Author: admin

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.

 

June,

 

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

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.”

“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. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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)  

 

 

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. 

 

(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,”

(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.

 

[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.

I have also included the menu.

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.

The Editor of the poorly named “Coastside Advocate” newspaper visited Moss Beach and marveled at the hospitable bed and breakfast belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Wienke. The editor’s name last name was Roma T. Jackson, and he had the love of poetry in his soul. If you can get a copy of his work at the paper, maybe at the San Mateo County Museum in Redwood City, you will understand what I mean.

Today, this is pretty much lost by the folks who write for the media. Maybe now that we are going through tough times poetry, writing and meaningful words will come back.

Here’s a little piece by Roma T. Jackson:

First, his description of Moss Beach, which was probably intended to be the bright light of the Coastside:

“The principal attraction here [Moss Beach] is the endless varieties and inexhaustible quantities of beautiful sea mosses that are washed up on the beach by the waves, where it lies, tons, only waiting to be selected out by eager hands. Besides the moss there are other attractive features here which form a pleasant combination of diversions to the average summer boarder. There is a fine little sand beach and rock-bound inlets which afford warm and and safe sea bathing,There is good fishing, an abundance of clams, abalones, mussels, and shells. It is only a short distance from here to the Point Montara fog signal, always open to the public, where Mr. David Splaine, the keeper, and his accomplished daughter, Miss Della, take pleasure in showing visitors about the station, and their handsome collection of marine curiosities.”

—–

Charlie Nye, Jr. tole me that some company from Southern California came in the 1940s and took the moss away. He didn’t know for what purpose. If you didn’t know Charlie, you clearly missed a Coastside character. He was not Mr. Suburban and would not fit into the present. We, who were fortunate to spend time with him, loved him. An eccentric who lived in a house near the cliff’s edge; his dad had run what was called “The Reefs,” built right on the beach. He was a cook who made great clam chowder and you could rent little row boats from him as well as stay overnight in the hotel overlooking the cliffs. His dad was connected to a famous senator who was in favor of silver (too heavy too carry around in your pocket) instead of paper money.

———-

Roma T. Jackson became piqued with the writer of the “Pacific Union” in San Francisco. There were all kinds of travelogues being written. My dear friend John Vonderlin has found many of them and you can read them at pescaderomemories.com. John’s come from the “San Francisco Call-Bulletin,” a favorite “old” paper of mine because the editor was a reformer and he went all out and after everybody. Fremont Older was his  name–quite a man. True, he was progressive. He worried about the prostitutes and how they got along south of Market in San Francisco. He worried about the common man. He had a mission. I like people who have a mission. The “Call” had some really good stories–the writers were unafraid back then. Today, I’m afraid they are scared to tell the truth.

———

Here’s what Roma T. Jackson had to say about a writer who wrote words a about a Coastside visit circa 1900. I think Roma died shortly afterwards, by his own hand.

“Rather Overdrawn”

“The Pacific Union , a little paper published in San Francisco, either has a very exalted opinion of this section, or else is fishing for patronage with a very nauseating bait of taffy. In speakingof Halfmoon Bay it says: ‘This is a beautiful bay, the shape of its name, the blue clear water of the ocean flowing right up to its tide mark. It is sheltered at the northwest by a reef, and at some little government expenditure could be made a fine harbor and road-stead for all weathers. This done railroad and ship could come together, commerce be opened up, local industries be established, the rich land brought up to its full value and Spanishtown [Half Moon Bay] become the second seaport of the American Pacific. The S.P. [Southern Pacific Railroad which included the Big Four, Senator Stanford among them] are aware of this, and should they not soon act an eastern competing line may step in with their Pacific termius at Halfmoon Bay, and establish a route from San Francisco coastside via Santa Cruz, connecting with it and making it their overland line.”

Turns out the Governor of Texas has NO POWER. Just a figurehead.

It is the Vice President who wields all the power.

I do not recall the Media alerting us about that during past elections. 

Think about what that means.

Well, did you know that a part of Texas (the eastern part) has its own Electrical Grid? There are four or five girds of this type in the US. That is why President Obama wants just one grid. One grid means one person controls all. Look it up. I never knew that. Can you believe it? Texas (a small part) has its own electrical grid. Does that mean they could function on their own?