Standing in the Shadows

        Do we grow up or do we depend on someone else like the European Union to speculate how we diversify our own economic choices?  Sure we had a part in their demise, though being a nation that has, in the past been revered and looked up to, we need to forge ahead and form our own conclusions as to how to deal with the maladies that we have positioned ourselves into.
        Yes it is hard when the government itself is part of the ongoing mess we find ourselves in. When one of the three parts of government has gone off the deep end, with the concept of corporations being people and money being speech.  This of course is nonsense and we who are supposed to be the driving force in a concept called Democracy need to step up to the plate, and take charge in this ongoing dilemma we seemed glued to the social media to figure out.
          It is sophomoric and ambivalent to sit and wait for the dust to clear.  If to vote would make this disappear than by all means go out and cast that naivety.  The answers lie in the local communities making a decision that government is no longer the answer.  What is happening is not politicians voting themselves a raise.  What is happening is the concept of the value of money is no long representative of who we are, rather it has become a tool to dominate public discourse.  You cannot petition the court with prayer, relying on faith that this madness will somehow come to a screeching halt if we give it enough rope.  Do we really expect the corporate world to hang itself?
           For Austerity purposes, we take money, speech, away from our protectors,the police and firemen, and our teachers, who actually provide to students the ability to speak. If you really want to stop the flood of capitalism and free enterprise you must go out and use the social media, because that is what the proverbial "they" are doing to infiltrate your perceived reality.  You don't question, it seems, the misinformation, or the outright lies.  If  "they" say it enough, you start to believe it.
           There is no way to go, but up.  The choice is yours.  Take it, leave it, or go your own way.  Now is the time, here is the place, and specifically, clear your mind, and depart on your own chosen path, if for no other reason but to know where you are going next.  Is this drift slowly beginning to sink in and are you breathing for the first time in awhile, and are you now going to cut the umbilical cord becoming your own person in the process?

        Here April reads her dedication poem to June during a flurry of speeches by various members of the family.

June, Carriage House and Family at 90

     In the beginning, June, in seven days, and ninety years grew her clan, and as we all congregated into the "World according to June", as we mingled about, caused frenetic chatter to abound, shared memories and outlooks, concepts and just sauntered about the room, enjoying the nuances of the austere interior decorations and outside patio area. The "Usual Suspects" included a multi-generational cauldron of personalities starting of course with June herself, working into Bob and April, Sue and Richard and Holly, along with a string of finely tuned

 musical instruments of siblings including, and don't chastise me for any misspellings or aberrations in intent here, Copa, Tyler,Sonya, Kaitlin, Trevor, Nicole and Andrea.  Along with this beautiful and contagious family, Joyce and I gratefully and humbled whisked ourselves through the chorus of their individual lives and patterns of thought that had brought them to these moments of Joy celebrating June's 90 years, as she opened up her gracious offerings and blew the one candle on her cake out.  We all loved, danced  and sang to the chorus and syncopated life and times of June's Life.

     Here at the Carriage House, which is a Banquet Room at the Dry Creek Kitchen, we were entertained culinarily first by some passed appetizers including, but not limited to, Crab Cakes with a dipping sauce, Risotto Balls with a dipping sauce, Grilled Chicken on a Stick with a dipping sauce, and a concoction of flavor profiles engulfed inside of a Belgian Endive leaf.
I didn't flash on the visuals entwined representations of the appetizers, so you just have to imagine all the textures and nuances of both the food and the dipping sauces.  So sorry, Uncle Albert .

     As we progressed into the meal, Bob had brought a collection of wines, from the "Jazz Cellars" collection, including both whites and reds, so we could pair them with first and second courses. For the Whites, he brought some Voignier, and a blend of two similar varietals to Voigneir, called Rhapsody, which we partook during our escapades with the first courses of Sweet White Corn Soup, Wild Mushroom Risotto, and the Sonoma County Greens salad.
     As we hopped on down the Bunny Trail to the main courses, we were treated to first, a Pinot Noir, then a Syrah and lastly dabbled into some Zinfandel, which were progressively indulged with the Fava Bean Salmon Mi Cuit, which was fascinating for various reasons but we all were intrigued by the biscuit that was made with the fava beans, the Spring Chicken "Picnic Style", the Honey Brined Pork Chop and lasted christened with the Dry Aged New York and Braised Short Rib entree.  All of us, as we usually do, got the opportunity to indulge in all the flavor profiles going on in each of the dishes, that is, if we wanted to, and for further explanations of what the particulars were of each dish, feel free to click on the menu and layout picture above.
        One other thing before I return to yesteryear, is there were a few speeches given, one by Joyce, then a poem that April had written and read for all of us, and then for a few stolen moments, June espoused on her love for her family, and how great it was to be there with everyone and how delightful all of this was and had become moment by moment as the  evening progressed.  There had been lots of frivolity, indulgence in one another, and many lusty and bawdy proclamations added to the character of the room, as we slowly filtered our way toward the vast opening to the Banquet Room to return to our personal spaces and humble abodes.
         Again, as Steven finds himself so much further in, after such gorgeous moments of exaltation's, than he will ever be out, before he travels that long, long way to go before he sleeps, let it be known that after the Smith family gathering, memories of himself not being the only "DREAMER" have been put to rest.

Succulent Dividends

           Somewhere down the line there is what was once called Risky Business, innovation and just putting the Capital in Capitalism.  Dance to the Time Warp again is the provocative illusion we all want to hit the dance floor proclaiming our innocence when it comes to the contrary notions of Austerity.
       I'm not saying there isn't some precedent for whatever the medieval precepts that are going on are, but America was never faint of heart or mundane in it's responses to whatever the status quo of the day was at the time. We are now stuck in reverse, that feeling that you take two steps forward, and then in a few milliseconds you find yourselves in arrears.
        To continue the spiraling nature of any black hole and it's return to acceptable denial, one simply continues the notions that put them there in the first place, knowing sooner or later, that all the speculation will soon halt itself into some grand emotional uplifting event.  What maybe I am talking about Here is we must keep throwing money at innovations, new technology that provides us with renewable energy and put us back on that track which gives us the balance in our natural phenomenons.  That is the evolution that some of us came into physical reality for.  
          We did not tippy-toe around where our thoughts and actions were laid to rest in a junk pile of lost ambitions.  We instead made those leaps of faith that wallowed in experience and became revelations.  Money is not the answer, it is just a tool to make the possibilities come to fruition or into the realms of reality.  Ideas and concepts realize their potentials without the caustic rhetoric proclaimed by the currency of the realm at the time.
          So all of you procrastinators, and Nay Sayers please put your sticks, stones and glass houses somewhere in the closet that you may or may not remember at a later date, and come for a ride on the Optimist Express, and take a new breath of fresh air and a look at things to come.  I was so much older then, I am so much younger than that now.  Or, in another vision an employer once spoke these words to me...You have to spend money, to make money.

My Dad, Arthur Leon Child III at 90

 

 

 

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Steven Child	2:43 PM (16 hours ago)

             Though there wasn't the Rainbows or some planetary
lineup on a Moonlit Night, in our wake as we left Tiburon gazing into
the Horizons that rose and fell between distances in the future, we
all chatted and cajoled not only the day, since it was going to be
full of Orange and Pomp and Circumstance, but the weather as perfect
as we could of dreamed of, not sitting on our hands and knees in some
familiar wish or hope, but rather in forms of serendipity, left in our
own musings.
              This then was a collection of the Orme side of the
multi-generational family that gathered at the point in reality that
collided with the Pacific Rim and the multitudes of immigrants right
here in the confluence portrayed in the San Francisco Bay, bridged
together by three glorious bridges known for their personalities and
going by the names of the Golden Gate, The San Francisco Bay Bridge
and the Richmond Bay Bridge to celebrate my Father's and Everyone
else's muse or confident or constant companion in the Universe of
Orme.
               We swiftly entered into the cerebral port of Angel
Island with it's Architectural Styles laid strewn on the open and
exotic landscapes of the Island Itself, and began setting up what was
the Orange Ethereal Garden of Arthur Leon Child, seeing as we had
learned, through the faults of our own that Danny Boy had long settled
on the Color Orange as his favorite sidekick when it came to colors.
We had struck the proverbial Orange pot of Gold, with Earrings,
T-Shirts, Tablecloths, Rings and various other menageries of esoteric
provocations of Orange.
                 We dithered with eating lunch first or going the
route of the tram, and settled quite quickly and unanimously on eating
lunch and the offerings included were breads, cheese and dips, beet
salad, grilled chicken ceasar salad, rainbow fruit salad, orzo salad
and shrimp with cocktail sauce, broccoli salad, assorted alcoholic and
non-alcoholic beverages and tart and Tangy Lemon Meringue pie.
Everyone seemed satiated with the color, taste, layouts and flavor
profiled dancing not only over their tongues but the eye popping
visuals that lay before them.  We  finished the meal off with
lanquishing with Lemon Meringue Pie with a 9 and an 0 that represented
the years of living alive and dangerously of Arthur Leon Child.
                  Afterwards we trammed to our hearts content making
friends with the newly inaugurated driver, and enjoyed the taped
history and culture that surrounded Angel Island and it's days of Wine
and Roses and immigrants came to experience the rawness and exuberance
involved in the American Dream from many cultures, but mostly from
those of the Pacific Rim Nations.
                  Soon after the return from temporary insanity and
arriving and landing on the prescence of day to day reality, we all
broke down the celebratory indulgences and packed and weaved our
excited souls back to the ferry and headed home to our wonderful and
colorful lives.
                   From all of Me's to the characters of all of You's
who so diligently try and decipher these meandering diatribes of joy
and Road Trips, this is Steven filling his lives participating in such
wild, woolly and glorious moments, Child, finding that all roads,
today, at least, had led to the Life and Times of Arthur Leon Child
III, who coincidentally, is also, my Father.  May you all take the
destinations to such Tales of Power, but also realize along the way,
that it is the trip, or the tripping that brings the real evolutions
in our physical souls as we ponder such wanderings, after reaching
those familiar or unfamiliar territories.

Silly Little Love Songs....

            There were or are times that it just keeps knocking at the door, wide open or not, and even if you don't imagine yourself answering the call, yet you have that naked and haunting feeling you are still hungry to write some passionate words to dispel the rumor or relieve the hunger.  While gathering the bounty to store the provocations for a later work, you bite either your tongue for enunciation, or your lips to mock the attempts of speaking out in favor or assistance of some profound logistical solutions to whatever malady you find yourself stumped and having writer's block or misgivings about, whether or not, you suppose, anyone cares about listening to or reading, posthumously.
             Let my people go, onward Christian Soldiers, marching we hope just, as to the idea going off to War.  No, simply put, put down the Ho-Ho's, step away from the altar or counter of Free Enterprise, and realize the energy you waste on caustic rhetoric, or finding ways to encourage your own collection of belongings.  Is there that proverbial line in the sand that makes you quiver and have that  possessive feeling, it's mine and you can't have it, or no I can't find the "way" or means to share it with you.
            It wasn't yours to begin with.  Yeah, you chose it, either to have or to hold, but it wasn't yours for an eternity.  You may find yourself stuck in time, or even in space, but in no way were you meant to linger.  Though there is no penalty or consequence to pay, or to set you back fifteen yards or so, but it does slow down your originally laid plans of mice and men, when you do take, and I mean take, and not give, the time to decipher the code.
            My list is endless but somewhere along the line if the concept of democracy involves voting rights, then purging the right to vote is not a customary right of passage to democratic points of view, or the thousand points of light of democracy itself.
             For capitalism to continue it's evolutionary principles then not keeping a status qua of jobs available to the middle class or the general public, defeats the purpose intended in supply and demand when you have no one to purchase your product on the open market.  When you have a government who is in essence a  regulatory body, and you ferment ideas of deregulation, then there is no purpose for that government to exist.  Government is also meant in theory to evolve, based on present day circumstances and the political environment being played out in the media, so when it is brought to a standstill by either money, misinformation or the participants that were elected into office, not appointed, sits on their hands, are in the process of rowing down shit creek with no paddles then, for "God" sakes come to the narrow conclusion that it is no longer serving it's purpose, and needs to be deconstructed, rebuilt on differing foundational illusions or just simply put to death by lethal injection, public flagellation or if you would prefer, burning at the stake.
                Are we really in the wholesale market of neglect as we begin to disfavor women for you already are aware of why, poor, minorities, the aged and in some cases any body or group of people who seem destined to vote for the Democratic Party.  I used to believe no, but I have become increasingly aware that between the far right Republicans and Tea Baggers, that there is a distinct possibility that those characteristics are becoming alarmingly present day mantras.  Though as a recorder, I am still dumbfounded to the creature comforts of why this is all occurring but I am prudently writing this stuff down now, just to, at a later date, if this malady persists, I can say "I told you so....."  Though I could come to the surface and take in more oxygen, I think taking a hibernating dive to the depths is a much more appealing choice at this particular point in history.  I bid you life, liberty, an ability to laugh at yourself, and the willingness to keep getting up in the morning because you want to, rather than the usual have to, live long and prosper, just like my Dad, who just made it to 90 and for Gladys, who is turning 100, in December.