White Roofs and Green

 

Toledo had been one hundred and eight degrees.  The yellow ochre walls of the city stared back at us, knowingly brittle.  Cordoba felt much lighter in comparison with its’ white roofs and green Guadaquival river snaking through the city.  The echo of Ricardo Montalban’s voice in my head repeating the name of the city, incorectly, despite all attempts to quiet it, as I lugged the oversized suitcase my daughters piled all into up the road to wherever our Airbnb was.  Got the key from the box well enough.  Beautifully situated in the old town it was tight heading up the two floors stairs with this monstrous suitcase to lug.

 

Dining.  You’re dining in Cordoba! Senor Montablan reminds me.  One place was sold out and then another and eventually I decided to try one of the spots that also has a Flamenco show.  Five summers ago we visited a spot in Addis Ababa and dined in a restaurant which provided Abyssinian cuisine with a dance routine.  Tonight, the little one said she had a headache so my older one and my wife and I walked around the majestic walls of the Mezquita and turned up and into the place which seated us by the wall.  The late show was about to begin.  The guitarist, a male singer, a portly dancer and a middle-aged woman took their seats as we finished our order.   I have been reading about the world of flamenco in the book “Duende” by Jason Peterson and I avidly projected the books characterizations on to this quartet.  The dancer with the belly in the red shirt began the dance and soon he was bathed in sweat, head cocked back like a rooster.  I believed him and knew I could never wear those shoes. 

I’ve cancelled most of my regular calls, of which there are many, for the next few weeks.  In one or two cases I decided to maintain them and this morning I thought I’d take a walk around, pre buy our tickets or the Mezquita and come back home ready to journey out.  An Uber conference call I had to dial in and then whenever I muted it would not unmute.  Walking past church and gurgling fountains I kept muting and rediscovering I could not be heard.  The remedy was to keep dialing back in over and over again.  Certainly one of the most rational historic sites so far, there is an easy, automated kiosk from which to buy one’s Mezquita tickets and no one the call needed to know. 

 

I thought to find a café to sit at and take this call with some morning fuel to set things straight, but I seemed to arrive at place after place just as the last seat was taken.  The call still had ten or more minutes to go by the time I returned to our Airbnb, I saw a woman with cleaning gear arriving at the same puerta.  I told her we’d be just a minute and, muting again, I went upstairs to get everyone up and packed in short order.  Harried, and unclear if it was cool to leave luggage in the hall, while we toured about:  what if the next people arrived and expected keys or if we left them, what if they took them and weren’t here when we returned?  We decided to schlepp everything back down to the car first and then return at least thirty-minutes late for the ticket time’s I’d purchased.

Serene and refreshing to consider this mosque after so many churches.  Perhaps as a result of their needing to assert themselves so strongly, Spanish churches have such heavy, anchored feel to them. The Islamic architecture by comparison was light and contemplative and we walked back and forth through the archways considering the patterns in the ceiling. The Alcazar was closed for anyone without tickets.  My little one had been keen on a horse and buggy so I ended up getting one from Manuel who promised me he’d be happy to drop us off at the Flamenco Museum but instead returned us precisely to where we’d left from.  We made fun of him for the next day or so.  The Flamenco Museum was closed when we got there. Thanks Manny.  We had a so-so lunch and left for the garage and our onward journey to Seville.  The ticket machine in the garage wouldn’t take my card or my cash and people started beeping at me.  The guy in the spot wasn’t much help but eventually I got the door to rise and left, driving onward to whatever it was Seville would reveal. 

Wednesday, 8/18/21

To Capture Something Ineffable

 

We have just entered the province of Cordoba en route to the city of the same name.  It’s a bit greener than La Mancha, there are more hills, it appears to get a bit more rain, but still, it is olive groves for as far as the eye can see.  Olive groves and scrub bushes and half-hearted industry.  My wife just slowed the car.  There was fire up ahead.  Could it be a forest fire?  Had a car crashed?  No.  They were just burning out weeds in the meridian of the highway.  Reluctantly you wax nostalgic about the normalcy of U.S. highways.

 

Mateo Fletcha has no connection I believe to my alma mater, the Fletcher School, though that is how you’d likely pronounce  the name there, in Medfah.  We are crossing Andalucía listening to this sixteenth century Spanish guitar.  We are digesting our late afternoon meal, adusting to the fact that dinner won’t be till at least 9:00PM or so.  Apparently, the public parking in Cordoba is only a short walk to the Airbnb there in the same city.  Slowly, we’re getting back into the rhythm of luggage and check ins.  Yesterday we got in remembered that in order to plug things into the wall we’d need physical adaptors which we rushed out to buy.  So rusty.

This morning we saw El Greco, in the scarcity of the Toledo cathedral.  Then we went to a museum built on what they’d thought was his home but later turned out not to be.  Grey, certainly, illuminated, I was intrigued to learn that he used people with mental health issues as his subjects to capture something ineffable.  Elongated faces and digits they wondered if El Greco’s vision notably was compromised.   Next door to what wasn’t his house was a lovely Synagogue which we took a walk through as well.  But it’s about one hundred and ten degrees in Toldedo just now and it was 2:00PM when every sane person was enjoying a siesta when we took the long trot back up over the hill to where it was we were staying. 

 

If I call a cab, will they know where to come?  If I explain, will I make sense?  Will I be able to clarify where we are going with any conviction?  It all went off without a hitch though I’d fretted about it before hand.  At lunch my older daughter asked me to explain what I knew about Afghanistan.  I told her what I could.  I suggested it was best that the U.S. ended this twenty year war.  But she felt ill at ease, vacationing when so many people were confronting terror.  She’s right, of course.  “Was this the beginning of another genocide?”, she asked.  She mentioned that there was a way to donate raise to help people.  It is the least we could do. 

 

We will be arriving in Cordoba in five minutes.  It’s best if I put this computer away. 

 

 

 

Tuesday, 08/17/21

Philip II Was Busier

 

A small business owner, I’m busy.  I don’t know if I’m as busy as you. I have lots of clients. Am grateful for their business and they keep me very busy.  It is safe to say that no matter how busy any of us are, Philip II was busier. Perhaps the enormity of his burden forced him to be a consummate whiner.  Philip II  let everyone know he was too busy for most things.  (Phil inherited the largest empire the world had ever seen.  Genghis never even knew there was a new world to conquer.)  Then Phil came in line to absorb the Portuguese throne and, with a little persuasion, took over the second largest empire in the world as well.  Hence, Phil had so many demands, hundreds of must-do’s came across his desk every day.   He had reason to complain. 

I’d wanted to finish off the “The Imprudent King” before I left and then I’d figured I’d finish it on the plane but sleep took me and it wasn’t until last night, that I finally made my way through the remainder of the biography. How did he reconcile murder of Escodobo and then the murder of the man who murdered Escodobo, Perez ll in the defense of Catholicism?  He won great battles, as with the confrontation with the Ottomans at Lepento while at the same time lose key battles in the Netherlands at sea with England and always it was God’s will.  It’s hard not to read with a sense of inevitability towards our current democracy.  Kings were a horrible way to rule.  Phil II wasn’t a bad fellow.  But no one could have done that job “well.”

 

The flight over the Mrs. and I were bumped to business but, heading to Spain, feeling chivalrous we offered our tickets up to our daughters.  They’d want to sleep.  They’d enjoy the novelty.  I for one, didn’t care.  It was odd being on a plane itself, for the first few moments.  But then it was back to normal, being in a crowded space with so many other strange humans. I was good about my mask, but you have to eat.  And like I did last time I’d flown, eighteen months ago, just before the pandemic descended, I thought about the poor  stewards and stewardesses who have to be surrounded with strange humans four or five times a week, to earn their daily bread. 

Getting in the country was easy.  Should I be worried?  Waited a long time at Hertz.  They tried to give me a Skoda.  I had to look it up.  They’re from the Czech Republic.  I’m sure it’s a fine car but I’d pre-ordered a Volvo.  What happened to that? They ended up giving me a new “DS” model instead.  I had to look up that brand as well.  It’s from France. I was calmed but only so much so.  The interface looked like it was designed for someone who was trying to imitate a Cadillac, but had failed.  I took it.  We drove to Toledo, which wasn’t far, but I was so tired and though I pulled off at one or another service stops I couldn’t seem to find the café with a double espresso I’d hoped for.  At Toledo there was free parking outside the city and we took a cab up and considered the Alcazar in the distance and the ochre walls of this fabled city. 

 

 

 

Monday, 08/16/21

Truck Stops in Mississippi

 

I’d been listening to medieval Spanish music.  “The Chronological list of Spanish classical composers” page they have on Wiki that has twenty or more composers listed there under the headings:  Renaissance, Baroque, Classical, Romantic, Modern Contemporary.  I’d been enjoying my time with the Renaissance and then the Baroque but after having my fill of choral and church organ I leapt ahead two centuries.  Juan Crisóstomo Arriaga has a friendly face and he lived only twenty years it seems from 1806 till 1826.  Apparently, a childhood prodigy who shared a birthday with Mozart.  I’m listening to him now.

Later today we will all fly to Spain.  That should be interesting.  It’s been over two years since we’ve done anything like this as a family.  A road trip, earlier in the summer was certainly time away from New Paltz, but the truck stops in Mississippi are only so different from the one’s in New York.  Spanish truck stops, one assumes will be notably distinct.  This time tomorrow I’ll be riding along the highway en route from the Madrid Airport to Toledo.  My first gas stop probably won’t be till the next day when we head off to Cordoba. 

 

It’s finally cool outside today.  A regal, sunny afternoon there’s hardly any reason at all to leave.  Everything is welcoming and lovely.  But we’re going to go, as we’ve always done.  I was just off the phone with my dad.  We’re meeting him at my brothers and then he’s driving us nearby to Newark and returning the car back up here.  Good man that.  My mom and her husband will be here any minute.  They have offered to help water my wife’s garden.  There is nothing more important for her.  They have also, been willing to help look after my older one’s leopard gecko Barrack. She cares for him greatly and this is all above and beyond the call of duty. 

They came.  I showed them where we’re staying.  They learned the garden watering preferences.  I moved the terrarium to the back of their car.  We talked at length, sarcastically about just where in my mother’s house it would ideal for this terrarium to rest.  My stepdad, the biologist is up for the task.  My mom, upon whose lap we placed the aluminum foil tray and top within which Barrack stood staring and we considered how uncomfortable she appeared.  And they're off.  And we’ll leave too now, in about ninety minutes.  Lee Morgan’s “The Rajah” is playing so beautifully in that way that only . . . and I looked to check but it isn’t Herbie Hancock on the keys and Wayne Shorter on tenor.  It’s Cedar Walton and Hank Mobley who form just another version of a classic quintet.

 

 

 

Sunday, 08/15/21                         

Wanted Shorts and Hats

 

My old friend left this morning.  I think we all exhaled.  This was the third sleep over guest we’ve had in two week’s time and after such a long period of isolation it’s quite a change, welcoming someone into the space here.   We waved him off and then called him and told him to return.  He’d left his laptop. 

I got an angry pile of must-do work done during the morning.  I was incapable of creating any more distractions and finally went in with a stool and whip and forced my way through.  It was late, maybe 4:30PM or so when we finally headed off to the Galleria mall on the Poughkeepsie side.  My daughters wanted shorts and hats and I needed a summer shirt and some sneakers.  And importantly we were going to have the new lenses for my daughter placed in her frames.  But the guy who does this wasn’t in till tomorrow at 11:00AM and for that we’d need to return. 

 

I got much more than I needed at Banana Republic.  They had shorts in my size.  They had tee shirts that would feel familiar and shirts that would make me feel cool.  I got an espresso from a guy who’s accent I couldn’t place and then tried to find some sneakers.  Pumas.  I hadn’t considered Puma’s in a while.  The suede blue Pumas looked cool but they didn’t have any ten and a half or elevens.  The overweight attendant told me my chances weren’t great, in general. Then he found me a not too bad looking pair of black Nike Air’s that I bought and walked out of the store. 

Down at the rendezvous point where I was to meet my daughters I took the insoles out of my other shoes put them into this pair.  Kid walking by told me: "lace em' up!"  They may be air but one of my legs is shorter than the other I’ve a pain in my left foot that was asserting itself in these new shoes.  My daughters needed more time.  I went to Macy’s and got another yellow shirt I didn’t need and eves dropped in on a conversation between a brusque African American fellow and his daughter. It was his opinion that she wasn’t nice to shop with. 

 

 

 

Saturday, 08/14/21                         

 

Soaring Over the Mighty

It was something I’d thought to do or a while.  If my friend good friend visits, I’d like him to meet my dad.  I talk about business every week with my pop and this friend is a central figure in all that.  He’s also a fine mind and one my father would enjoy engaging with, I was certain.  My pal and my gal had ended up chatting late into the evening.  I’d gone to bed early.  About fifteen minutes before my dad was to arrive I a phone alarm began singing somewhere.  It wasn’t either of my phones.  And I found my friend’s phone buried under the cushions of the chair. 

He woke with a start when I asked if he’d still like to join us.  “Yes!”  And he set off to get himself ready.  And I was surprised to see my younger daughter a little while later  standing there looking at me with a dissatisfied look on her face.  “Camp?  Who’s taking me?”  My father pulled in the driveway and I went to see if my wife would take her over, as we’d this hike planned.  That did not seem likely.  I offered to take my daughter over and allow them a chance to walk without me but my dad made the far wiser suggestion of just coming with us. 

 

Soon we were soaring over the mighty Hudson River.   My father testified to his love for the river and I tried to out do this.  And after we dropped my little one off there in front of the main building I watched with amusement as these two different types of conversation in my mind, the one I know with my father, and the one engage with passionately with this friend.  He’s strong likes and dislikes.  Many don’t match my own but we respect one another.  My father asks if this friend was Jesuit educated and he confirms that he was. 

For the second time in two weeks I’m leading an old friend off down the trail behind our house.  I wonder what I sound like introducing, with such obvious enthusiasm, five different types of oak trees and sassafras and aspen trees.  I suspect it’s probably tiresome, but I can’t help it.  Down at the bridge over the river, staring up at the Trapps I stopped to tie my shoes.  My friend came up and got me good.  He looked down river and said aren’t those sycamore trees remarkable.  I jumped right up and said: “well spotted!  They are.  You see there are two more right down there and . . . “  He began laughing saying he didn’t know what a sycamore was but my dad had told him to tell me as I’d likely jump up and down. 

Friday, 08/13/21              

To Say Someone Needed

 

My dear old pal is in town.  He’s driving up from Virginia today.  He’d left Georgia the day before.  And sometime next week, he’ll be on his way to Europe.  I don’t know anyone who has managed such consistent travel during the pandemic as he.  A son in Vancouver another in London, an ex in Beijing and an apartment in Hong Kong and Nairobi, he has a lot of ground to cover. 

 

A Canuck, his parents hail from Galway and so, rather than a big cook job in the house, I’d take him and the all of us out to dinner at Garvin’s.  Chatty, he’s also from Galway and he and my pal would invariably get on well.  I called and there’s no live music any more on Thursday nights.  And we’d need to take a place at 8:00PM.  They could seat us earlier, but you couldn’t eat till then. 

My buddy called and said he’d be late.  I imagined as much and this worked well with the late reservation.   My older one returned home from her day of stocking the shelves at Target and made clear that she wouldn’t be joining for dinner as she was exhausted.  And so we got the place ready and waited for his car to arrive. 

Later that night at the restaurant I was disappointed.  It’s not the first time.  We sat there chatting amicably until fifteen minutes turned to twenty and I went out and accosted the first waitress I could, to say someone needed to take our order please.  The gal we got meant well.  But she was tired and full of complaints and excuses and didn’t take particularly good care of us.  Old Garvin came and sang happy birthday at the next folks table but never stopped by our table.  It wasn’t our night. 

 

 

 

Thursday, 08/12/21                         

The Sea. I'm Done

 

My final Airbnb has looped back and confirmed.  With that, I no longer have to spend time on the site. And with that, the plan B pearls that I’d been fondling before receiving confirmation can be thrown back into the sea.  I’m done. 

 

The folks were staying with have sent an article, in Spanish about the gastronomy of where we’re staying in O Grove.  There’s apparently the only Micheline-starred restaurant in the state, is right near by though its unlikely we’d ever get a reservation.  The photos of the food grab hold of me aggressively.  Everything looks remarkable. 

The guy were to stay with in Granada has warned me to be sure and get my the Alhambra tickets early.  Bought some.  Good thing the visit is still a week out.  Got some Prado tickets too, just in case.  We’ve had some great visits with the Traveling Soon service that connects you with families whom you visit for a meal.  There’s a lady in Madrid who says she’ll take you around on a vegan tour which I bought for my Vegan daughter’s sake only to have it cancelled a few ours later.

It’s all coming together and with it is the pressure of so many responsibilities to beat back before I could properly take off and go.  Fortunately a few of my clients are headquartered in Europe and there are many other folks who are beginning to cancel meetings for the last half of August.  I usually took our holidays in June after the girls finished school and its wonderful to note others taking time and not feeling jealous about it.

Wednesday, 08/11/21             

            

And So, You Search

 

What a fucking waste of time.  Good Lord. Airbnb, addictive like online porn.  There’s always one more thing to see.  And so, you can spend countless hours trying to find . . . the perfect place.   

 

I have la-dee-da status with Marriott.  But they largely all booked out.  So much for smaller crowds during the pandemic.  I always look over what the Lonely Planet gives a bonus star to and, checking online, sure enough they’re all booked as well.  I’m disinclined to look any further.  We’ve four people.  Hotels just don’t make any sense and whatever the cost is you need to double it for two rooms.  Sure am glad there’s Airbnb. 

 

I managed Toledo and Cordoba quickly.  Found a well-reviewed spot in Seville.  The place I’d decided I liked in Grenada, where you could sit on the porch, and gaze up and the Alhambra.  But this is the theme and soon I’ve found another gent whom every seems to think is a fine fellow, and soon we’ve settled on that place as well.  And then it was trouble. 

 

I wanted a place on the coast in Galicia.  Didn’t have to be very fancy.  Be cool if it had a pool.  Be cool if the beach wasn’t too far.  Be cool if it didn’t smell like a cannery was located next door and that a few of the guests hadn’t commented that the place was dirty or if the comforters on the beds make the place look like owners were crude and cheap.  And so, you search.  There’s a good amount of coast in Galicia.  For each location I considered hundreds of homes.  And selected thirty as possibilities.  You get the point.  None of them were perfect.  I didn’t really know what I wanted.  And kept thinking of one or another stakeholder being disappointed.  Eventually I decided on a place that was the best of the compromises and secured the place. 

 

But I was informed that, at least for this place, I needed to wait twenty-four hours for confirmation.  The person seemed to type numbers at me.  I recalled that they didn’t have any reviews.  Finally, it became clear that the guy wanted me to book it with him off Airbnb.  And you know, it’s nice to meet you but we haven’t established trust yet.  That’s what Airbnb are charging you for buddy.  And so, I returned to the search and invested another four or five hours trying to relocate places that had since disappeared and reconsider my budget to spend more on a place than I’d expected.  He contacted me later and I told him I was no longer interested.

 

 

 

Tuesday, 08/10/21                         

The Diet of Worms

 

Somehow, despite the visit of my cousin and her family and the surrendering of our bedroom to their crew, I managed, to finish off a biography of Charles V this weekend.  Geoffrey Parker has recently written “Emperor: A New Life of Charles V.”  I’ve enjoyed, though it was a bit jarring to have quotes from Game of Thrones, appear at the outset of numerous chapters.  The first time it was witty.  Then tiresome. 

Charles V, with crosscutting inheritances wound up with more of Western Europe under management than anyone since Charlemagne.  I was particularly intrigued by his encounter with Martin Luther who seems to have won verbal a joust with the emperor.  Chuck, only nineteen at the time, had been flummoxed considering Martin the monk there at the Diet of Worms.  A man of his word, he let Martin Luther the heretic leave unmolested and so began the Reformation.  I only knew of this atmospherically and enjoyed considering the moment in some detail, imagining a scene somehow like Wuer Kaixi confronting Li Peng. 

 

Before this, I’d read “Isabel, The Queen” by Peggy Liss from 1992.  There’s a new biography out there, but more then a few reviews suggested it hadn’t surpassed what Ms. Liss had done.  This is really another world.  Her and Ferdinand still straddle the Middle Ages where the story and the kingdoms and the adversaries and the assumption are all comparatively clear.    Then the Columbus lives returns from and Caribbean and sets off again and returns again and again.  Muslim rule and Jewish communities are over.  An inquisition, begins.  

Intellectual history’s a fine steel rail, sometimes.  Isabel and Ferdinand had kids.  One of them beget Charles the V.  Chuck sired a bunch of kids, as a stud might, purposefully.  One of them was Philip.  I’ve less than a week left until we take off and today, I’ve vowed to get a hundred pages or so into “The Imprudent King” by Geoffrey Parker.  This is perhaps the pick of the trio in terms of terse, engaging writing.  And now, how thoroughly the world has changed.  Phillip rules more of the world than anyone since Genghis Khan and for the first time the sun truly never sets on the holdings of one person.  I don’t think I’m intending to continue this detailed a look onward into the seventeenth century. 

 

 

 

Monday, 08/09/21                         

 

A Black Locust Sapling

 

Sailing over the Gunks to High Falls with a load of people, heading to breakfast, I thought or a moment about stopping at the Mohonk Guest house instead.  And then I thought again.  They’ll want  a hundred dollars a person and this car has a lot of persons.  But I do note that it has been a while since I went up there for a visit. 

 

High Falls is a fine town, and they don’t charge you to walk around.   The lot at the the Egg’s Nest is completely full and though it often seem to not be open, it is hoppin’ today.  I park.  But realize it’s a fool’s effort.  They all get out and cross the street and I park at the establishment across the street.  There, just in front of the car is a black locust sapling.  It would be a fine tree to transplant and no one would probably care but upon closer inspection it’s sprouting up from a large root, connected to a mother tree across the fence.

Every inch of wall space a canvass, ‘psychedelic nachos’, whoever’s behind this is having fun.  Later I meet the man in question, when I scooted over to pay.  I complement him on the joint and ask if wouldn’t consider opening Friday mornings as I’ve come three times to find them closed.  He suggests that would be difficult with his young daughter and all.  We chat and agree that while New Paltz has a lot of functional places there’s a dearth of fine food. 

Later my cousin, her husband, the two kids and I head on over to Poughkeepsie to take them to the train.  My nephew wanted to play ‘Ode to Joy’ and which I haven’t made time for in many a year.  But there we were.  Later it was my turn, and I threw on “Gentleman” which I wanted him to hear after he’d played me a few African rappers.  We’d had a beautiful visit.  We hugged.  And then they want down the stairs to Platform One, where the Metro North train was waiting.  I reminded them to be sure and get a seat on the right side of the car . . .

 

 

 

Sunday, 08/08/21                         

 

 

We've Swooped In Under

 

Cloudy, hot, muggy we weren’t necessarily suffering on the ride up to Kingston.  In the car it was cool.  We listened to different music.  My niece and nephew had their tunes.  My girls had theirs. I just let it roll.  Dorkish, presumably but after “who’s this?” I generally ask: “where are they from?”  This isn’t always something my daughters care to get specific on.  My nephew is playing stuff from the U.S. but also stuff from Nigeria and Tanzania.  Soon we’ve swooped in under the old bridge over the Roundout and are up and arrived at Target.  My older daughter in her red shirt gets out of the car, off to work. 

 

Certainly, nobody wants to go to a museum or anything I’d like.  “Ice Cream?”  Even with older teenagers, it’s a hit.  Where’s the best place in Kingston?  My daughter thumbs threw her iPhone and yells out “Jolly Co.  Wait?  Oh, Jolly Cow.”  It’s just beyond Adams not far from here and soon we’ve parked and taken our place in line, six feet behind the people in front of us and begin a measured consideration of all the different possibilities in the menu, posted above. 

 

They don’t seem to have kept up with the novel assault of mashups that the freezer at Tops with its cookie, peanut butter cups, chocolate chunk thing that they make available.  Jolly Cow seems more at the ‘mint chocolate chip’ era of ice cream marketing.  That’s cool.  Proof is in the licking. I get a double cone with sprinkles on a little wafer cone and immediately the race is on.  Shit is dripping down all over my hands and much worse will befall me if I don’t attack this thing with gusto. 

Later we did the walk over the Hudson.  Unsolicited, I note that it is my favorite river in the whole world.  The water flows both up and down with the tides.  “Poughkeepsie is Lanape for ‘hut by the river.’  She - pointing to my younger daughter, is a sixth generation Poughkeepseian” I remember being in a car with my grandmother and seeing this bridge the day it was on fire.  No one expected this to be a success. But it was. So glad it was preserved.  Right?

I notice a new kind of oak tree on the highland side of the walkway on the way back. I thought they were chestnut oaks.  But the Seek app says it’s a Chinkapin oak, which seems very cool.  And then I wonder if it's accurate. 

 

 

 

Saturday, 08/07/21                         

 

 

 

You Know. You Dump.

 

It’s only been a year.  Well, eighteen months.  Certainly, a coffee maker should last longer than that. I don’t have a great fondness for the device but rather the output.  You know.  You dump the old grounds.  You fill it up anew.  You fill the vessel full of water, and dump it in the other receptacle, place the put beneath the coffee and press two buttons, and then, a third.  Should start hissing.  Didn’t stay around to check.  I went off back to my office and returned with minutes to spare to on the way out the door to take the older one to work and the machine hasn’t done anything. 

Cursing, I press the two button one button combo again.  Then other combinations.  My daughter groans that it is time to go and there will not be any coffee on this ride.  Later it takes me about eight minutes of robotic repetition of techniques which repeatedly fail for me to conclude that the thing is broken and beyond my capacity to repair.  There’s a French Press around here somewhere.

 

Later that night my wonderful cousin and her family arrived at the New Paltz bus station having traveled about nine hours down from Lake George.  In town from Arusha, Tanzania the kids, teenagers both, are going to start school in the States.  Alone.  This gives my daughters a point of comparison to their own sense of compromise.  I’ve never pondered gluten free pizza.  We searched and yeah, Roccos pizza has gluten free.  Go Rocco.  We pick up the pies and the garlic knots and the meatballs and load them into the car.  It’s nine thirty at night and the liquor store is closed.  So is Tops.  And they have just texted that their bus is in, down the street. 

They look so great.  The children I remember now nearly adults.  We reacquaint ourselves with how to fold the seats up so we can accommodate everyone and soon, gratefully they’ve picked up the thread of conversation we’d last explored in a pool in Zanzibar.  Unlike so many other kids they meet here my kids are anxious to talk about music and games and what it means to straddle two very different cultures and have parents from different civilizations.

 

 

 

 

Friday, 08/06/21                         

 

Did the Engine Turn

 

My body rose early.  It had retired rather late.  I don’t have much control over it.  I got up reluctantly and double checked my calendar.  Remarkably there was nothing claiming my time until late in the afternoon.  I trundled out to the office, which also has a bed that I’d been laying in.  And, pleasantly in the early morning light, without my contacts in my near sited eyes read for a while, from a biography I’d made only faltering progress with the night before. Charles V, is someone I’ve known of but hadn’t considered in the progression of Isabella and Ferdinand, on to Philip II.  I knew he had dominion over Spain and the Netherlands.  I guess I hadn’t realized he had damn near all of Europe save England and France. 

 

Appropriately I’ve Louis de Milan on the air.  Solo acoustic guitar, his life covered the same period as Chuck Five.  A writer and a musician he sounds uncharacteristically tranquil given the uproarious period during which this was written. 

I mowed my mom’s lawn today.  They will be back from a vacation tomorrow.  I guess I’ve been spoiled with this electric mower of ours.  If it gets choked it conks out, you press a button, and it turns on.  I spent at least ten minutes fretting that this gas-powered motor of my stepdad’s was malfunctioning because I couldn’t get it to start.  Pumped the prime, checked the blades and only when I held the clutch did the engine turn.  But out in the thick of the lawn their gas-powered motor had to be nudged forward at a snail’s pace or the amount of grass would choke it.

 

Tired now.  I can feel my lids being pulled.  I need to time, good time to review things with the Spain trip, but I’m not getting enough of a clear runway.  Tomorrow, I hope.  It was only few hours ago that I was notified we’d be hosting four guests tomorrow night.  Lovely cousins and family but we haven’t had four people here before.  And we spent our dinner time discussing just how we could arrange to make them all comfortable.

Alright.  Go to bed.  Dream space and consciousness are becoming distractingly intertwined. I’m gonna inhabit dream time for a while.   

 

 

 

Thursday, 08/05/21