."

Palmer wrote some great songs. Often these hit the charts more forcefully when recorded by other artists, such as Rod Stewart, but Palmer's records rock you unmercifully. Other than being a fan, I know little about him, except perhaps what kind of girl he finds 'Simply Irresistable'. In the video, a slender girl in a black dress dances to the music with a completely deadpan expression. In this video, she's been multiplied to look like many, many swaying mannekins.

I'll miss Robert Palmer. I wish he'd stayed. And now I will never find out the answer to my question. In 'Simply Irresistable', he sings:

"She's so fine; there's no telling where the money went."

What the hell does that mean?

The Ages of Man

Somewhere I've read about an old Chinese view about how a man's life should unfold:

As a child, one plays.
As a youth, one studies.
As a young man, you join the army.
As a grown man, you engage in commerce.
As an established man, you marry.
As a married man, you raise children.
As an older man, you retire and engage in community service.

This seems like a pretty good plan to me.

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Jet-Set Chipmonk

Canyonlands National Park, Utah: Returning from a camping trip, on her way home to Marin county (north of San Francisco), Dixie Goldsby discovered a stowaway.

In the back of the Honda, Chipmonk #1344 was contentedly feasting on a low-carb protein bar.

When Dixie arrived, she contacted WildCare, a wildlife rehabilitation center based in San Rafael. WildCare investigation determined that Chipmonk #1344 was male, healthy, chowing down in preparation for hibernation, and needed to get home ... somehow.

Enter pilot Ray Romano.

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Leaving

Mount Shasta: Adrienne's daughter Layla came visiting this last weekend. Layla is a pretty young woman, early 30's, an avid athlete, who climbs a mountain every morning when she's not biking for miles and miles.

As it happens, Layla, though a good driver, has never driven more than a few miles. So last week Adrienne, ever the doting mother, drove down to Marin County to pick Layla up, and yesterday Adrienne drove Layla back home.

And after her two trips to the Bay Area, Adrienne has returned today, tired, saddened, and weeping.

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The Washing

Henrietta, Texas, 1963: It is a time-honored tradition among college-age boys that they drive home on weekends, and there consume mightily of home-cooked meals prepared by their mothers, and by a remarkable coincidence they often have brought a duffle bag filled with laundry which they somehow failed to find time to wash while at school, what with their busy schedule of studying, and etc.

Although these college lads may be large, hulking, beer-swilling brutes, each is still mama's dear baby, and so these mothers feed the boys and do their washing, and after the weekend send the young warriors off with bellies full and clean clothing. This cycle repeats over and over again, apparently eternally.

I was no exception.

On this particular weekend, I was desparate, for I was down to wearing a dirty shirt, and two mismatched socks. One sock was pale blue and the other white with a faint orange stripe.

In the laundry room, my mother looked me up and down as I plopped down the swollen laundry duffle. Staring at my feet, she frowned.

"It's the funniest thing," she said.

"What is?" I asked.

"You have another pair of socks here," she said, "exactly like that pair you're wearing."

One Never Knows, Do One ...

One day Chuang-tzu and a friend were walking along a riverbank. Chuang-tzu pointed to the fish.

"How delightfully the fishes are enjoying themselves in the water!" he exclaimed.

"You are not a fish," his friend said. "How do you know whether or not the fishes are enjoying themselves?"

"You are not me," Chuang-tzu said. "How do you know that I do not know that the fishes are enjoying themselves?"

Lao Tzu and the Weblog

Mount Shasta: Why am I writing a weblog? Why would you want to write a weblog?

A long, long, long time ago, Lao-Tzu was leaving the city, and the gate-keeper stopped him. Recognizing Lao-Tzu as a man of great learning, a walking treasure, the gatekeeper refused to permit Lao-Tzu to leave until Lao-Tzu wrote down what he knew.

The book written down we call the Tao Te Ching, and it describes the mysterious Tao which underlies and animates all the universe and all life.

Frankly, I don't have anything that valuable to write down. I might as well admit it; you'd have guessed it anyhow. But I've seen this in action ...

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Law 23 regarding the word 'Why'

This is a simple law of nature, but one which is very handy:

If you ask somebody why they did something, you'll get only justification and very little useful information.

That's it.

Generally speaking, in a conversation, if you ask your buddy Joe why he started a fight with Alvin, you won't get much useful information. The human reaction to having motives questioned is often an automatic marshalling of justification. Joe might say, for example, that Alvin had it coming and that Alvin had been bugging Joe for a long time.

On the other hand, try using an alternate wording. Instead of asking why, try asking "what led you to ..." For example, you'd ask Joe "What led you to get into a fight with Alvin?" In this case, often his answer will be somewhat different. He might say, for example, "I don't like him much, and when he stuck his finger up my nose, I lost my temper and hit him."

Asking "why" is usually a waste of time; asking "what led you to" generally provides a better picture of what happened.

Knowing this important secret of the universe, go forth and prosper.

The Accident

Westbury Hotel, San Francisco, 1974: Clark, the new assistant manager, was a jerk. Everyone agreed. So it was real annoying that he was now the assistant manager. He seemed especially hard-nosed and tactless at first, but maybe he was nervous.

After a while, we got used to him, but when he came in on crutches with his leg in a cast, nobody was real sorry. We watched him hobble around for a while, and then finally I had to ask.

"Clark," I said, "What happened?" He looked up into the air, and winced at the question.

"I got hit by a car," he said.

"Why did you walk out in front of the car?"

"Well," he said, "the light was green."

The Basement

Henrietta, Texas, Summer 1960: My parents were out of town, and I had the place to myself.

In the afternoon, Lefevre and I drove to Wichita Falls for beer. Pioneer Drive-Inn #3 was just inside the city limits, so that's where we sat until we espied a disreputable-looking fellow who looked like he was over 21.

We struck up a conversation, and offered to buy him some beer. He liked that idea. He was a skinny guy, none too clean, with a Camels pack rolled into the arm of his t-shirt. We produced the money and he got the goods from the liquor store next door, and then for politeness sake we all sat in my car and drank a beer, and while sitting there, the guy did an amazing thing:

With one hand he opened a book of paper matches, pulled one forward and closed the cover behind it, bent it and ignited it, then lit his cigarette and tore the burnt-out match from the book! All with one hand!

I got him to show me slowly, and I practiced this over and over, because I just knew that it would make me very, very cool. I probably could still do it, but frankly I'm just not cool any more, and no longer smoke.

We soon said adios to our new friend, because we now possessed a case of beer and a large house all to ourselves. Naturally, throwing a party seemed like a good idea at the time.

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So Long -- Of What Use is a Song?

A hotel near the airport, Burbank, Fall 1991: Yesterday I attended a conference. I don't remember exactly why. I'd been setting up my first 800-number voicemail company, and noticing that quite a few MLM (Multi-Level Marketing) people signed up, I'd decided to try offering a MLM resellers program. I'd flown down from San Francisco yesterday to visit this little conference, to learn more about how MLM worked.

Although I don't now recall much about the conference, I sharply remember the morning after. On my way to breakfast, I learned that Miles Davis had died. The newspaper didn't say why; later reports said pneumonia and a stroke. At the time, I assumed drugs.

Miles had called me one night.

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So Long -- Hear that Lonesome Whistle?

Nashville, September 2003: At age 71, singer Johnny Cash died today at Baptist Hospital. The medical report will say complications from diabetes resulting in respiratory failure. Friends will say he died from mourning the loss of his wife, June Carter, who passed away in May.

I hear that train a-rolling, it's a-rolling round the bend
I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when
I'm stuck in Folsom Prison and time keeps dragging on
And I hear that whistle blowing ... down to San Antone.

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The Pioneer Reunion

Henrietta, Texas (Special): Preparations for the 72nd annual Clay County Pioneer Reunion starting next week, September 18th, in Henrietta have started.

The rodeo office at the Pioneer Grounds opens at 9 a.m. Box seat ticket holders may pick up their tickets or call the office for delivery at (940) 538-5111. Rodeo will feature bull and bronc riding, calf roping, bulldogging, clowns, a greased pig contest, ladies fancy riding, music and comedy. A dance will follow the festivities.

Riders who plan to participate in the Pioneer Rodeo grand entries or parades need to have up-to-date Coggins test papers on their horses.

Float building has been under way for several weeks at the Pioneer Hall. To register float themes, call Sherri Halsell at the Clay County extension office at (940) 538-5042. After the parades on Saturday and Sunday morning, stick around for the fiddling contest and art show on the courthouse grounds.

The theme for this year's float parades is "Pick 3, Any 3, in 2003." The annual reunion gets under way with the cowboy kickoff parade Sept. 18 and continues through Sept. 20.

Rabbi Moishe

Rome, 1847: The Pope announced that all Jews, not being Christian, as is proper, would have to leave Italy. Of course, there was a great outcry, and so for appearance sake, the Pope announced that he would debate the matter with one of the Rabbis. If the Rabbi won, the Jews could stay in Italy.

Rabbi Moishe was chosen for the debate.

Since Rabbi Moishe spoke no Italian, and since the Pope spoke no Hebrew, it was agreed that the debate would be silent.

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Ruru the Guru sez "Translations? Sure!"

San Francisco Yellow Pages, 1986: In the Yellow Pages that year you'd find listed "Third Ear Telepathic Answering Service" at 221-3333. If you called it you might hear this --

"Hello and thank you for calling Third Ear Telepathic Answering Service, the world's only international telepathic answering service, translations at no extra charge!

"I am your Host and Operator Ruru the Guru, speaking to you direct from the Himalaya Hideaway.

"You know, several people have telathed in recently, asking can we deliver telepathic messages in Spanish.

"Well, sure we can!

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The Science Project

Henrietta, Texas, 1960: Once upon a time, Adrienne tells me, her parents packed her and her sister into their Renault automobile, for a month-long jaunt from New Hampshire to American landmarks like Gettesburg and tobacco fields, all on the way to Florida.

In order to satisfy the school, she agreed to a science project, where she collected soil samples from each location, and then gave a talk to her class. She remembers Chesepeake Bay and these other places, but she mainly remembers packaging the soil samples: the red color of this one, the gravelly texture of that one.

My own science project shines clear in memory, because it wasn't. It wasn't actually my project. In fact, it wasn't really a science project at all, but rather a fraud disguising a speaker cabinet.

Let me explain ...

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Young Fool

Near Hurnville, Texas, Summer 1971: After Dr. Strickland died, Mama purchased the farm from her parents' estate, and we moved there. On the third day, Paul and I struggled to carry things into the house from a pickup out front.

"Jesus!" I said, gasping at the weight. The hired man chuckled.

"Better call on someone closer," he said.

In a foul mood, I trudged into the house.

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Smith Street

Mount Shasta, CA: On Saturday, when Joe and I arrived in the Big Yellow Truck, we discovered that our unloading crew had faded, so we did it ourselves. My son-in-law Joe is a mammoth skinhead, who can press almost 400 pounds. He's plenty strong.

I, however, am 59 and nowhere near as durable as once upon a time. All the same, I managed to be of some assistance. It was mongo hot, and almost 4000 feet altitude. The secret, learned in scorching Texas summers so long ago: Slow waaay down, and just keep moving.

We'd make 2-3 trips from the truck, then sit to let the oxygen catch up, then repeat, till dark. By evening, we'd finished and I was toto exhausto. Off to Casa Ramos, walking real slow. They didn't card 36-year-old Joe this time, but they ran in a deadly jalapeno: his face turned red, sweat popped from his skin, his eyes watered. I'll credit him this -- he didn't cry.

Next morning, a Sunday, I drove the Big Yellow Truck back down to San Anselmo, to pick up Adrienne and our pets.

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A Tiny History of Hurnville

Ten miles north of Henrietta, Texas, 1873: Several families from Iowa arrived, settling here on the rolling plains of north Texas. They built homes and planted rows of Bois d'Arc trees along the Fort Sill tract, a line of trees four miles long. Trees for shade, and trees for a windbreak.

Along this lane, the families settled, Ackers, Hoeber, McNeeley, Hooker, and Hurns they were.

Crossing the ragged road was Long Creek, marked by a wandering line of trees meandering across the prairie.

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