Get on the bus, Gus, make a new plan, Stan, don't be coy, Roy, just set yourself free. That's what we thought we were doing as we piled into the Nitro and ventured out into the future to experience
what was supposed to be a present newsreel of the last 75 years of the Sonoma County Fair.
Our opening foray across the port bow was to enter the fair by verbalizing
our intent to go to the pig auction, since more than one group of people had said that they couldn't get into the fair until it opened at eleven. Now, historically speaking, a few years ago, instead of
eleven, we would be allowed in at ten. The fair was never closed on Mondays. Well, the pig auction was a little confusing, since one pig went for five dollars a pound, the next for twenty-two.
In other words, this little piggy went to market, this little piggy had none, and this little piggy waddled all the way home.
Whoosh went the pheromones, the synapse capitulating the outcomes.
The main hall, with it's enigmatic barker crews, left their own voice overs at the door, and the historical foraging left no cultural imaginings to it's traditional meanderings of public domains.
Though the hall of flowers symbolically with it's Dinosaur displays was understandable, not seeing some of the past cultural displays or visible memorabilia, withered our enthusiasm for
the dancing of the Sonoma Sugar Plum fairies. We enjoyed immensely the beautiful art of quilting, the cake and cupcakes made by the young kids, and a lot of the crafts, so often displayed over the years by the creative adults and kids of Sonoma County.
We had a chance when we went to the photo booths with the wonderful curtains, to converse with one of the roustabouts, who had originally grown up in the south, and now, found himself traveling from one fair to the other, in a personal trailer, about his lifestyle, and learned that Minnesota was one of his personal favorite fairs, and that San Diego and Monterey were his personal favorites here in California. He continued with stories of technological changes in the carnival rides, though they were not being implemented here in Sonoma County, and that the kids here, compared to other fairs were somewhat rude to the general public in their communications.
How does one beam so much when confronted with a grand niece. Besides being named after my High School in San Diego, she brings such pizazz to an evening at the old household.
After work, Joyce stopped off to pick Madison up, and bring her home, where I had made Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato and Avocado sandwiches for dinner, along with some fresh fruit and some steamed broccoli. Madison snickered when she saw the chocolate chip cookies I had baked off for dessert.
Joyce called down to Gigi's so Madison could go down and meet the chicks, Mr. Rabbit, and the fish underneath the Water Lilies. They got her up on the swing, which I heard from
Joyce, was one of her favorite things to do. After swinging for awhile, she meandered over to the chicken coop and grabbed a few eggs.
This morning, before Joyce and Madison woke to meet the morning, Steven got up and cooked up some scrambled eggs with a fresh picked yellow crookneck from the garden,
along with some onions, minced garlic and some tomatoes. To go with that menagerie, I sauteed up some sausages, and made a fruit plate with strawberries, blackberries, avocados, bananas and
red grapefruit. I squeezed up some fresh orange juice for liquid refreshment and we all succumbed to the wonders of the first and most important meal of the day.
After Breakfast, Madison and Great Uncle Steven walked out to the garden, filled the bird feeders, checked out the peaches, tomatoes, figs, blackberries, pears and yellow crookneck squash.
Later, after Joyce and Madison got ready to roll, they loaded up the car, and headed out to places unknown. Wait I think there is a shower going on over at Kelly Jean's house.
You never underestimate the young mind, and what a hoot it is to see the wonder, and thrill in Madison's mind as she get to experience her external environments come to life....the "Juice"
As my eyes perked open their lids, waiting for an update on the Budget Reduction and Debt Ceiling bill to quantitatively align itself with the Age of Aquarius, and Joyce's return from the Delta, I thought better of standing
up for my rights. To get the proverbial popcorn off of the ceiling, I thought I better cover up the furniture ( Politicians ) littering the grounds around the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. My cerebral cortex fired up
it's wits to start the arduous journey to complete the rituals of passing a perfunctory bill before the markets would open on a rainy day or a Monday morning. First, two loads of laundry found their way into and out of
both the House (the Washer) and the Senate(the Dryer) while I put dinner into the motions. Eggplant Parmiagano faced it's structural integrity as I sliced, breaded, fried and added grilled onion, tomato and red
pepper and topped it all with enchilada sauce and cheese for a comprimise in
con-fusion fore and display.
I then chopped up some Red Peppers for zucchini relish, for when canned Laughter
Season begins on August 2nd. I boiled off the sounds of Cauliflower Ear, for a later concoction that will be sprinkled with Curry courage and Cheesy commentary and put to a vote in both the House and the Senate to no
avail.
Then came the fowl, promulgating the two types of potatoes( liberal and conservative) carrots in brown sugar and butter (sweetening the bill) celery (any
amendments) and stuffing it with onions and oranges (taking out any bitterness on either side) and spiced with ginger, italian seasoning and pepper (as the President signs the unilateral and equal opportunity bill into law.)
That my dear country folks is compromise, integrity and Sunday Morning Quarterbacking, as we seem close to opening up training camp for the freshmen politicians in the NFL (National Foundation for Lunatics ).
This is Steven, laughing, smirking and cajoling a rare opportunity to watch the nation go over a cliff and tighten the belts of the middle class (those considered to be the most vulnerable, including those with pick-ups with beer and rifles in the cabs and no teeth that play the banjo), while the perpetrators of deregulation, burst Mortgage Bubbles, loopholes in the tax codes and Bush lean beef cuts, that never trickled down and created jobs are snickering all the way to their Banks, that are too big to fold (Fail)into origami art forms.
When you vote for these anomalies (Politicians), do you condone these types of behavioral anachronisms??!!??.......the "Juice"
Morgan Freeman once said, you work to keep your passion alive and it arrives post haste, culminating heritage with the genetics of thought. It is, as he said, and I have so often related, unfolding just the way it should.
Now, I have hopefully conjugated our experiences yesterday with the collaging of events that externalized and incapsulated the wormhole phenomenon. Though it is through separate moments that there are eons
exploding right before your very eyes, with nothing up our sleeves, existence without the illusion of time or variable spaces. Road trips are often filled with signposts, and our first, of course, came in a dual roosting of hawks on a wire, and then we spotted directly
in front of us, dancing to the time warp again, a Woody, evocative of a time, place and an event of your choice.
During those first moments of cloud speak around us as the day progressed were illuminating topographies of the evolutions in geography, stratifying colors in the landscapes that surrounded us.
Along the way, in the images that these spiderweb bridges, water tower and guard towers ushered in, were the nuances of string theories, tying one alternate reality to the next. Such are the concepts of generations as we joined the four of them at the Cook's.
As Adele and Joyce, Lisa and her and Joey's kids, Madison and Jackson represented the ideals and impressions of bridging history thru rebirth. To watch as Madison, now as we view time, being two and a half years old, and proud of her accomplishments on the basketball court, and for me, as each of these newborns seemed to be evolving at a faster pace, I wonder whether my recollections will catch up to the futures that circulate around me on a day to day basis. Joey commented that if Jackson, being all of one week old, was cold, he would curl up in a ball, and if he was being satiated by the heat around him, he would naturallly extend his body parts outward.
As we left those bountiful allures behind us, we cruised thru Lodi, to pick up some raviolis and sauce, and went to visit with Aunt Virginia. Here lies another of our exquisite thoughts as she dance around us verbally with her special moments in the recent months, concluding with the concept that she was lucky that anyone had taken her in. That my dear friends, brings me the humility to write about such excursions into the mystical places I am so lucky to perceive of around me.
Traveling on to Rio Vista Cemetary to visit some of the generations that have passed, and with the juxtaposition in the distance with those wind turbines, our own wormholes from the past, in the present, and to the future, I wiled away precious moments, engulfing myself in memories of my life, as Joyce and Adele did the promotional spiritual and joyful maintenance of long missed friends and relatives.
For the present moments and the joys of teasing Adele of where our last destination was to be, we wallowed into the parking spaces of the new off ramp on Highway 80 west, just before getting back onto Highway 37. Not only is this a place to bring the generations of living Mortensens together for a picnic gathering, but it bespeaks the history of the area we preside in, with the view of San Pablo Bay, and on a clear day, you can see Forever, oh, I mean the Golden Gate Bridge, bringing our trip full circle. It too, is a place where fantasy and reality meet, as it holds two ice cream vending machines, which as you pick and watch the variety of joy you will soon consume, it glides over and latches onto or grabs your selection and drops it into a reachable space in time. It was so much older then, it is so much younger than that now....
This is Steven, a chance encounter with Margie Cook thru Lisa Cook at bookforum.com that made me relate these concepts of Wormholes, Hasidic Judaism, which promotes spirituality and joy through the popularisation and internalisation of Jewish Mysticism, displaying my passion for writing these Days, Child.....bidding all of you a glorious and whether or not filled Sunday Morning????!!!!
Is it me or does the foggy cool moments just before Sunrise make cooking and admiring the garden worship and silent prayer, without the prescence of a steeple on Sunday morning? Not to say that I don't want to be
in someone's warm and tender loving arms, but a bit of solitude always make me humble and alert.
There I go, walking down the corridors of the kitchen, getting funniest looks from every food I meet, but still,I don't have time in those moments to put anything or anyone down. Shades of the "MONKEES". Rolling, Rolling, Rolling round the garden, never saw the good side of a home, until I met a "Perfect Moment" rose, on the "Riverboat
Queen"....CCR revisited. As it was in the beginning, so shall it ever be, kitchen and garden, without end....All Men.
First I had some chicken stock left over from the braising liquid for the Tri-tip, so I decided making some Cream of Everything soup (Roasted Red Pepper, Garlic, Onions and Mushrooms to
name a few) was now on my mistiful agenda. The Tri-tip had been dry rubbed overnight, along with a salsa of sorts containing onions, minced garlic and cilantro, thrown into a red wine and chicken stock braising liquid and lanquished at 250 degrees for two hours, enveloped with Sweet Baby Rays BBQ sauce and carmelized at 350 degrees
an hour.
Company was brought to bear with some yams, slathered with olive oil, salt and peppered and granted asylum alongside the Tri-tip.
Meanwhile I made some sppinach dip with brie, mozzarella and garlic with a yogurt base. I sliced up some honeydew this and honeydew that, with some cantaloupe, with a spray of
strawberries to reboot the database down the middle for a mild visual effect, hope the intial tasting to come from the sense of eyesight. WhileI wiled away the morning, slaying personal demons, solace was granted me as I took to the garden admiring the flowers of summer, the fruit and herbs of today and the succulents and cactus that
crucified the solar energy brought forth upon this yard of ours.
From the sunlight fog streams that light the path to morning, this is Steven, coming around the mountain when he comes, passing the lightness of being to everyone in my train of thought, glowing
anticipation of the finished products, as I'm bringing in the sheaves at harvest, Child, may it always grant you the wisdom to know, when you see it, and the patience to wait until it shows itself....YEEEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!
