Ron Laughlin: The “Man” from New Zealand Gives Us A Report

Hi June,

 

Thought you might like to know the help your website has been to someone:

 

 Ron–

  Tale of small world……..

 

  Experiencing bit of home-yearning here in BKK and checking RE in Half Moon Bay near where my daughters live cam across reference to your quest there for perfect coffee……

 

  Travel to Oz once a year on biz and occasionally  come across Tasman for a few days. Now I have a directory for coffee sources thanks to your efforts

 

  Keep up great work–frankly a bit inspired by your effort there.

 

  Good luck from new reader

 

 Rgds

Charlie

      

1988: I was Traveling

My cousin, Ruth, lived in New York (she’s gone now) and Ruth and husband Harry traveled a lot. Here are the sights he told me not to miss in Germany. (Harry, a sophisticated intellectual, also lived in Shanghai and worked for Shell Oil in an even earlier life.)

“…Good for you that you decided to go to Europe again and to see something of Germany. If you go again, which you are likely to do, include some of the small towns in your itinerary such as Rothennurg,Goslar, Celle, Hann, Muenden, Fritzlar, and the like….

“Now to the cities you will visit. Frankfurt no longer is the charming city (that is the old core) it once was. The new Frankfurt is lively but architecturally fairly humdrum. The “Staedelsche Museum” is definitely worth a visit, the Liebig House (sculpture) only if you have time on your hands. 

In Berlin you will no doubt want to explore the city to get a feel for the places where your parents spent their youth. For the tourist Berlin offers the great impression of great vitality, museums, theater.

Architecturally, the Charlottenburger Schlose is foremost in West Berlin with the apartments as an added attraction and the paintings in the rooms (two famous Watteaus among them.) 

Across from the Schloss are two smaller buildings, one on each corner. Each warrants an hour’s visit. One is the Egyptian collection; head of Nefretete” and the Green Head.” 

The other one is the Antiken Museum where the main attraction is in the basement : antique gold (Mediterranean, Scythian, etc.) and an amazing set of silverware from a Roman officers’ mess near Hildensheim. 

By far the most important museum, however, is in Dahlem with one of the greatest collections of paintings in this world, good sculpture, remarkable frescoes from Central Asia, etc. etc.

The third museum worth a visit is in East Berlin: the Pergamon Museum.

The others are not worth a visit the time on a few days’ but you will presumably want to stroll through “Unter den Linden” etc. Take a look at the fare in the theaters, if your German is good enough for taking in a play.

Remember this is 1988, when “the Wall” was still up. And as the romantic I am, I loved the Wall and going through the checkpoints with the young boys in soldier’s uniforms checking my documents. I was alone so I strolled about and was attracted more than once with deals to change my money from one currency to another. I had a lovely lunch with waiters wearing tails (dirty) and I most enjoyed the wilted cabbages in the windows of the barely stocked grocery stores. I felt like I was in novel but my character (me) did not want to suddenly disappear so my “adventure” had limits.)

Whether to travel by plane or train to Nuremberg  may depend on the schedule (I have no idea how much time would be involved.). Scenically, the trip is hardly rewarding. Safety and reasonable comfort should be no problem. Nuremberg is worth strolling even though the old town is largely a reconstruction–some of the feel and atmosphere is still there. Three churches are a must : St. Lorenz, St. Sebald and Frauenkirche (Our Lady’s Church.) On the square in front of the last one is the Schoene  Brunnen. The “Germanische Museum” contains excellent sculpture of the 15 and 16th cent. and some good paintings and Munich offers architecture. , art in several museums and in the surrounding countryside. A stroll through the town without visiting any of the churches and palaces is generally enough with the===following exceptions:

Frauenkirchen in the cathedral and the symbol of Munich and the symbol of Munich but the interior was gutted in the last war. The most important church is the small Asam Church exterior and interior, delightful Rococco.

The Court Theater us the best part of the Residenz and worth a visit. The :Alte Pinajokothek” is an outsanding collection of art 

(more)

If at all possible 

(more coming)

How Much Can You Expect From a “Good Friend”?

We all have acquaintances…and if you’re lucky, as I have been, these acquaintances, people you don’t  know well, offer helpful words all on their own. Without prodding.  They have either been through a similar experience or they are just caring people. But they know more than you think and from their hearts come these beautiful thoughts. No price tag attached. Pure thoughts.

With acquaintances, you don’t want to get into the stuff that hurts. The pain. The empty wallet you are carrying. It feels uncomfortable to let them into your physical house, But there are some people who just “know,” and they make the comment that changes life for an hour or two.

This goes beyond the mandatory: “Hey…..What’s happening, Man?” These days I’m into: “Hey Cowboy or Cowgirl,” depending on the sex. Then the conversation ends.

But what about friends you have known much longer. Friends who know, you know what I mean? They know you exceed the “limits” so to speak. Emotional limits, physical limits, limits, you know what I mean. They know you do that and they like you just fine when you’re not exceeding—but they hate you when you let go, when you just let go. I repeated myself because you gotta “let go,” hopefully with friends who understand and know it will pass. 

I’m not referring to nutty people. People who never stop exceeding.

But the vast majority of us know about the limits. It’s been drilled into our brains. There’s a card that gets inserted when you’re born and it tells you what you can and cannot do. And if you exceed, punishment awaits.

People have specialities, I have learned. If someone is grieving, and in “need,” folks with the special qualities are sent to soothe the person in pain. Those who cannot help with these heavy emotions, (usually men, sadly) come and look you in the eye and say: “I am not afraid. You can tell me what you need to say.”

But if you are in a place where nobody has these special qualities, you are in for a  bad experience. Let’s use grief as an example. Not everybody has experienced it. Grief for a “spouse” or “life partner” was my first experience. This is a person I spent ALL my time with. It’s like using a rusted, rotten knife to separate Siamese whatevers. 

I have learned, though. Few friends are able to care for others. They don’t know how. Maybe you need a class to learn. I think you got it or you don’t. But do not butt your head against a brick wall (which I did, and only made feel more frustrated). There are people who know, who care, who have a way with words.

New Story by Michaele Benedict: A Tibetan Point of View

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NEW Story by Michaele Benedict

Email Michaele ([email protected])

A Tibetan Point of View

 

I am not a Buddhist, but the Tibetan point of view has always cheered me up. I have read the Tibetan Book of the Dead many times. You wouldn’t think this was a cheerful book, but it is indeed cheerful because not only is the text perfectly confident that the soul is eternal; it says that you can have a second chance if you need it (and a third, and a fourth).

Just looking at a picture of H. H. (His Holiness, what his followers call him) the Dalai Lama makes my heart a little lighter. On a recent newscast, H. H. said something like “These problems belong to your generation. My generation is getting ready to say ‘Bye-Bye’.” He said it with a merry smile as if it wasn’t a big deal.

The next day, when one of my sons was worrying about my health, I quoted H. H. and my son couldn’t help but chuckle. (H. H. and I are not ready to say Bye-Bye just yet.)

Some years ago, there was an exhibition of Tibetan art in San Francisco, and while it was going on, a group of monks meticulously constructed a sand mandala in the hallway of the museum. Someone ran amok and destroyed the mandala, but the monks were not particularly disturbed because they said anyway they were planning to sweep it up and toss the sand back into the ocean when they were done.

I have read Mipam, a novel written by a Tibetan monk, a number of times. The first time I read it, I didn’t want it to end. I put off reading the last several pages. When finally I read the last page, a white dove descended onto the garden path outside my bedroom window and just sat there. I kid you not.

If ever your life seems hard, rent the film “Salt Men of Tibet” and be prepared to think that actually your life is easy and maybe even fun, though possibly not as much fun as that of the rosy-cheeked yak-riding salt men.

The first thing I see in the morning and the last at night is a replica of a drawing which was sent to me by a friend who became a follower of H. H. and went to Dharmsala, where the exiled Tibetan community resides. The drawing was dated 2511 (1969), Rainy Season. I made it into a door-sized wood burning.

The drawing represents twelve stages in the life of a little monk. There are three figures in the first stage: The monk, who holds an axe and a flail and is furiously chasing an elephant which is being urged on by a monkey. The monkey and the elephant are in shadow. In the second stage, the shadow has begun to recede and the chase has slowed down, but the monk has not yet caught up.

In the third stage, a new figure appears: A rabbit sits on the elephant’s back. The monk has caught the elephant’s leash, and the shadow has receded even more.

At the eleventh stage, the rabbit, the monkey and the shadow have long since disappeared. The monk is sitting on the elephant’s back and holding a torch. He is at a crossroads. One path leads back where he has been before, but this time he has a torch instead of an axe and a flail. The other path leads to freedom, and the monk is flying through the air, using his shawl as a sail.

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Image: Lama Door (I’ve done them as a trypich)

——-

Michaele Benedict lives in the Montara Artist’s Community. Her most recent book is called Searching for Anna, please click HERE for more information

I LOVE CHANGE: Spring Mtn Gallery Is Moving to New Coastside Digs! You want the best? They are the best!

Story by Deb & Michael Wong’

Email the Wongs ([email protected])

Note: Deb and Michael are not only really nice but they know how to capture the perfect image. Please visit them at their ne digs.

We have been doing business at Shoreline Station for 29 years (1980) and have always wanted to move to Main St. in Half Moon Bay. All opportunities never worked out due to lease contracts or the spaces available where all to big and expensive. 

Deb and I ran into a friend at a local car show. He told us of a building that he had just purchased and mentioned it had the perfect space for us. I quickly forgot about the conversation but ran into Scott on Main St while making a delivery, a week later. Took a short ride to see his building and sure enough he did have a really nice space basically the same SqFootage as we have now. Told him I’d check to see when my lease ran out, turned out it expired on March 31, 09. So, we don’t have a lease. It seems that the stars are lining up and there was no turning back. We signed a 3 year lease and we have a new business home. It’s at the corner of Main St and Filbert St. 

Please take note of our new address:
Spring Mountain Gallery
790 Main St.
Half Moon Bay, CA. 94019

 

Please stop in to see us when you’re in town. 
Peace,
Mike and Deb Wong 
SpringMountainGallery.com
650 726 3025

Homage to Artist Galen Wolf

I have kept this for 30 years or more. Galen Wolf was a popular Coastside artist. Many, many people still remember him in their hearts. I will say that this was written by “Anonymous.”

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“Hommage to Galen Wolf”

“How much I adore your hands

Because they created things

 so beautiful

How much I adore your eyes

Because they captured things

so wonderful

How much I adore your soul

Because she felt so immortal

How much I adore your thoughts

Because they were so clear

——-

What pain 

to see

that all this is

fading away…..

By Anonymous

 

——-

I have ended up with this big white space. I have no answer nor am I able to fix it, make it go away.

White space.

I think it’s a break for you to think before going on to the next entry. That’s what white space. There’s “nothing” visible there. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1984: I was in China

Image: Me fooling around late at night in front of the Shanghai Art Theater. This waas just before China’s conception of their economy was changing)  shanghaiart1

 

 

I went alone to China, not with a group. It was the fall of 1984, closer to winter time. In Shanghai at that time of year it starts to get coat-wearing cold. Reminded me of Toronto, Canada, where the air is iced by the Great Lakes.

I’m a real Bay Area “gal,” born in San Francisco. A real native who thrives on the moderate weather. So the black wool coat I brought was barely warm enough for the coolness of Shanghai.

I flew on the China-owned plane (CCAC?); at that time I don’t think you could fly direct to Shanghai. We were over the Pacific when something went wrong. It was hard to find out what was wrong as nobody could speak my language and I could not speak theirs. We all smile a lot, though.

But we were heading back to SFO and staying in a hotel overnight to do the whole thing over the next day. The air carrier paid.  The next day there were no returns, and 13 or 15 hours later I landed in Shanghai. Not the way my Mom and Dad arrived, which is by ship but I landed at the airport where there were bicycles galore. I remember sitting in a car-taxi and looking back through the big window and seeing what seemed like thousands of bicycles following us is an experience I won’t forget. How did they avoid smashing into each other?

I had a camera with me but I was reluctant to whip it out and start shooting the bicyclers. I believe at the time there was only one American-owned hotel, probably the Hilton ( their names elude me now but I knew the managers of the hotel had lived in Shanghai, as my parents did, and at the same time. So, it makes sense. One of the brothers ran the Hilton in Vegas and I did meet him in person–for my research.)

Had I known I would have loved to stay in what was called the “French Quarter,” where there was a beautiful European style hotel. It was a much older hotel than the Hilton, obviously—with these magnificent  broad, curvy steps leading to the front door. Classy. 

staircase 

(Image of the hotel I didn’t stay at–but isn’t it glamorous? 1920? 1930?)

The Jin Jiang, I think it was called. From another time when the Europeans were trying to cut up Shanghai. I’ll get the correct name for you.

I’m going to leave out a lot of details, sorry. I went to Shanghai because my parents had lived there and I wanted to see the city with my own eyes. I wanted to understand, try to understand, their experience. But, of course, that (the experience) was during WWII, and I will never really understand. I could see, though, I could feel, I could wonder and I could love every minute of this adventure.

And let me now mention that at that time American Express was a very important link for people. You could pick mail up there, you could leave messages, very different from the kind of business American Express pushes today.

Remember, I went alone to Shanghai. This uncommon for Americans, who definitely migrate toward groups,  certainly it would be a difficult choice for an American women. But, I am the female Hunter Thompson, so it’s not that surprising.

At one point i was approached (not by the Chinese government) to head up a company that made CDs. I was told I would be the CEO and that I would live in a place we Americans often called “West Lake,”
china2_2

(because we just can’t get the Chinese words out of our mouths) a gorgeous “resort” with fairy tale lakes and aromatic flowers and fallen  leaves that were constantly being picked up by those whose job it was. In China everybody worked, including picking up the leaves of flowers and trees.

 

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[Image: That’s me in the black wool coat at “West Lake;” I’ll get the correct name for you. I have a few other shots that are a bit better. When I stayed here the president of Malaysia was there, too. I remember the Malaysian flag hanging outside the hotel. I also took the train and a very small Chinese plane to get around. At that time there were zillions of rumors about the dangers little Chinese planes, but everything was fine. 

I saw rural areas where I used the communal bathroom, the “poop” was recycled as fertilizer and buffalos were everywhere, doing the hard work. I was lucky to be in Shanghai before it turned into McDonald Ville.]

Now, I wish I had taken the crazy risk and gone to live at West Lake. I really do. But I was scared and that was not my mission anyway. Remember, I was there to find something out about my Mom and Dad. I didn’t find out much but I saw Shanghai and that told me enough of a story.

One very unusual experience I had was to dine with the men below. Notice that I am the only woman. That’s me third from the right. I have another pix of me with toasting. I’ll post that, too. Later.

china

I have also included the menu.

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A Remarkable Coincidence

Last week, in the midst of my deep grief, a dear friend flew in from Arizona to spend the day and night wth me. I didn’t know until she arrived how much her presence meant to me.

By deep grief, I mean I wrecked the living room where my Burt lay dying. I couldn’t have been that out of control because I did not break to the tv or the windows, but I shattered a glass coffee table and then I got the glass in my fingers and on my knee. Most of it I cleaned up myself, but dear Leon, also a friend, came and took the carpets away and replaced them with colorful floor coverings.

I did not want to walk into the living room and have visions of what had happened there. Many of you know what I am talking about. I also learned that is “normal” to do what I did. Not everybody wrecks their living rooms but a lot of folks do. It’s a wonderful release.

I don’t want to mention the name of my visitor so I’ll call her “S.” “S” is a teacher who works near the Mexican border. She is not Mexican herself but her husband is Spanish. The stories she told me of checkpoints because where she works is near the border, the Mexican border. They used to go over the border and have fun but no more, too dangerous. She said the corruption is widespread—everyone can be bribed, including our own Americans. No surprise. Humans are all corruptible. All of us. What are you going to do? Get killed by not taking a bribe or take the bribe?

Sure we get reports from the Media, but they are not telling us what is really going on. Everybody is taking bribes or they die. Humans are humans. There are no perfect people

While “S” loves teaching her kids the situation down there is unbearable. Intolerable.

I forgot where I was going with this. Oh yes, of course.

We went to lunch in Burlingame, my first outing with people. When you have taken your partner to “the other side,” things are just not normal inside your body. It’s hard for people to understand, but the ordinary things that irritate them just don’t matter. I had ONE MISSION and that was Burt’s comfort. He may not even have known it was me at that point, near the end.

I still cry but not as much. The tears come at the most inconvenient times. Both Burt and I cried together for months so we held nothing back and I am grateful for that now. But my life will never be the same. Who to trust is a constant worry.

“S” and I had lunch in Burlingame. We were seated next to Congressman Jackie Speier, a woman I admire very much. You probably do. She survived the shooting with Congressman Leo Ryan at Jonestown. Then her husband, an Emergency Room Doctor, was killed in a horrific accident. I recognized her and I had to say something. I had to talk to her. I had to. The first words were stupid but I went back a second time (after she had eaten). I told her about my loss and she said she would send me her book on grief. If there is a woman who has experienced grief, Congresswoman Jackie Speier knows what it means.

She was extremely kind even though I interrupted her privacy. I am sorry but I had to. I had to.

If you believe in “that was meant to be,” you may believe that that was meant to be. I’m not sure I believe that–I do think we move in circles, concentric circles and we do run into people with similar interests, problems, concerns. Yes, that makes sense to me.