Studio Time.

All right! Back in the studio June 2. Terry is ay-mazingly awesome. My little Yamaha makes some pretty cool sounds and the new lineup is four ambient tunes, instrumentals. Enya *not.* it's Pamya.

Flower Alert.

This little guy kind of came from nowhere. Kind of....actually it sprouted from something I thought had died. Funny when that happens.

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Band Names.

» Krissy Vinyl and the Synthetics...
» Tonsofundies...
» Mannequin O'Connor...
» June O'Clock...
» Felonious Matrimonius.

Two Sisters.

TWO SISTERS
A Story With No End

My Little Sister
By: Minnie E. Hicks

I have a baby sister,
A darling tiny mite,
And when I smile, she smiles right back
And holds my finger tight.

She's telling me she loves me,
In that cute baby way,
And saying that it won't be long,
'Til we can play all day.

I love my baby sister,
My soon-to-be playmate,
And what I really want to know
Is how long must I wait?

Chapter One
The Sixties

1

They skipped down the street hand in hand, singing a made-up tune in unison, off-key and out of sync. One was five, with perfect brown cigar curls that that bounced with every step. The other was tall for ten years old, a whole foot taller than the little one, and blond. Their personalities were as opposite as the ends of the earth. Each adored having a sister, of course, but was supremely jealous when the other received any form of attention from their parents or relatives. They got along well enough to play together even though they were five years apart but when they didn’t, it was only because the littlest was the quintessential spoiled brat. Claire had an ocean of patience for her wild little sister and today, they were the best of friends.

We’re gonna skip ‘til the sidewalk ends. We’re gonna skip ‘til the sidewalk ends. Sunlight blinked off the blades of freshly-mowed lawns as they darted by. Bees hovered in small, investigative circles above buds of clover before landing for a wobbly feel.

“I think we’d better go back now,” Claire said, reaching for her sister’s wrist and pulling her to a stop. A slight girl with pale straight hair and engulfing blue eyes, she was perceptive beyond her years and acutely aware of her role as big sister. “I don’t want to go home!” Elizabeth pleaded. Claire hated when Libby whined, and it made her frown. Claire had nicknamed her Libby and knew her sister was capable of spontaneous, ear-splitting tantrums. “Mommy said we could go skipping until the sidewalk ends, and we haven’t reached the end yet!” Claire bent down and peered into Libby's eyes, still clutching her grubby little hand. She pointed down the street where the sidewalk seemed to rise to a fulcrum in the distance and said, slowly, “Libby. Listen to me. Look for yourself. See? The sidewalk never ends. Not ever. It keeps going and going forever, way past the school and far, far away from home. Mommy only told us to 'skip 'til the sidewalk ends' because she was being silly. And because that's what her mommy used to say, but their sidewalks really ended. Ours don't." Libby yanked her hand away and studied her shoes for a moment, pouting. Claire continued. "I’m getting thirsty and besides, I think Store Bus might be coming today. Come on, let’s go.” Libby did a little hop and opened her eyes as wide as they would go, her mouth forming a big bright "O." That was all the persuasion needed to convince Libby to turn around and start skipping furiously for home. "Store Bus is coming! Store Bus is coming! Yaaay, Store Bus!!!” Claire smiled knowingly and ran after her. Libby skipped practically everywhere she went. When she was happy.

They lived in a pink house with white trim in a small cul-de-sac in Hayward, a short distance from Oakland. Their parents had taken an apartment in Oakland after Bill returned from duty in Korea, and they lived there for a short time after Claire was born. They grew tired of Oakland’s unpredictable climate and by the late ‘50s had saved enough money for a down payment. They moved to Hawthorne Court in the spring of 1960, and the sunshine there pierced the low clouds over the Bay Area more days out of the week than not. Elizabeth came along shortly after. Bill worked as an electrician while Marie stayed home with the girls, and they enjoyed watching their family grow and preparing for the future. The Sherwoods were, decidedly, post-Depression white Anglo-Saxon protestants, square as a box and proud of it. They had lots of friends just like them.

The local dairy sent milk trucks foraying into the suburbs early every Saturday morning. They had four quarts delivered every week right to their front porch in a sturdy wire basket. The girls had their own playroom, a box crammed with toys, and a pet tortoise named Charlie Brown who Mommy really liked based on the fact that he lived in the back yard and never had to be cleaned up after. On a boxy blue phonograph player Claire played 45s of Dave Clark Five, The Beatles, and Paul Revere and the Raiders. They shared a room with twin beds, a fish tank, and white eyelet curtains that Marie had sewn by hand.

In 1965, Hawthorne Court was a special place to grow up. The neighborhood was surrounded by open fields inhabited by garter snakes and blue-bellied lizards, fun to capture and show off. Nine families lived in a circle of houses, and they all knew and liked each other and would collect mail or water lawns if someone went out of town. The Marshes lived next to the Langs, and the Anshutzes lived next to the Ashworths across the street. Mr. and Mrs. Eagle Eye, a retired couple with no children, lived at the end of of the street. They occasionally invited the girls over for pancakes on Sunday mornings in their back yard, which the girls would marvel over. Having breakfast outside was something they never got to do at home.

The Langs had a dog, named Soapy, whose velvety ears Libby liked to pet. The Halls and their two boys moved in next door after the Lopiccolo family left for a bigger house in Pleasanton. The Halls and the Sherwoods became fast friends. Bill Sherwood and Randy Hall often took their collective kids fishing, or on a picnic.

Elizabeth’s favorite visitor to their court was Store Bus, a retired yellow school bus some genius had converted into a traveling convenience store, long before 7-11 existed in their neighborhood. It carried candy, bubblegum, ice cream and popsicles, but customers also bought milk, donuts and coffee, eggs, or an emergency loaf of bread if they needed -- at a price. The girls’ mother took advantage of Store Bus only when she had to, but when she did she sent the girls out with fifty cents or a dollar, remembering to include an extra dime so they could each get a nickel's worth of candy. Sometimes even if she didn't need anything, she gave the girls spare change. It was so thrilling to Libby to see Mommy get out that change purse. Store Bus didn’t come around as often as the milk truck did, and the man who drove it didn’t really seem to have a schedule, so whenever it showed up, it was generally on a Saturday afternoon and it was always an event for them. Fortunately for Claire, and just as she'd hoped, Store Bus was there parked in the street in front of the Halls' house as if waiting for them to return.

With all the seats removed, there was room for several freezers and shelves packed with fragrant goods. One remarkable thing about Store Bus was the way it smelled. A sugar-rich, cupcakes-and-cola, baked-bread, jelly-donuts-and-candy bouquet in high concentration, with mild undertones of diesel exhaust and motor oil, made Store Bus aromatically unique. Libby just loved it.

At five years old, the steps were so high that Libby had to raise her knee almost all the way up to her chest just to reach that first big step. The big chrome handrail always helped. Gripping it with both hands, she would hoist herself up and inside, where boxes and boxes of goodies waited in glistening, irresistible rows: jawbreakers (that never really broke anyone’s jaw), and packs of candy cigarettes (mint-flavored chalky sticks with alarming splotches of red dye painted on the tips in a poor resemblance of fire). Libby moved slowly down the black rubber mat in the center of the bus, eyeing Bazooka bubblegum, past rolls of Necco wafers, packets of Sweet-Tarts and unwrapped wax lips and candy necklaces, until she spied what she was looking for: Nickel Nips. They were miniature wax soda pop bottles that came five to a box, each with a different colored soda pop syrup inside. These were high fun for her. She’d either bite off the tip of the bottle and down it, or chomp the entire bottle all at once, squishing the syrup and the wad of wax together and gnashing on it for ten minutes or so until the flavor completely disappeared. She enjoyed the clear, soft chewy wax which, plain as it was, still tasted better than wax-lips wax. Claire liked Nickel Nips because they kept Libby quiet for a while and gave her a breather from Libby's chirping.

There were the bubble gum trading cards. The gum was flattened, powdered, brittle and nasty, definitely not as good as Bazooka Joe, but the cards themselves fascinated her. They had pictures of sci-fi movie monsters like Creature from the Black Lagoon, Wolfman, Mummy or Frankenstein. Some cards were comics of weird surfer-guy bullies with big teeth, hunchbacks and bloodshot eyes riding around on choppers or waving from muscle cars. Libby didn’t like those much so she gave them to her sister to trade. Although she could be a pill, at other times she was very thoughtful of Claire.

Certain toys were wildly popular. The neighborhood children shared their Slinkys, Frisbees and Hula Hoops with one another. One boy had a .007 toy camera that doubled as a squirt gun. A kid could only fool someone once with that toy, but it sure was worth it.

Elizabeth discovered she was good at Etch-A-Sketch. She thought she was really something special the day she figured out she could etch her name backwards and hold it in front of a mirror, cautious not to shake it, so she could read her name in the mirror going the right direction. Libby was very smart and had learned to read when she was three. She liked Lincoln Logs, Tinker Toys, and dolls, but her Colorforms dolls weren’t really dolls at all -- they were flat, flimsy plastic people you pasted cut-outs of clothes on and stuck to a shiny black board. Those rather bored her. Boxes of bright Crayola crayons came in 56 colors and kept Libby and Claire occupied for hours. Mommy would not buy Silly Putty no matter how much Libby begged her to, saying it would ruin the cushions of their couch.

Libby had a phonograph record she liked of nursery rhymes that she listened to every day. One morning she left it in the sun until it warped. She brought it to Daddy, who hammered it back into shape so it would play on her turntable without skipping. Daddy could fix anything.

Some of the boys had skateboards with metal wheels that Libby was afraid to try because they went so fast. Even at five years old she had had her share of wrecks learning to ride her sister’s Stingray bike, the one with the white banana seat, and was well aware of what could happen if she crashed on a skateboard going fast. She liked her roller skates just fine, the ones that clamped to her Keds using a special key. She had couple of dolls with real-looking eyelashes. Claire had Barbie and Midge, but Libby wasn’t allowed to play with them. She was always told she was too little for these sophisticated, older-girl dolls, which may have been what sparked her habit of tantrum-throwing. Bill, Marie and Claire, all of them, would give in to Elizabeth whenever practical for whatever she wanted, just to shut her up. They did not like it but it worked, and they did not know what else to do. Lavendar-eyed Libby was indeed a happy brat.

And so were the trappings of two sisters' early childhood, during a sliver of time when life was simple and sweet. Two sisters becoming aware there was life beyond Hawthorne Court, perfectly content to explore everything they possibly could right where they lived. Everything else could wait. They knew from school there would be much to learn, see, be and do. They adapted to the changing times at every juncture because they had to, whether or not they were ready. Soon enough, their happy lives would change, and very, very radically.

2

“Claire?”
“Yes, Libby.”
“What do clouds taste like?”
“Well, I imagine they taste like air. Why?”
“They look like marshmallows to me.”
“Trust me. They’re not.”
“I wish they were marshmallows. So I could taste them.”
“Libby, go to sleep. You imagine too much.”

More to come….

Mother's Day 2004.

Enjoyed a lovely breakfast with my daughter at Crimson Restaurant in Los Gatos, then went for an exhilerating bike ride on Bohlman Road off Bear Creek above Monte Sereno. What a blast.


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Glass Art.

Everyone knows how crazy I am about glass art and stop-motion animation. Here is a terrific film of glass brought to life. Fun.

Picasso's Boy With A Pipe.

Sold at auction this morning for a mere $104 million. The most expensive painting in the world. It is very beautiful. Even the print is expensive.

Got DSL?

If you have a really fast computer, watch these animation clips spoofing Michael Jackson. They're hilarious. Just click "Watch Film."

Michael's Lost Interview

Michael's Lost Interview, Episode 2

An Amazing Weekend.

I must have been hit by the lightening bolt of Luck, Love and Life, or something. The past three days has been incredible.

It began Friday afternoon at a going-away lunch for a gentleman I greatly respect and admire, someone I will miss very much, a previous boss. He is a go-getter who made working really hard really fun. A dozen of us were there. The scene at the cafe was an absolutely lovely picture: lush plants, handsome waiters, delicious food. I felt fortunate to be in their company, to share their laughter. It was hard at times for a less-educated person like myself to keep up conversationally with the brightest people this country's colleges and universities can produce. At times I felt awkward, but was all right. The woman who sat next to me has a doctorate in biology and her juris doctorate, cum laude. I could not believe how nice and sweet she was. They're all like that -- brilliant, beautiful to look at and be with. We were at the Cafe Riache in Palo Alto, near Stanford, California. What a place. We drank Amarone, I for the first time. Blissful. The man leaving the firm, a genius in my eyes, is wise beyond his years, the proud father of the most precious family. He and his wife are expecting their third child in May, and he's moving on to a famous software giant. He reminds me of my Dad. Always improving. I told him, 'Thanks for everything,' and he rode away in his car after dropping us all off at the curb, into the warm afternoon, on to bigger, more wonderful things.
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Saturday my daughter and I drove to a town near Placerville called Somerset, about 260 miles away, to see a friend from out of state here to visit his mom. We chatted awhile, went for a ride. Very pretty scenery. Close to Tahoe. A perfect day for a drive, all green and fresh, and a terrific opportunity to get away for awhile. The rivers are running high, and the rocks and trees of the mountains are so different than the dirty dustpan this end of the valley, where I live, is turning into.

After we said goodbye to our friends, we shopped our way across California, through Amador City, Sutter Creek, Angels Camp and Sonora on our way to Groveland. We also shopped in Groveland. What a blast. We visited my wonderful, wonderful parents at Pine Mountain Lake. They are so nice. We conveniently showed up just in time for dinner: a fabulous chicken salad sublimely made by both my mother and father. They like to cook together, it's so cute. Dad amazed us. During dinner there was a knock at the door. He does this. He sets stuff up during dinner like this. I remember him doing the same thing to me. I'll explain. We hear him go out and talk to some guy, then they both walk away, and we hear an engine starting up. I thought it was a moped, seriously. Then we hear a money transaction going on, then Dad comes back to dinner. Later on he surprised Carol Anne with a 1967 Volkswagen Bug. It is very cool but there is a bit of worry about her driving something with no airbags. We played a couple games of dominoes before retiring. Carol is thrilled to pieces.

Dad is going to hold onto it for a year or couple of years, fix it up, and give it to her when she's kept her grades up and has done well in school. And now, this makes it a tradition. Dad has given each of us a cute little gas-saving Volkswagen vehicle for graduation. All of us: First, a '71 Beetle for Gloria, then I got a '68 Kharmann Ghia, Matt inherited the Ghia, now my niece and my daughter are getting Bugs. You see, Dad actually bought two of them on Saturday night. One for Autumn, one for Carol Anne. Isn't that just the coolest. I hope it's not a surprise for my niece. I am relatively certain few people read my blog, especially my family. :-þ

Sunday we got up early, had a nice breakfast, and headed home. Traffic wasn't too bad. And my computer is back. All is well.