By Fred Owens
Joe
Biden is my hero this week. He is being bombarded by idiots. This is
not good for the Democratic party. In order to win in 2020 the candidate
needs to be selected in a spirit of harmony. Joe Biden, and the
millions of moderate middle of the road voters who think like Joe, is a
part of this necessary harmony. This togetherness will lead us to
victory. With Trump defeated, the Green New Deal can be fruitfully
discussed. With Trump victorious, The Green New Deal is only a joke.
A
random survey of people who live with me went like this: If you had to
vote today, who would you vote for? Elizabeth Warren was the unanimous
choice (sample size --2). I chose Warren because she is kind-hearted and
not looking for a fight. She is an agreeable woman but not one to be
pushed around. I am considering temperament as the chief deciding
qualification for the next president. Our current president does not
have a good temperament -- and that's putting it mildly. Warren's stand
on the issues are reasonable and worth discussion. Yes -- we can work
something out!
Going to Seattle and LaConner. Laurie
and I are flying to Seattle this Wed., April 10. We fly Alaskan
Airlines nonstop from Santa Barbara to SeaTac -- $200 round trip.
Laurie knows how to find these great deals. And flying direct from Santa
Barbara is so cool. The Santa Barbara airport is like a country club --
quiet and serene -- traveling like it used to be. We get into SeaTac
and take the light rail downtown. Then we catch an Uber to Eva's house
in Ballard. Eva, my daughter, and her wife Lara, have a nearly
2-year-old boy and they are expecting another bundle of joy in
mid-August. What a beautiful family they are making.
Laurie
and I will spend at least a day in LaConner while we are there. We
might be staying in Janet Saunder's guest cabin. The tulip traffic might
be awful -- but we can figure that out when we get there.
Part Five of "Sage, she did what she wanted." In
this brief episode Sage tells Fred how she makes a living. Then she
gives him a ride in her truck for a trip to the sands of Stinson Beach
in Marin County. Will it be a picnic, or a tryst?
Excuse me, I’m
getting things out of order. Nick, the astrologer, will propound on the meaning
of the Sun Signs as they apply to Sage and me after we became a couple. She was
Gemini, I was Cancer.
But not this evening,
in my first day in the house, when Sage and I and John and Nick gathered in the
living room after dinner to smoke a bowl of hashish from Afghanistan.
The children were
safely tucked away in their beds, Eric 7 and Sean 2. I had not really met them
yet, but I was fascinated by their very existence. I had just finished five years of college and
never saw a baby or a toddler or a boy at play or a winsome girl humming a tune
that whole time, and here I was in a hippie home in California – with children.
That made it so powerful. Like real life. I was finished with school and
beginning my life, in this house, with these people, in September, 1969. That sounded so trite, and I laughed at
myself.
Now the children were
asleep, or at least not making any
noise. We settled in the living room and had our smoke. We smiled at each other
and discussed what record to play after Cat Setevens. How about John Coltrane
on the tenor saxophone, a Love Supreme? That was John’s suggestion. Sage wanted
Joni Mitchell. “They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.”
I don’t remember. I put me feet up on the
couch and time slipped away.
It seemed like the
next day, but it was more likely a week later that Sage offered me a ride to
the Berkeley campus. “We can ride in my truck,” she said. Sage had a truck, a
1955 gun metal grey International pickup with a utility bed and a covered wagon
roof. It was the most beautiful organic
vehicle on all the highways of the world. I never had a truck before. I never
dreamed of a truck before, but I had one now.
Well, it was her truck, not mine, but priority of ownership never came
up. It was her truck, my truck, our truck, the truckiest truck of all trucks. I
was living in a Grateful Dead day dream.
God gave me a truck. No, no, Sage gave me a
truck. You can live in a truck, it’s a
home on wheels. You can haul stuff and carry tools. Keep a foam pad and
blankets. Keep a two burner Coleman stove and food supplies in the
compartments.
We dropped Sean off
at his day care, and then dropped Eric off at his private free school, and we
approached the Berkeley campus.
“I have work on
campus today,” Sage said. “I’m a figure model in the art department. I can hold
a pose and stand still in the nude for 45 minutes while they sketch me. …..”
Long pause. I nodded.
“I’m in demand
as a figure model because of my classic
proportions, you know, square shoulders, firm breasts, and broad hips. Like the
Venus de Milo. I look like a Greek goddess.”
I was a little
astonished, a Greek goddess, with a truck.. Well, nothing wrong with that. That
was the thing about Sage. She didn’t like wearing clothes very much. For a
figure model , she could shuck off her garments and feel free. She was good at
that. I wasn’t. But I didn’t compare myself to her anyway.
“Say I have a better
idea. If you can hang out on the campus for a couple of hours while I do my
modelling work, then we can head over to Stinson Beach in the afternoon. It
could be fun. Have you ever been there?
I had not ever been
there. It was in Marin County, across the Golden Gate Bridge, a good hour’s
drive from the Berkeley campus. So I
said sure, let’s go.
I hung out on
Telegraph Avenue, right off the campus, and she finished at eleven and we drove
to Stinson Beach.
“I’ve never been to
Stinson Beach,” I said.
“You’ll like it. I
know a really private cove. No one will be there.”
The
End of Part Five
Part Five ends here. The two would-be lovers
approach their private sandy acre on Stinson Beach. The gods of the Zodiac will smile down on Sage
and Fred. The wise old men will choose the right Hexagram in the I Ching. Baba Ram Dass will hum mantras. Timothy Leary
will call long distance and Eldridge Cleaver will start selling girl scout
cookies door-to-door. Anything can
happen as the two would-be lovers approach their private destiny on the sands
of Stinson Beach, or is the whole world watching?
Frog Hospital will return in two weeks.
Writing about a love affair fifty years ago can be emotionally
draining. I need some time off. I do enjoy visiting the world of 1969
and seeing the younger version of myself in that world, but the going
back and forth from 1969 to the present reality ---- Whoah, I've
wracked up some mental/emotional miles. My brother Thomas Joseph told me
that what I did in 1969 is how I got to be where I am today. True. I
also remind readers that this story is a work of fiction and not a
memoir. Sure I draw on the past, but then I make stuff up. I just hope
this tale is of some value to the readers. Your attention is greatly
appreciated. Thank you.
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