My New Avocation:

Public Relations Maven. Who knew?

Here's how it's coming about: Leenie's writer friend, Sarah Dunant, is gearing up for the US release of a third novel in her series on women in the Italian Renaissance – and she is planning a publicity tour in the States in the fall of 2009. Her last two books both hit the NYT bestseller list, and this new one should, too. The subject is convent life in Italy during the Counter-Reformation and the church's oppression of women therein.

Because there are modern parallels to be drawn, Sarah believes (and so do I) that there could be a very reasonable rationale for discussion of the book in the light of church politics in the 21st century. The story of the Immaculate Heart Sisters and their standoff against Cardinal McIntyre in Los Angeles in the late 1960s comes to mind (and it's not that long ago, folks); and the current conflict in the Roman and Anglican churches regarding women's ordination seems pretty pertinent also.

Sarah was discussing the marketing of the new book with Leenie recently, and she said that since she has no real acquaintance with American Catholicism, she wondered if my daughter knew how she might gain some access to leaders and movers/shakers in liberal religious circles over the pond. Eureka: let's ask Fran!

Since I admire Dunant's writing for its well researched historical detail and lively style and have read the first two in the Renaissance series (and am eagerly awaiting publishers' proofs of the third), I agreed to see what I could do.

This public relations work is basically what John and I dub "nexializing" – a nexialist is one who connects – people, businesses, groups, etc. – for their mutual benefit. John's work as a consultant consisted of a lot of that sort of thing, and I'm a careful observer, so perhaps I learned more than I thought during the years in Europe. At any rate, I decided to see what I could do for Sarah.

Networking like a mad ferret, so far I have connected the author with Dr. Ann Taves, the Catholic Studies chair at UCSB, whom I know slightly via St. Mark's days; by good fortune, she had been looking for writers on book tours as guest lecturers for her Fall 2009 season. After doing a little research on Sarah's works, she took the suggestion of inviting Dunant to speak at the Interdisciplinary Department in cooperation with their Renaissance Studies wing, to her deparment head. That worthy said that he doubted they could tempt a best-selling author; Ann (laughing quietly to herself) replied that Dunant had already come to her!

Since Taves is on academic leave at Stanford this winter, I asked her if she had any San Francisco connections that might be interested in hosting Sarah while she is touring in the Bay Area; of course she does, and she's busily connecting things herself now, working directly with her NoCal colleagues and Dunant to set something up.

What else? I gave Sarah the names of the Catholic publications that might be interested in reviewing her book (Commonweal, America, National Catholic Reporter) – and some writers I know about who should receive advance copies of the book for possible jacket blurbs (Kathleen Norris, Joan Chittister, Nora Gallagher, et al). For ammunition when she meets with her publicists at Random House/NY in February, I also suggested two indy bookstores in Santa Barb that would be good venues for a book signing (Chaucer's, and Tecolote "where Oprah shops for books").

Do I dare tackle Oprah? A book-of-the-month push from her sure would help sales .... hmmm. No, I think Random House ought to try to get through that gilded door.

My next big push, after Sarah has a definite date in my old home town, is to get an evening meet/greet thing set up there for people who can't attend university lectures and don't like standing in line at bookstores. Stay tuned: I have some good ideas in mind.

I'm Off And Running

Monday morning dawns, and Julie and I have a shopping and lunch date in Capitola, the Capital of Cute. I have an interesting tale to tell about my new avocation as a publicity maven; stay tuned.

Come Saturday Mornin'

I'm staying at home with my friend .... to paraphrase an old song I love. It's a drizzly, grey day, just the sort to induce cocooning. The house is so quiet, at 11 AM; John is in his little Study Shack, enjoying his own private time for writing and organizing. We had a good earlyish brunch of pancakes and sausage and OJ; won't need lunch today! In the afternoon, my consort plans to work on transferring old music to new media (LP records and cassette tapes go to CD and then the shells get recycled). I must make a short run down to the village to the library and "Johnnie's Super" some time before 5 PM, but I plan to spend most of the afternoon doing writing exercises from my training manual for writing memoirs, "Courage & Craft" by Barbara Abercrombie. She offers a very useful home-course in "Writing Your Life Into Story" – and I'm beginning to do her Five Minute Exercises, which she uses in her classes. She throws out a topic; you take five minutes only, and just write, without stopping for contemplation or editing. It's easier than it sounds, because if you get stumped she suggests you just write "I'm stumped, why?" or anything else that comes from the subconscious to the paper (or monitor) until the creative juices lead you on to the end of the five minutes. I think it is right in line with the dictum that "the only way to be a writer is to write." I've tried about four or five of these exercises and it's surprising how much I can think of to say in that small period of time. But then I've always been excessively wordy, so it's a good thing that the next portion of Abercrombie's book deals with Editing. There, I ought to shine, as I am known as "The Slasher" in copyediting circles. The question remains whether I can be as brutal with myself as I've been with others. Stay tuned (I'll try to be honest!)

The Day After

"What a night! What a night!" Paul Simon exclaims during the famous Simon and Garfunkel Concert in Central Park. I felt that way yesterday: "What a day!" We were floating on air, up here in Boulder Creek. The first deep breath i was able to draw was after the ceremony, when I could reassure myself that it had actually happened, that no shots rang out, just songs of joy. I thought the blissful look on the faces of the members of Yo Yo Ma's quartet as they played the blissful strains of "Simple Gifts" said it all.

Now the real work begins, of course. I'm guessing O was up and running this morning, even after the taking of the oath of office, the dancing and celebrating, and – I'm betting – a sleepless night. (His girls were having a slumber party at their new home, and you know what that means: No Slumber, for anybody in the house.) But I think he will move with careful deliberation and with courage and strength, toward his closest-held goals. As long as we all move our goals along with him, we can turn this world around. Let's roll! Let's eradicate the horror we've felt since 2001 when we first heard that call to action that led to death. Let's roll this chariot along to a better life for every man, woman and child on this beautiful Earth.

That Free(dom) Concert!

Wow; I don't know how it struck everyone else, but I thought that was a wowzer 90 minutes of good music. What a time it must have been to be down there by the reflecting pool, singing along.

I am filled with American spirit when I hear something like that, and listen to Obama speak; and how I do pray that he will carry through on his promises and his professed ideals and hopes.

I guess those who know me well realize that I'm not 100% on the bandwagon; I've been disappointed so many, many times in the past by so many politicians and world leaders, that it's hard for me to believe.

Perhaps having gone through the 60s and 70s, riding that great wave of hope that my generation was blessed to experience – and then having all the breath knocked out of me by the assassinations and the broken promises, the police brutality and the cynical politics of the Chicago convention in 1968, and watching the Kent State students mowed down, and on and on – I may be irredeemably unhopeful about political solutions.

But my essential hope and belief in humankind is still intact, thank you: and I can really get behind Obama's appeal to the common man to make this happen. Yes, we can: if we will.

A Race To The Post

I know, I know: fillies race FROM the starting post. But I ain't no filly any more, and I'm not above an attempt to list above the rest of you blogger blokes, on the Jimmasphere site.

Yesterday my beloved and I had to make an expotition to downtown Felton (Pop 5000) to do some banking and a bit o' shopping, so we stopped for lunch there at the Cowboy Diner-Bar-Cafe (i.e., Greg Horne's "find" in San Lorenzo Valley). We started with an hors d'oeuvres plate of Yam Puffs with Jalapeno Jelly and Ranch Dipping Sauces; John had a Pulled Pork BBQ Sandwich; and I ordered a medium-rare bacon/cheese burger (luncheon size). These were all fine choices.

(The fact that I have had Rumbling Gut Syndrome overnight had nothing to do with this, right?)

It's a quiet day in Lake Wobegon West today; we'll listen (as ever) to Prairie Home Companion this evening -- Patty Loveless is a guest this time, a fine girl.

Tomorrow we are skipping church (gasp! horrors!) in order to be home at 11 AM PST, for the start of the DC festivities. That is to say, "We'll pray with you, Bishop Robinson" - to paraphrase Simon & Garfunkel - and pray throughout the ceremonies for our Barack to turn this world around, and to be safe doing it.

Gassing Up

Today we had to have an "Amerigas" truck come out to fill our propane tank (its fuel heats our home and cooks our meals: so convenient); the ugly tank sits up on our back parking area, but it is part of mountain wilderness living, like the beater cars in some yards, or the also-ugly white canvas tent-garages - just a part of the scene up here.

But I saw another "part of the scene" yesterday that makes up for the rural eyesores: as I was driving down our lane to get the mail and go to the village for groceries, I came to a stop before a beautiful, lithe fawn who was standing politely by the side of the road. When I came to the halt, she looked at me, but still waited; as I moved slowly on, I saw in my rear vision mirror that she was now leaping gracefully across and into the woods on the other side of the lane. That was a magical, transcendent encounter, I can tell ya.

So once the tank is filled and we pay the horrendous charges for same, we are off to do some big-time shopping in the marketing and industrial center of Felton, down the road – and probably to get some good grub at the Cowboy Bar and Grill in town. It's a lovely day for an outing, sunny and in the 60s.

The Woods Are Lovely, Dark And Deep

There have been so many comments on my "Dark Side" entry that I want to say a bit more, especially for those who don't go back to check comments on old posts.

Some of the entries indicate that we might be shocked, or that some of the lustre of this beautiful spot may have tarnished somewhat, with the intrusion of death in our compound up here.

I want to assure you that is not the way it is. Maybe because we are "old-now" as Teri would say, I think we see death as pretty darned inevitable (and is it not?) We love life a lot. But all of us are headed south, so to speak.

In fact, that man's sad departure makes us more aware of the beauty of each day that we are given; another day to love the people we love, to glory in nature's bounty, to enjoy breathing in and out, good food in plenty, and sunshine on our shoulder.

I just have to say one thing about suicide, though: we know that people in severe depression and despair think mostly of escaping their pain – and usually feel that everyone would be better off without them. I hope that if I ever reach that point (and who has not feared it could happen to them?) I will be able to hold onto the lifeline of knowledge that I would leave behind people who will have to live not only with sorrow of loss but also with guilt, anger, self-recrimination – and danger of their own falling into the pit of despond. That is not a nice farewell gift, to be sure.

So, although every man's death diminishes me, and I know the bell tolls for me too, I can accept this as part of the package: Life is so beautiful; at least it has been for me, and I'm very, very grateful for every day I've had on this earth.

"The Curious Tail ....

.... of Benjamin Bunny" .... anyway that's my approximation of the title of Brad Pitt's new film -- which Julie and I went to see on Monday. Actually, we enjoyed it a lot: but then, Ju and I like to weep over sad and romanic movies (and she likes to look at Brad). (Personally, in the Newman/Redford Debate that has been ensuing on a recent e-thread, we decided you are either a Newman or a Redford person; I'm the first, Julie is the second, so we understand she'd like Brad.)

Two hours and 40 minutes is a long time for any story to hold attention, and there are some slow moments in the fable; but it's a lavishly filmed digital journey backwards through time; and for you men, Cate Blanchett is quite lovely. I'll even give Brad 3 stars at least; he works hard in this one and it shows. I must add I didn't really cry until the baby dies; but that gets me as much as sad-dog stories kill Julie.

So what are the movies to beat, for Academy Awards? I'm saying "Milk," for now; I was wowed by it;; but I haven't seen "Frost/Nixon" or "Slumdog" yet. I thought the Golden Globes were a joke; how could they have slighted "Doubt"?? (I felt Streep's performance was over the top, but Philip Seymour Hoffman was absolutely sterling, and the New Yorker critic who dissed Amy Adams' work was wrong. It's hard to stand up to the great Meryl, and I thought she did it well.)

The Famous Critic Pair, Julie and Fran, are off to see "Revolutionary Road" next week. Julie liked Clint's new flick, and I want to see that soon.

We accept all nominations from the floor, so chime in with your favorites!

The Dark Side

Just about all of what I write here is sweetness-and-light, no? Sorry, folks; this enchanted garden does have a Serpent; and it has reared its ugly head. Of course all of life – like all of the life inside of us – has a shadow side; it reminds us that we are not yet in eternal Light.

Yesterday afternoon, the knock on our front door introduced us to two deputies from the County Sheriff's office – never a good omen when you open the door and see the badges. They wanted to ask a few questions: (1) had we heard any gunshot sounds during the morning? and (2) had we heard any loud noises of argument or shouting? Negative answers on both counts. (Loud noises and gunshots? In this bucolic exurban Paradise?)

The brave and loyal officers would not tell me anything more. They asked if we know a couple who live in a ramshackle house halfway down our Hazel Brake hillside. At the mention of their names, I recognized them as the Bracken Brae residents who have been under the scrutiny of our neighbors, Ted and Teresa – who have made many unsuccessful attempts to get them to clean out the mess evident on their property, including old, dead cars and bicycles, a lot of trash, and (it is said) a nest of rodents that were beginning to roam farther afield. Finally, Teresa has been collecting signatures, ours included, with the intention to submit a petition to the county supervisors' office. ..... I said the truth, that we knew their names but had never met the couple. The men thanked us and departed.

After us, they went next door to talk to Peter, and later he told us that he tracked the officers down to the aforesaid property, where investigators had put up the well-recognized yellow tape lines; and he was informed that the man had just died of gunshot wounds to his head – probably self-inflicted, but evidence was still being gathered.

We prayed then, for God's mercy upon the poor guy. Having had two dear friends succumb to the horror and despair of suicide, we feel very deeply for its victims.

So, death has shadowed our beautiful forest; it should not be unexpected, for death is a part of life, as I've said. Another neighbor, old and sick, died before Christmas; that is a natural and inevitable occurrence. But violent and unnatural death is more of a shock.

It is a sad but salutary reminder to choose life, and live it to the full, every lovely day that we are given on this earth.

On the 12th Day ....

... the partridge is about to come down from the (Christmas) tree, as the holiday comes to its inevitable end .... sigh ....
But we still have Twelfth Night (Epiphany)! So this evening we plan to light all the candles as darkness draws in around our little cottage, and illuminate the tree, and toast the end of our first Christmas season in our new home, with a cup of Wassail (hot spiced wine, you know) – and we'll pour a bit on the garden soil in back of our deck, as a libation to Mother Earth – to ensure a good flowering and greening in our forest, come springtime.
I have a Venison Stew bubbling in the crockpot this afternoon, which shall be the filling for a Renaissance Meat Pie for dinner, accompanied by fresh pear halves filled with cranberry relish -- and a good bottle of red vino, of course.
This first of (we hope) many holidays to come in our forest enclave was very peaceful and lovely. My own quiet times in front of the fire alight in our wood stove on cold rainy days, as I fought off my annual cough with warm wraps and hot tea, were very comfortable; the illness provided a perfect excuse to stay indoors and do nothing, while not really making me feel too sick. Lovely!
John kindly ran errands and cooked, and brought me tea and meds; and we both enjoyed the long dark evenings, watching the tree lights twinkle and our candles glowing, listening to all our Christmas albums on the stereo.
We have had our share of visitors (and visiting, once I felt better); Joe and Kathie came with Josh for a nice pasta dinner before Christmas; Julie and her family shared Christmas Day dinner with us here; my young friend Janelle came up from Berkeley for an overnight stay; and after New Year 2009 dawned, we joined Joe & Co. in Marina for a fabulous Mexican feast, and we all met with Julie for a delicious lunch in Capitola the next day.
And now, we are about to settle in for a long winter's quiet time, getting back to a daily routine of writing and music – and household chores when needed. It should be very quiet for the next two months, as visitors don't want to cope with the icy cold and the rains that will mark January and February. We won't stray far afield, either, for the same reasons! It's a time for cocooning.
When Spring begins to bud forth, in March and April, we expect to have many guests: Teri and Tris are coming in March for a week in California; Kathy, Dave and Rowan will follow them a bit later in that month; and then as Lent concludes, we will be in Santa Barbara for the Holy Week observances at our Trinity parish, Easter dinner with my siblings, and a welcome to California as Eileen and Greg arrive for Easter Week at the Rincon Beach cottage. And after we get home again, the "Brits" are coming up here for their first look at their homestead, as guests of us Homesteaders!
I'm sure that 2009 will bring many more pilgrims on their way to us; and our Sanctuary here in the mountains will welcome them all.
We now await the first big event of the new year: the Presidential Inauguration on January 20. Even more avidly do we await the events that follow that historic day, as we watch to see what President Obama and the US lawmakers can do to restore hope, peace, and justice to a world so sorely in need.
May this year bring to us all those three gifts! Amen.