Paradise Found

Kauai in the Morning

 

Kauai Morning 2

I shot these two pictures with my iPhone from the deck of my friend Roger’s house on the island of Kauai. It’s a magical spot on a magical island – 6 ½ miles past the last town on the north side of the island and only 2 miles from the end of the road, Na Pali State Park, and the coast that Michelin calls “arguably one of the most beautiful natural spots on earth.”

Leaving Seattle on a wet and cold January morning and arriving here six hours later was a heavenly gift. Roger and his wife, Marilyn, were welcoming and generous. We were here 6 years ago and loved it then. This is one of the great ways to “Survive Seattle” in the winter.

Every day of our five-day visit was sensational. We walked from the house to the end of the road on three of mornings and rode bicycles into Hanalei for breakfast on another two.

Kauai Bikes

Roger introduced me to stand up paddleboarding on the Hanalei River and after a couple of rookie dunks I was paddling up river under my own power. Two days later we paddled again, this time on the Kahiliwai River into what seemed like the Heart of Darkness. I half expected to run into Mr. Kurtz along the way.

Kauai Kahiliwai

At the end of every day we walked across the road to the beach where we shared some wine and the sunset with a group of their friends.

Kauai Sunset

Not such a bad way to “Survive Seattle.” Good friends, good food, good weather, good beaches. Mahalo Rog and Marilyn.

Sleeping with Sam Malone

Cheers

In 1979 Norman Cousins, the long serving Editor in Chief of the now defunct literary magazine Saturday Review, published Anatomy of an Illness, laying out his belief that laughter can play a significant role in recovering from illness. Cousins was not without credentials in this area having also served as Adjunct Professor of Medical Humanities for the School of Medicine at UCLA. At the time of publication Cousins was fighting the debilitating effects of serious heart disease. His research into the biochemistry of emotions led him to believe that laughter could help in the healing and recovery from any diagnosis.

I read Cousins’ book and applied the strategy in 1986 when I was diagnosed with a serious neuromuscular disease called myasthenia gravis. The writers that brought Cousins so much pleasure – P.G. Wodehouse, S. J. Perelman and the like – didn’t do much for me. It wasn’t my humor, and besides, I couldn’t read. My symptoms included drooping eyelids and double vision, so I listened to tapes and comedy records by Billy Crystal, Robin Williams, and Woody Allen. They were gut-splitting funny and did a lot to increase my pleasure during a hard time. Mr. Cousins was on to something, and whether it’s books, music, film, or another art form the endorphins help us maintain or recover the good health we cherish.

I am reminded of this now in an odd way. Thanks to Netflix M and I have been watching reruns of Cheers, the 1980’s sitcom. I totally missed it the first time around. I was out of the country for the first few years (1982-1986) and without television for the rest (1987-1993). I don’t know what I would have thought of it at the time but I suspect I would have dismissed it. Generally speaking I don’t like situation comedies (Seinfeld notwithstanding).

But here’s the twist and how it works for us now: M loved the series and often talked about it nostalgically. I wasn’t interested but put it on our Netflix queue. Then one night she suggested we watch Episode #1 “for fun.” It was funny and real in a timeless sort of way. It was filmed before a live audience with no canned laughter and though it’s dated in some ways it captures a moment in time. The Boston bar was a sealed time capsule. After three or four episodes I was hooked and it has become our prescription after a difficult movie, a day filled with news of ISIS and other real life drama, or the need for some brainless laughs. It’s a soporific just before bedtime.

Cheers Sam Malone

Cheers ensemble cast had all the right chemistry for a Boston-based story – a handsome, randy, bar owner who had a run as a Red Sox pitcher (Sam Malone), local regulars (Norm and Cliff), intellectual poseurs (Kramer and Diane), lower class Italians (Carla and Nick), a couple of numbskull bartenders (Coach and Woody) and the on-again off-again romance of a commitment-phobic bachelor (Sam) and a hopeless romantic (Diane). It’s a delicious mix of quirky characters fed great lines by a bunch of very clever writers.

So far, M and I have watched 110 of the 275 episodes that aired between 1982 and 1993. Bless Netflix; each one is 23 minutes long and they fly by uninterrupted by commercials.

The whole experience is further enhanced by modern technology. Our son, Jon, gave us a device called ROKU that, with the aid of an HDMI cable, plugs into the back of our bedroom TV, so we can, and often do, go to bed, select ROKU as the AV Source, click on Netflix, and watch consecutive episodes of Cheers as the endorphins build, smile lines deepen, and our eyes slowly shut.

It’s not Don Quixote but Cheers is a happy pill that, more than Ambien, makes it easy to go to sleep with smiles on our faces and a few comic anecdotes in our memories.

Sam Malone was always looking for someone to sleep with and now he has us. I’m sure it’s not what he had in mind but we are very satisfied. It was great for us. Was it good for you too, Sam?

Book vs. Film: Which One Do You Like?

This is the real Cheryl Strayed (and the pack she nicknamed “The Monster”). She is the author of Wild, the memoir she wrote about her cathartic adventure hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. I haven’t met her (yet) but I have huge admiration for her courage, honesty, and for her writing.

Cheryl Strayed

In 2012 Reese Witherspoon purchased the film rights to Wild, hired novelist and screenwriter Nick Hornby (High Fidelity) to adapt it for the screen, and Jean-Marc Vallee to direct. Ms. Witherspoon produced and stars in what has become one of the biggest films of 2014 – garnering Golden Globe nominations for Best Film and Best Actress.

I saw the film this weekend, having read the prologue and first two chapters earlier. It’s difficult to be objective in comparing the two art forms. They’re intrinsically different – one is explicitly visual while the other relies on the imagination. I always think it’s better to read the book first; it’s the primary source and descriptor of the characters and action. It’s rare for a reader to see a film and say he or she thought the characters were portrayed exactly as imagined.

I thought Nick Hornby’s screenplay was surprisingly faithful to Ms. Strayed’s story, but in the end it was the slow evolution of character in her writing that made the character come alive for me. The actress did a good job with the physical role but couldn’t, by my lights, fully show the internal development of the character.

The story is about recovery and self-knowledge – the premature death of her mother, the unraveling of her marriage, her descent into heroin addiction, and how hiking 1000 miles of the PCT gave her back her life and a purpose. The film is worth seeing but I found it distracting and ultimately dissatisfying as art, because in order to link the story lines it has to rely on flashbacks and jump cuts that break up the progression of the main story – her odyssey on the PCT.

BTW: Strayed is not her birth name. She renamed herself on the trail and the “layered definitions’ of the verb form resonated with her – “to wander from the proper path, to deviate from the direct course, to be lost, to become wild to be without a mother or father, to be without a home, to move about aimlessly in search of something, to diverge or digress.”

Year-end is a movie lover’s favorite time.. Most of the films that want to be considered for Golden Globe and Oscar nominations are released then. I’ve seen most of them. Wild is a contender although I will be surprised if it wins for Best Picture. In the meantime I am almost finished with the book and reengaged with the author’s quest.

The book is full of insights and musings, things that pass through the author’s mind and something film is unable to capture effectively. Here is one that resonated with me.

Strayed Quote

I Love My Life

Birthday

Today’s the day and I’ve been getting messages and phone calls from all over the world. I’m grateful to have so many friends and to have shared time, books, good food, powder turns, long runs, sunny beaches, exotic locations, funny stories, political arguments and much much more with them over the years. It feels great and I feel great. I’m happy to be alive and well even though the world outside a mess and smart men and women who should know better are bickering over insignificant things while the planet melts down under the pressure of climate change, fracking, ISIS, Ebola, HIV, grinding poverty, greed and racist bullshit I’m optimistic that we and it will endure.

I love my life – my kids, my wife, my friends, my home and but I can’t deny that my future is not as long as my past. I love country-rock and I often hear lyrics that catch the moment or sentiment perfectly. A couple of months ago I blogged about Jimmy Buffett and last week I heard this song by the Zac Brown Band that captured the moment as I was thinking about my upcoming birthday. Both the words and music are positive and upbeat.

You keep your heart above your head and your eyes wide open

So this world can’t find a way to leave you cold

And you know you’re not the only ship out on the ocean

Save your strength for things that you can change

Forgive the one’s you can’t.

You gotta let it go.

 

Looking back now on my life I can’t say that I regret it

And all the places that I ended up, not the way Ma would’ve had it

But you only get one chance in life to leave your mark upon it

So when that pony come riding by you better set your sweet ass on it.

 

You can listen to it on YouTube at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usr3J4PbreY

To all the friends who have made my life so rich – thank you.

Mark Strand 1934 – 2014

Mark Strand

A sentiment I share…

I didn’t know Mark Strand. I met him once when I was moonlighting at The King’s English Bookshop in Salt Lake City. He was a formidable presence – tall, handsome, ramrod straight, modest, and quietly articulate.

The 80 year old former Poet Laureate, Pulitzer Prize Winner and Professor of English at Columbia University died last Saturday of liposarcoma, a rare soft tissue cancer.

The New Yorker obituary printed this Strand poem in its tribute:

                                      2002

I am not thinking of Death, but Death is thinking of me.

He leans back in his chair, rubs his hands, strokes

His beard and says, “I’m thinking of Strand, I’m thinking

That one of these days I’ll be out back, swinging my scythe

Or holding my hourglass up to the moon, and Strand will appear

In a jacket and tie, and together under the boulevards’

Leafless trees we’ll stroll into the city of souls. And when

We get to the Great Piazza with its marble mansions, the crowd

That had been waiting there will welcome us with delirious cries,

And their tears, turned hard and cold as glass from having been

Held back so long, will fall, and clatter on the stones below.

O let it be soon. Let it be soon

It was too soon… Mark Strand R.I.P.