Hunting & Gathering

Four-year-old Luca reminds me of my oldest son, Peter, when he was this age. He's always asking questions about how the world works, he loves scientific matters, especially when they involve dinosaurs, and he loves to gather plants to eat.

Yesterday, we counted the edible food plants in our back yard, a few of which are actually bearing at this time of the year -- peppers, peas, limes, lemons, butter lettuce, parsley, rosemary, sage, arugula, apples, plums, mint -- and few wild plants including sour grass and nasturtium.

We picked and ate six of them in a kind of wild salad mix, while clearing the top of the pond and confirming that the fish have survived the recent cold snap.

There's something deeply satisfying by being able to grow and/or gather at least a small portion of the food you eat. This feeling goes back a long way, obviously -- a long, long way.

Long before modern consumer industrial society, and even long before agriculture.

In my own youth, we had a garden of carrots, radishes, rhubarb, etc., growing out at the back of our yard next to the ditch that separated our property from the cornfield. In the ditch were frogs, turtles, minnows, and at a certain point in the year, giant fish swinging upstream to spawn.

Across the ditch, into the cornfield, I'd pick ears of field corn, roast them and eat them on the spot. I always had a knife and matches in my pocket; often a BB gun as well. Later, a 16-gauge shotgun.

Hunting and gathering -- it was passed down to me from countless generations in the past, back through Canada, Ireland, France, and wherever we were wandering in earlier eras.

Now, I'm passing it on, at least in a Big City context, to a grandson. I'll say this for him -- he remembers every edible plant after one time seeing it. That's a good sign for the preservation of his gathering skills so that one day he perhaps can teach his own grandson, too.

-30-

Dinosaurs & Babies

One of the best moments today was when our upstairs baby's grandma brought him down to visit us. She speaks only German. Luca and Sophia understand French and English. As we all tried to communicate, Luca took over.

"I can speak some Spanish," he offered, hoping to bridge the gap between our varying gestures in German, English and French.

In the end, smiles and the connections only babies can forge did the trick.

Much of today's visit was devoted to dinosaur drawings. He and I collaborated on a few; then he took photos.

(Dino photos by Luca.)

-30-

Day One

If you are reading these words, it is because you have accepted an invitation from Blogger (which is owned by Google) to continue to have access to my private blog, which previously was public.

It is also because I trust you and welcome you to this private space. I would encourage you to comment whenever you wish; all perspectives are always welcome.

I closed public access after being spammed relentlessly in ways that Google said might compromise my security. It necessitated in changing my password, among other measures.

In any event, I am happy to add other readers, so if you know of anyone who would like access, simply email me and I will let them in.

***

What I love about what I do professionally these days is interviewing young entrepreneurs. Their spirit, their hope, their embrace of the American dream. At heart, I think like a small business person. I don't like red tape or bureaucracy. I think initiative should be rewarded.

Creativity, of all types, is the lifeblood of my own spirit.

It feels as I write these words that I am re-introducing myself to you, most of whom know me so well, but for months and even years I have been carefully censoring myself on this blog, fearful of how my words might be mis-interpreted or mis-used.

***

Today, at Safeway, I bought six bags of groceries ($150) for my family, including a box of strawberries on special request from my grandson, Luca, who with his sister now spends two days a week here with me at my flat.

As I approached the checkout line, a much older man with only two items in his hands, stepped in front of me.

"You know, you could go to the fast checkout lane down there," I gently suggested to him.

"Yes I could, but I stopped working so long ago, now I am not looking for shortcuts. This is as good as any other way to spend my time, waiting in the slow lane."

-30-

More Neighborhood Crime

After years of San Francisco feeling safer than in the past, I fear it is reverting to a place laden with inner-city crimes that are bringing fear back into our daily lives. Lately there have been a string of breakins, muggings, assualts, and attempted rapes in the Mission and Bernal Heights.

Today, sitting the coffee shop where I've met hundreds of people over the years, about to start interviewing two entrepreneurs, I witnessed another crime myself.

A woman was sitting alone, working on her laptop, at a table next to the main window facing the street. Suddenly a man wearing a hoodie that covered most of his face, came into the shop, grabbed her computer and raced out into a waiting car, which sped away.

A bunch of us jumped out and tried to get the license plate number, but we hadn't reacted fast enough. I called 9-1-1 and let the victim talk to the police on my phone. The police arrived and took down all the information she could give them.

Then a remarkable thing happened. A man rushed into the cafe and asked whether someone had had a computer stolen. I pointed him to the victim and he said, "I've got photos of the car and its license plate that I took on my iPhone." It turns out he had been waiting in his car nearby when he saw the perp run out with the computer and jump into the getaway car.

Alertly he followed long enough to get his evidential photos before returning to the cafe.

He gave the photos to the victim and to the police. I hope this helps them apprehend this criminal gang before anyone else suffers at their hands.

-30-

Today, Already a Memory

When she fell asleep on a chair in my kitchen today, my granddaughter Sophia reminded me of her aunt, Sarah Daisy, a long time ago, not so far from here in the Mission, in her highchair way back then in the Haight.

Decades come and go. Families evolve. Sweetness and gentle things recur. When they do, more remembering happens.

As the keeper of our collective memories, for me, this one was especially memorable, some thirty years later.

-30-