Author: beardandcap

The Green Old Deal

I’m getting the hang of video chats. Whereas initially I fumbled with my cell phone and wondered why a 5-minute talk drained the heck out of my battery, now I position my tablet, where I want to have the call, and boom, the magic happens.

Had the pandemic not happened, I don’t think I would have cared about the video call. Oh, I played with it a bit when it first became a thing but always preferred to do the audio. With a society less inclined to meet up, it’s nice to see people with these calls. Today I video called a friend from Las Vegas and a friend from New Jersey, and it was great to see them both in the safety of their shelter. Both of them friends who have also made video calling a part of their regular communication.

The weather outside was nice. It was comfortable to chat on the deck. I sat in front of vines that seemed to want to strangle my words, but they behaved, and aside from the buzzing of a hummingbird, it couldn’t have been a more peaceful locale. Both conversations felt part therapeutic as the discussions touched on the pandemic and what we were doing or not doing.

Garry took off with his niece to have a distanced hike. I executed a military-style attack on the weeds in the back. Those greens never saw it coming. My forces recaptured the path leading to the backbench at the end of the garden. The overgrowth had taken it from us, and I was determined to get it back, “by hook or by crook,” which is what one of my old catholic school nuns used to say. I laid the enemy to waste. Grabbed those suckers low in their roots and pulled. I let their lifelessness hang on the paved steps for 15 minutes while I hydrated, then it was green bin time.

The battle is never without scars. Because of all the low stretching during the plucking, I get entirely wiped. But it also feels good, a mission accomplished and indeed another chapter in the 100-year war. 

Back in the day, the sheer inactivity led to that backbench area’s unwanted growth. You could not even see the bench. It was one of the first sections I tackled after moving in. The upkeep is a two-person job, and we’ve maintained some consistency with its growth. 

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Reality Obscura

We were doing the fantasy planning again. My feeling is it’s somewhat healthy. No tickets have been purchased for anywhere but we look. London and possibly Lisbon in the fall and of course, in this alternate reality, there will be London theatre in full swing. Why not?

Otherwise, Monday’s raindrops ended in a brief interlude of sunshine before giving up to the night. My work from home day is not even much of a memory. It was a tap-dancing blur of coffee-infused purchases of many items of interest to a certain pet hospital. The fiery tapping of computer keyboard keys was in direct competition with the raindrops on the window. It was Gregory Hines and Mikhail Baryshnikov tapping away in that silly movie they did. The coffee was great for focusing my direction away from celluloid flops to chewable Rimadyl.

When I logged off, the rain was also done and I was able to take my own pooch around to the park. She tugged a bit, not liking the fact that the previous weather had kept her from the outside world. She is not a lover of the rain. Luna loves comfort but also a daily adventure. We try to give her a good mix.

In what was a super quiet weekend we took her to South San Francisco to see the giant Music Harp. It was a different place so Luna had plenty to smell. The humans liked it as well. It is a giant metallic harp that, when it’s windy, a music-like sound emanates from it.

Garry has been out west longer than I have but he had never heard of it either. We found it on a website called Atlas Obscura, a good resource for unique little spots in different areas.

Otherwise, we re-engaged with our ongoing battle on Saturday vs the weeds outback, it’s a never-ending battle with few plant casualties as possible.

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Dreamlandhattan

Mike Zareno led me, along with 2 other folks I didn’t recognize into Jay’s apartment. My assumption? We were packing up his place after his death. These twilight zone dreams don’t have instructions; I generally go with my gut.

I was back in Manhattan, the Murray Hill days to be specific, and I was with two strangers, picking at Jay’s things, the way one would browse at a thrift shop. Items in the apartment were tossed about. The furniture was particularly tacky, certainly not Jay-like. There was a long couch in the living room with a U shape design and a specially made U bright leather top. It was cringe-worthy. I grabbed it and easily removed the cushion top, and tossed it aside.

Looking around the studio apartment, there were more pictures than memory serves. Jay would showcase a few pictures, in little frames and many in photo books (before digital), but his apartment had photos everywhere in this fantasy. I looked over at some of them; I was in a bunch. I was young, in a few of the shots and much older in others. Also, the images would come to life within the frame when you touched it. It was like watching a little video. This effect was used quite a bit in the Harry Potter movies.

My eyes caught up with a book on the floor: The Reporters Handbook. “How is this here, ” I said to no one in particular. It was my copy. I made a point to leave it where I can grab it on the way out. It was a book that called out to my journalism loving days.

Suddenly, a bunch of guys came in through the window. They were here for
the furniture. I adjusted my face mask (yup, the COVID stuff is in the dreams now) and got out of the way. That’s when I noticed the book was gone. Damn, I thought and started looking for it, knowing fully that I no longer needed to have it around.

Upon waking and having a sufficient amount of coffee, I went downstairs to the attic room. Garry likes calling it my man cave. I see it as a replica of my old North Beach studio apartment. I went to the bookcase. It’s not there. I have a few reference books at the side of my desk, and that’s where I found my Reporter’s Handbook. I flipped through the pages about investigating politicians. I can get on with the day. 🙂

Note: Mike Zareno was our landlord in Murray Hill, who passed before Jay did. I lived in the same small low rise building in Murray Hill. This time was part of my roaring twenties.

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On an Island with a few books

The California lockdown has begun. And to mark this occasion, I picked up a new book to read over the weekend: Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. I generally float between 2 or 3 books at the same time. It keeps me chugging along, albeit a bit slower than most folks doing one at a time.

What happens in this book juggle is I inadvertently finish a book first before the others. I don’t let myself fall to only one book, so I add at least one to the rotation. I always try to keep the mix going. Picture that guy in the circus that catches the bowling pins. I read some chapters put it down, and almost always go to the next book in my group unless I’m in a place I don’t want to stop for a while. It can happen quite often in suspenseful narratives. There are times you don’t want to go to the next one immediately.

The completed book that left the circle is Rebecca Serle’s In Five Years, which was pretty good. It took the premise of where the main character saw herself in 5 years and how radically different it could be, aided by a vision or dream she had (we’re never sure). It was something she started to see play out before her very eyes over time. Imagine having a premonition of COVID in 2015 and watching it transpire.

Anyway, Gothic is about a young woman who visits her cousin after several distressing letters, about her husband trying to kill her. The husband’s letters back tell a different story. She goes to investigate, and the creep factor sets in. This story is not generally one I would go for, but I read a few good things about it. I’m in the right mood for it.

Now with the sad prospect of no softball practice for a while (ironically with my shoulder back to normal), I will count on the books for some form of entertainment. I do the boob tube as well; I feel I have to shut that noise off sometimes. There is a quiet brilliance in reading. It’s a world that you create. Indeed, the writer paints the picture somewhat, but your brain is the thing that fills the detail in. Your imagination gets to do some lifting.

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Ending a quiet November

I’m happy to report that my right shoulder is almost back to full strength. After all that initial talk of surgery or a cortisone shot, it was quite relieving to do neither. I was already getting mobility back over last weekend, and when I visited the doctor on Monday, I told him how I was feeling. He agreed I didn’t need anything else.

He had a cortisone shot at the ready, but I wasn’t anxious to get it. Ultimately, the injection does the same thing that the Celebrex (medication I’m taking) does. It works as an antibiotic. And quite frankly, it’s working. Don’t mess with a winning streak.

There is progress every day. I will undoubtedly make our next softball practice. When that practice takes place, however, is another story. San Francisco and the Bay Area, in general, are in the purple tier regarding COVID restrictions. I’m hoping to get back on the field soon.

Other than a nice hike on San Bruno Mountain, it was a quiet weekend. Bruno was busy on Saturday. This excursion has a nice view of downtown SF, the Bay Bridge, and the Cow Palace. It’s not the time of year for plant growth, so our walk was low on viewing options. We did see a large burn area filled with the remainder of the black branches leftover. Anyway, the exercise is welcome.

It’s been three weeks since I’ve baked any muffins. Since it’s a weight hit, I’ve decided to space out the timing. Initially, I did this once a week. We were doing less activity outside, so that’s a weight gain recipe. It was time to change one of the ingredients or, in this case, wait before making any more.

Baking has never been in my orbit. Since the beginning of the pandemic, I’ve been toying with it. It feels like science class. Mix a few things up and see what happens. I go online for recipes, and I tinker; nothing to blow up the house, but I like different flavors. Maybe I’ll bake in another week. Perhaps when the Governor issues a stay at home order for the state.

Give the people masks and muffins.

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Safe Puerto?

I guess it was a weird call for one of us.

“I’ve got to tell you something. Don’t be angry. I’m going to Puerto Vallarta with Guy.”

To be more specific, it was a video call so Joel could see I was already shaking my head. “Why would I be angry? I’m glad you’re doing something, obviously be careful.” Joel lost his partner Brian over a year ago. He promptly retired, ditched the house and moved into a nice cozy apartment; not far from his previous digs in North Vegas. His life during the pandemic has revolved around the gym and the groceries. A friend of his in Palm Springs talked him into going to PV over the Thanksgiving holiday. He knows where I stand on the “to be or not to be” of travel at the moment and I guess, he thought that I’d have an adverse reaction. Am I that overprotective of my friends? I have the one gay parent left and his age puts him in the high risk group.

As I watch a whole bunch of SF/ Bay Area folks I know, head off to the very same Puerto Vallarta via Facebook and Instagram posts, I hope that Joel is able to keep some physical distance from crowds. I can’t help but think that this, traveling during the holiday would be a bit of a negative for me to go anywhere. But I absolutely realize that we’re also in different situations. I miss traveling as much as the next person who enjoys it. I long for it. I have great company in the form of a husband and a dog. I’m also still working steadily. So yeah currently, I’ve got more orbiting my local universe. I would find it weird to criticize someone over going away. Everyone’s situation is different. Now If you’re a Maskhole then all bets are off.

On Wednesday, I noticed one of the Mission district testing centers had a line going around the block. Presumably, Thanksgiving travelers getting their COVID tests. In that regard, Joel sent me a text message from SoCal saying: “tested negative”. My response was “Yay!” But I know there was a little voice in my brain that whispered: come back that way.

The company and the travel does beat sitting at home and watching the boob tube. Unless, you’re fortunate to catch a play streaming. Time can stop for a good play.

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Bolder Shoulder

My Lyft cab driver was driving around the O’Shaughnessy curve like he didn’t want to wake up the pavement. The slow pace at such an early hour gave me a unique chance to look into Glen Canyon. It was still dark but the sky beyond the rocky canyon was a silhouette of red. Daylight was coming.

It was the only MRI appointment I could get from CPMC (California Pacific Medical Center) within two weeks and I didn’t want to wait. I was the first MRI person of the day. The hospital is closed at that hour but the office inside is working so they come out and get you. The front desk person, I was meant to call, arrived five minutes late. She was friendly and apologetic about an accident on the bridge. I told her I was relieved I didn’t have the wrong day.

Even though it’s only the right shoulder, they are looking at, they make you change into hospital wear. It’s not something you’ll wear on the runway but it’s soft. Your whole body goes into the machine. And the sound of that thing is like a band having a real feedback issue on a speaker. Only it’s louder and sharper. They give you earplugs for the noise and headphones so you can hear the technician’s voice say stuff like: “alright this one is going to be a long noise for 5 minutes.”

It’s a Tesla machine. You know this because it’s on their answering machine like some sort of advertisement. It’s a tube and you’re the fleshy toothpaste. It makes the rooms at the pod hotel look big. I found myself closing my eyes and thinking of other things. I also immediately regretted having two cups of coffee. Honestly, there were a few moments I felt my heart race but I was able to corral it in. If you deal with some claustrophobia, twenty minutes in this thing will seem longer.

Everything was happening real fast since my doctor’s appointment on Thursday. He could tell, on the initial X-Ray, that what was going on was a calcium build up on the shoulder. It was causing the inflammation, pain and limiting my range of motion. He went forward and scheduled the MRI for this morning and gave me two possible options: a) a cortisone shot (would break up the calcium) or b) arthroscopic procedure where they stick a few pins in your shoulder and remove the calcium or most of it. He literally stared at me and waited for me to say A or B. I asked: “which do you recommend?” He shook his head, “whichever, they’ll both work.” I found myself going for option B. He was going to have me on an operating table Tuesday morning.

At home Thursday night, talking to Garry and doing my internet searches regarding the procedure, I completely switched. The doctor’s assistant has been calling me because she was waiting on my insurance to approve the MRI. On one of the update calls, I told her: “I’m not doing the surgery…please cancel.” Personally, I’m not crazy about changing my mind on things but my feeling here is…it’s my shoulder.

There is another thing moving my decision. I’m noticing a little improvement in the shoulder, even from Thursday to today. Thursday, the doctor grabbed the spot where the calcium build up was and I winced in pain. Today, after I got back from CPMC, I grabbed the spot myself and I didn’t feel pain. And it also looks like my range of motion is back, I’m able to move my arm all the way around. There is still one angle, I still feel something but it’s all improving.

It will be interesting to see what information the MRI comes back with…fingers crossed.

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Wacky Dream

I was in a totally different city. It seemed very much like London but with Asian influence and perhaps a tad of Brooklyn. I was living in some brownstone and would go on these long walks to familiarize myself with the surroundings.

The parks were beautiful and lush. The people wore the most colorful things, as if it was meant to express something about their character. Everyone was larger than life. Except for me. I remained the same. I felt like I was quite the voyeur of this new situation around me.

Actors from the stage and screen from the past and present would appear, in passing and nod or sometimes say something that I either couldn’t hear or remember (when I awoke). At times, they would break out into song. I saw Marilyn Monroe twice and she was beautiful, kind and reassuring. Jennifer Saunders was there but in this story she was an empress of some renown.

We were all walking somewhere but in the same direction. There was someone that broke free from this hike and started running. He was screaming that he wanted to leave. He was in a panic and breathing hard, “I want to go back!” He looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “Please, I want to go back,” he said.

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The Dripping Hairline

It was a cold day when I said: “dead people voted”
Ate that Philly Cheesesteak but it made me feel bloated.

Came to: Stop the Steal
for the man who was the Art of the Deal

Pretty sweaty but made all my court dates,
Unearthed a chest of lies to change the country’s fate.

“Hey, folks don’t mean to gloat,
But Joe Frazier left his grave to vote.”

And you know those tired huddled masses,
they grabbed their glasses
but made the wrong turn,
as they came from Camden; we would soon learn,
to cast their ballots in the wrong place,
as if telling the man, get off of my face.”

Nyet, I call fraud!
No, I didn’t say Maude!

It’s the computers,
It’s the counters,
It’s the watchers,
It’s the absentee ballots,
It’s the ballots,
It’s the blue states,
It’s the Dems,

It’s rampant, and it’s widespread.

Like dark paint on a warm white canvas,
constantly dripping, falling off
revealing for a slight moment…

It’s true nature.

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The Sheltering Sigh

After 177 days of dry weather, we got a little sprinkle yesterday. And apparently there is some actual rain on the forecast for midweek. November has been cooler, temps have averaged 55-60, which is not unusual for this time of year.

I stopped by the Castro Walgreens to pick up some pain meds and noticed that even in this cooler climate the exterior bar scene was hopping. We got news from the Mayor that because of the uptick in the state, the city was still proceeding with caution…yadda yadda yadda.

Overall, San Francisco has done alright with the Covid response. Mayor Breed has been cautious while allowing some business to come back. The Castro bars (the open ones) have become these outdoor diners. The bars have partnered with their neighboring eateries to provide food and drink to your outdoor section. You can’t have an open bar without offering food.

My favorite part of the above is the neighboring business coming together to provide this opportunity. It’s a win for the neighborhood, the bars and restaurants, not to mention a happier situation for people to be around. That said, it’s too darn cold to be hanging outside. LOL.

Sigh. It’s a new Castro with folks outside on wooden platform sections. These sections are dolled up with seats, some even have roofs and walls. I guess to cut down the wind whipping down the streets. Something has to stop those french fries from flying.

While it’s looking like a tough winter with Covid on the rise, I feel optimistic with new and thoughtful leadership coming to the country and a vaccine debuting sometime late April. Still, there is nothing that beats an informed and compassionate society.

Yes, those pain meds are kicking in.

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