Category: Dear Diary

We took a train up to San Sebastián yesterday and found it warmer than Madrid for some reason. Eighty degrees Fahrenheit  called for a walk along the beach. We found a Chillida sculpture overlooking the bathers and then had some calamari at an outdoor restaurant.

This morning we did some exercises in our room and had our coffee and yogurt then headed across the street to a café for more coffee. We walked to Monte Orgul, the park at the end of the peninsula that wraps around La Concha. It is a good climb with many paths to chose from and lots of steps, a cemetery and the remains of old forts.

There was a Oteiza sculpture at the base of the mount. We chatted with a couple from Vancouver and stopped for a beer at the “Secret Bar” near the summit. The park was gorgeous with plenty of stunning views of the bay, the city and the mountains beyond. We ended our hike in the old section of San Sebastián and we stopped at the first place we saw for lunch. It was so crowded we had to stand but it was fabulous. We split three tapas and had a glass of Rioja.

Just a few blocks away was the Garry Winogrand “Women Are Beautiful” show we had seen advertised at our hotel. But when we got to San Telmo Museoa they told us that show had ended in January. We went in anyway and saw their permanent collection, mostly historical in nature. I copied this passage from a wall tag, “In a Europe ever more intolerant and immersed in religious wars, the witch-hunting processes revealed the extent to which the social limelight of Basque women came up against the Official Church Rites that were pagan in nature, quarrels between neighbours, and even childhood fantasies, were interpreted as acts of the devil. The result: scores of people were either burned alive or hanged, and hundreds were jailed, exiled and humiliated. The most notorious witchcraft trials in the Basque Country took place from 1609 to 1612.” We picked up a bocadillo on the way back to our place and arrived as the sun was going down.

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It is still a mystery as to why oak trees yield a small acorn crop some years and then a bountiful one. This year the squirrels, chipmunks, birds and deer have struck gold. This bonanza is botanically referred to as a ‘mast’ year. We have had a long stretch of unusually warm dry weather and the slightest breeze releases the nuts. We’re still sleeping with the windows open and when the nut clusters hit the metal roof of our house we get a riotous cacophony and some crazy dreams.

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I go on Facebook to post Margaret Explosion gigs and this time I found some photos from last weekend’s reunion of RL Thomas high school. I snatched these two of Peggi and Jeff Munson. They’re shown talking to Nina Gaby (in the foreground.) I was sitting to Nina’s right and am thankfully out of the frame.

The reunion was a two part affair and we went to the first half, in the dismal upstairs room of the American Legion on Ridge Road. There were plenty of complaints about the stairs during the cocktail hour but it was mostly joyous, “happy to be alive” conversation. It was another opportunity for Doug Click, one of the first friends I made when I moved to Webster in the middle of fifth grade, to remind me how we used to hit balls over the hedge in right field to catch a glimpse of Wendy Williams (eventually the vocalist for the Plasmatics) sunbathing in her back yard. According to Wikipedia “She had her first run-in with the law at the age of 15, when she was arrested for sunbathing nude. Williams attended R. L. Thomas High School in Webster at least partway through the 10th grade, but left school before graduating.”

When the food came out Peggi and I sat down with Nina and Lauri Bortle. I have reconnected with Nina because we run in the same art circles. As I vaguely remember Nina was one of those girls in high school who were too cool or self assured for me to approach. Come to find out she lived near and hung out with Charlie Coco, later one of my best friends. Charlie was always surrounded by girls, not because he was a ladies man or anything but because he sort of was one of the girls. I remember Lauri fondly from Mrs. Sweeney’s class but I was struggling to remember anything else about her. Back home I looked her up in my yearbook and found this note, written at a 45 degree angle across her senior picture, carefully avoiding her features.

“Paul, Only you could come into class late every day and always make the wrong comment and still remain so innocent. Your personality is so perfective, it’s darling. Best of everything, Lauri

When I transferred from Bishop Kearney to R.L. at the start of 11th grade a guidance counsoler told me if I took Senior English the next summer school I could graduate after my junior year. But no way. I was having too much fun. So many of the notes from my classmates were about “ball-busting” or soccer. I shudder to think what I wrote in their yearbooks. Of course, these are all revisionist memories but I found the notes from my teachers to be the most informative. An eye-opening glimpse of immaturity, something I am still working on.

From my Physics teacher – “Paul, It’s been a struggle, but we’ve almost made it. Here’s hoping. Best wishes and rots of ruck, G. Ross

From Mrs. Clapp, an English honors teacher – “You seem charming in your myopic way. I thought you were great in “Teahouse” (Teahouse of the August Moon play)

I wish I had asked all my teachers to sign my yearbook especially my favorite, Miss Gertrude Wilder (math). She was so quick and witty. She would outsmart the smart Alecs and she made an heroic effort, in a meeting after class, to get me to apply myself.

Our fortieth reunion was a blast. This one was as comfortable as an old shoe.

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Today, if you are college bound and planning to live in the dorms, you provide the school with information about yourself that pretty much guarantees your roommate will share your interests. I feel lucky that some fifty years ago this decision was left to chance. There is so much more out there. As a freshman I arrived in Bloomington three days before my roommate. The name “Hoy” was on the door and in my first call home I told my mom, “I think my roommate is Asian.”

Steve was already a junior and he had this college thing down. I helped him unload his car, a white Barracuda with an eight track player and Led Zeplyn’s first. Our room had two desks and Steve asked if it would be ok to put one of his huge stereo speakers on my desk. The rest was academically downhill for me. My intentions, to turn a new leaf and apply myself, went out the window. But my priorities were set straight.

When we left the dorms we moved into a small, coal fueled house in town. Steve wrote a paper for me, a creative writing assignment, and chose a Sci-Fi theme. Entitled “The Fourth Dimension,” I got an “A” on it with a note from the professor that read “Very nice Mr. Dodd.” It was the best mark I got in that class.” The landlord kept the deposit because he said we had “painted the rooms hippie colors.” Who wouldn’t want a black ceiling?

Later we lived into a trailer near the Monon Railroad tracks. Steve bought a guitar and I had my drums in the back room. The Chinaboise were born. Steve was our spiritual leader but Rich was the real leader. The band merged with MX-80 and moved to the Bay Area. Steve was the best man at our wedding. Peggi and I met him in New Orleans in 1980 and drove to San Francisco in his pickup. We slept in the back of the truck. Peggi brought her sax along and rehearsed Hi-Techs songs on the way. We stopped in the Grand Canyon and Steve crawled out on the ledge (pictured above.) Peggi and I were standing behind the fence while people around were pointing at Steve. “Look at that guy out there!”

Steve is inquisitive and he loves to talk, about anything. He is so much fun to listen to. His Hoosier accent is part of the fun but it is mostly the way he connects the dots. While we were talking to him a few months back Peggi had her phone on speaker and I recorded a snippet of the conversation on my iPad. I played it for Steve when he was up here last week. We laughed.

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Yesterday the beach was quiet (above). Today it is packed. We can hear the power boats from our house. Every picnic shelter in the park is full. Sound systems are cranked. Skunky weed is in the air. Groups, clustered by nationality, are picnicking along the lake and the beach itself is crowded. We found ourselves saying excuse me as walked along the shore.

It is already past four and Rick hasn’t asked if we’re going to play horseshoes today. I’m thankful for that. I’ve been carving out files for an upcoming cd. We had hoped to put both an lp and a cd out at the same time, each with different songs. The album has been at the pressing plant for five months and I’m just getting going on finalizing the songs for the cd.

We have a World Cup match to watch, Spain vs Switzerland, so we’re staying away from the news. Our red lights are on. I’m wearing my Spanish jersey. Peggi is making Shrimp Adobo and we’re chilling some Rioja.

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We upped our garlic game this year. We planted one hundred cloves last October. We picked the scapes in July, roasted a few batches and made pesto with the rest. Today we picked the heads, one hundred of them. I built a rack in the garage, just two long skinny boards tacked to the rafters and the plants are drying upside down over my table saw.

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After recommending it for years we rewatched “August, Osage County” and it was just as good as we remembered it being. Fantastic script, amazing cast, it feels real and maybe that’s why no one has thanked us for the recommendation.

Our friend, Pete, asked us to pick up some paper at Rochester Art Supply – Italian Bristol 100 lb., 14 x17″ sheet by Fabiano. While downtown we stopped at Fuego for a Cortado. Over at Pete’s we found him sitting at his drawing table and acting like he had turned the corner after seventy-three days on the sixth floor of Highland Hospital. Our next stop was Brad Fox’s on Royal View Drive. We had taken his stereo amp to Hi-Fi Lounge last year to have a short addressed. It worked for a while but the short came back, one of those intermittent problems that convince you the problem has been addressed when it starts working again. I would not want to be the technician trying to track that down.

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The first boathouses lined The Canandaigua City Pier that was built in 1848. By 1888, over eighty small wooden structures lined the pier. In 1903, the pier was enlarged to accommodate train and trolley tracks to service the steamboats transporting farm produce and passengers along the lake. As cozy as they look today the Boathouse Owners’ Association enforces the strict rules prohibiting people from living in them or using them as cottages. We were in Canandaigua to celebrate our anniversary. We walked up and down Main Street before having dinner in the Lake House and after dinner we explored the pier before driving home.

You can see the smoke filled air in the photo above. The Air Quality Index has improved considerably since yesterday but the Canadian fires are still burning so it will probably be back. Our niece and her boyfriend came up from the NYC area and spent the weekend with us. We were sort of afraid our lifestyle would be too low key for them but it turned out that was just what they were looking for. We took walks around Durand Lake and the beach to the north and then the following day, east down Seneca Road to the bay. If they were here for a third day we could have walked west to the river. We swam in the pool, family stopped by, beer cans piled up and they left for the week’s work.

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Pete and Emily were out walking before Peggi and I this morning and they sent us this picture of tires that someone had dumped in the park. The two piles had been cleaned up by the time we got there and we spent some time trying to figure out how they got into the park because the yellow gates are locked at dark. We talked to a dog walker and he speculated that they came in early in the morning just after the park workers opened the gate and before all the park goers arrived. That would make them pretty bold on top of really rude.

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In January of 1975 Peggi and I left Bloomington and moved to Rochester, where I grew up. We lived in an apartment in Tim Schapp‘s house on Dartmouth Street. Peggi worked in my uncle‘s supermarket when not working as a substitute teacher. She monitored a study hall in my brother Francis’s class. He had lived with us for a summer in Bloomington because my parent’s were having a hard time with him. I got a carpentry job and mowed lawns for a bunch of the neighbors on Dartmouth. I mowed Mr. Cohen’s lawn next door. You can see his house in the picture above.

I took a photo class at UR and wound up with a lot of black and white shots of mundane stuff around the house, like our laundry in the picture above. Interesting to see the entities we were willing to advertise for. These days I wear plain white Fruit of the Loom t-shirts all summer. I get them in six packs from Amazon.

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I’ve decided to show photos instead of paintings at the Little Theatre Café in September. Everybody takes photos and there are probably more photos in the world than at any other time you can think of. So how do you tell a good photo, one you might print large, put in a frame and then hang in a show, from just another? It is not easy.

I’m thinking I’ll choose twenty from the twenty thousand I have in the cloud. I considered the one above because I like it. I like the dramatic lighting, the symmetry in the composition, the factory behind the street front, the two grey boxes on the that gate, the service gate lettering and why is that guy holding a back pack and clean shirt up like that?

I have a sense of what photos other people might like but does that mean I should put those photos in the show?And I have some no brainers. Should I put them in? And then how will my group of twenty hold up thematically? It’s a lot to think about.

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Peggi’s reading Chris Frantz’s book about his time with the Talking Heads. She was telling me about an issue with songwriting credits for an early song of theirs. I went to look at how it was settled on their lp and found that we don’t have any Talking Heads albums anymore. Kept the singles of course. I loved their first single when they were still a trio and we saw them at the Village Gate before their lp came out. But I found I liked them less with each record.

We spent the last few days taking care of a friend with some health issues and then today we spent a good bit of the afternoon in the hospital with our friend Pete and I feel I get more out of helping them than they get from me. I’ve fallen behind with all my usual activities but they don’t seem so important at the moment.

We’ve had salad greens coming out our ears for over a month now. I packaged up a few bags for friends from this batch. We put our Pimiento de Padrón pepper seedings in this morning. We had to kill the first batch we grew from seeds after we learned the tomato seeds that were sprouting next to the peppers were contaminated with a virus. We bought tomato plants to make up for the lost batch but with the pepper plants we decided to start over. The peppers get too hot when they’re big so we’re counting on getting a good batch of small peppers before the snow flies again.

We FaceTimed with Duane this evening and he spotted the camera on my iPad following me around as I got up to do the dishes. The iPad was propped up against a candle and the lens is certainly not moving. We decided it must an AI feature selectively deciding how to zoom and crop the moving subject.

I’m looking forward to the Personal Voice feature that will be incorporated in the new OS. The idea is that you spend 15 minutes reading text prompts aloud to your iPhone or iPad, which will then use this audio data and machine learning to create a digital voice that matches your own. Then, if speech becomes impossible in the future for whatever reason, you will be able to use the Live Speech function to make calls and send messages in a voice similar to your own.

Apple assures us the data will be kept private and secure to prevent the possibility of audio impersonation. Ha.

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It might as well be summer. It hasn’t rained in weeks. Our garden has been especially dry, many of our seeds never germinated. And wild fires, raging to the north in Quebec, have bathed our skies in a warm, smoke filled glow.

On our way to the beach we ran into Greg Prevost and Miss Carol, walking in the park. I asked about his book and he said it was sold out. He told me I was in it, along with everything else, and that I might still be able to get a copy at the HOG. They were concerned about the smoke and decided to turn around. We continued on.

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Try as we may to hang onto spring, May is behind us and we are already surrounded by the sounds of summer. From our house we can hear the motor boats on Lake Ontario to the north as well as the motorcycles on Kings Highway to the west. If we try we can hear the dull roar of tires on the Bay bridge to our east but that is louder in the winter when the trees are bare. We sleep with the windows open so besides the coyotes, we hear the sirens south of the Ridge.

A neighbor down in the valley called the cops on his neighbor because her gas powered leaf blower was too loud. She is a really sweet lady, I wish the guy had just tried to work it out with her. They are incredibly loud, and illegal in California because of the pollution, but my beef is the start/stop action. When it’s roaring, you eventually tune it out. Each time it stops you think, ahh, that’s it, and then it starts up again. The final matches of La Liga season are set to unfold tomorrow, most of them set to kickoff at the same time to cut down on the funny business. I will miss it, of course, but it will free up a considerable amount of time.

We have been eating an assortment of lettuces from our garden for the last week. The street pool is open and the solar cover has been especially productive so the water is warm. I’ve played horseshoes with my neighbor five times (and won four). I can boast because he manages a narrow edge on me most years. That is a welcome sound, the clang of the shoes when they hit each other or better yet the stake.

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Peggi sang in a choir for a few years and one of their performances was inside Saint Stanislaus on Hudson Avenue. The church was the epicenter of the Polish section of the city at one time. I don’t know how active the parish is anymore but the magnificent building is still standing. The clocks have stopped working, I can tell you that. Our Holy Trinity grade school basketball team played St. Stan’s back in the day and they were a formidable opponent.

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We spent most of the day on the hillside out back pulling garlic mustard, wisteria and barberry bushes, a threesome of invasives. We each had a big bag to put the stuff in and I was carrying a shovel. The wisteria roots go way down and they often connect to underground runners. We thought we rid our property of wisteria years ago but it keeps coming back.

The barberry is just plain nasty. They sell it at garden stores and it’s labeled “Invasive” but people plant it anyway. It’s covered with prickers and you have to remove the entire root system. If any is left in the soil, it will re-sprout. Barberry has denser foliage than most native species so the plants retain higher humidity levels which ticks love. Invasives love invasives.

The garlic mustard comes up easy, roots and all. If you miss one plant though you’ll have a patch of it next year. Shelley and Pete cook with it.

We have so many beautiful wildflowers this time of year and the invasives are just as pretty but once you know they don’t play nice, there is no going back. I’d like to think the next caretakers of our property will keep this fight up but I have my doubts.

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I am reminded again of why I like winter so much. The warm weather months are too full of activities (tasks that sat in the job jar all winter) and there is no time left to check in here or think about art projects or read a book.

The garden is going great guns. The direct seed lettuces, spinach, carrots, chard, cilantro and arugula all require daily doses of water. We had a setback with the plants we started indoors and had to toss all our little tomatoes and pepper plants after the seed company contacted us to say one tomato seed variety, one that we were trying for the first time, was infected with a virus. Luckily, it didn’t affect the kale or collards. We bought more tomato and pepper plants at Cases, ones that were bigger than the plants we threw away, but they didn’t have any Padrón pepper plants. Kathy gave us some elephant ear plants a few years back and each year I dig the bulbs out the basement and replant them.

Rick and I opened the horseshoe season. I won the first round 21-1 but Rick quickly found his groove and beat me the second. We had to settle things in a third round and I barely squeaked by. La Liga is not finished. We have three matches to watch this weekend. And our neighborhood group is opening the pool this week so I spent most of the day vacuuming the bottom.

I’m so tired at night I can’t even stay awake for an old Hawaii Five-0 episode. Oddly, I found Igmar Bergman’s “Winter Light” riveting. That will be one of our last red envelopes before Netflix closes their dvd arm.

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Things are so green now I can barely see the neighbor’s house. I can see the cardinals’ nest in the small tree not more than ten feet from my desktop. It really attracts my attention when the male lights on it. It wouldn’t be this green if we hadn’t had all this rain. We put lettuce, spinach, carrots and cilantro in and we haven’t even had to water yet.

They say the season you were born in is most often your favorite. I can attest to that maxim. April 28 is still early spring so I can remember some brisk walks, some warm sunny days and my tenth birthday when I got a new baseball bat but there was still snow on the ground.

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One of the advantages of taking photos with a camera is not being able to scroll through them immediately like you would with a phone. It takes me days to get the Raw images off my card into PS Elements and into the Photos app. And in that time I get to relive my trip.

We arrived at Duane’s apartment in Brooklyn on a beautiful blue day with no agenda. Peggi had spotted an article on the way down entitled “100 best restaurants in NYC,” a listing that included moderately priced places, not just high end joints. We picked one in Williamsburg and Duane suggested taking the train from his place into lower Manhattan and then walking across the Williamsburg Bridge back into Brooklyn. We walked for miles around Williamsburg, by Duane’s old place and restaurants we ate at back in the day, all now just figments of our memories. We walked along the waterfront and finished at Number 39 on the list. We shared two incredible appetizers – baby artichokes (grilled and sauced with mint salsa verde) and marinated leeks (dressed with anchovies and pistachios) and a bowl of pasta.

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