Mourning, Celebrating, Remembering, & a New Name.

When I read in the paper last week that most of the humpback whales were heading north I felt a pang of melancholy-a bit like when my children left home. I remember mornings when the kids were little. I would look at them a minute before I woke them up. My heart would fill. Then when I wasn't yelling at them because they couldn't find their books, or homework, or didn't take the dogs for a walk, I'd watch them interact: Alice methodical and prepared trying to help (or discipline) Anna for dawdling & playing. I would laugh because they were so consistently opposite and interesting.

Almost every morning the past couple of weeks I've watched the whales frolic out front while I drank my morning coffee. Who said you can't weigh a ton and be graceful! The humpback whales are acrobats of the sea, breaching, sky hopping,and flob tailing. Yesterday afternoon I watched with glee as one flob tailed for about 1/2 hour. Over and over, at least 20 times,(I lost count) she lifted her massive butt into the air and crashed her gorgeous obsidian flukes that glinted in the sunlight onto the water. Voyeurism is exhausting.

The male humpbacks are the Pavarottis and Domingos of the sea.They sing these eerie, beautiful, and complex songs that are said to last up to half an hour and are repeated continuously for hours. Ten or so years ago when my daughter, Anna, got married in Maui her husband, Dave, I think it was, was swimming and heard them singing. When he told us I plunged into the warm water and listened. For a minute or so I heard it; a brief U Tube concert. Next year I will be ready with some snorkeling gear so I can hear a whole song.

Still on singing. Sitting in front of me on the beach a few days ago were two teenage girls. One of them sang for the other who listened intently, nodding her head in approval. This kid sang bluesy Mexican tunes with Amy Winehouse gusto. I was happy to just sit and watch her appreciate her own voice enough to share it.

Puerto Vallarta is partying again. The catholics here mourn during Semana Santa, the week leading up to the Crucifixion then everyone parties for another week -for Pascua, to celebrate the Resurrection. How could you not applaud the concept of rising from the dead? The beach is a giant swath of color, music, dancing, cooking and mayhem.

When Sophie and I were slogging through the surf Thursday, I thought about the summer vacations me,my mom and her friends-all sexy, vibrant women, took to Lake Erie. We stayed at The Village, a motel on the beach that had a series of weathered clapboard cottages with tiny kitchens. But the real draw of The Village was its nightclub with a large dance floor and a full-on orchestra: trumpets, saxophones, trombones,drums, bass,a piano...These women LOVED to dance.

I have a vague recollection of Smiley, the orchestra leader's Irish charm. But it is my mom who would never forget him. You see, she had his child.

I remember that trip as being a fun one. I was 9.Me,Mom,her friend Tacy, and my dog Niki, drove Mom's Ford Skyliner 2500 miles to Santa Monica, CA. There are no pictures of Mom on that trip but I remember her wearing loose mu mu type dresses. She had naturally large breasts so the combination kept her swollen belly well hidden. The day she gave birth, Tacy and I were at Grauman's Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Blvd. Tacy sobbed so loud during the movie, Shane,that I was embarrassed. Of course I know now that she probably didn't even notice the sad movie; she was crying for her friend who was giving birth to a daughter she would never see.

Mary Leslie Sten,pumping with irreverent Irish blood was given to a Swedish family. The reason, I found out when I was 40 something; when mom's dark secret burst forth, was that Mom refused to see her child grow up condemned and ridiculed for being illegitimate. She alone would pay the price of her own sin.

There are pictures of Tacy and me and one with me and Tonto. When we left Pennsylvania I had great hopes of seeing Roy Rogers,Dale Evans or Gene Audrey but was happy with Tonto dressed in full Indian regalia. I took souvenirs back to all my friends. I would rather have had a sister.

At 11 o'clock on Good Friday, my friend, Laurel and I joined the procession of Christ to Calvary. The route here goes from Woolworths to Our Lady of Guadalupe Church over part of the mountainside. This is no easy trek. It involves two very steep hills difficult to climb in sturdy shoes carrying a bag of groceries much less barefoot lugging a heavy wooden cross-not to mention the Roman guard hitting and shoving you because you aren't moving fast enough.

Laurel and I caved after the first hill. We took the lowland route directly to the church steps. Waiting for the procession we had a conversation with a family from Walnut Creek, CA, whose kids go to a Catholic school, about some new commandments the pope has made. The woman said she wasn't a particularly good catholic but she didn't think that he could do that-that they were probably amendments to the commandments. Amendments to commandments. Whoa. Maybe he has finally listed pedophilia as a bad thing.I read somewhere recently that he said women should be more like women than men or something to that effect. Fine with me. Keep your penis but I'm serious about equal wages and having control over my body. I marched the soles off my shoes in the 70s so my daughters and granddaughters would have choice and equality in every aspect of their lives. Personally I think that even the gentle Christ would have a difficult time with some of the rigid rules the Pope imposes on women.

Last week I got a surprise email from Jon Hammond,Tehachapi's unofficial historian and expert on flora & fauna. He honored me by giving me the name Tavi Nomo'o, which he said, means Sun Woman in the Kawaiisu language, the area's indigenous Indians. He said the name reflects my bright spirit and my current sunny surrounding. How sweet is that!

It's Easter Sunday. The church bells are ringing. If I hurry I'll have time to put on my new Easter outfit with the matching shoes and sombrero & catch the 11 o'clock service.

God Bless Us Everyone. -Tiny Tim or maybe Timmy. I can't remember.

"It's a shallow life that doesn't give a person a few scars."
-Garrison Keillor

Paz en tierra.
Ruby Tavi Nomo'o

Estados Unidos & back

I've been back from the Estados Unidos a couple of days now. It's good to be home. My own crazy home. From the PV airport I took the local bus into El Centro but couldn't bring myself to lug my heavy bags full of essential Trader Joe & Ikea stuff up the hill to Camp Aldama, so I took a cab. The whole tab: 450 pesos or $4.50. I dumped the stuff inside and sprinted across town to get Margaret from Liana's locked parking area. I waited an hour for someone to show up with a key. But it was a good hour. Dana & Mark Zellar, an expat couple, from NYC, were singing Broadway tunes in an art gallery across the street for a fundraising benefit: " If I were a rich man...la la la.. The place was packed and folks spilled out onto the street. Sweet.Come to find out the gate only looked locked. But who cares about that.

I feel heady with my new legal-to-drive status. Under the dappled sky lit by a quarter slice moon, I headed up the Rio Cuale to Paso Ancho to get Sophie. I bumped and jolted over cobblestones many of which I'm certain were last anchored into the street around 1912. I zipped along, dodging people, critters & hot carts of roasted papas and plantains. I dipped into culverts and leaped over speed bumps that are called topes or sleeping policemen here, as if Margaret were Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Not even the dumpster diving horses were fazed. Many people let their livestock mosey around town at night and collect them in the morning as they do on the Lions Trail from Tehachapi to Bodfish.

Carolina, the primo dog sitter in Paradise, has a lively, colorful, bungalow that she built herself. The dogs share the space with her; no outside kennels for her guests. It's the Regency complete with grass for rolling and your own bed. This evening in addition to Sophi, she was hosting three chihuahuas, her adorable mutt, and a rowdy golden retriever who just wanted to play, dammit. Sophie tolerated the crowd like an aging great aunt.

On the way home I stopped at Rizzos, the local market that caters to everyone. After asking three different clerks for leche de soya we finally found it. Soy Dream-SoyMilk Original Classic USDA organic. The boy read the label. "Soymelk. soymelk." Si, I said. "Milk - leche." Ahhh." I threw it into the cart and headed thru the aisles for peanut butter to go with the bunch of celery I had found. Celery on steroids. Truly, the stock or bunch is as long and thick as the calf of my leg. I am not lying. But, all of the Mexican peanut butter I could find seemed to be a product of the US but had added sugar. Why is that? Finally, I found Laura Scudders Natural Peanut Butter. Yes!

This morning, in the light of day, I saw the prices of my coveted items. Soymilk: 62.42. Over six dollars for soy milk. Jesus, Mary & Joseph! And the peanut butter with nothing but fuckin' peanuts: even more 63.26. Good thing I'm wealthy.

I've only been gone six months and all the kids I know have grown like they ate one of Alice's magic cookies. My grandson, Avery, still 2 til April, aside for asking, "Grandma, What you doin?" a zillion times a day is so-so grown up, he has formed definite opinions. "No. I not using the potty. Not now. It's not so good." We bonded in train town.

I loved visiting with my friends and their families. Michelle and Miranda, Stan, Sabrina and Miles. I kept Stan up way past his bed time. We met at the famous Holy city Zoo comedy club on Clement St in San Francisco, maybe around 1980. What a treat.

And Tehachapi is home. Since I was ten I've never lived anyplace where I feel so loved. And my friends know how to play. Well, just look at the picture. There is Pat, Kathy, & me in the Bouldin's hot tub. Dave is our personal 'pool boy.' Cindy took the very tasteful, don't you think, picture. Not one nipple showing. How did she do that? Dave, delivering libations, including the aged, pure agave tequila Kathy requested I bring from Mexico said, "Being pool boy is lots of fun." I admire him most though because he is a man who weeps from the force of love for his granddaughter, Lilly.

Cooper, my granddaughter, who is a young woman of 14 now, wrote her name in the wet concrete on the stoop at Falling Apple Ranchita when I bought it-6 years ago? Some of my son's ashes are at the Kirby's: most of them are in Pennsylvania nestled in a box Steve made in the 7th. grade. Annette, my partner in crime, my sister. Family. Sisterhood. It's a true thing in that small mountain town.

But I got off the track.

The Lathams came over and helped us drink the tequila. One shot at at a time, it was gone. Poof. The following morning, the lovely tequila showed it's class by not a single one of us having a hangover. When I was 5, my grandpa took me on a train to NY where I attended my first horse race." Always bet on class, Honey," he advised. He was a wise man.

Where did the time go?On Coronado Island I stayed in Cooper's room as I usually do. This time we planned for our Hawaii trip this summer. And we had sushi twice and Vietnamese food. It was like having a three day sleep over with a good friend.

My daughter, Alice, is a photo maven. Her walls are lush with photos that evoke memories for me: my son laughing with Johnny Cash, Alice, age four or five, pushing her younger sister and friend Marvin in the stroller. Her arms are straight up because she can barely reach the handle, striding. It's a b&w photo I took and printed in our basement, in the old days.

She has a Ruth Bernhard nude print. (she gave me one a few years ago for Christmas). Beauty in a box. There was a woman who knew light. She could see. What a wonderful photographer. Ruth just died in the last year or so. She was 101! Ruth Bernhart. Wow.

And I love to shop with my daughters. Alice has this eye for detail that I've never had. Franz, her dad, said I was knitted with a big needle- loopy. I'm not sure what his point was? Maybe it had nothing to do with detail.

Today, from my window I watched with binoculars as a mom whale taught her baby to breach. I can tell you it takes many belly flops, patience and perseverance to become a ballerina. The mom swam around her while the baby repeated the moves over and over. I bet they were out front at least 15 minutes, just doing these maneuvers. After they left two more showed up within the hour. It was a trip.

"Damn the lights. Watch the cars. The lights never killed nobody." -Jackie
"Moms" Mabley

Paz en tierra

& have a raucous St Paddy's day

Ruby