TIME & THE RIVER

TIME AND THE RIVER

     I’ve never lived on a river.   I know that swift narrow strip of water that separates me from the island I’ll see every day when I move into my condo, isn't a river, it’s a strait, but the word river evokes magic for me, and is so much more poetic.  I’ll write a poem for that river one day. 

     The island that sits in the middle of this straight looks like a set for a science-fiction ghost-town horror-movie, with abandoned buildings and giant cranes that jut into the sky in front of the sunset, frozen in time, unable to move, erect yet bent like praying mantises waiting for something.  Will they attack us?

     If we were more enterprising, we could call it a sculpture garden dedicated to the time in our nation’s history when Mare Island thrived as an important maritime station.  We’d sell tickets at the bridge and conduct pricey guided tours like universal studios, hawk hot-dogs and little souvenir crane key-chains, like the Eiffel Tower. 

     While walking along the river one fine sunny day I came across a white-bearded, turbaned fellow throwing breadcrumbs to the birds.  It was a stirring scene: great flocks of hungry white seabirds and purple/green pigeons, swooping down and up, again and again, over the river and down on the grass.  And in the center of the maelstrom, his kind, smiling dark-skinned face beaming with joy.  He didn’t speak English but managed to inform me he fed them every day.  I think there’s a homeless woman who does the same each morning. 

     There’s a lot to learn from a river.  I wonder if it has tides, which fish live in it, where it flows, what grows beside it.  I want to study its history and geography, gather rocks from its banks.  Oh, no, I’d better not do that.  It’s time for a visit to the Maritime Museum. 

     Spending on the condo continues like a addiction.  A detailed report is coming soon.     
     Meanwhile, I managed to hold on to enough cash to take myself to a mud bath and massage in Calistoga one afternoon, which also costs an arm and a leg, but a girl needs something soothing after all that pounding, smashing, ripping, scraping and plaster dust, as well as the planning,  deciding, and overseeing of the  thousand and one details that go into a major home renovation.  I confess, however, while floating in a tub full of warm mineral water, cold cucumbers on my eyelids, and a cool hibiscus drink in my hand, I couldn’t stop thinking about the bathroom vanity, the marble for the kitchen, and the pink color I’ll paint the cabinets. 

     I need sliding shoji screens for my closet.  Please let me know if you know that someone.

     On the subject of food for the soul, on my way to Jeff’s Consignment Shop on Springs Road, I discovered the Hummingbird Bakery where I sampled the best “apple pie muffin” I ever ate.  I want to go back for their pecan pie, and chocolate cupcakes.   The side dishes at the Good Day Café make a great light lunch.  And, the staff at the Front Room Restaurant is very kind about letting patrons share plates, and patient in dealing with grandchildren spilling drinks on the floor and a 2 year old tearing off her clothes and running around the dining room like a naked samurai.