Category Archives: Treasured Finds

Everyone Looks Familiar…

23 Thursday May 2019

Posted by in Beautiful Cambria, Communicating, Home, Humor, Satire, Social Media, Treasured Finds, Words matter

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“Hmmm, that person looks familiar.” It seems I have that thought a dozen times a day.

Smile

Wherever I go, the people I see seem to strike a chord in my brain. At the post office, at the Cookie Crock, or on a walk across the ranch, faces all look familiar. It is not only a face that opens my mental file cabinet, but a hat, a jacket, some glasses, or a gait that says “oh, hello again!”

As often as not, the person is a stranger to me. I do my best to smile and say hello, and frequently get a guarded nod or smile in return. Occasionally I get a scowl or a narrow-eyed stare, or a slightly frightened or worried look.

Sometimes my smile falls on someone I know slightly, and we enjoy a brief, pleasant exchange about simple things. Then there are the times where people react less positively, sometimes with good reason, sometimes for reasons only they know. It’s all good, as the kids say. I’m just grateful I can see it all.

What Are You Looking At, Kid?

cuteLilFellaAs a child, I had a “lazy eye” – strabismus – which always had me looking off to the side. At age eight, I had surgery to correct the turn. I can recall, over fifty years later, the terror of seeing the surgeon looking down at me as anesthesia was being administered. I can see his eyeglasses, and the magnifying lenses attached to them, between his mask and his cap. I can still smell the gas – maybe it was ether – and then nothing. I woke up post surgery with a big bandage and the constant need to throw up. After it was all over, I was a relatively normal looking kid with two straight eyes.

Life went on, and I used those eyes to explore the world.

Drift Away

As I aged, my eye decided not to follow the straight and narrow path. It began to drift, noticeable to me but not to others for some time. I would be having a conversation with someone, and would notice them glancing over their shoulder. It dawned on me that they were wondering what the heck I was looking at back there. To me, I was making and holding eye contact. To them, I was scanning the area looking for butterflies. It got weird, so I decided to have it straightened again.

Upon the recommendation of my brother-in-law, who is an expert on eye stuff, I went to see Doctor Martin Lederman. If a call went out to Central Casting for a nattily dressed, old-timey doctor with a speaking style that recalls an earlier era, Dr. Lederman would be the person they send.

Dr. Lederman’s practice focuses on adolescent ophthalmology. He volunteers a lot of his time traveling around the world, performing corrective surgeries on children who face real social and cultural challenges because of their condition. He is a true hero who has changed, and likely saved, numerous lives with his gift.

He would fit in perfectly in beautiful Cambria.

Here We Go Again

After many exams and many tests, we decided that surgery was the best way to straighten me out. We booked a time, and on the big day my wife drove us to White Plains Hospital to get me fixed. My eye, that is.

This time, the terror was replaced by a slight nervousness. The anesthesiologist came in to sedate me, and I told him solemnly, “Doctor, if anything happens to me during surgery, I want to donate my body to science fiction.” Nothing. Not a twitch, not a fleeting grin. Just dead eyes and a big needle. Good night!

Wonderful Job

I woke up many hours later, groggy, thirsty, and more than a little confused. I had a bandage that resembled a rolled-up pair of sweat socks affixed to my head. I was a sight with sore eyes. After a few weeks of recovery time, I was ready to resume normal activities. Dr. Lederman was quite pleased with the results of his work, saying proudly, “My, I did an excellent job!” After we moved to California, Dr. Lederman referred me to a colleague at UCLA for follow-up tests to locate and treat some residual eye pain. Though he couldn’t identify the cause of my discomfort, he did remark, “My, Dr. Lederman did an excellent job!” Well, then, I guess he did.

Dr. Lederman is particularly interested in improving care to the world’s children and has headed teaching and surgical missions to Panama, Kenya, Morocco, Dubai, and Belize. He cofounded “One World, One Vision”, an organization devoted to training Ophthalmologists in developing countries to treat children and adults with strabismus and children with cataracts.

Natalie Portman

Seeing a face is one thing; remembering a name is something else altogether. I can “Name That Tune” as fast as anyone, complete with title and artist. I remember lyrics, bass lines, backup vocal parts, and little ornaments within a song. People’s names, though, often frustrate me.

natalie-portman-miss-diorNatalie Portman was, for the longest time, one of those names I could not remember. I could list her movies. I could remember seeing her on Broadway in “The Diary of Anne Frank,” and could instantly visualize her brilliantly funny video shorts on Saturday Night Live. I just could not remember her name. I eventually found myself saying it out loud for no apparent reason. I realized that it was my way of giving my brain a little jolt when I struggled to recall something. Now, when I see her face, I yell out, “NATALIE PORTMAN!!!!!” It’s fine when I’m home, but not so much when I’m out in public.

The same thing happens with former heavyweight boxing champion Lennox Lewis. This giant, dreadlock-ed champion with the British accent, who won the gold for Canada in the 1988 Olympics, who captured the heavyweight title twice, who went on to be a commentator for HBO – well, my mind doesn’t fill in the blank. Lennox Lewis is the Natalie Portman of sports.

Everyone Looks Familiar…at Costco

So, here I am, looking at the world with two straight eyes, pushing my cart down the aisle at Costco. I’m pretty sure I won’t bump into Natalie or Lennox, so the odds are good I won’t blurt out either name as I scan the mini-city. I find myself glancing at faces, listening to voices, and creating flash stories in my head about the people that stream past. An occupational hazard, I suppose.

Every Picture Tells A Story. I’ve Just Seen A Face. Delta Dawn. Mother and Child Reunion. Santa Baby. Inspiration for these songs could well have struck at Costco, or any concern where a wide range of people would shop.

Wait a minute – Santa Baby? Explain, please.

Ok, sure.

This Brain

As I did my Shop N’ ScanTM, a woman flew by, headed towards the checkout line. Ding ding, ding went my internal facial recognition program. Scanning records (mental file cabinet stuck, pick up some WD-40 in aisle 35, or maybe some ginkgo biloba in the lotions and potions section), no match. Re-scan. Still no match, but the image of a Santa hat randomly pops into my head.61Iy6w-VamL._SX425_

I mutter to my brain, “Santa hat??? Really??? Do you need some protein, maybe?”

I let it go, only to glance across the aisle to where the books sit piled on tables, and again feel the sense of recognition as a young woman carrying a small child hurried past. Nothing connects, but something seems familiar. I give up, turn back upfield, and see another face, and this one I identify immediately. Then it all comes together. Mother, father, daughter. Cambrians. Neighbors. First responder. Michael. Luna. Uh, umm, uh…Natalie Portman?  We chat for a minute, and I am reminded of her name. And immediately forget it. Aaaarrrrgghhh!

Thanks For The Sample

We find ourselves at the registers, separated by a few aisles. I look to my right, and the Santa hat lady and her husband are checking out. She looks over at me; I think she thinks we know each other. We banter, light, and non-committal. I pay for my stuff, get my cart and head to the exit.

As I pass the optometry department, I exchange hellos with Rachel, the always friendly and efficient rep who has helped me with my eyeglasses. Her name, I remember instantly. Maybe the protein from that chicken nugget sample I ingested was helping. Yes, that must have been it, because all of a sudden I remembered who the Santas were – Cambrians who attended a holiday concert, wearing Santa hats! Yay brain! Yay, chicken nuggets! Yay Costco! And their names are, uh, umm, ehh, Lennox and Natalie?

Memory

I got in my car and headed homeward, two straight eyes protected by prescription sunglasses Rachel helped select. I made a quick stop at the fire station, did a little research, and added Madison to the list of names I must try to remember.

Names and faces may soon fade away, but I’ll always have Natalie.

Sing Sing Sing!!!

17 Friday May 2019

Posted by in Cambria Schools, Communicating, Community Involvement, Home, Humor, Music and Art, Searching for Cambria's Reality, Treasured Finds

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After spending time at the Cambria Center For The Arts open house, I thought of all the opportunities beautiful Cambria offers to music lovers of all levels and tastes.

Though not featured at the Open House, the Cambria Center For The Arts offers concerts and performances that feature both local and visiting artists in multiple genres.

The community was recently treated to a beautiful, personal blend of music and memoir by local singer/writer/multi-instrumentalist Mary Anne Anderson, who shared her story from childhood to today, through the musical touchstones that marked her journey. A brave, thoughtful performance. Brava, Mary Anne.

Choices

Intimate, stellar concerts are offered on occasion at Painted Sky Studios.
The Legendary Jazz Series, hosted by distinguished pianist/vibraphonist/educator Charlie Shoemake, brings top-level musicians to town to perform in the intimate setting of the Harmony Cafe. The names may not be readily known by those who don’t follow jazz, but the performances are other-worldly brilliant.

There is no shortage of performance spaces that feature local area talent, from solo singer/songwriters to duos, trios and revolving groups of like-minded artists who collaborate and support each other’s visions. Casual listeners who happen to stop by for a taste at 927 Beer can find themselves enchanted, disturbed or otherwise moved by a voice, a lyric, or a personality putting it out there for the world to experience.

Stop by the Farmer’s Market and hear live music delivered by an eclectic range of talents including a trombone quartet thematically named “Bone Appetit”.

Chorale

The Cambria Community Chorale is a magnet for many older members of the community. They carry a love of song up on the risers, joyfully belting out everything from holiday standards to intricate, multi-part vocal pieces. It’s great fun to scan their faces as they sing; the serious – “I can’t make-a-mistake-ers” to the “I think I’m in the right place-rs,” to the “I can’t believe I’m having this much fun-ers.” One thing is sure – they all enjoy being part of the musical community. I see you, Midge!

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The current Spring concert is a doozy, spanning everything from the classic Americana of Aaron Copeland to the pop sparkle of ABBA. There is just something indescribable about listening to fifty or more mature singers raising the roof of a church with the 70’s pop classic (and personal guilty pleasure) Dancing Queen. I mean, you just have to experience it for yourself! Luckily, there is one more performance scheduled for May 19th at the Presbyterian church on Burton Drive.

The Chain

Beyond the rehearsals and the performances, the Chorale lives their commitment to music. Every year, the Chorale, in concert with the Lions Club, provide scholarships for local students with the desire and commitment to further their music education. These awards come with the understanding that the students and their families will commit to a level of support, and that the training will be embraced and given the proper level of focus.

Each spring, the students join with their teachers in a recital, demonstrating the skills they have gained and more importantly, the true love they have for the art. From the littlest pianist to the tallest singer, performances touch a supportive community of family, friends and fellow Cambrians. Nerves and confidence sit side by side, and it doesn’t matter how many mistakes happen or how many restarts are required. Everyone is in it together.

Teachers

Not enough can be said about the teachers. I can tell you with confidence that the level of effort put into each student, each piece, and each performance far exceeds whatever pay they receive. Watching the teachers work with the kids is a joy. They encourage, compliment, and correct as they journey along, note by note. They are building musicians and so much more; they are building confident and caring kids.

Education, The Musical!

Even with the financial pressures out schools face, Coast Union still goes all out for the annual high school musical. Building the musical is a great process where complete chaos turns into manageable chaos as scores of students get to put their efforts and passions on display. The performances are the end product of months of a collaborative effort from students, teachers, parents, musicians,and technical crews. The whole megillah is supported by promotional, logistical, and administrative folks who devote themselves to the endeavor.

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Along the path to performance, real learning takes place. The students experience challenging situations that they will often face as they move through life. Conflict resolution, competition, repetitive practice, social skills, and teamwork all come into play. Disappointment, envy, and tears are as present as laughter, confidence, and splashy performance.

Life Lessons

They learn the differences between merit and entitlement, between wanting to shine and working to shine. They have the chance to succeed or not succeed, and the opportunity to learn how to handle both. They can learn a new skill, and realize that there is just as much creativity and satisfaction in helping to build scenery as singing in the chorus. They live real-life case studies in helping each other succeed. It is life lessons in a time and place where learning and growing are encouraged and supported. As much as the grown-ups involve themselves in the endeavor, it is, and should always be all about the kids.

There is plenty of Education in the Arts.

Heart, Soul, and Spirit

18 Thursday Apr 2019

Posted by in Beautiful Cambria, Communicating, Community Involvement, Home, Music and Art, Treasured Finds, Words matter

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Arts and Artists

Beautiful Cambria is home to a colorful box of arts, from painting and sculpture to music and theater. There are plenty of opportunities to participate, from studying with established artists and teachers to collaborating with fellow theater lovers. Artist, actor, or audience member, all are welcome.

This past weekend the allied artists at Cambria Center For The Arts  hosted an open house that featured exhibits and presentations from fine artists, theater performers and directors, and the team from the Cambria Film Festival.

It was a treat to see and feel all the creativity and commitment to the arts in one place, and heartening to see all the community members and event sponsors who filled the building with positive energy.

Small Sparks

As my wife and I wandered through the event, I thought of my evolving relationship with art, music, and theater. I am no expert on any of those things, but I am an expert on how they affect me, emotionally and spiritually.

I flashed back to John Stewart’s funny and heartfelt introduction of Kennedy Center Honoree Bruce Springsteen a few short years ago. Stewart started his speech by acknowledging that he was no music critic or historian, and was unable to say where Springsteen ranked on the lists of great American poets and songwriters. He then took a perfect pause and said”…but I’m from New Jersey…” and continued with a description of how Bruce’s work touched him personally.

I get that feeling a lot when I look at, watch or hear art in all its forms, and I wonder how I came to be a guy who is so moved by the grace of creative passions.

Enjoy John Stewart’s tribute here.

What Do You See?

Growing up, the arts were not front and center in my life. In grammar school, art class mostly consisted of the annual street-crossing safety poster competitions. Perhaps there was more, but I sure can’t recall anything beyond needing oak tag and magic markers. I still struggle with drawing even the simplest sketches.

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Lunch and Mommy – Jeanette Wolff, Artist

Jeanette Wolff is a delightful, energetic and near-fearless artist who can’t help but show her heart and soul in the beauty she produces. Her work is unfailingly identifiable, bursting with unexpected color, imaginative techniques and what I can only describe as joy on canvas. I was delighted to listen to her share the story of her piece, her descriptions and stylistic reasoning flowing out in a stream of consciousness, with hands darting towards the canvas to underscore a point, then dashing off to another quadrant to connect the dots within the whole piece. More than just a storyteller, Jeanette was engaged in conversation at a level that was pure and filled with creative passion.

I can’t begin to understand how to do what she does in her art form, but I definitely connect with her as an artist.

You can see Jeanette’s work on her website jeanettewolff.com

What Do You Feel?

I became interested in theater as I entered high school. In my sophomore year I made an attempt to “do a play” at Mount Saint Ursula Girls High School. Why? All girls school. Boys needed to play roles. Where’s my bus pass!!

I was worse than awful. I had no clue, no skills, and no confidence. I was humiliated but still met a few nice girls despite my complete and utter suckery. In later years I again tried the stage and maintained my reputation as not an actor. My theater mask had two faces, one covering eyes, the other, ears. I did, however, find a creative home in theater as a composer and lyricist.

“Here’s a dime. Go call your mother and tell her you will never be an actor.”

We slipped through the wooden doors at the end of the corridor and entered “The Cambria Center For The Arts Theater.” On the stage, two volunteers were engaged in a theater exercise, demonstrating critical skills every actor must master – listening and reacting to each other. The same lines were exchanged – “I have to go,” and “I want you to stay.” Nuance, inflection, cadence, and pitch altered the meaning with each repetition. I was reminded of a play we attended in New York, starring our friend Robert Newman. For most of the play, his only line was “Come on,” spoken in response to his lover, who was unhappy and working on leaving their relationship. So, a playwright took a theater training exercise and turned it into an off-Broadway play. Huh.

Stage or Screen

Theater moves me more than film, though I appreciate the art form. There are rare exceptions where the two mediums cross paths. One example that is burned into my soul is the brilliant, Pulitzer Prize-winning piece “Doubt, A Parable” by John Patrick Shanley. Mr. Shanley has enjoyed success in both the theater and film. He wrote and directed “Moonstruck” and “Joe Versus the Volcano, ” two quirky, funny and emotionally complex films.

“Doubt” is a theater experience that will never leave me. I saw it, alone, one Sunday afternoon. I had a bit of an idea about the play but was utterly unprepared for what I experienced. The premise, the characters, the dialog, the staging. The ambiguity, the moral murkiness, the very humanness of the piece was breathtaking. After the curtain fell, I paced outside the theater, a busy and frenetic New York swirling around me. I called my wife and tried to describe the experience I just had. We came back to that theater a while later. The play kicked my soul all over again.

A few years later “Doubt” was made into a film, starring Philip Seymour Hoffman, Meryl Streep, Viola Davis, and Amy Adams. I was a bit disappointed that the original Broadway actors, which included Brían F. O’Byrne and Cherry Jones, weren’t cast in the film. Both actors were perfect in their stage roles. Watching the movie made me forget my disappointment, as Hoffman and Streep were just as excellent. For me though, the most electrifying performance came from Viola Davis, who, in a scene with Streep, had me in a puddle as she did emotional battle with Streep’s character.

That is what art – on stage and screen – does for my soul. I have so many other moments like these filed in my memory. “That Championship Season” – the first Broadway show I ever saw, thanks to my sister Patricia and her husband, Ken. The opening scene from “Jerusalem” with a bellowing, bellicose Mark Rylance emerging from a headstand in a bucket of water… and so many more.

Who’s to say if the next mesmerizing writer, actor, composer or director isn’t right now learning to create at CCAT, or another cradle of creativity in a small town somewhere out there?

What Do You Hear?

My early music education was delivered by Mrs. Dean, who may have been a hundred years old, or forty years young. She would go from class to class, followed by a portable organ hauled by one or two boys from the previous class. I recall very little music from those sessions, though I do remember a decidedly non-musical screech from a wire-fingered, comb-like device she used to draw a staff in one long drag across the board. I also can’t forget the bleating of that little organ as Mrs. Dean banged out “Columbia, The Gem Of The Ocean.” Why do I remember that? No idea.

Learning to hear is as important as learning to play music. I can spend hours listening and re-listening to a song, or an artist, finding more pieces of the puzzle with each replay. My wife, who is a much more accomplished musician than I, learns and understands by the repetitive playing of a piece. Her learning is technical and disciplined. Mine is emotional and intuitive. We take different paths but often wind up at the same destination. It is a lovely place to be.

Perhaps next year’s open house will include a music breakout. I’m not sure if Mrs. Dean is still out there dragging that Emenee organ around, or if Columbia is still the “Gem Of The Ocean,” but nurturing the musical part of the artist soul absolutely needs to stand tall alongside the rest of the creative circle.

Support the Arts and The Artists.

Restless Souls

02 Saturday Mar 2019

Posted by in Communicating, Home, Treasured Finds, Uncategorized, Words matter

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Moving from one side of the country to the other was, in many ways, a rebirth. Aside from the vast differences in weather, simple things that were taken for granted now seem distant and almost exotic. The particulars may vary, but the core remains remarkably constant. 

Then and There

Stunningly tall and beautiful spruce of different flavors formed a natural border around our small piece of Connecticut. Interior trees of red and gold maple, white birch, crab Cherry Apple Mapleapple, and weeping cherry presented a gloriously fragrant and hopeful palette of color when they flowered in spring. Summer featured deep and varied shades of green. Autumn took the stage in a blaze of deep red and gold. Sturdy boxwoods formed a line and marked transitions. Flowering shrubs neighbored sturdy yet wispy willow bushes that swayed in the breeze, and the biggest rhododendron ever anchored the far edge of the front yard.

Winged

And birds. So many different birds, from the ever-present blue jays to the scarlet breasts of the visiting cardinals. Robins rocked around the yard. And so many finches. Small, fragile flutters of every shade of yellow, with an occasional flash of green to mix things up.

The bird feeder outside the picture window gave a view to performances that ranged from balletic to brutish as the birds would alternately wait their turn at a peg, or, growing impatient, knock a fellow diner out of the way and grab the seeds. Smart ones would flit around at ground level, snatching the feed that slipped through the croaks and craws above. An entertaining program, no remote required.

Higher up, crows and crones would sit, gossiping and complaining about whatever was irritating them. An occasional bird of prey would soar overhead, and a big old crew of turkeys would strut through like they owned the joint.

Legged

Deer were everywhere, grazing the grass and savoring the flowers that filled pots and patches around the house. Squirrels abounded, thick bushy tails and darting eyes testing the environment for things they could snatch, then soon forgetting what they just buried and again going into search mode. Rabbits passed through, as did the occasional cat or dog. Coyotes would sometimes speak up from the woods framing the small lake on the other side of the road. They sounded like a thousand, though more likely just a few.  Now and then a black bear would zip through the neighborhood, risking a scolding from the neighbors or an unintended meeting with a passing car.

It was a beautiful place that often caused me to pause for a minute, and appreciate the beauty and peaceful grounding of home.

Here and Now

On the opposite edge of America, a welcoming committee of pelicans, cormorants, and seagulls stake out neighboring rocks. Coming and going, sinking and swimming as they dine on what lies beneath.

Shore

On the land, a scattered few white egrets hunt for a nosh. They move, Elmer Fudd-like across the terrain; tip-toeing through the brush slowly lifting one leg, then the other. All around them, cagey and cage-free ground squirrels stand still, looking intently for danger, or a path to a different vantage point. Heads pop out of bushes, from under the boardwalk, and from tunnels and burrows.

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The Egret and The Squirrel

Often, the egret and the squirrel stand mere yards apart, staring intently in opposite directions, oblivious or indifferent to the other. Occasionally the cast will be joined by the grey-blue heron, standing tall as the breeze ruffles feathers and down. When the hunting ground becomes uninteresting, the slender, nearly one-dimensional bird suddenly extends its wings and takes flight. What seems fragile and slight is unexpectedly powerful and majestic. With a few slow and deliberate motions the bird is airborne. Impressive.

Walking and Stalking

In the neighborhoods, deer come visiting, stopping to fill up on vegan delights thoughtfully provided by nature and the occasional optimistic gardener. Turkeys strut around like their east coast cousins, though some might argue they are more laid-back, as befitting the Cali lifestyle. Coyotes earn their keep in the fields and gardens. Larger predators are more likely mountain lion than a bear, though both certainly make themselves comfortable in the mountains just outside of town.

It is a beautiful place that often causes me to pause for a minute, to appreciate the beauty and peaceful grounding of home.

Home

The beauty of life, as represented by these very different but very similar residents, exist for everyone. They don’t give a thought to the accents they hear, or the color of the eyes that stare back in wonder. They don’t ask for identification, or an income statement, or a diploma.  No cover, no minimum. Plenty of room to share. And they seem to be just fine with it all.

 

 

No Tomatoes? No Problem!

14 Monday May 2018

Posted by in Treasured Finds, Uncategorized, Words matter

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Community
Friday – the end of the work week. (Who am I kidding – I don’t have a real work week!) Friday means Farmer’s Market, and a chance to see people from across the community as CFM-Logo-PNG-Fullwell as people visiting our beautiful town. The fruits and vegetables are fresh and healthy (or so I’ve been told by those who enjoy such things), and the line for freshly baked bread and other pastryorial goodies testifies to the enduring popularity of flour-based solutions. I have learned to look for the baguettes with the best ears. I know – “don’t get too technical, bread boy!”
I enjoy Farmer’s Market for a whole lot of reasons, but mostly for the opportunities to chat with friends, acquaintances and strangers who weave through the market stands manned and womanned by a constant and comforting group of regulars. Today was only slightly different, as I was let loose, unaccompanied by my awesomely patient wife. I’m a chatty guy on a good day, and today was a great day!

Start Here
As I entered the Market grounds I said a quick hello the to the regular greeter, a man of faith who takes up his post every week, pamphlets at the ready but never forced into the hands or minds of the produce-seekers. For some reason he was leashed to a small dog today; probably keeping watch on the little angel as its owner observed the “no dogs allowed” rule which, while a bit unpopular to some makes good sense for the overall experience. A quick nod and smile, then a steely resolve as I barrel past the scented temptress known by its legendary name of “Kettle Corn.” I think it’s Egyptian, or maybe Aztec. Korean? Not sure, but it is a pure temptation. I usually resist, but when my granddaughter Chloe visits, we stop. She is young and knows not what she does. Well actually (as she now says in her nearly four-year-old rational voice) she knows exactly what she does closing her pitch with “and we will bring some home to mommy!” But today, I am on my own, so keep your scented kettle on your side of the parking lot, thank you very much.
A quick turn to the right, just past the beautiful flowers on the first table, I see Harry. After a rough start, we have developed a cordial relationship, and I enjoy chatting about whatever happens to be going on around us. I mentioned that for someone who doesn’t do a lot of social media his picture sure appears frequently on my Facebook feed. He is, as he sheepishly acknowledges, a bit of a local celebrity. He shared a quick anecdote about being introduced to a visitor as a local rock star! And he kind of is – engaged in civic and social activities, friend and acquaintance to many. He makes the rounds, his basket slowly filling with his coming week’s menu. A quick chat, a quick check on health and off we go our separate ways.

Bread, No Circus
I quickly slide in line at the baker’s table, nervously counting the remaining baguettes in the tin bucket. Two left, one person in front of me, looking like she is wrapping up her transaction. Good, my odds are good. I scored a lovely loaf, well-eared and so freaking fragrant I had to wipe my joyful tears away as I ransacked my pocket for a case quarter to happily hand over with my bill, getting the paper change that would be applied at my next stop.
A quick diagonal takes me to Bautista’s, where I exchange quips with the friendly and hard-working young woman who never fails to say “I like your haircut” – to which I reply “and yours looks fabulous” – even when neither of us has seen a salon in a while. I must say, I enjoy these exchanges especially when her partner in produce – an older woman who is all business (her mother, perhaps?)gives a quick glance and almost smiles. One day, she will crack and say something more than “$2.00” as she hands me my carrots. Some day…

Uh Oh…
I instinctively took a step to my left, only to notice something was terribly wrong. The tomato guy was not there! Let me repeat that – no tomato guy! My silent scream was felt, I’m sure, as far away as Pineridge, where a lanky, thoughtful man in a white Corvette froze for a second as the phrase “he only came for tomatoes” somehow filled the space around his consciousness. But that was a different blog…

Friendly Faces
My dark mood quickly lightened as I saw her – my across the street neighbor Marian. She is a striking woman with a quick wit and pale blue eyes that convey a real interest in what is being discussed. We talk often but never enough. She didn’t seem to notice the absence of the tomato guy; perhaps her years as an attorney has given her the practiced inscrutability of a judge. Perhaps she just doesn’t like tomatoes – I do not know. Either way, it was great to see her. We were soon joined by Marie, who I’ve seen more over the past weeks than I had over the past year. The two women knew each other casually, so the conversation flowed easily. Then, as if my luck hadn’t been good enough up to that point, we were joined by the ebullient Kathe Tanner, ace reporter, noted gastronome, and the only person in California outside my immediate family who knows about Dom and Vinnie’s pizza. (The one off the Sprain Brook Parkway, up the street from Gate of Heaven Cemetery. A cemetery which had the greatest sign ever – “Archdiocese of New York ~ Gate of Heaven Cemetery ~- Gates close at 4:30pm.”)

News with Heart
We talked a bit about the changes in the local paper, and Kathe shared her hope to keep telling the stories that really reflect not only the news of the town but the heart of the townspeople. Kathe has a wonderfully warm way of storytelling, and her words really touch readers as witnessed by the comments that often follow her pieces. We parted on the question “how long do you have to live in Cambria to be considered a local?” I may have to go to the Cambria Historical Society to dig up that answer!

Good Lord!
Our cluster broke apart as we headed to our next stops. I stopped a bit short of mine as I saw what seemed to be a tableau from Game of Thrones. Princess Stephanie of Soups was on one knee in front of the corner stand, the dynastic Dragon Spring Farm. A second look revealed that she was actually taking a picture of the signs on the front of the table, and not, as I first thought, bending the knee to the Mother of Dragon Spring nor the Lord of Lemons, the wonderful Carol and Mike Broadhurst. Mike took the opportunity to regale us all with his critically acclaimed solo from the Cambria Chorale’s seasonal concert. That was four bars that will live in infamy! Though I missed the concert, I had gotten a report about Carol’s frolicking frock and snazzy shoes, which, when I mentioned them had Carol beaming at the memory. I’m pretty sure she did a little joyful two-step, narrowly avoiding grandson Braden as he toddled in behind her on his way to grabbing some blocks from the bin under the tables.

Sighted Sounds
Continuing on around the bend, I scanned the various offerings, quickly making and then breaking eye contact with the peanut brittle guy, who had started his “sample?” spiel but recognized me as a guy who has never said yes in the five years plus I’ve attended the market. As I drew closer to the end of the row of vendors, two things touched my senses at the same time. First, a few clouds had me thinking I had to pick up the pace, as I was burning daylight. Then, an encroaching aroma told me Linn’s was burning brisket, Thirdly, my ears alerted me that someone or something was burning through some standards. I looked up and saw a bevy of brass – the place was lousy with trombones! Now, the trombonists were not lousy at all – they were actually (as Chloe would say) really really good! I slid (see what I did there, Allison?) up to where the band was holding forth… because there were four of them. Otherwise, they would be holding thirds or fifths…(I did it again, Allison!)
Seated at the picnic table in front of the musicians was the delightful Ruth Fleming; singer, painter and all around joy to hang out with. Her husband was one of the troubadours, so I guess she had to be there… I kid, I kid! We got to catch up a bit and exchange terrible puns as we enjoyed the music. Ruth makes me smile and is one of the lights that make Cambria so interesting.

Exit Stage Left
By now I worried my absence would be noticed at home, so I wrapped it up and headed for the exit. On the way out, an SUV was pulling into the parking lot, probably a bit faster than conditions called for. I stopped quickly and looked across the driveway as a young paramedic from the ambulance corps was entering the grounds. We both looked at the SUV, and I said: “if he had run me over you were there to save me.” He replied, wise beyond his years, “better for both of us that he didn’t.” Whoa, heavy!

Another Facet In The Jewel
I safely crossed the street, got into the car and headed home, but not before making a stop at Cambria Coffee Roasters. I really like going there for a few reasons, which even on occasion involves coffee. The appeal of the place is two-fold. First, they carry a particular kind of sweet that I love – they call it a raspberry shortbread cookie, but to me, it will always be a Linzer Torte. Now hold on a second, all my Bronx people. It is not Webers-quality. It does not have that coma-inducing blend of light and buttery shortbread, fresh raspberry preserves and powdered sugar that makes one sing and sneeze at the same time. It is more of a mass-produced, but still tasty rendition that goes great with afternoon coffee.

These Kids Today
The bigger reason I enjoy the place is the cast and crew that staff the counter and the coffeemakers every day. It is one place in town where the younger generation is front and ce67coffee6nter on Main Street. I can truly say that every person that I have met there has been a delight to interact with and learn about. They each have a story, a dream, and an approach to life that I find encouraging. They come from different places – some are local, some are just stopping for a rest. They carry yesterday’s adventures and experiences from across the globe and harbor a determination to enter more in their life’s notebook. They may stay for a short while, or enjoy longer tenures. Some go away and come back. But each of them brings a vitality to the place. They show grace and patience as they deal with the palette of people who cram themselves into the small space, some demanding, some odd, and some who range from quirky to curmudgeonly. Shannon, Gwynn, Jesse and Robin. Ariel and the recently departed Cecily. A couple of Courtney’s and Baylee, off to college. Cameron and her sister Zoe, whose dad first helped my wife and me find a place in Cambria. Probably a bunch I have forgotten. Probably a bunch still to meet. They are all happily different and represent to me an entirely unique slice of this community. And they all know that my two-cookie order is called the “Shannon Special,” and that I enjoy a good chat.
They serve me anyway!