By Fred Owens
Going to Santa Cruz. Laurie
and I are driving up the 101 to Santa Cruz on Sunday. It's an easy
5-hour drive. We are going to visit her daughter Shannon who has just
started nursing school at Cabrillo College. She recently moved to Santa
Cruz from the Big Island in Hawaii, where she got used to warm weather
every day. Her boyfriend Casey worked as a helicopter pilot giving
sightseeing tours around the island's volcanic surprises.
Casey
got tired of flying tourists over the volcano and repeating the same
jokes over and over. He is seeking a chopper pilot job with more
variety.
Shannon, although she has her doubts, will make a
very good nurse in my opinion. She is intelligent, she is tough and she
is caring. It can be a very satisfying occupation and I expect her to
thrive. She did spend three hours watching a surgery all the while
shivering in the cold because the surgeons like it cold in there, and
she did not know if she could wear a sweater under her scrubs.
And the Band Played On. I
decided to up my gay game. My daughter Eva was bored when I called her
two weeks ago. I said why don't you hang out with Russell. Russell
officiated at her wedding to Lara, which is how I know him. Eva
explained that Russell had his own gay friends and gay men and lesbians
don't really hang out that much together. I said I did not know that,
but maybe I should up my gay game. So Eva suggested reading And the Band Played On, politics, people and the AIDS epidemic,
by Randy Shilts. This is a well-known and very well written book. It is
a gripping drama of the 1980s. We didn't know. There was so much we
didn't know and it was frightening. I remember that part. This is a very
good book. I am on page 143 of over 600 pages.
The Treme. We
are watching Season One of this HBO special about the Treme, a
neighborhood in New Orleans where many jazz musicians live alongside
other lower income folks, mostly African-American. The series takes
place in the months following the Katrina disaster when all of New
Orleans almost surrendered to hopelessness, because the city was so
damaged and so many people had left for Houston and Atlanta. But New
Orleans and its unique culture, founded in good music and good food, was
too precious to abandon. This colorful series is about that struggle to
come back to life.
Illabot Creek. In
1971 we camped on Illabot Creek, a tributary of the Skagit River.
Illabot Creek tumbles down from the mountains rushing and splashing over
jagged rocks, but when it reaches the valley floor the creek spreads
over smooth gravel shaded by alders and overhanging maples.
The
humpies come there to spawn on those gravel beds in the late summer and
early fall. The humpies come to spawn in odd-numbered years, as they
did in 1971, and as they will spawn again in 2019. Spawn and die, eaten
by eagles. But in 1971, the humpie salmon were eaten by hippies who
camped on the shore of the creek and built hootches for living and
cooked over fires and drank the sweet, pure water of the creek.
I
lived with my girl friend on the creek that summer. We had been
together two years by then and had many wonderful times together, but
there were issues and we split up and I was very unhappy. It's a story
that might be worth telling. The girlfriend is a very strong character
and such an interesting person to write about. But am I the one to tell
that story?
I wrote to Young Dave in Oregon
about this. He would be in the story if I told it. Should I use her real
name? Young Dave consulted with his wife and suggested no. Why stir up
someone else's life? Just call her your girl friend. But that is too
vague. Maybe I should create a name for her..... Sage. Her name is Sage
...... but then is it still a true story?..... Yes, the story about Sage
is true if it is truly told.... and I can do that..... Young Dave
described Sage as being a fully self-realized woman..... True that.....
She did what she wanted to do......
Rain. Saturday morning in Santa Barbara. We are getting lots of rain. We leave for Santa Cruz tomorrow morning.
Onward!
Fred
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