Sustaining Things

The days have been rushing by too quickly and I’ve been immersed in their events. So I’m playing a bit of catch-up with this blog post, although I have started to think about bailing on blogging altogether. I can’t quite decide, you see, whether the blog helps me to keep writing or whether it has begun to substitute for more substantial writing. I wonder if other blogger-writer types have this question.

 

In the meantime, a scroll through the calendar and my notebook brings up first our 25^th anniversary getaway to Yosemite on October 20. Yosemite is still there, thank God, and words like magnificent and breathtaking still apply, but as others have pointed out, it is perhaps loved too well and used too hard. It’s a delicate compromise, I know, that elusive balance between preserving nature and enjoying nature, but it’s unsettling to see the complexity of infrastructure at this park: a jangling jumble of buildings, campgrounds, concessions, parking lots, signs, and tour buses gives the place a decidedly busy and suburban look, and, even in midweek and off-season, we were surprised at the traffic and the numbers of people we encountered. The crowds thin out, of course, if one walks further and takes on the more challenging or less popular trails. Another strategy, which my intrepid friend Bob Isaacson advises, is “Just keep looking up.” Which says more about Bob than anything.

Monte and I stayed at the Wawona, a funky Victorian hotel just outside the park, the kind of place that gives you a brass key instead of a plastic card, and there’s a guy named Tom Bopp playing “vintage music” on a grand piano in the lounge, a gig he has apparently held for 26 years. What I liked about the Wawona is that it smelled like the old hotels in the Catskill Mountains that I vaguely remember from the 1950s. I was also charmed by the fact that our dear friend TC had arranged for a bottle of champagne on ice to be waiting in our room when we checked in. It was a fine adventure all in all, perfect for a couple whose flashiness has faded but whose core is still strong. I’ve learned that what deepens love is time and shared history.

A day after we returned, I attended a “renewal” sponsored by the South Coast Writing Project and led by Kim Stafford, a writer, poet, and teacher extraordinaire.  Kim also happens to be the son of the late William Stafford, and anyone who reads this blog knows how frequently I quote and refer to William Stafford. I told Kim his father is like a dear and constant friend whom I have never met, and he said that his father would have understood that and would have probably felt the same way about me -- a sweet and perfect response from a  very gracious man. At one point Kim told a story about the woman of San Nicolas island and how after her 18 years of isolation one of the men hunting her down saw her on a ridge and crept up behind her and touched her shoulder, and of course she crouched in terror, but her very first act thereafter was to offer food; she made a meal of roasted roots and served it. Kim said, "What do you do for another human being? You put before them a sustaining thing. That is the essential, fundamental human gesture." The idea of course being that teaching and writing are things of sustenance as well.  He also talked about the importance of "local" writers, of being a resonant voice in a small place rather than being famous, and he made it clear that this was not a lesser thing. And we wrote. 

Speaking of writing, I’m excited and proud to have been involved in the creation of a new book. It’s called Layers: Composite Photographs from the Lompoc Valley, by Kam Jacoby, with text by me. Kam’s compelling images seem to prove that the past and present coexist and intermingle. If you’re interested in the book, take a look here. 

Finally, a few days ago I received word that my guitar totin’, coffee drinkin’, baseball cap wearin’ ol’ buddy Ted Martinez died. It wasn’t completely unexpected. I wrote about Ted here in May and had been missing him for quite some time already. There’s also a story about Ted on my website, Zacate Canyon, right  here. I don’t know how to explain Ted or why I loved him so much right from the very first day we met. He was  a great soul in humble garb, my encouraging friend and Yaqui Indian guru, and if he came by my classroom, it was a good day, guaranteed. Parts of his life were hard, but he brought a lot of joy to people, and his story was ultimately one of redemption, and that's my favorite kind of tale. 

So I'm just keepin' Ted in my heart and doin' my best, and I'm gonna be a diamond someday.

 

Comments

[Lisa]

I remember when you wrote about Ted earlier this year, and I felt like I had known him. The world is better for having people like him. More joy.
Someone I knew, who is now gone, would have been 88 today, and I will carry him with me always. I hope I can be a diamond someday too.