I Took the Train Instead

So I went to Boulder to visit my beloved niece Rose, and her delightful boyfriend Lawrence -- and to meet their fabulous new kitty, Penny!

Penny is quite the conversationalist
and loves to be cuddled -- when she feels like it.

Penny is the first cat that I have petted in about 70 years.  I used to be terribly allergic and just recently found out that I wasn't anymore!

R&L took me to a beautiful view of the Flatirons, the rather astonishing geological phenomenon of Boulder.

   

It looks like I'm living in a different climate from the young'uns.

I was scheduled to FLY home on SOUTHWEST on Tuesday night.  Two days before, on Sunday, the second 737 plane crashed in Ethiopia.  I felt that, except for China and Indonesia, everyone seemed to have a rather cavalier attitude toward the event:  "Now, let's not get all excited.  Let's take time to figure out exactly what happened before we do anything rash like ground the planes."  I rarely find myself on the same side of an issue as China and Indonesia, but there it was. 

 

I phoned Southwest, discovered I would be returning home on the suspect 737, cancelled my ticket, and bought a ticket on Amtrak.  Admittedly, it cost four times as much because I was getting a roomette to sleep in, and would take 35 hours instead of 2 1/2.  But I felt I was worth it.

Little did I know I was going on one of the great train trips of the world --and I was going to make a new friend!

I was worried about being bored out of my mind, so on Monday I went to Red Letter Books, a great used bookstore, and bought a lot of books.  I think the total came to about $10.   The man gave me the Theatre Arts magazines for a reduced price  because I was a playwright, and he threw in BURR for free.  They really know how to drive a hard bargain at used bookstores.

The woman in the lower right hand corner is Muriel Miguel, my very good friend. 
Not often you discover a book with your friend on the cover!

The train left at 8 am on Tuesday morning from Denver Union Station, which is a very nice place to hang out or eat or shop.  This photo was taken in the afternoon on an earlier visit.

Of course the train was late.  I don't think Amtrak does "on time."  My friend Elliot says that for Amtrak, being late is a tradition.   The lateness allowed Dee and me to discover that we were both going all the way to San Francisco.  Dee was fleeing "Colderado," as she called it, in search of warm weather.  She actually intended to go to Phoenix, but the bus station was too far a walk.  

Only 45 minutes late, off we went!  Through Colorado, across Utah, Nevada, and California to the City by the Bay.

Golden, CO

There's a reflection of a table in the middle of this photo.  Lots of reflections in the photos that follow.

The Dining Car.   Meals were included with my roomette and I met many interesting people.

Winter Park Ski Resort

Arapaho National Forest


Fraser




Many Cars Stuck in Snow in Fraser


Granby



The observation car where I hung out, except for meals and sleep

Miles and Miles of Snow-Draped Trees

At one point, we were stopped for an hour and a half by a giant boulder on the tracks ahead.  They had to bring in a big steam shovel to move it.  The boulder was as big as a car.  Hey, they don't call them the Rocky Mountains for nothin', right?  So we contemplated logs for a while.

Kremmling

Finally, we were off!  (I'm sorry, but I accidentally put in some of these photos twice, and the "Remove" function doesn't appear to be working, so you have to look at them twice.)

Burns

These amazing rocks were very difficult to get a good photo of. 
They're kind of like Swiss cheese.

White River National Forest, Glenwood Springs

Parachute

This is the aforementioned Dee.   She was fleeing Colderado and throwing herself on the mercy of the cosmos, and she ended up with me!  She's been my houseguest for the last week and a half.  On the train, she mentioned that she had an interest in Buddhism but knew nothing about it.  I'm a member of the San Francisco Zen Center.  I would describe myself as having a toe in the river of Buddhism for quite a few years now.  I took her for a dharma talk, and she has made the most wondrous connection there.  

As we went into  the question-and-answer tea after the talk, she told me she's too shy to ask questions, but she learns from what other people ask.  Then she raised her hand and asked, "What is dharma and what is the purpose of the Zen Center?"  Wow.  The lecturer was inspired by Dee's question to be so much more interesting than she'd been in her talk!  

Then we sat at the newcomer's table for lunch, where a young resident in the traditional black robe answered the newbies' questions.  Finally, all the newcomers had left except for Dee.  The resident in was so moved by her.   He got teary-eyed over Dee's openness and intuitive understanding of Buddhism.  In every encounter there, people respond to Dee's warmth.  And she feels a sense of belonging and a love for the very tightly organized structure of Zen.   It's kinda like Dee was looking for the Zen Center and they were looking for her.  They immediately asked her to come in and  chop vegetables.  I mean, I've been hanging out there for YEARS, and they never asked ME to chop vegetables!  Not that I WANT to chop vegetables, but it's always nice to be ASKED.  

Next week, Dee is meeting the director of SFZC so he can answer her questions.  She's ready to move in and chop vegetables. I feel so grateful to be the channel that connected her with Buddhism.  I love being a channel.  I'm making the world better, and it's so easy!  It's not like trying to make the world better by electing a progressive candidate, which is so much WORK.  Phone banking, canvassing, schlepping up and down stairs in San Francisco to hang leaflets on doors.  I'm not saying it doesn't have its moments, but for me, it's work.  But channeling -- you just live your life and take the train and somehow wonderful things happen.  

Dee and I have the same birthday, so we're twins -- although she's 22 years younger.  Anyhow, back to the train:

Clifton.  This is a little better photo of those rocks.

Fruita.  Now we're following the Colorado River

Black Ridge Canyon Wilderness

Now we go to sleep. 

 We awaken in the high desert.  Lovelock, Nevada

The Truckee River.  Verdi

Floriston

Donner Lake.  Truckee

Oops!  Same photo twice.

The good old Sacramento Delta.  Port Costa

And ending in Emeryville!  The train can't go over the Bay Bridge into San Francisco.  So you have to take a bus.  I know, to be consistent, I should have photos of Emeryville and San Francisco.  But it was a long train ride.  

My true destination, my garden at 547 Douglass St. between 21st & 22nd St.:

It ain't the Rockies or the Sierras, but it'll do.

First in War, First in Peace, Master of 312 Enslaved People

I've been thinking about The Peculiar Institution, as American slavery was called.  I'm reading a book, Lives Bound Together, which I bought when I visited George Washington's home, Mount Vernon, in 2017.  The book was created for an exhibit at the museum at Mount Vernon on the lives of the enslaved people who lived there.

For me, the power of place is intense.  To visit the actual place where something happened, or the home of someone famous, to go to their gravesite -- these journeys inspire very deep feelings in me.  Suddenly the past becomes real.  This person  lived!  They did these particular things, which shape the world I live in now!  I feel it in a way that goes far beyond what I feel when I read a book or hear a lecture.

In July 2017, Carolyn was directing and I was performing HICK: A Love Story at 1st Stage Theatre in Virginia.  I had no particular interest in going to Mount Vernon, but our wonderful hostess Judy suggested a visit.  And it is a Baum family tradition to go wherever there is to go when one travels.  When one visits Yellowstone, one goes on the morning ranger walk, even if it's snowing!  Surely, when one is in Virginia, one does not refuse an invitation to visit the home of The Father of Our Country, a man whose name graces countless elementary schools across the land -- not to mention the nation's capitol and a whole goddam state.

The Father of Our Country.  It's not a description. It's Washington's title so I must use caps.  I can still feel my seven-year-old awe and gratitude at the greatness of this man.  This man who lived a very opulent lifestyle, thanks to the efforts of 312 enslaved workers.

Perhaps that childish awe combined with my horror at the reality of Mount Vernon to put me in an altered state.  I truly felt that I couldn't breathe the whole time I was there.  Because Mount Vernon is all about slavery.  How could it NOT be, when 312 of the people  who lived there were the property of two of the people?     I am very grateful to the Mount Vernon Ladies' Association, who created the exhibit and the book, for facing the terrible reality of life there.

Please note the significant change in language:  Not "slave" but "enslaved worker" or "enslaved person."  This change of wording is crucial.  When I call someone a "slave," I am saying that the entire identity of this person can be subsumed in that one word.  It implies that there is something inherent in the person that is "slave."  But "enslaved worker"  forces me to remember that SOMEBODY put this person into slavery, that this person is a human being who works like almost all other  human beings who are not very young, very old or very ill.

At Mount Vernon, I was somehow out of my body, holding my breath, wide-eyed devouring everything, trying to take it in, take it in, that The Father of MY Country lived off enslaved workers.  I remember so much, so vividly -- the cemetery for enslaved people, the tiny cabins, the jarringly bright colors of the walls in the mansion.  But I only took one photo.

THE FAMOUS VIEW FROM THE NORTH? SOUTH? PORTICO. THAT ENDLESS LAWN TOOK A LOT OF WORK.

The INTIMACY of slavery took my breath away.   The Father of Our Country lived in a black community.   His valet was his trusted companion.  His wife's most constant companion was her maid.  When they were in their gracious home, everywhere they looked there were black people.  Poor ones.    So Washington created his own ghetto!  Talk about peculiar!

And these black people, who did not control their own bodies, did everything they could to build full lives with their families and community in their free time.  And they did everything they could to undermine their enslavement.   They stole food when they were hungry, they sabotaged their work.  A very high rate of broken tools down on the old plantation.  And ultimately some of them  ran away.  When they did escape, The Father of Our Country put ads in the papers offering rewards for their return.  And when one escapee was captured, The Father of Our Country punished him by selling him to a slave trader who took him to the Caribbean, where conditions were known to be far more brutal.

T-FOOC  (abbreviation for "The Father of our Country") KNEW what he was doing was evil.   We know from his  journals that it TORTURED him to own all those human beings.  In fact, of the eight Presidents who held humans as property, T-FOOC is the only one to free them in his will.  But still, while he was alive, he sure did enjoy that gorgeous custom-made carriage shipped all the way from England.  And how to pay the bill, if not from the profits flowing from enslaved workers?

Is someone who knows that slavery is evil but can't give it up even MORE repugnant than someone who believes that slavery is part of the Divine Order?

Moral complexity is very challenging.  That's one of the great attractions of Trump -- No moral complexity there!  He's just totally evil.  It's kinda relaxing. 

How do we embrace the moral complexity of George Washington?  He did win the Revolutionary War.  He famously refused to be crowned king, when it was offered.  I'm grateful to him for these things.  Our past and our present are filled with moral complexity and I really don't know how to handle it.  I do see that our country is still poisoned by the legacy of slavery.  For me, it is imperative to keep reading and thinking, to try to understand what was done and what can/might be done now.

Even if it makes it difficult for me to breathe.

Fire Survivors, Elections, and Awe-Inspiring Beauty

Dear friends:  

Most important first:  If you can give some money to the survivors of the disastrous Camp Fire, that would be a great thing to do.  I got this info from my cousin, who used to live in Paradise:

Dear Terry:  Here's a link to the regional NPR station, with a list of many local organizations.

Miriam

http://www.capradio.org/articles/2018/11/12/how-to-help-victims-of-the-camp-wildfire/#items

I decided I also wanted to give a donation to help lesbians who were impacted, because lesbians in general have less money than others and less family support than others.  This is the Go Fund Me page of two dykes with five dogs who lost their home:

https://www.gofundme.com/yapue-fire-in-paradise?fbclid=lwAR1legYkbX2DWNz0D1jZUybaC1aNt2oO1v2GPL6J94UujiqKyhJrs9YKAAo, 

This information was sent to me by Susan, of Old Lesbians Organizing for Change.  OLOC is the place where I find the people who are most like me.   

In San Francisco, we're into our eighth day of Beijing-style air.  

Even the books are wearing facemasks!                             Hector & Me on our way to lunch 

Last year, with the Santa Rosa fire, it was "only" four days of smoke in SF. 
Face masks, cancelled events, antsy unexercised poodles -- these are all such minor inconveniences.  And yet we have a looming feeling that our lives have changed forever.  It seems that we in California are going to have to make some drastic changes.  But that takes political will!  I pray we have it.  

At least the election gives me hope.  I helped flip a Congressional seat from Republican to Democrat!  I canvassed for Josh Harder, in the Central Valley.  I've canvassed -- walking door to door, talking with folks and recording their info --- in many places, and the people in Turlock were the friendliest I've ever encountered.  Often, people are very surly to find some passionate political partisan on their doorstep.  Not the Turlockians!  Perhaps now people have a deeper understanding that it really does make a difference who is elected.  Or maybe it's just that Turlockians are super nice.  Or both.  Whatever, it was actually enjoyable.

My cousin Miriam who lives in the district and her friend Myrna
who worked VERY hard and long for Josh Harder

It took what seemed like a long time for Harder to be declared the winner.  It's always true that the early vote count skews conservative because the mail-in votes, which are counted before the polls close, skew conservative.  But gradually, as all the votes got counted, more and more Democrats have won.  Yes, it's good news.  But still I find it incomprehensible that, after two years of Trump, millions and millions (and millions) of people voted Republican.  

I have to say I've been in a bit of a numb state since the Pittsburgh synagogue killings.  I went with Miriam to her synagogue in Modesto for a special Sunday performance by an opera singer.  There was this note on the bench outside the door:

Eleven stones for eleven deaths.  I cried a little, for the first time.  It was very touching and perhaps counteracted the ominous feeling created by the fact that we weren't supposed to go into the synagogue until the off-duty policeman arrived.  This precaution was of course a response to what happened in Pittsburg.  After a bit of discussion because the policeman was late, people decided that, despite the new rule, we were safer inside the building than standing in the parking lot.  New discussions for new times. 

But then my friend Elizabeth picked me up and took me to one of those places on earth that lifts your spirits and makes you feel awe at this still-beautiful world:

YOSEMITE!

There's a fawn in this picture.

I hadn't been there for 35 years.  Thank you, Elizabeth, for taking me there.  

And then I went home to smoke and my beautiful tree dahlias.

PHOTO BY HECTOR SABATES

Had a lovely tea in celebration of the tree dahlias.  We weren't outside much  because of the air, but we still had a great time.  So life is changed and life is the same.  And I am particularly blessed with a home and friends and poodles and tree dahlias.  And the Democrats control the House.  Hard to embrace everything at once.  No?