Open-air weddings

I don't really remember any open-air weddings from my days in England. Barbara believes that we attended one a few years ago, on a hot day in June, and I certainly remember the reception being out of doors, but I think we had come from a church. Since most of the weddings I do remember were held in churches, the lack of an al fresco pattern is understandable. When I attended a wedding in South Africa a few years ago, we left the simple Presbyterian church for a reception at the country club. We were out of doors for an apperitif, but the large numbers made it more practical to sit down at our appointed places inside the clubhouse.

It is a different story in California. I remember a small wedding held outside a Presbyterian church, with the reception to follow. Over thirty years ago, close family members decided to exchange vows in a Bay Area park, and the weather was kind. Not so when, more recently, a young friend and her husband choose a nearby winery for their nuptuals. It was a drizzley day, and even the couples choice of two llamas as ring bearers did not make up for the weather. Fortunately, we could shelter in one of the barnes used for wine-making, although we did also venture out for the food.

On a recent Saturday, a lovely family wedding was held in a garden overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It was a foggy day along the coast, but we had been advised to dress warmly, and only a few in thin dresses were shivering. We were advised that the sun would come out in the early afternoon, and it made a fitful appearance, but the afternoon was never really warm.

I remembered one delightful wedding in the Napa Valley, famous for it's hospitable climate for the fruit of the vine. I felt very sorry for those who had dressed semi-formally for the occasion, because it turned out to be a very hot day.

I have an embarassing memory of attending a wedding in England when I was perhaps 11 years old. We left the church, and walked across for the reception in a garden. From somewhere I had picked up a phrase without understanding it's meaning, trying to make suitable conversation with two middle aged women ("ladies" to me in those distant days) I asked innocently if they thought the happy couple "had been a bit previous". The women were aghast. One of them said "My, you are a sophisticated young man." In those distant days, "nice people" did not cohabit prior to matrimony - though, being human, perhaps the couple had indeed sneaked off somewhere to be "a bit previous" in any case!

Owls

We loved it when owls would visit our Colorado "ranch". It isn't really a ranch, although it had been a working cattle farm until a developer bought the property and turned it into five parcels, ours being just over twenty acres. The beautiful home that won for Barbara's eldest daughter, the architect Kristin Lewis, the top design award for the Colorado north chapter of A.I.A. a decade ago, is actually a two-stor(e)y house, with the lower floor below grade level. There are two abandoned silos on our property, and it was a delight to watch the owls when they would perch on one of them. The owls used to feed on the prairie dogs which often infest the area. Reluctantly, because these little pests are often very cute, and we disliked ending their life, we went along with our neighbors exhortations, and eliminated the prairie dogs.

No prairie dogs, no owls.

It wasn't long before the prairie dogs came back, but owls are few and far between.

I recently had a dream. I had called a friend on the eastcoast who mentioned a friend of his living in the same area. I heard him say that this friend was also his "owl". I did not understand what he meant, until he explained. My friend's friend was a retired neighbor, who was a fount of information to a small group of people. If he didn't know the answer to a question, he knew how to find it out, even if google didn't help! When I woke up, I thought more about this, and decided that it was a great idea for a small group - perhaps members of a club or parishoners at a local church - to choose someone they trusted as their "answer person". After all, many societies had their shaman or "medicine doctor" who performed similar functions for their societies.

This lead me to think happily about owls and their legendary wisdom. It also reminded me of some good advice displayed on a wall close to the bathroom I shared with my elder sister until we moved in 1940, soon after my father's death. The sign read:

a wise old owl lived in an oak
the more he saw, the less he spoke;
the less he spoke, the more he heard.
Why can't we be like that old bird?

Great advice. I wish I had followed it more often!

Baseball in November?

It is bad enough (in my book) that we continue to call the annual contest between two North American teams the "world series". Of course, some of the leading performers in baseball are from such countries as Cuba, the Domincan Republic, and even Japan.


Some years ago, in additional round of playoffs was introduced by dividing the North American clubs into six divisions, permitting two so-called "Wild Card" teams to participate in the two rounds to produce the participants in what some wags describe as "the Serious". This year, teams representing New York and Philedephia are vying to become "World Champions". Those watching at the stadiums will be well advised to wear warm winter clothes. They can be thankful that they don't need to go even further north, as would be necessary if Toronto had made it to the final pairing.


I have mixed feelings about the actions of our former President, in approving the extension of what we call "daylight saving time". If one lives on the eastern boundary of a timezone, this unilateral move in the USA probably does save some fuel, which is good. If you live, as I do, near the western edge of the time zone, it gets a bit ridiculous, when it is still dark at 7:20am on Halloween. We now change back to normal time on the first Sunday in November. Thankfully, this year that took place yesterday, but in some years it will be as late as November 6.


In Britain, we called it "Summertime" that name would sound absurd in November, as most British children are thinking excitedly of "Guy Fawkes Day" (November 5).


(One advantage of having fireworks when it is dark is that young children can enjoy them at a much earlier hour than our American equivilent, the fireworks displays on Independence day (July 4).)


It was common place in my childhood to find children going around the neighborhood, calling out "Penny for the Guy" collecting coins to buy fireworks. Little did they realize the cruelty of setting the effigagy they had made on a bonfire. Few of them even realized that Guy Fawkes was sentenced to the even crueler fate reserved for those convicted of so-called "treason", nor did they realize that the eponymous originator of the beloved festival, in fact had been first tortured and then escaped the ghastly horrors of his sentence by jumping from the gallows, breaking his neck.


We have just concluded an American tradition, which I well remember horrifying my best friend's parents when they visited this country in 1938. Children ring doorbells of neighbors and complete strangers, calling out "Trick or Treat!". The idea is that you "buy off" the potential tricksters, by handing out goodies, usually candy. It is rare indeed to hear of anyone actually being "tricked", although I have heard of examples of air being let out of tires, of white wash being brushed onto windows, and of quantities of toilet paper being spread on bushes, trees, or anywhere else where it will take some time to clean up the mess.


One problem when our daylight saving time begins or ends on a different date from that used in most parts of the world is the havoc it plays with airlines schedules. There are parts of the US where (because of state boundaries and other considerations) daylight saving time differs from the expected pattern of being guided by time zones. When last I checked this out, the state of Arizona ignored daylight saving time altogether.


Typically, farmers - especially dairy farmers - dislike setting clocks back or forward. Cows can hardly be expected to understand why the milking routine has to be changed twice a year.


Anyone old enough to remember what is was like during WW II in the UK will remember that we had Summertime in the winter, and "double Summertime" in the Summer. All in the name of saving energy and reducing the hazards of driving without normal headlights.


Yes, we sure know how to mess things up when we con everyone to get up an hour early - but for the most part, it does work.

How to Trash a Successful Brand

In 1957, when my late first-wife (Lola) and I first reached California, we stayed with an old friend of hers from Liverpool, at that time married to a Canadian-born Phd (in psychology). I really admired their skill in running a counseling practice, known as The Learning Center, in a clever way. Most of their clients were the parents of children suffering from dyslexia. A non-profit operation, with it's own Board, encouraged tax-deductible donations from the wealthier clients. The non-profit employed the psychologist and his wife, who was the business manager. In parallel with this, a more conventional counseling practice charged relatively modest fees. The non-profit furnished the psychologist with an appropriate automobile, and so forth.

I was reminded of this example of American ingenuity when I learned that the Boston-based Elder Hostel organization, also a non-profit, had some relationship (I don't know the details) with two travel organizations, headquartered in the same city. The very successful Elder Hostel program presumably furnished the travel businesses with a mailing list for their own commercial offerings.

Barbara and I returned on Friday from what had originally been advertised as an Elder Hostel trip. We were surprised to find that Elder Hostel has changed it's name to "Exploritas" (ugh). The director of our program explained that the Elder Hostel folk were finding that as the Boomer generation reached the age of elgibility for Elder Hostel, they were not joining in the program with the numbers desired.

The Elder Hostel folk employed a consultancy firm, which held focus groups, etc. The upshot was that Elder Hostel changed it's name to "Exploritas", to avoid any reference to aging. At the same time, age restrictions were eliminated.

We have now attended three Elder Hostels: the first held at Apalachian State College in Boone, NC; the second at Sienna, in Tuscany; and the most recent one, in the Monterey area of California.

Elder Hostel attracts folk of retirement age, or approaching that. My guess is that far more women than men attend these programs, based on my limited observation. The programs are described as "Lifelong learning" and typically contain a blend of three or more unrelated topics. Our "magical Monterey" program combined biographical information on John Steinbeck and Jack London; with the music of Scott Joplin, the Ragtime pioneer; with the natural history of the region; a tour of the seventeen mile drive and other attractive points in the area; and winetasting, with the fine products of what is now the Carmel Valley appellation. We had three couples, and a dozen women, including widows and single women. The majority of those present were past or present school teachers or otherwise involved in education. I think we all felt that we were getting good value for our money, and cheerfully put up with the dormitory-style accomodations. Our food was quite adequate and varied.

No one there liked the change of name and the opening to younger participants.

I could have accepted a new name, such as "Senior Adventurers", but we didn't get to vote.

The website tells us that it has nearly 8000 educational tours in all 50 states and more than 90 countries. Participants are asked to pay by check, to help the organization avoid "more than $2,000,000 annually on credit card fees".

The people behind the program are professionals, and presumably know what they're doing, but I am left remembering the old saying "if it ain't busted, don't fix it".

Music

I love music, or rather I love some music. I like almost all classical music, especially Baroque. I learned to love swing music and jazz in my early teens. I enjoy most folk music, and the protest songs of the sixties. Readers who know me will not be surprised to learn that I actively dislike heavy metal, rap, hip-hop, although I can tolerate "soft rock".

I never had any talent as a performer. The fine music teacher at my prep school, dispaired of my ability on the piano, and only once yielded to my entreaties to be allowed to learn to play the organ. I couldn't even play the recorder with any ability. I used to quip that the only instrument I played was what Brits call "a gramophone", and on this side of the Pond we term "a phonograph."

I have always admired skilled musicians. At that same prep school, one of our students was George Hurst, who became a successful orchestra conductor while still in his twenties. Another friend was Christopher Raeburn, who parlayed a deep appreciation of Mozart into becoming the renowned producer of musical recordings for DECCA, until his death about a year ago. I am lucky enough to have two sons who sing very well, primarily in church choirs, but in the case of the elder, in opera and in symphonic music.

Nowadays, I have become, with Barbara's support and encouragement, a supporter of the San Francisco Early Music Society and the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra, among others. I have learned to share her love of the works of Mahler.

As some of you will know, my stepdaughter, Laurie Lewis, has for many years been a star in the world of bluegrass, although she enjoys a unique blend of folk music and even some "pop". Laurie is a perennial star at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, the hugely popular annual 3-day program, held at several stages in Golden Gate Park. This is a wonderful gift to the city of San Francisco from the billionaire financier, Warren Hellman, who has become a good friend of Laurie's.

I had met Warren briefly at a San Francisco Foundation function, and Laurie had once introduced me to him. On one of the occasions when I attended Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, I was walking alone on a path someway behind the stage where music was being played. Coming towards me were two men, one of whom I recognized as Warren Hellman. As he approached, I blurted out "Oh, Warren, I didn't expect to see you here". What I really meant was that I hadn't expected to run into him like that.

Warren's response, before he moved on, was a perfect squelch:

"Well, I don't know why not. After all, it is my party"

Confessions of a Wuss

I did not know this word until a dear friend, long since removed from her Texas childhood, laughed at my moderation and said "Nigel, you're such a wuss". British readers of this are probably unfamilair with the term, but it is appropriately used on someone unwilling to take a firm position on an issue.

Being "slow to anger" is part of my culture. I was brought up to avoid whining, to keep calm, and listen to others. One of my favorite sayings is "make small alterations in plenty of time". This dates back to my naval days, when I was at the wheel of a war ship (Not normally the responsibility of even a junior officer) and the ship's captain told me to look astern, to see the squiggly wake I had left. I don't find it easy to change course - or my opinions - quickly or easily. This is not stubborness, but (I guess) an innate conservatism. I tend to support the "establishment" position. I am, by nature, a centrist - leaning slightly left. This certainly applies to politics, as well as other aspects of my self image.

I supported the farm workers when they had a strike against the growers in California's Central Valley, I even spent a day marching with them along highway 99 in the Central Valley. I also was glad to drive down to Delano, to present a check from my parish to Cesar Chavez in person. (In those days when we recorded events on colored slides there was a great picture of me shaking hands with Cesar Chavez, but I have been unable to find it for more than forty years.)

I was talking to some friends at church soon after that time, and announced that I wasn't really a radical. Our curate remarked "Nigel, no one would ever accuse you of being a radical". I knew he was right. In my self-esteem, I am proud of being an island of stability in a chaotic world. The other side of the coin, is that I really am a bit of a wuss.

On Bath

When I lived in England over fifty years ago, showers were rare in private homes. The nearest equivilent was the hand-held shower, attached to a faucet. During WW II, we were urged to limit the level of water in our baths to five inches. In some places, lines were actually painted inside the tub to help find the right level. In the coalition government, the socialist Home Secretary (Herbert Morrison) was jeered at for suggesting that the daily bath was "a middleclass habit". My own mother was among the many folk who would not have felt that the day had begun properly without their morning bath.

Prep schools in the UK are preparatory for those entering the so-called "public schools" which are infact expensive private institutions. We did not have showers, but we were limited to one or two baths a week. In the colder months, when we played soccer or "rugger" (rugby football) , we were expected to sit on a tile-covered bench and take a foot bath in a specially-designed container, which at least made use of warm water.

Things were different when I moved to the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth, at the age of 13. Each dormitory contained a large communal bath, equipped with showers. I soon became used to starting the day with a brisk cold shower. There were also baths, and Naval Cadets were limited to one a week, although those who performed menial tasks for the Cadet Captains were allowed to take another bath, as a reward for their work. By this time, I had learned to enjoy a hot bath, and it was often possible to have a "second bath", meaning that there was no prohibition of making re-use of someone else's legitimate bath water.

Many of you will be accustomed to the "navy shower", inwhich one first soaks one's self and then turns off the shower, then one soaps themself, scrubs, and then uses another brief shower to rinse off. This was not strictly enforced for naval officers, but we all learned to be economical with water, as every sea going vessel can only carry a limited volume of water to be shared by all aboard. This can be supplemented by the desalinization of sea water, but this can only produce a limited quantity of fresh water.

On coming to the United States, I soon abandoned the bathtub for the ubiquitous shower. I can't remember when I last had a traditional bath - probably on a visit to the UK over thirty years ago.

My dear wife, Barbara, tells this story on herself from sometime before we were married in 1970. A friend offered to show her around the city of Bath, which he pronounced "Barth". When their train drew into the station, she saw the sign which read "Bath". She responded "Bath? Oh, I see, Barth!".