Sunday's Sunday

My son Peter and his girlfriend, Claire, on their way to Thailand.

***

It's a three-day weekend, as Monday is President's Day. It's sunny and clear as the worst drought in half a millennium continues here on the coast.

I'm spending the day watching Big Ten basketball, back where it's snowy and cold. Growing up in the Midwest, I used to love these games, no matter who was playing. Just before I got to Michigan, a great basketball player from Chicago showed up. A guy named Cazzie Russell.

He was the best shooter I had ever seen, and off the court, a humble man.

I interviewed him as a young sportswriter, he was invariably polite and soft-spoken.

Ever since then, I have appreciated how sports helps kids not from the elite succeed. I have my own three stellar athletes -- Peter, Aidan, and Julia.

Julia is the only one still competing. More on her after her next game...

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Shredding Random Bits of My History

I have reached the point in my life's journey that I realize that some of what I have experienced should not be preserved. Accordingly, tonight, I shredded much of the evidence of my relationships since my second marriage ended over a decade ago.

The photo above captures what a shredded photograph can turn out like -- a cityscape if you will, something a bit lovely like San Francisco or maybe the fleeting memory of an ex-girlfriend.

Unlike those marginal records, my published writings, my personal journals, my family photos, and so forth, have been preserved, for now.

But the purges will continue. This flat is far too messy and crowded and I want to transform it into a clean, livable space.


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Out in the Rain

Julia's futsol team won their first game, 3-2 today. She said the other team started playing rough near the end when they realized they were in danger of losing. One girl, for example, reached over and pushed Julia, trying to get her off the ball.

"You should have pushed back," I said.

"I did," she answered.

On the way home, she asked that we stop at Starbuck's, which we did, in the continuing rain. She ordered a coffee and a fruit cup.

This is a determined girl, my daughter. She may not like the taste of coffee, but by god, she's going to learn to. She mixed in some sugar and some milk, then drank the cup empty.

I've always realized that she is the type of person who will not be held back, once she puts her mind to something. She's also a perfectionist.

Lately, she has been very quiet, not happy, non-communicative, and clearly bothered by certain things. She seems to think she needs to diet. She's clearly having trouble making friends at school. Others say she may be not responding to kids who try to be her friend.

That doesn't sound like the girl I know. She is very self-contained but always has also been friendly. I know she is shy but not abnormally so. I think she has a reasonable amount of self-confidence, but I also know it must be hell to be a 15-year-old girl.

She said something today that revealed a bit of how she experiences the world right now:

"Teenage girls are horrible people. Awful." This was in response to her mother's question of whether she might like to transfer into an all-girls school.

"That's the last thing I would want to do," she said with an emphasis that precluded any further conversation.

How to be a good parent for a child like this at this stage?

Although I've raised five other teens, I feel clueless. I don't think I should just wait it out. Julia is clearly in a certain amount of pain and she probably needs me more now than ever.

Shopping used to help but lately, when we go into a store, she looks at the clothes, runs her hands over the fabric, then turns and walks out, without a word.

If I ask what is wrong she says nothing.

The most recent thing she allowed me to buy her was a winter coat. She wore it today, in that rain. As we were walking into Starbuck's, she actually said something to me, without any prompt!

"You know the only thing I don't like about this coat? It doesn't have a hood."

"Yes," I fumbled in response, not used to being spoken to. "That would be helpful in the rain."

Afterwards I kicked myself for not offering her my baseball cap. After all, my jacket does have a hood.

I did tell her I have a plan, and here it is. We are going to transform her bedroom, which until now has been a kind of messy, catch-all room with an uncomfortable bed, poor lighting and some boxes of files.

I told her we will remake the room into a nicer place, something based on her tastes. We'll get a new bed, lamps, and put whatever in there she wants to be in there.

She seemed to like that idea, but I'm not sure. It's so hard to tell.

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Coffee, Rain, and Growing Up

I'm in the mood to post to my blog, for the first time in a long time. Maybe this will finally be one of the types of posts I used to produce. No doubt, the rain is helping.

I love the rain. Rainy days and rainy nights. I love the sound of it, the way the air smells clean, and the way it makes me feel cozy staying indoors, which is pretty much where I prefer to be anyway.

For those who haven't heard, we in California are in the grips of a serious drought -- historic, perhaps biblical. It has been, according to scientists, 534 years since this state was as dry as it now is. The people making that assertion based it on measuring the soil, rocks, shells, and other indicators up and down our state, especially along the coast, I presume, where erosion caused by the constant beat of the Pacific's mighty waves, easily expose half a century and more of our geological past for anyone to see, and touch.

Yet, this particular weekend, we are having rain. Glorious rain. It started yesterday and by last night was strong enough that I wore a coat with a hood and a baseball cap as I walked to my car to drive to dinner.

My destination was the house of some old friends, a mile or so from here, halfway from here to the Castro.

Trouble was, my car wouldn't start. The poor old thing, which I bought in December 2003, some 127,000 miles ago, has a fussy battery. Think of it as an old heart, with a leaky valve, leading to arrhythmia. An easy metaphor for me, and also for some of the friends I was hoping to see last night.

Once it was clear the car was dead for the night, I faced a choice. Skip the dinner or make my way there on foot or by bus?

I decided to go. Of course, I got rained on, which was pleasant enough. When I reached the nearest busstop, I asked an off-duty Muni guy what the fare for seniors was. You can see that I rarely ride public transportation. My life consists of driving or walking, until last night.

The guy told me it would cost me $2,500 for a bus ride, then he smiled and said, "for you," it would only be 75 cents.

I knew that, of course, and I had my three quarters at the ready. I can't remember why I even asked him the fare, maybe I just wanted a connection.

Increasingly these days and nights, at this age, I enjoy whatever level of connection I can forge with other humans. It isn't only the instinct and understanding that my time here is growing short -- it is a wish to make the most of whatever time is left.

Part of that is having been with Raul as he died. Witnessing his fear of death and his desperate hope for more time. His hope was not granted.

For that, you would be fair to conclude there is no God, because if there was, Raul would still be here, and would have had many more of the moments he desired. There was no good reason for his death. No explanation. No truth.

Just the random distribution of death dice. The dyes of death; that's what I consider them. It could be you, and it could be me. It could be any of us. It will ultimately be all of us.

***

Today, as I stood in the soft rain waiting for someone to show up and jump-start my car's heart, I noticed oil on water by the curb. Thus the photo at the top of this post.

Here is another photo. Of my youngest daughter with two friends just a blink of the eye ago. Excited. Ringing a doorbell.

Today that little girl is a young woman, 15 years old. I picked her up from her volunteer job at the SPCA mid-day, and when we got home I could tell she was restless. I recognized that particular type of restlessness, from raising five previous teenagers. It is the moment when you really, really want to start growing up -- to become an adult on your own terms.

A couple of hours later, she put on her coat and grabbed her purse and said she was going out for a walk -- in the rain.

I asked of she would like me to go with her but she shook her head and said "That's okay."

So I stayed here. Of course, you always worry about your youngest child when she reaches the point she has to strike out on her own. Especially when you live in an inner-city neighborhood where someone gets shot every other day, someone else gets assaulted, and someone else gets hit by a car.

But if you love your child, you have to let her go, and truthfully, this is not such a bad place in daylight.

She stayed out for a while and when she came home she had a Starbucks coffee in her hand. "I want to try and learn how to like coffee," she told me. "But this tastes awful."

We worked on it.

She added some milk and some sugar. I suggested some chocolate.

Eventually she drank the whole thing. I didn't say a word, but silently applauded my youngest child for her foray into adulthood. I'm quite sure by the time she reaches college (four years from now) she will be a seasoned coffee drinker.

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Un-Super Bowl Sunday

To tell the truth, I have never been much of a fan of the Super Bowl. No need to list the reasons. But it is an American cultural tradition, as my 17-year-old son reminded me, and he and I enjoy celebrating it with family and friends, when we can. Yesterday we did so with his four nephews and two nieces -- my six grandchildren. It was a raher chaotic experience, given their ages and the rainy day reality that kept them cooped up all day inside.

Still, a very nice family gathering. And some delicious brussel sprouts.

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Girl Athletes

My youngest was sick all weekend with a sore throat, earaches, and the sleeplessness that accompanies such symptoms.

But would that keep her from playing futsol Sunday?

No way.

For those who have known Julia as a sweet little girl, it's probably time to make an update to her file. She is a tough, competitive athlete.

I've been a bit slow to accept what has been unfolding before my eyes, probably because as hard as I try not to be, I am still a traditional male who expects females to be more like, well, our culture expects women to be. And that rarely has been physically competitive people.

Before yesterday's game started, the woman who coaches Julia's soccer team came over and spoke with me in the stands. "I can see she is sick, and I could see it Thursday at practice, yet she insists on playing. It reminds me of last fall, when she had that badly twisted ankle, all swollen and bruised and I offered to tape it for her. I also told her she had the option of not playing. She smiled and looked at me and said, 'That is not an option. I love to play.'"

Yesterday, sick, she played and did so brilliantly. Although always a defender, her futsol coach put her at left forward. She played 15 minutes and put four hard shots on goal.

She is just learning futsol and just learning how to play offense.

I expect some goals in the weeks ahead.

Life and Death and Beyond

Today was Raul's memorial. The first photo is before people arrived. The room was ready.

The second is his dear friend Pat Yollin photographing me as I photographed her.

The third is Raul's nephew and Raul's daughter.

The fourth is the room once it was filled, with 240 people.

The fifth are shots of some of the photos of Raul displaced at the ceremony.

The last is a discovery I made tonight from a few years back up in the redwoods on a hike. It's a photo of Raul taking a photo of me as I took a photo of him. Don't ask; its' just something we all did, and continue to do.

Goodbye, my sweet friend.

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