Those Who Know, Chuckle.
The town, the people, the vibe – and the sheer joy of living here.
The eleven Jews murdered yesterday as they worshiped at the Tree of Life Congregation near Pittsburgh could be found in any synagogue, including my own: the former congregational president, the lay leader, the man with the famously dry wit, the shofar (ram’s horn) blower; the ones everybody loved and could depend on.
It could have been any of us. And in a sense, it was. Continue reading “And On, And On”
THIS IS THE BOOK THAT inspired me to cook for myself. It demystified for me the cooking process, shored up my nascent resolve, and gave me the mental tools I needed to commit the revolutionary act of not settling for or eating processed food anymore (aside from cheese, bread, and other fermented eatables, of course). It also contains, as Chapter 12, the greatest food essay ever written, which — as I have noted elseblog — adjures you to call upon your inner chef to arise when you’re sick of cooking. (No mean feat, that.) Continue reading “First Graf: An Everlasting Meal”
IT’S THE HISTORY. IT’S THE diversity of food, from restaurants to markets to semipermanent food-trucks. It’s the out-of-state license plates ringing the Plaza on weekends. It’s the eight-acre Sonoma Plaza itself: families having picnics, occasional Tai Chi enthusiasts or Morris dancers, the rose garden(s), the three fountains, the bridge over the duck pond, the ducks, the former chickens, the sundial, even the smelly gingko tree. Continue reading “Why I Love: Sonoma”
DRIVING THROUGH SONOMA RECENTLY, I spied what may be the funniest, most secretly famous vanity plate ever devised. It was a California plate bearing the simple, six-character legend:
HAN 1ST
(If you need this explained, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Han_shot_first.)
By the way — you have just read The Metaphorager’s 700th post. It was a long trip from http://www.sonic.net/scoop to blogger.com to “here;” in that vein, I offer my very first blog post. Enjoy!
A YEAR AGO THIS WEEK, Ann, Geronimo and I fled the then-largest wildfire complex in California history.
We were voluntary evacuees who came home to find everything relatively intact, so our story had a happy ending. My niece and nephew-in-law weren’t so lucky; residents of Corralitos to the far south, they owned a house in Santa Rosa’s Coffey Park that, like almost all the others in that neighborhood, burned to the foundation. Many people fared similarly, some worse.
“The Fires” were the second time in my life I faced a “will I die in the next five minutes?” moment. Continue reading “Out of the Ashes, Endlessly Turning”
NEAR THE TOP OF THE Beloved Things list are landscapes that make me feel small. Deserts, mountains, beaches, redwood forests, prairies — anything requiring a wide perspective with which to take it all in, and which likewise reminds me of my true place in the Universe.
Part of the reason is that I have lived in a valley of one sort or another for most of my life. Valleys can’t help but breed insularity; when you can see the borders of your world, you can get the idea that the world is a small one and that the people inside it are the only people there are. Continue reading “Wee Little Me”
WE HAD LIVED IN SONOMA for a third of my lifetime before I visited Allen’s Hair House, about a half-block south of the Plaza. I had become fed up with being charged $20 for a chop job by my previous barber, who shall remain nameless, and I was frankly curious about the unassuming Broadway storefront with the classic spinning barber pole and the hand-stenciled sign: “HAIRCUTS – $12.”
I was greeted by the smell of jasmine rice, and by an older Vietnamese man with a thick accent and soft voice. He offered me one of the two empty barber’s chairs and, when I sat down, he tied the traditional paper strip around my neck before enveloping me in a smock decorated with an Egyptian theme. Continue reading “(Shave and) a Haircut, 12 Bucks!”
FOR MOST OF THIS YEAR, and health permitting, I have been co-hosting a weekly radio show every Thursday afternoon with my rabbi (and showhost), Steve Finley. It’s billed as the Sonoma Valley Interfaith Ministerial Association Radio Hour, and is an exploration of different faith traditions and communities as represented by their local spiritual leaders; each episode also features a lesson from engaging cantor/musicologist Jonathan Friedmann. You can hear it on livestream at 4 p.m. PDT at http://ksvy.org; or if you’re in the Valley, on 91.3 FM. (Missed us? Here’s a link to the show archives.) It’s always a rousing conversation, so if you like this sort of thing (and what metaphorager doesn’t?) dial or click us in!
Mom in the drug store
Called out to her son: “Brooklyn!”
Am I getting old?
(For Leah Garchik’s back-page-of-the-San Francisco Chronicle feature.)
Ms. Garchik,
I was walking on the west side of Sonoma Plaza this morning when I passed a middle-aged touristy couple, just as the man was saying to his female companion, “Someday, she’ll know what beer is.” His words are a mystery to me, and I hope amusing to your readers.
Be well,
Neal
Never thought I’d hear Safeway’s in-house music channel play “London Calling” this morning. But I sang along with it anyway.
Slate-thin clouds cover
shoulders that lately knew sun.
Make up your mind, God.
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