7.14. 12

I have been trying to find my psychic sea legs for several weeks, to no avail. My normal cure for this particular ailment is task completion and I am happy to say I have been reasonably successful and productive of late. Business is good, if not very good, I have finished the first chapter draft of my new book for the educational company and I am generally on top of the necessary demands of life. Wife is pretty on board and happy with me and no negative reports from the cat.

Still feel a general gnawing, a maw, as if my personal spin rate can't catch up to the world's centrifugal orbit. Prefer my own quiet company of late.

Writing is no cure. There is altogether too much nasty chatter on the airwaves and it is far too easy to be merely partisan and reactive. Everything feels trite and I have no idea who is reading me at present. Difficult to write, little inspiration and motivation short of feeding friendly minds who have come to expect it on a regular basis. Haven't much felt like taking pictures either.

About three months ago I changed my real business to appointment only, a decision that has not only freed me up from the twin poles of waiting for nobody to show up or hordes of people that never bought much of anything but took up a lot of time. It is much more efficient this way. My actual clients and I are doing business and prospective clients seem to be okay with the new rules of engagement.  I hosted a group from Rotary last week and regaled them with tales of the intrepid antique dealer. Warren Bishop called me a goniff.

I have been awash in new merchandise and prospects look sunny. Might even be able to afford the prospective vacation in Spain in the fall. I have been visiting the gym with more regularity, refraining from excessive alcoholic consumption and helping old ladies cross the street. None of this is piercing this malaise, this general sense of unease. I work all the time and have almost forgotten how to play. Damn.

I miss my guitar. I haven't played in six months, well before the time I knocked it over. I feel guilty and know that I will have a long road to build back callouses and chops, not being very gifted and having a primitive sense of time.

Tommy Mayfield might be the best player in town, pushing seventy something for sure. He is a Chet Atkins style thumb picker, who says the Beatles killed his musical future and that their advent doomed the robust swing era of the fifties. He stopped by the other day and played the guitar for me, a new composition, a viennese waltz.

I don't know why but I grabbed the guitar from him when he was finished and played What a wonderful world and a jazz thing in D. He looked at me with genuine approval and said that I must be taking lessons. And I haven't for a long time. One of the last things my teacher told me was that I had to make the music my own. They can throw you in the pool but you have to swim. It made me feel good that Tommy liked my playing after so much time off. I have worked so hard at music, without much to show for it at all.  Sometimes you step away from something and you magically get better at it, like you needed a little space. Can't explain that but it's true. Or has been for me anyway.

The best thing that has happened is BigD getting his post chemo cancer check up last week and the results coming out all clear. The worst is John racked up in the hospital, now in acute care. Almost lost his leg and they had to implant a chip in his heart the other day to see why he has been blacking out.

*

I wandered in to the new Fallbrook Republican Headquarters last night which is conveniently located diagonally across from my shop. I announced myself as a liberal man behind enemy lines and they were exceedingly nice and cordial. They asked me what it would take to get me to swing to the other side and enemy camp and I confessed that my condition was probably both genetic and irreversible.

*

Visiting John at Inland Empire Hospital allowed us the chance to go back and eat at our favorite family italian place around. Vincenzo's Olive Tree in Lake Elsinore. Tony Duchi introduced me to the place and Vincenzo himself years ago and it is both incredible and inexpensive. We caught it on a tuesday night when wines are half off and had a delicious Petit Syrah. Dinner started with hot crusty rolls with the greatest tomato oregano sauce you will ever lay lips on.

 We followed that up with fried calamari, which got dunked back in the sauce. Excellent salads. For our  entrees Leslie ordered the chicken ravioli in a chicken walnut sauce and I had cannelloni baked in a tomato cream. Handmade with pork and veal and ricotta, this is the dish at its best. We left the place feeling so good, what a nice restaurant with a very inventive menu, family style, not nouveau in the least and making no apologies for it.

We got the homemade cannoli to go and brought that and what was left of our entrees to our sicilian friend in the hospital bed. Mother's milk.

*

Went to audiophile friend K's place today. He had his Apogee Scintilla speakers set up. A special occasion, his wife banishing them from the living room except for special occasions. Drove them with Krells and the latest stuff, incredible 120 lb. japanese turntable and Studer industrial size tape deck. The Scintillas are very fast and accurate, all ribbon. Bass response good but definitely different then what I am used to. Listened to Oscar Peterson, Ella Fitzgerald, Bitches Brew and Rachmaninoff. The Studer definitely sounded far better than the vinyl. Lots of headroom. I will never be able to make such an audio purchase again short of the old lottery win but am happy to live vicariously through my more fortunate friends.  


*


My sister is coming out for a couple days from Florida. Love Barbara and never get to see her. In her honor I went to Jack in the box yesterday and indulged in the two for 99 cents tacos, which are superb as always. Two things she does when she comes to Cali, Jack's tacos and See's Candy. I had the Jack version of Chicken nuggets yesterday and they kick the hell out of McDonalds.


*


Two people reported the same general nightmare to me on friday the 13th.


*

People are claiming that they can see the Blessed Virgin in a tree stump in New York. Quite a shrine and pilgrimage developing. I admire their sincerity and faith. Hope they get a visitation. Also looks like corn on the cob.