Sunday, April 07, 2019

Joe Biden is my hero

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.

Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214

My gardening blog is  Fred Owens
My writing blog is Frog Hospital

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