Where, Oh, Where?

     My writing today is based on the poem "Where I'm From" by George Ella Lyon, a poem used frequently as a model for teaching poetry with both adults and adolescents. My students' final draft poems are due tomorrow. The parts of them I have seen so far are absolutely phenomenal, so full of personal insight, such a result of real self-reflection and self-knowledge. I thought it only fair that I "turned mine in" too. I think it fits with the essence of this blog.

Where I'm From

I am Joan Margaret Griffin

I am from two queens, one Greek, one English,
And a Hebrew “Gift from God.”
I am from myths: A lion with head and wings of an eagle,
Who collects and guards golden treasure.

I am from England, Wales, and Germany,
From devote Quakers with black hats and white bonnets,
Early colonists who came on small ships.
I am from New England whaling captains, Southern backwoods hillbillies,
And hard-working Midwest farmers.

I am from SoCal, from “The Valley,”
From an “oops!” mistake, and “We choose you!” at LA County adoption.
I am from skates with keys, tree houses, kickball on Newton Street, forts in the vacant lot,
And “Be home before the streetlights come on!”

I am from swimming pools, with black stripes and starting blocks,
And from hair turned green from chlorine.
From jump-rope and jacks, black-and-white TV and Barbie dolls.

I am from homework done at the dining room table, and books consumed under the covers,
From The Beatles and The Monkees, Gilligan’s Island and Leave It To Beaver.
I am from road trips in the station wagon and 8mm family movies.

I am from lasagna made from scratch, and homemade meatloaf with instant mashed potatoes.
From ice cream cakes, Mom’s famous Lemon Snow Pie,
And Dad’s silver-dollar-sized pancakes, only on Sunday mornings.

I am from Spartans and Bruins, and football games at the Rose Bowl,
From sun, sand, and sailboats, wetsuits, and zinc oxide,
Freckles and sunburn that blisters and peels.

On one side, I am from strong silent adventuring men,
On the other, from wild and worrying women.
I am granddaughter, daughter,
I am Joan Margaret Griffin

My Regular Spot...

     Don't you just love to walk into a local eating establishment... knowing you'll be recognized and greeted as an old friend... and your favorite food or drink will be ready for you quick as a wink?

     Tucked away in Historic Old Town Auburn, in one of those quaint brick buildings from a bygone era, when sidewalks were boardwalks and fancy facades were all the rage, sits Mary Belle's Restaurant. Between two antique shops, across from the vintage red firehouse, and catty-corner from the post office, with its original filigreed mailboxes, in a building that previously housed, among other concerns, a hardware store, a drug store, and a Chinese restaurant, Mary Belle's is always a-bustle at breakfast-time.
     The narrow streets of Old Town were built for vehicles of that former era, so today's cars squeeze between their curbs. This exercise in navigation is well worth the effort. Recent years have brought a face lift to this small town's beauty, not a plastic "progress at all costs" kind of redo, but a thoughtful restoration project that has succeeded in bringing out her allure.
     The shingle atop the building enthusiastically invites passersby into Mary Belle's. Opening the door and stepping across the threshold transports you sweetly back in time. The Formica counter, with its swivel seats, is right out of the early 1960's. Waitresses call out a welcome, encourage you to take a seat, and quickly fill your mug with coffee. A family-owned business for nearly 50 years, Mary Belle's is the oldest restaurant in Auburn.
     The daily specials, like the regular fare, are all homemade from the freshest ingredients, much of it local produce. My favorites are the blueberry pancakes, made with a gazillion fresh berries, and the vegetarian eggs Benedict, with spinach substituted for the traditional ham and a "to die for" homemade Hollandaise sauce. For lunch, they make the best tuna melt sandwich in the world, bar none.

     The irony is that I only discovered this landmark restaurant in my hometown a few years ago. It wasn't that I had just never gotten around to trying out Mary Belle's menu; it was that I didn't even know it existed! How many times I must have driven or walked right past it, I can't even imagine. But, thankfully, one day not long ago, I did venture in and partake of their delightful fare. Now, it's my regular spot, and I have never, ever been disappointed.

     A couple times a month, of a weekend morning, I arrange to meet either Sandra or Bill, my two breakfast buddies, at Mary Belle's. We always sit at "our" table, though, interestingly enough, that spot differs depending who I'm with! Bill and I always sit in the bay window at a round table, while Sandra and I always choose the square table by the back wall.

     What was that line in the old TV series "Cheers"? ... a place "where everyone knows your name"... I'm not sure the waitresses at Mary Belle's know my name... but they know my face... exactly what I'm going to order... and where I'm going to sit!

     Take my word for it, and stop by the next time you're in town; the restaurant is located at 1590 Lincoln Way in Old Town Auburn. Or don't take my word alone; check out photos and reviews on Yelp.

Performing Live and On Stage...

     Is there anything that inspires the soul to fly more than live music?

     Is there anything else that speaks to every cell of the body the way music does?

     The other evening, I had the great pleasure of listening to the music of Ivan Najera and friends, all local artists, at The Center For The Arts in Grass Valley. Billed merely as acoustic guitar music, it was, oh, so much more than that. It was exotic. It was mystical. It was transporting and transforming. It was... beautiful.
     Najera's music combined rhythm and tempo from a variety of sources. There were flamingo, tango, and Cuban bits and pieces stirred and simmered with blues and jazz. His sweet guitar purred and sang, sighed and shimmied as he guided an ever-changing troupe of accompanying musician friends through a collection of his diverse compositions.
     Not a foot in the audience was still; bodies swayed and bounced to the intoxicating flow of melodic sounds. My friend, Bill, my host for the evening, and I sat in the second row of the small auditorium, with a perfect view of the stage. As compelling as it was to watch Najera's fingers fly sagely over guitar strings and Cuban drums respond to commanding hands, I found myself with my eyes closed for long stretches of time. With my vision intentionally cut off, my sense of hearing rose to the fore, and I was able to discern the subtle details of the music with greater clarity. I could feel the vibrations as they traveled through the air and the floor and into and through my own cells. The waves of sound moved through me like through water, and seemed to connect me, with web-like strings, directly to the musicians and their instruments. The effect was uplifting and transporting.
     Each of the musicians was masterful and contributed both solo performances and backup playing. There were saxophone, flute, two kinds of bass guitars, electric guitar, an electronic keyboard and a grand piano, and a wild array of drums and percussion instruments. All of the performers had periods of wild abandon when they sailed off into stretches of improvisation. Eyes closed, heads thrown back, hands and fingers flying over keys and strings, they seemed to be having no end of fun.
     I found myself lit up with happiness, as the fun they were experiencing seemed to fly out across the room, like the music itself, and land on my face in the form of smiling delight. The musicians on stage radiated their "flow" state to those of us in the audience. This sense of "flow" is often connected, in psychology, with "the pursuit of happiness" and a sense of "having fun" and often occurs when one is fully immersed in creative processes. 

 According to [Mihaly] Csíkszentmihályi, FLOW is completely focused motivation. It is a single-minded immersion and represents perhaps the ultimate in harnessing the emotions in the service of performing and learning. In flow the emotions are not just contained and channeled, but positive, energized, and aligned with the task at hand... The hallmark of flow is a feeling of spontaneous joy, even rapture, while performing a task (Wikipedia, "Flow (Psychology)").

      Being in the audience at a live musical performance of this level, with this quantity of creative energy, leaves me feeling like I was actually a participant in the event, not merely listening passively, not merely listening at the toe-tapping receptive level, but actually contributing actively to the sense of FLOW in the room. Every ounce, every wave, every packet of energy produced on stage was welcomed by this audience member, whose own energy packets and waves were thrown enthusiastically and spontaneously back toward to stage. The invisible, yet discernable waves of iridescent energy, danced and swirled, intertwined and airborne in the space above all of us, performers and audience alike. The space around and above us invited the rising creative energy with open arms, pulled it like a magnet pulls iron shavings, encouraging further spontaneous creation to multiply upon itself into the spaces within space.
     After the applause, after the encore and more applause, my friend and I left, nearly speechless in our appreciation of what we had experienced. It took time for the musical flow experience to be translated into words, and then they only came out as, "Wow! I mean... It was so... so... Wow!"

Find out more about Ivan Najera at his website ivannajera.com
For more information about performances at The Center for the Arts go to http://www.thecenterforthearts.org/

Auld Lang Syne...

 Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

   

Chorus:     For auld lang syne, my dear,
   For auld lang syne.
   We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,

   For auld lang syne.

     Auld Lang Syne means "times gone by" or "the good old days," so when we sing Robbie Burns' famous 18th Century lyrics we are singing, "We'll take a cup of kindness yet for the good old days," and we are waxing nostalgic about old friends and old times that we carry in our hearts.
     This week marks the birth of Scotsman Robert Burns, a rebel with a cause, and a hero of all rebels-at-heart, who was a working man's anti-establishment, singer-songwriter, the Woody Guthrie or Bob Dylan of his day. This week also marks the birth of my "old acquaintance," Vickie, with whom I was fortunate enough to break bread and celebrate the occasion on a recent evening (Robbie, naturally, could not join us).

     Vickie and I have known one another since the second grade, not our second grade, mind you, but our sons' second grade. The boys are now 25, going on 26, fine professional young men both, so second grade was quite a few years ago. They certainly have grown and aged significantly from those primary grade years, but we haven't. We ladies have hardly aged at all, in fact, still young-at-heart and youthful in body, mind, and attitude. Our kids grow in dog-years, aging seven years to our one.
     I remember the summer our families first met, sitting on the grass in the rooting section at our sons' T-ball games. Neither of our little blond boys was particularly interested in the game itself, not in swinging at the T-mounted ball, nor in retrieving a flyball that came in their direction. They spent most of game time digging holes in the outfield grass, finding bugs, and making other interesting discoveries.
     Vickie and I share a multitude of lovely times-gone-by memories that revolve around our kids: school events, Boy Scout activities, hiking, camping, skiing, BBQing, and Big Games. And we continue to make new memories both with and without our adult children as co-participants. Vickie is a friend who makes me laugh and will cry with me when that's what is called for.

     Back to Vickie's birthday. We drank a cup of kindness to our shared good old days and to current and future good days, as well, at a restaurant I had not been to before, the Club Car in Auburn. The menu had several enticing choices, and we deliberated long before ordering delicious salmon steaks cooked with fresh ginger. We finished the meal by sharing a light and airy whipped cheesecake. Musicians played old rock-n-roll in an alcove at the back, white cloths adorned the tabletops, and the long bar was beautiful dark wood paneling that looked vintage. Vickie and I talked well into the night and, in doing so, created another fine memory to wax nostalgic about as time goes by.

     Happy Birthday, Robbie!