Hole in the Wall

Not a new little cafe in San Francisco, no. Something more mundane -- a hole cut in the ceiling of my bathroom by workers trying to fix a serious water leak from the unit above.



This was part of the repair undertaken after I'd noticed a large globe forming in the ceiling, sloping downward, filling proportionately until it hung down quite invitingly, with fluid oozing from its tip.



The fluid, alas, was dirty water.

Such repairs in old houses (this one was built circa 1880) are routine, naturally.

This problem must have been swelling on its own, unnoticed, during the month I was away, recuperating, because when I came home, it was quite fully formed, begging for attention.

As of this hour, the hole has been patched. Who knows if the leak has been fixed, however.

I've been around too long to assume anything, when it comes to old-house repairs. We'll see what holds and what doesn't once we fire up the system once again...

p.s. Could you imagine that a simple coat of house paint could be that strong?

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Quilt Revealed

Thank you to Kane Anderson for discovering this photo of the quilt I wrote about yesterday!

Although the image size is too small for you to fully appreciate the artistry involved, you will most certainly get a better idea than any imaginary image my words of yesterday could have helped conjure.

Thank you, Kane!

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Imagine a Quilt

At the DeYoung Museum's exhibit of abstract Amish quilts recently, I was struck by one piece (not that above).

It was created by an unknown Amish woman in Illinois, circa 1930, and is one of a few examples of a "Crazy Star" theme among a small group of Amish women from that period.

I wish I could show you a photo of it but photography is not allowed inside the exhibit, and to my dismay, this one piece is the only one not included in the various postcard collections available at the museum store.

This often happens to me at art exhibits -- that I zero in on an outlier piece that the curators apparently deem relevant enough to include but odd enough to exclude as well.

So I'll have to ask you to imagine this quilt.

Imagine a quilt design so far ahead of its time that it anticipated one of the greatest movements in art of the 20th century -- abstract expressionism.

Well over a decade before the trend became recognized and celebrated by critics, in an obscure, unincorporated area of a county in the rural Midwest, an unknown Amish woman created a quilt that is composed of a series of jagged jigsaw puzzles, with muted but vibrant colors, forming not a coherent pattern (as most Amish quilts of the era did) but an abstraction of a pattern -- one where your imagination has to fill in the blanks.

While at the exhibit, I kept returning to this one quilt, trying to summon an analogy. I know that Wassily Kandinsky certainly was creating paintings in Russia around this time that anticipated the American post-war period, but working on canvas he had greater freedom to experiment with shapes and angles, including lines.

Yet, in perhaps the oddest and most experimental part of her quilt, this Crazy Star quilter actually drew out a long thin bright white line -- utterly unique in the quilt's field, although it ostensibly connected with a small unit that resembled several others in the otherwise dark pattern.

Afterwards, rummaging through the gift shop, I was left frustrated, unable to purchase a replica.

The only way to see this quilt again is to go back. That the artist is anonymous only adds to the mystery and raises all sorts of issues about the great collective unconscious that some of us refer to as "God."

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Journalism and Time

It's been 35 years since I co-authored the biggest story of my career as a journalist, "The Inside Story" in Rolling Stone about the saga of Patty Hearst and the Symbionese Liberation Army.

Watching a documentary about the case currently airing on MSNBC the other night, a flood of memories came back.

I'm interviewed extensively in the film, as are others from the era.

This is the first documentary based at least partially on my writings that has appeared in many years. A much earlier film, For Export Only: Pesticides, in the '80s, was largely based on a book I co-authored called Circle of Poison.

There have been others, notably Global Dumping Ground.

That's one of the pleasures of reporting and writing -- seeing your work transformed into other media.

Of course, I've written thousands of other articles that led t no such followup, including some of the earliest journalism about the potential for global terrorist acts more than twenty years before 9/11.

But that's one of the major frustrations of journalism; much of what you do is ignored until it is much too late.

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What's To Come

The holidays fade away, and the New Year proceeds. I need to earn money.

Tomorrow, my youngest son takes the city-wide exam that will determine whether he gets into the high school of his choice next September.

He seems calm tonight, confident in his ability. But only a tiny percentage of students get admitted to this school; not only do they need all A's, but very high test scores and other attributes.

He's studied the requirements and knows being accepted is within his grasp. My only advice is to get a good night's sleep.

Every week brings a new challenge for at least one member of my family. Everyone is actively pursuing their next goal; we are not people to sit still for long.

Me? My goal is to earn more money. I'm the financial engine behind my family, and I was laid off from my last job exactly a year ago today.

This year I have to fix things. My health is returning, my energy will follow, so there will be no excuse for anything but success.

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Today, and the Next One

(My oldest son and youngest grandson.)

Back in the "real world" the past couple of days, I've been reeling. When was the last time you checked out of the world for four weeks? No news programs, no TV at all, no meetings or lectures; no driving a car, or shopping for groceries; none of the regular things.

It is invariably a shock to rejoin the normal routines after such a hiatus. I suddenly sympathize with the prisoner who is released, or the astronaut who returns.

It was not such a long time, but long enough for me to have forgotten how many decisions, large and small, have to be made in the average day. Maybe that explains my profound tiredness; that, and a sense that I'd like to change my life going forward.

For health reasons, I must change certain things about my diet and lifestyle, and I shall do so, easily. My restrictions are minor compared to those who have much more serious problems, and common-sense in any event.

But for emotional and spiritual reasons, I need to live in a new manner.

More about that in the posts to come.

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The Elusive Hunt

There's not all that much you can say to a teenager about the journey he is on that will get through right away, but using your own life as an example -- both positive and negative -- will probably trump any lectures.

In that regard, I can't remember enough of my own teen years to be useful, but I have both succeeded and F***ed up my adult life so royally that there is plenty of ammunition for us both to draw upon.

Then again, getting well enough to do the simplest of fatherly tasks -- playing frisbee in the park -- is a new experience for me. Sometimes he tracks down my throws, sometimes they soar beyond his reach.

Either way, I know he's happy I'm "back."

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