Music plays such an important part in your life- especially when you’re younger, searching for answers, wondering what you are going to do. I remember the Mama’s and Poppas song California Dreamin as an absolutely monument. Plus Michelle Phillips was pretty good looking and floating around in your adolescent brain somewhere is the idea that she might really like you if she only got to know you, which she might do if you went to California. Right? So have I been to California? Of course About a million times. In a van and everything. Surfboards on the roof. Living the dream. And I came back. And I went again. And I came back. And I went again. I worked for 20 Century Fox. Had a real job, could have stayed. I loved Sausalito when I first saw it. Had I had a more confident view of myself I could have stayed there, too. We are talking a million years ago. I’d bounce back and forth between Connecticut where my parents lived, California, where my friends lived, and Cape Cod, where my heart lived. Bounce bounce bounce. I couldn’t stay anywhere. I was restless, unsure. I felt inadequate because I didn’t want to stay in California, but I couldn’t stay. I remember feeling pretty lonely. My job required a freeway commute. I wasn’t getting to the beach much- some surfer I proved to be. I didn’t see my friends as much as I wanted because we all worked different schedules. I got pretty lonely feeling. I wanted just to be back home, where it rained now and then. I wanted to go back to the Cape, and walk on a lonely beach- right to relieve loneliness, right?
Well I ended up here in the East, but our son has moved to California. It’s been over a decade now. You know. Jobs. Friends. Except for the fact that real estate is beyond the reach of anyone we know, he likes it. He’s been with Iris for along time; they both have interesting jobs that pay well, although not well enough to quite afford a house. They love the climate: skiing and surfing both available a few hours apart. They can dine out, play board games with friends, take in films, hit interesting book stores. Life is good.
So we go out to visit. it’s been our custom for the past few years to get out there for Thanksgiving and stay a few days either side of it. We visit with Saben and Iris in LA in their dramatic and comfortable apartment with the 20 foot wall of glass overlooking the city. It is so much more homey than last year when they were just moved in and living still out of cardboard boxes. Saben’s built a nice dining room table, they’ve got a newly upholstered chair-tres chic, the couch is set up to divide the room into a living space and a dining space. They have projector that uses the big wall for a screen where we saw stunning pictures of their latest travels. It was pretty wonderful to see it all. We all like to see our progeny do well. Yes we’re proud parents.
Suzy and I had a great time. When we arrived Saben and Iris hustled us off to Sam Maloof’s house. http://www.malooffoundation.org/ . This was wonderful. Maloof is a preeminent woodworker whose handbuilt house is on the historic national registry. He built the most graceful furniture right up until he died at ninety-three. His rocker is especially nice. You can pick a new one up still made by the fellow he worked with a lot. It’s only 25K. We were going to get a pair, but they were reluctant to gift wrap them.
On Sunday we went to some open houses. Impressive. But pricey. 1.2, 1.5, 1.5. Right, that’s millions of dollars. What’s the mortgage payment on a house that costs 1.5 million. Do you put down $150K? These numbers make my head whirl.
Saben and Iris had to go to work on Monday, so we headed out for a dip at the beach in Santa Monica by train. I had no idea the pier was such a scene. Wow. Street performers galore: dancers, singers, guitar players, electric violin, a cello and a magician who amused us for half an hour. And food. Right. I’m glad we got our swim in first, because it was a bit chilly and the pier was really fun to hang out at. Next day we hit a book store- Skylight Books, https://www.skylightbooks.com/ next to which is a knitting store that designed the pink pussy hat. https://www.facebook.com/thelittleknitteryshop/ Yes. I am now the proud owner of a pink pussy hat- a gift- I might add. 
That night we went out to the LA Athletic Club where Suzy and I played a bit of racketball with iris and Saben. It was an absolute blast. I haven’t played for thirty years or more. Suzy’s never played. You won’t believe what the score was so I’m not going to tell you.
Wednesday we all toodled on up to Oxnard in Saben’s Audi S4 wagon along the Pacific Coast highway which had recently been closed down because of the fires. We went to see my lifelong friend Guy and his wife Kathy for the Thanksgiving feast. In the past we’ve had the feast at Guy and Kathy’s spectacular house. It is a stunning creation. Guy has been working on it doing some fairly serious remodels on his time off. He was a cameraman for the movie and t.v industry and so would have some time off each year between jobs. He’s invested a lot of time and money into it over the years to the point where now magnificent: a solar paneled house of extreme comfort with an artistic feel to it, right at the beach, close to his in-laws and brother. It is an extremely comfortable and cool place to have a Thanksgiving dinner- nooks to sit in, open space for larger groups, conducive to good conversation. A warm and wonderful home that reflect Guy and Kathy. It adds to the spirit of the day. He’s there for life. Here are some shots to give you some idea of how it feels there.
Cool walnut counter top.
Downstairs, polished cement counter top with tiles embedded with sea glass mosaic. Messy job sanding and polishing that concrete, but a stunning outcome.
Pool table by the downstairs fireplace.
Detail of the stone floor.
Bright spot to prepare coffee and breakfast.
Waiting for breakfast with a cup of coffee or tea, comfortably ensconsed in the sunny table nook.
Guy clowning around as he presents the latest two perfectly poached eggs. He is a master breakfast chef.
Poached eggs dotted with hot pepper sauce on toast, avocado slices, tabouleh left over from Thanksgiving, bacon and fresh squeezed o.j. from the tree in his brother’s yard.
Cool decoration on the way up to …
This fantastic space
with this amazing skylight
Cool old surfboard, one of three hanging up here. The others eight or ten are out in the garage. 
Pretty wonderful fireplace in the living room with the Super Star Glider seat just visible. You can roar around the room on that seat with wheels just as Guy did with a camera on his shoulder for the show 24. Yes, I want one, too.
This year the feast was not at Guy and Kathy’s house, but at one of Kathy’s sisters. It is marvelous and we feel a part of the family. Guy’s brother Bill was there with his new wife Valerie- both just recently relocated to this area. Kathy’s mom is there, at 92, still very much a story teller. All the Hagans are storytellers. I remember our first year there. I wanted to say something about one of the stories told, and you can’t just politely ease your way in. The competition for air time is pretty ferocious. And they’re all really good story tellers- so I just sat back and enjoyed the show. Some stories resurface- the bongo drum story- but mostly there are no repeats from year to year. They have had a close and rich life together and it is very nice to be a part of it.
And over the course of the next few days we have fun. We eat terrific breakfasts, we surf, we skip the sailboat race to go surfing again,
since the wind has died, I wreck Guy’s favorite board. 
We visit his brother Bill’s new house for dinner, we ride around town on bicycles and golf carts. Go with the flow.
Saben and Iris up front. Guy and Suzy in the back.
Kathy and I are identical twins, separated at birth, now joyously reuntied and riding bicycles behind the gold cart.
We go out to eat. We see Charlie after about thirty years. We talk with Guy’s daughter. We watch James Acaster https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=89E_zW1qIM8who is screamingly funny. We talk until way too late at night every night. And when we leave to go back to L.A. with Saben and Iris we continue eating and drinking and talking. Good. Meaningful and good. We need this. Everyone needs this. To talk and laugh and share and dream. California Dreamin’?
And the sky is grey (and the sky is grey)
I’ve been for a walk (I’ve been for a walk)
On a winter’s day (on a winter’s day)
I’d be safe and warm (I’d be safe and warm)
If I was in L.A. (if I was in L.A.)
On such a winter’s day
I passed along the way
Well, I got down on my knees (got down on my knees)
And I pretend to pray (I pretend to pray)
You know the preacher like the cold (preacher like the cold)
He knows I’m gonna stay (knows I’m gonna stay)
On such a winter’s day
And the sky is grey (and the sky is grey)
I’ve…
Loving it all you understand. It was vacation. We’d go up and luxury camp, and build and row and sail our little dory or Beetle cat or Suzanne or the Herreshoff 12 1/2, whatever boat we had in the water that year. Heaven? Heaven. Badminton and soccer and baseball and golf and archery and chicken chasing in the big field we owned. We’d bought Lynn and John out at some point way back. A lot of love and life up there in Owls Head. and we hated to come back to Connecticut to return to our jobs as teachers. Oh it was hard.
I used two by fours and two by sixes and half inch plywood so I’d have two sizes. I made four of each. A sheet of plywood, a few two by’s and an afternoon, then it was jack, block, move the jack. Four inches on each corner. Then up to six, then up to ten. It took forever. It became apparent that this jack was working its tail off. I have a three and a half ton jack but it was back in Connecticut. I’d make do, but you could tell this jack was at its limit lifting the corner of this building. Then once it’s all up in the air a foot, you have to move it. Oh right. Rollers? F.J. used rollers to move a building with his son. What could be easier? But I’d need a roadway to roll the rollers on. This was lawn and it was rough. And I had to keep the building over a foot in the air to make it over the new foundation. So I bought some 2×10’s. I started with two, but it became apparent that I’d need more. The length of the building, plus the length of the move? Well once I’d moved the building off the first set I could maybe place them ahead. Oh, yes. It became apparent that I’d need a framework to hold the building up, too. It can’t roll on the plywood boxes, they’re only two feet long and I was beginning to see that that wouldn’t work. So for the movable building support frame I decided to buy 16 foot 6×6’s. They’re $60 each. I needed four. And I needed some way to hold them together, I couldn’t just pile them underneath and hope they’d stay. From the way this jack- which will lift a car effortlessly- groaned and leaked when hoisting, and from the reaction of the plywood boxes when I set the building down on them, I was beginning to have a healthy respect for the weight of this building. The task started to seem enormous. It just got more and more complicated. I’d have to tie the 2×10’s together somehow as a road way so they didn’t move around. I was buying more and more lumber and screws. And when I first tried to move it I’d used Ivory Snow, after the advice given me by an old house mover par excellence Baxter Cook. But I used liquid soap and had to let it sit for a while before I tried to move the building because we had to run home for medical reasons and that liquid soap was more like glue than lubricant by the time I made my first attempt. I had the framework all set, a start of a roadway and my two ton come-along hooked up to my truck and I started to crank. I put the beef to her and nothing budged. Then it happened: I pulled my pickup truck backwards. Yes, it’s a full sized pickup truck.
We love their visits, but this time Billy said he’d just dig a new foundation under the shed and why go to all that effort? So it starts to feel as if everyone in the world is thinking that you are a pretty big idiot for what you are doing, and of course you begin to think that way yourself. Then we go over to visit a carpenter friend, William, and he says he knows somebody that would move that shed in one hour for five hundred dollars, you really start to play mind games. The sum and substance of the mind game is this: “You big idiot! You’ve spent almost $500 for lumber and screws, never mind the number of hard and greasy and dirty and frustrating hours you’ve put in. Why do I ever listen to you? You big idiot!”
As Aristotle said,”Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world.” I kind of get what he means now, in a way I never did before.
Elm Hill Elementary School was the center of our lives for years. There were five of us Murray kids who went there, and you’d go for kindergarten, first, second, third, fourth fifth and sixth. Except by the time Joey and I got to fifth for Joey and sixth for me, Newington had grown so that we were moved over to over to the old Northwest Annex, the complete other end of town. Joey had Mr. Hadijian, and I had Mr. Silver. Both Joey and I recently went to a funeral back in Newington and met Mr. Hadijian. That was amazingly cool, except he remembered me as his student and had some words to say about what hellian I had been. He didn’t remember Joey. I was mystified, because I didn’t have Mr. Hadijian in fifth grade. I had Mrs. Beck and she was beautiful. My first crush.
We left our dog at home- he does not enjoy this boat since I have terrified him on it. The first day of the season I’d ridden over with the truck to launch the boat, and then gone over the Sharp’s to use his crane to get the mast up. Then I rigged the sails and left from Rockland. Suzy and Hobbes were at the Faunce’s dock where we keep our dinghy. I pulled the boat in. That’s a little nerve wracking. Small dock, metal things protruding, I’m alone in the boat. I manage though. We get Suzy and Hobbes aboard and I decide I’ll tow the dinghy out to the mooring now, so I can get back in from the mooring. The dinghy line got hung up on the dock while I backed away. I tried to clear the dinghy line and the prop sucked up a dock line, wrapped it up so tight around the prop that the engine stalled. I had to get out to clear the dinghy, and then I noticed the line that had been sucked up into the prop was cut. The dinghy was now clear but my boat was floating away. No sails. No engine. Suzy and a dog aboard. And I’m on the dock. I hop into the dinghy and try to row the boat back to the dock. Can’t do it. Pretty funny, right? I mean this would be a great little film. Of course I might have let loose just a minor swear word or two, I can’t quite remember, and Hobbes doesn’t handle that well since our mountain bike accident. Stop laughing. This is serious. And it gets worse but I’m not going to tell that part just say that a very nice guy with an outboard did rescue us before we drifted downwind into the fishing fleet. Day one of the summer sailing season in Owls Head. A propitious start.
She did fine. Once outside, the breeze starts to pick up a little once you’re out of the lee of Sheep Island. The waves get a little bigger. Suzy says, “You take the tiller.” I’m eager to. She stays with me a few minutes and I am revelling in this. The sun. The wind. The waves. The boat feels fantastic. It rises over the bigger waves and settles into the trough with a very satisfying whoosh. Sailing is such a sensory sport. Dazzlingly visual. Visceral-the motion of the boat and the tiller alive in your hand. Of course the smell of the sea is wonderful, but we mustn’t discount the sound of it all. The water moving past the hull, the surge of the boat into a wave, the wind, the sea birds. It is just this side of heaven.
It was like the cavalry showed up. I knew we’d be o.k. We talked on the radio. I could work it now. The panic was gone. They came over in the skiff. Chris and I bailed. He was a trouper. I stood in the water past my thighs and handed him buckets of water. He stood in the cockpit and threw them over. We talked. About the good old days. Bucket after bucket. Boards and cushions floating everywhere in the boat.
F.J spelled Chris. We bailed. You don’t get tired. I was a machine. F.J. asked if I wanted a break. I didn’t. I wanted to bail. I wanted now, that F.J had come, to save the boat. I’d given up before. I’d thought I’d sunk the boat. Going aground didn’t change my mind. I knew that the tide would swallow her and she’d lie there on the bottom but it was in the rocks where no one went. When F. J. started talking about towing her back to Owls Head, and I got encouraged. F.J set and anchor to hold us still. Then he and Chris discussed getting us off. Chris thought to tow us out the way we’d come in would be smarter because we wouldn’t have to wait for the tide. He brought his dad back to the Sandpiper to bring her around, then came back to us.
When the boat came clear of the water he said, “The shaft is out of her.” My propellor and shaft had separated from the motor and come out of the boat.
