I suppose it is a lesson in the transient nature of happiness. Those languid afternoons on the petanque courts were an integral part of my daily routine. The early bunch: Joe, Dave, Ed, Bill., and Lynda, sometimes Debbie and Maggie, and more recently Mark and Sondra would arrive and start play sometime between 2 and 2:30. Between the early bunch and the beer bunch, I'd wander in through the trees, usually number seven, waiting for Fish-Fear-Me Kevin or Chef Marco to fill out another game. Adair (the good son) comes through the trees about the same time do. Around five or so, Baby Dad Lanter would show up with a backpack packed, then, if he wasn't at sea, Wolfie would bicycle down the path, followed shortly by Peter with two cold ones in the basket. Whenever they could make it Michelle and Kristen would saunter in with a bottle of bubbly. Tim, Rob and Stevie D round out the bicycle gang. Peter Wellington—actually I don't know when or how he arrives. He's just suddenly there as if he was beamed down from the mothership. Thanks mom. If the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter is aligned with Mars then Holly and Erin might show up.
Eventually Jack, Hans, Jean-Michel, Higgins and more recently Barry an Casey, and some of the Petaluma contingent would make a big splash part of the reorganizing team spread. Play would continue until dark or other commitments would thin out play. Hand shakes and hugs would send us home with the feeling that the world was not such a bad place to live.
Now, who knows what lies ahead. Usually things would settle down and return to what we called normal but this time I'm not so sure. It seems the gap between crisis grows shorter with each event. I don't know what the future holds for us but I can tell you this much, I never took a single one of those days for granted, and I thank my lucky stars for every hour we've shared.
———
A conversation between myself and thin air
'Bout how there was nothing and then you were there
Then quick as a wink
Or quicker I think
You were taken away, that doesn't seem fair
———
My apologies to David Lance Goines for so abusing his illustration in search of a metaphor for the state of unreality we find ourselves thrust into. I have been a fan of his work since my days living in Berkley. The illustration is from a poster book of his copyrighted 1978.
———
This is where you decide to unsubscribe. Why haven't you done so already? Maybe you are afraid of what the neighbors will think if you do. Or you think it might affect your credit score. Maybe you've never unsubscribed before and think it might hurt. I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. It's so easy even a lurker could do it. Just send me an email with the words, "I don't need no stinking emails from you" and POOF! you will be promptly removed from my list. The results will be: harmony and understanding, sympathy and trust abounding, no more falsehoods or derisions, golden living dreams of visions, mystic crystal revelation, and the mind's true liberation. The Fifth Dimension (Writer(s): Rado James, Mac Dermot Arthur Terence Galt, Ragni Gerome) can tell you all about it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajgeaOt_HTQ
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