A Year in an American Life

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was totally unexpected, truly disappointing, and amazingly exhausting. The simple fact is American Airlines can’t get you there. They can sell you a ticket, take your baggage, and issue you a boarding pass; but they can’t get you to your destination. 

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It’s four ‘clock in the afternoon. I am sitting in one of many theaters at the cineplex. Just before movie time, a group of what appear to be retired women stream into the theater. After the obligatory discussion about which row to choose, they decide on dead center of a row three ahead of me. On the aisle is a twenty-something woman. The group leader points towards the middle of the row and says to her, “Excuse me but there are going to five of us. Don’t worry we’re not all dressed up and wearing heels.” I laugh to myself as I enjoy the subtext, “Sorry we’re going to crawl over you but we’re not going to step on your feet with stilettos or whack you in the face with an oversize bag.” As I will see heels, bags, belts, and hats figure big in the movie, Sex and the City, and that’s what I have come to see, not the characters or the story, but the clothes and the style. Just for the fun of it and to play my part, I am wearing one of my favorite pairs of shoes: Manolo brown mules with orange trim and kitten-heels.

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I have a mantra. It is loving-kindness. Although simple and short, it is really big and powerful. I find myself saying it at odd times of the day, or when I’m feeling anxious, or when I am trying too hard, or when I am thinking too much, and, of course, when I’m meditating.

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There she was on one of many big screen TVs giving her speech. On the one next to her was a re-run of “The Bachelor” where women vie for the affections of the guy. Ahead of me in the front row of elliptic machines a young women had her head in a textbook of some sort and never looked up, not at her or “The Bachelor.” 

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The westerly winds of winter had died down and with them the big waves they generate along California. Now in late May on the more exposed coast a northwest wind was whipping up sloppy surf, but here in the protection of Carmel Beach the tide and swell were cooperating to make waves good enough to surf.

The two wriggled into their full wet suits to protect themselves against the fifty-three degree water. She thought of putting on her booties but decided not to. She liked the feel of her feet in the water as she paddled and thought her grip on the board was better too.  They said nothing. They never did as they performed this ritual and she was especially grateful for that today. Lean and strong, and two heads taller than she, he patted her on the head to reassure her and then easily reached up and took their five-foot short boards down from the rack on top of their black mid-nineties hatchback.

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Dale Chihuly is a master of glass. Both a consumate craftsman and creative artist he uses his organic imagination and technical prowess with breath, fire, and sand to best effect. By exploiting the fluid properties of glass and taking its most fundamental vessel forms off center, his work evokes wonder, joy, and aliveness.

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Diana has just returned from Rome with a newly found admiration for Caravaggio, Roman women, and their street fashion.

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Like almost 43 million other Americans (12% of the population)  I belong to a gym. And, I go.  I subscribe to the Hippocratic prescription that says, “If we could give every individual the right amount of nourishment and exercise, not too little and not too much, we would have found the safest way to health.” Going to the gym ensures that I complete the exercise part of this equation.

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Saturday was one of those glorious spring days demanding that you pay attention.  The sky was so blue, the wind slightly brisk, and the sun decidedly persistent as it cut through the morning fog. Heading up to the City in the morning to take full advantage of the day, we took Interstate 280. It’s a short 45 minute ride up the peninsula from Palo Alto to San Francisco as long as it is not during rush hour. 
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One of the best things about city living is the neighborhood cafe or bar–a place to drop into at any time for a quick pick-me-up or a chat with friends. Even when traveling finding one close to my hotel is de rigueur. There’s nothing better after hours on your feet to sit, relax, and watch other people go about their business or pleasure. Even in a city, like Rome, that’s full of tourists, it is easy to find a place where locals come and go just as tourists do. Just off the Via del Corso in Via Vittorio, we found just the place. Advertised as a ristorante - tea room - wine and cocktail bar, this little place could satisfy just about anyone’s food or beverage desire.

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