the California Coast
January 2009
January 23
I fly into SFO and am greeted by a friend of my brother. He shuttles me to Laurence’s apartment in the Mission District.
As we greet each other, I note that Laurence is nearly gaunt, but in good spirits. He is feeling much better since he began taking morphine yesterday. He is smoking medical marijuana non-stop, lighting one number on the butt of another, like they do in the movies when someone is chain smoking. Actually, smoking marijuana has always been a daily thing for Laurence but now, this shit is medical grade. I don’t understand why I’m not high just breathing the same air.
And yet, he insists on driving. For both my brothers, driving is far more than just getting from here to there. Driving is competitive, a macho, manhood thing, a way for them to control not just his own trajectory but that of many others, the more the better.
Even though I yell out, “curb!” Laurence drives up and over it anyway. Hold on to your lunch!
January 25
My long time friend Veta nails it in about ten seconds about why my soon-to-be-ex-wife isn’t here with me. It’s the “soon-to-be” part, y’know?
January 26
Spend a fair amount of the weekend hanging out with Laurence and the Squirt, my niece. Very comfortable; We walk, go to meals, cook dinner, massage each others’ backs and shoulders. Fuss with the computer, read the titles of the endless expanse of books on the shelves in Laurence’s study, wait while the Squirt gets mushy on the phone with her wife and son back in Boston.
Laurence throws a farewell party for himself. He handles the emotional load quite well. He is happy. Lots of love, very few tears, his singing group performs four numbers. Spread of finger foods and open beer and wine bar. His girlfriend Elaine’s family, Laurence’s friends, fellow faculty, writing group. Some of his friends are very warm toward me — I was proud to be his brother. Barbara, one of his closest, tells me that he had a very bad week, doubled over in pain, she feared the worst. But here he is.
I wrote a testimonial to Laurence, edited it mercilessly, and then finally I don’t deliver it. The atmosphere was not right, I didn’t feel it to be appropriate. When Laurence said it was okay with him that I didn’t share it with this large group, it was okay with me. I read it to him later.
This morning, the Squirt having gone back to Boston, Laurence, his friend Doug and I begin our motorcycle trip. Interesting, as Doug is the only one on a bike. Laurence and I drive together in his clunky BMW. Doug, whom I just met, is comfortable, interested, fun and quite a talker. Here we go.
At one intersection with a light, Laurence is in the right lane and a large pickup truck is toe to toe with us in the center lane. Laurence decides to beat the guy off the light but the guy doesn’t want to let him. Laurence wins. When was the last time I was in a drag race!
Over oysters for lunch on the deck of a fish house over Bodega Bay, we watch the cormorants dry their wings. We also have the dubious pleasure to overhear some of the locals assessing the current political situation. We hear, “That fucking nigger in the white house…” and “Hey, did you hear that Obama is going to raise the price on watermelons.” and “That faggot Barney Frank.”
Not our people. I try not to throw up in my oysters. Picking a fight probably won’t accomplish anything. I’m not sure I could convince them of anything anyway.
Continuing north, we pass a sign stating
DOGWOOD
CALIFORNIA
There is no Dogwood in California. Huh! The sign further boasts, “population 40.”
Harbin Hot Springs. None of us had any idea what to expect, but Harbin was not it. Here’s one thing: with all the vegetarian health food and spirituality workshops and naked hot springs activities and no cell phones or cameras permitted, and flowing flowered robes and barefoot folks strolling around and the hugging and the no clocks in the guest rooms, it seemed a little incongruous that there were ant traps in the bathrooms.
January 27
It’s my birthday. We’re up daybreak early, the sun and me. I walk about, exploring. Please read…
Lunch at the Cowboy Grill in Middletown and we drive around: north on Harbin Canyon Road, west near Whispering Pines and south on route 175, picking up a corner of Boggs Mountain Demonstration State Forest.
Back at the retreat, I receive a massage from Venus. Harbin Resort is a clothing optional facility which means my massage therapist, Venus, doesn’t use a top sheet. I mention that this is illegal in Pennsylvania.
After an excellent massage including no hanky-panky — translation: a legitimate therapeutic massage — Venus says, in the name of affection for her client, “We hug in Harbin.”
I said, “We hug in Pittsburgh.” A hug ensued.
Laurence, Doug and I find a few hiking trails in Harbin Springs: Village Path, First Circle Trail, Path of the Terraces, Indian Rock Trail, Waterfall Trail, Upper Village Trail, the Bath Path. One of these trails is steep, challenging. Lawrence burns it up. Without a pause, he summits this mound, as if he were as healthy as could be. There is a lot to this guy.
Birthday dinner at the Lone Pine Casino in Middletown, hung out, no gamblers in this group, to bed early.
January 28
Harbin, also known for its retreat center, events and classes, has the cool California vibe. However, I notice that even the spiritual masters lock their cars.
Laurence empties his ditty bag on the bed: marijuana cookies, cakes, suckers, juice, candy bars, chips and gummies. I have to be careful about which cookies I eat over the time I am here with him.
Dinner at Baker Street Bistro, French style, with Laurence and Doug.
On the airplane flight home, the “computers are down.” I sit on the runway for an hour or so. They give us each a glass of water and two 3/16 of an ounce crackers.
The flight home allows some reflection. Laurence and I sitting in his living room. Generally in the past, we could be with each other for about three days and that was enough. Anything longer would be pushing it; we would get on each other’s nerves. However, I could have sat for days and more this morning. Now, of course, I feel like there just isn’t enough time.
During this visit, I notice how much my voice sounds like his.
I think of what I said to him before leaving for the airport. I said, “I have nothing profound to say to you, but I do have these two things. I will miss you mightily and I love you.”
He said the same.
