Friday, April 20

Dear Jim,

I’m sitting outside at the coffee shop I always wrote to you from last year. Now with nice days like today, I will be coming here more.

I wonder if you would have gone to coffee shops to study theology and read poetry? I wonder if we would have met at any to philosophize?

If we did, I don’t know what you would order. You would probably get bottled water or juice. You would sit on the sunny side of the table with your visor and lotion on your nose. I would sit on the shady side wearing my ski cap and having a hot chocolate.

Neither of us wore sunglasses when we were young, but you would probably be wearing them now like I do. When I picture you in sunglasses, it doesn’t seem right. They would cover your longing eyes.

We both criticized people in sunglasses because we thought they were trying to be cool. Now I look like the people I never liked.

Coffee shops are one of the changes of the last forty years that I approve of. I definitely take advantage of them.

Usually when I come here I read the paper, then comment to you about an article. Today there was a real short one. 500 Central American immigrants are fleeing their country to come here. They are taking a freight train from Guadalajara to the United States. It didn’t say where they would end up.

It’s incredible how many people try to escape from Central America or leave Mexico to come here. They hop freight trains, but there are no open box cars or empty flat cars like when you used to ride or I used to ride.

People sit on running boards. They get knocked off by branches. They fall when they lose their balance or miss a rung.

When they leave the train they get beaten and robbed by gangs. Girls get raped. The police beat them too, then send them back to Central America.

I’m listening to an audio book in Spanish about a Honduran boy who left home to come to America to find his mother. He rode the freight train but got caught and sent back to Honduras six times. On the seventh try he made it to the U. S.

I’ve always loved the romance of America’s freight trains. I loved the freedom they gave me. But there is nothing romantic about ten or more people sitting on a running board in the sun, wind, and rain becoming ill and not having anywhere to pee or poop.

The people who survive and make it to the U. S. probably have great memories of beautiful scenery and peaceful starry nights like I do, but they were looking to become politically and economically free, while I wanted to see the country and avoid working at a soul killing job.

It’s terrifying that kids leave Central America to escape gangs, then get beaten in Mexico by Mexican gangs and Mexican police, then worry about getting arrested when they cross the border into America. I wonder what it feels like to be scared shitless all the time, then end up in this soulless country of ours? ”I went through all that for this?”

I miss you Jim. I wish you were here to take a trip with. We could go to Hungary, Prague, Poland, Russia looking for something real, looking for our roots.

I don’t know what we would find. Maybe somewhere in Russia there is still the great Russian soul.

That’s it for now.

Love,

Dave

Sunday, April 15

Dear Jim,

There’s sure been a lot of wind lately. I’ve been inside all day. At least it’s nice not to wear shoes.

Last night my neighbor and I went to dinner. We hadn’t been in at least two weeks.

Instead of going to the Chinese place like we used to, we went to a Mexican place over where I lived for eleven years. It was the first time in the thirty-eight years that I’ve lived here that I went. I used to pass it all the time no matter where I lived.

I liked the food and I enjoyed the company of my friend, but I did not like being in my old neighborhood. Living there was the most unhappy period of my life. It aged me.

My friend was telling me how much he loves the houses in that neighborhood. They are beautiful – built in the 20’s, 30’s, 40’s with a ton of trees on the street. He hopes he wins the lottery so he can buy one. I hope so too. I wonder if I’d see him again.

Remember your house? I didn’t like it or your neighborhood. I know you didn’t like your neighborhood. Did you like the house? I loved my house but didn’t like the neighborhood. Too suburban.

The important thing for me isn’t whether I live in a house or an apartment, but whether or not there is a lot of light, a lot of windows, especially on the south. I’m becoming more and more light deprived. Part of it is fluorescent lights, but an increasing part is that aging eyes receive 40% less light than the eyes of a young person.

I’m going to get a new tablet before winter. It will not have bad lighting built in like the one I have now. I’m also going to get a tall lamp with healthy bulbs.

One of the things I read is that you need healthy light coming down on you like the sun, not up to you like a desk lamp. And I don’t know if you can do this in an apartment, but there are tubes that can be hooked up to a device outside that will bring natural light over your work area.

I’m supposed to go to the eye doctor this month, but I’m thinking of changing doctors. I love the office though. It feels great to be in.

You know how the media talks about how depressed old people are in rest homes? One of the reasons is the fluorescent lights. Another is the bad light from all the TV’s and the third is the inability of old eyes to absorb natural light like they used to.

A long time ago I looked up lighting in rest homes. There was a guy who designed rest homes so that the rooms receive a lot of natural light and, I assume, use light bulbs that make rooms feel good to be in.

I will not be able to afford to live in such a place. I won’t be able to afford to live in even a gloomy rest home. If I did live in one of those lousy places with fluorescent lights and TV’s on all day, I would lose my mind. Remember the movie about the insane asylum where at the end the Indian breaks the window to escape from the place? That’s what I think I would do in a rest home.

I remember one time that you said ”Television is the killer of the soul.” I say television is a weapon parents and the staff in rest homes use to kill the souls of children and old people.

If I won the lottery like my neighbor hopes he does, I wouldn’t buy a house. I would make arrangements to move into one of those well-lit rest homes as soon as I turned sixty-five or seventy, whatever age I thought I would begin to need assistance. It would be great to be an old man in a place that feels good to be in, basking in the peaceful glow of natural light, listening to birds instead of television.

What we do to old people is horrible. What we’ve done to dad is terrible. Dad is defeated.

I feel defeated too. I have to force myself to pray. That’s scary.

I’ve heard on religious radio stations that faith is something you sometimes have to work at. Sometimes you have to ask God to keep you in faith. You have to keep praying even when you’ve lost your faith because eventually you will regain it.

I think dad has lost a lot of his faith. He hardly prays. What means the world to him I think is when we hang up he says, ”Be careful. I love you. God bless you.” He may have lost hope for himself, but he hopes everything works out for me.

Sometimes when I don’t feel like saying a prayer for dad, I’ll ask God to let him right into heaven when he dies. He just can’t believe what’s happened to himself.

There’s that priest from Miami I think I told you about. He has a radio show for two hours every night. At the end of the show, after he’s done listening to the troubles of some people and bantering with others, it’s prayer time.

A listener will call. The priest says, ”Por su doloroso pasión.” The caller says, ”Ten misericordia de nosotros y el mundo entero.”

They say it ten times. What reverence and humbleness. Do you think it’s beautiful? It reminds me of dad.

Love,

Dave

Saturday, April 7

Dear Jim,

Last weekend was warm. This weekend is cool and windy. I like it. It rained all day yesterday. I liked that too.

I’m sitting in the wind drinking a decaf Americano. I used the last few cents on the last of the gift cards that Sis II gave me for Christmas. I thought I would have used them up by now, but it was too cold to be outside as much as I would have liked to.

It’s been a rough few days. All those days off last week spoiled me. I really didn’t want to go back to work and I didn’t get into it once I was back like I usually do.

I keep thinking of what to do to feel less stressed out at work and what to do to make more money, but I’m stumped. Maybe I should think outside the box like the business books and self-help books say, but I’ve been thinking outside the box all my life. It makes me ill knowing business, which demands conformity, steals and cheapens what I have been doing my whole life.

The problem with encouraging people to think outside the box when they are at work is that if you really think outside the box and say ”Let’s slow down. Let’s make fewer changes so we aren’t as stressed,” your suggestions won’t be accepted. At best people will be amused by you. At worst they’d preach to you that if everyone was like you, nothing would get done.

Thinking outside the box is a clever way to make the staff more committed to producing, worrying, and making work a larger part of one’s life than it should be. It makes the company look better than if it says we want people with a lot of drive. Instead of leaving the stress to the executives and the people who sell on commission, the company passes it on to everybody and tries to disguise the stress by calling the staff a team or the company a family.

Remember when being part of a team meant being part of a sports team? You gloried in your youth doing something you were passionate about. You may have hated your parents, but you would never ever dream of referring to the company you worked for as a family.

When we were young pro football players, rock stars, and movie stars had careers. Now people making $40,000 a year at some horrible job are asked if they enjoy their career. ”How do you get along with your colleagues?” I always thought that only highly skilled people like attorneys referred to each other as colleagues.

What’s great about us is we’ve always thought outside the box. You did it with finesse. It took me until I was fifty to have finesse. In this age of stifling conformity, I will have to use finesse to keep thinking outside the box and refuse to back down.

Not so much to say this time.

Love,

Dave

Easter

Dear Jim,

What a great week off. I haven’t worked since Tuesday. Each day I’ve been outside over four hours reading, writing, and walking. I feel healthy doing that.

Before my holiday, I worried about how I would make use of the time. I looked up an outdoor walk commemorating the Stations of the Cross for Good Friday. I participated five years ago, but did not see any notices for it for this year.

I thought I should go to the Holy Thursday service, or three hours on Good Friday, or a sorrowful music performance on Good Friday night, or communion on Holy Saturday, or Mass today. With so much free time and extra energy, I ”should do something” to honor Easter, worship God, thank Jesus.

But I didn’t want to. On Palm Sunday I felt a change of mood. I felt solemn. I told dad I was feeling the Easter spirit.

I put the clock radio in the drawer. I didn’t listen to my other radio. I didn’t worry about getting things done.

I didn’t go to any of the Holy Week rituals because I didn’t want to be inside and I didn’t want to put money in the collection basket. The main reasons are I don’t think Catholics take their faith seriously. They want to ooo! and ahhhh! on Good Friday as the huge lightweight cross is passed from the people in the front pews to the people in the back pews. ”Aren’t we progressive?”

It is really very phony. When did that shit start? I’ll have to ask dad but he probably won’t remember.

I feel lonelier at church than I do anywhere else. To sit through one of the long rituals would have killed me: ”I don’t know these people. They aren’t my friends. There is nothing to talk about. I don’t want to see people I know from other places and don’t like.”

On Friday I said Happy Easter to the cashier at the grocery store. She appreciated it. She said ”Happy Easter to you too.” Our exchange meant more to me than attending all the Holy Week ceremonies and Easter Mass would have.

The Good Friday walk I mentioned at the beginning of the letter. When I was volunteering at a church, one of my co-volunteers encouraged me to take the walk. She wasn’t physically able to do it.

I arrived at the place it started at least fifteen minutes early. The musicians were rehearsing. During a lull I asked them if this was the Good Friday walk. They said yes, but they were not warm. Nobody said ”Glad you could make it.” Nobody smiled. They looked at me as if I were less than.

So I sat on a picnic table until the walk started. The leader and an important priest were there talking. They had an attitude of self-importance. I was looking for reverence.

The walk was a struggle. We stopped for every station. Whenever we stopped I wanted to sit down, but it would not have been appropriate.

It was warm in the sun. Cool in the shade. I kept taking off my ski cap to put on my sun hat, and I kept taking off my sun hat to put on my ski cap. In the sun I stood in the shade of a telephone pole or street lamp.

Finally the walk ended. I ran into the woman I volunteered with. She had driven down to say hello to people.

As we were talking, she saw the leader of the walk coming toward us. She said ”Oh! I’ll introduce you guys.”

After they said hello to each other, she said ”So-and-so, this is David Vaszko. We volunteer together at one of the parishes.”

He says, ”Oh, weren’t you the one who kept putting his hat on and off? That was odd.”

”Yeah. That was me.”

”Don’t you walk by my office every day? You look familiar.”

”I walk all over.”

But he didn’t tell me where his office was or what its’ name was.

Then someone he knew came up to him. He said ”Excuse me,” then talked to the guy. I wanted to leave but didn’t want to be rude, so I waited.

Then he turned to me and said, ”I’ve got to go to breakfast with my friends.” He didn’t invite me. ”I hope you come on the walk next year.” But he didn’t say ”We’re always looking for volunteers.”

I thought ”No way in fucking hell am I going on the walk next year with you snobs.” He talked down to me. He should have invited me to breakfast and encouraged me to volunteer with the group.

On the way home I thought that guys like him are why people leave The Church, and why so many who try to return to The Church say fuck it. He wasn’t warm, respectful, diplomatic, or Christian. He was just a busy-body.

I never told the woman what I felt about him. They were close and she and I had a good relationship. I wanted to tell her he talked down to me but I’m glad I didn’t. She was really good to me – always encouraging me to do more in the parish because she respected me and knew I was struggling.

During the week I kept thinking about what Holy Week means. I was wishing I felt part of The Church. I would have loved to participate in one of the ceremonies. When I was coming home at 6:30 Thursday evening, I thought “In a few hours Jesus will be arrested.”

I got lucky. When I came home yesterday there was an invitation to dinner. The real short friend of mine who I told you has the sick sister and the old girl friend of mine who you guys adored and now has a husband, wanted the four of us to eat dinner and then watch a movie.

So the couple picked up my short friend, met me at the Mexican restaurant around the corner, paid for our dinners To Go, then drove us back to their house. The food was great. They all wanted to taste my menudo and they all loved it.

I was leery about watching the movie because movies overstimulate me and most TVs bother my brain. But I knew I should go and I was right.

The movie was The Darkest Hour. It’s about Churchill’s appointment to Prime Minister and his struggles to outwit Chamberlain and Halifax so that Parliament and the nation would accept his demand to fight to the death against Hitler.

You would have loved it. I told dad he would have loved it.

I didn’t get home until 11:30. Some neighbors were having a loud party that didn’t stop until 1:15.

I laughed. I got to spend Holy Saturday night with people I feel good being with, and one of the few nights I went out happened to be one of the few nights my neighbors were loud and I couldn’t have gone to bed early.

Happy Easter to you and mom Jim.

Love,

Dave

Wednesday, March 28

Dear Jim,

I’m sitting in a nice patio garden at the utmost of snobby coffee shops. The guy who took my order did not say ”Hi how are you?” or smile or make small talk. The guy who put my drink up on the counter didn’t smile. I thanked him, then he said “You’re welcome.”

But no warmth. Each guy was dressed meticulously with an expensive haircut and with tattoos. It reminded me of San Francisco’s snobbery and pretension. All show but no go.

So I’m here, protected from the cool breeze on a warm morning. I needed to do something different. I feel good. It feels good.

Last night I went to the Spanish group I only go to once in a while now. I was actually able to speak, although it was hard and I had to repeat myself sometimes. But there too. It amazes me how terrified people are of strangers and it pisses me off that someone refuses to talk with the person next to them or across from them. I didn’t have a good time.

I had a great burrito. I don’t know what was in it. It had red sauce and the perfect amount of spice for my bland taste buds. I also had a great cup of fresh squeezed orange juice. It was $5.45, but I am glad I bought it.

You should see the machine they juice the orange halves with. Vrrrrrrrrmmm! and they are done. The machine really looks classy. The travel books say that in Mexico fresh squeezed orange juice at restaurants is an inexpensive tradition.

It’s been a stressful week or ten days. I’m really getting too old to work. It drives me crazy and I’m bored to death. We are short a really good staff member and we’ve hired some new people who I like a lot.

One of the reasons I’m stressed is because I am pushing hard to speed up Spanish. It takes a lot of time and effort and is hard for me, even though I love it. But I understood almost everything people said last night.

I did not enjoy the crowd like I used to, but I told myself that I really need the group, so go like it is a business meeting and don’t worry about whether the guy next to me is an asshole.

And then there’s a book I’m reading: Domestic Tranquility: a brief against Feminism. It’s incredible. It was written in 1998 by a woman seven years younger than dad. She went to law school, became an attorney, then gave up her job to be a housewife.

She loved it. She said being a housewife was more rewarding to her and more of a contribution to society than being an attorney. She said anybody can take your place at the law firm, but nobody will or can raise your kid the way you will or can.

The main goal of feminism was to destroy patriarchy and it worked. We all know that, but she puts a different angle on it. She said that rather than fight to make motherhood more respected, the feminists encouraged married women to leave their husbands, and single women not to marry. What these women should do said the feminists, is pursue a career just like the males who oppress them so they can be aggressive just like the men who oppress them.

The author said that feminists felt that motherhood was bullshit, then tried to bring the sensitivity that housewives used to bring to their family into the male-dominated work force by pushing for things like day care at the office.

One of the things she said was that the main reason that feminism of our time got started was because men were abandoning their role as breadwinners. She talked about the beatniks, Playboy Magazine, and the hippies. She said the beatniks did not respect women. Women were just a pain in the ass and you may as well give a blow job once in a while.

To her, Playboy made men teenagers, rather than a proud bread winning husband and father. Men were told that being single is the best way for a man to live. His manhood is based on his job title and on all the expensive toys he has.

As for the hippies, she goes on, at least they didn’t acquire all the horseshit playboys do. But still, they wanted to be promiscuous and they expected women to be promiscuous. There was no expectation or desire for hippie men to be an adoring husband or dynamic father.

The book has me thinking about my sexuality and what I need or want from a woman. She said women need to demand that men adore them and are willing to support them before they sleep together. I’d love to meet a woman I adore to see if I would devote myself to her and to a happy few years together.

There’s a real short book I just read that this author quoted from – The Penitent by Isacc Bashivas Singer. He wrote it in 1983. Did you read it? It is incredible.

It’s about a Jew who had run all over Europe during World War II starving and freezing trying to avoid the Nazis. After the war he ended up in America. He had no money and didn’t know what to do. So he used the business skills he learned from his father, then became unexpectedly wealthy. He didn’t care about money.

He was a philanderer. Then after a failed affair and during his failing marriage, he decided he had to give up the adultery and inhumanity of the modern world. He longed for the purity of the Jewishness of his father and grandfather.

He took a taxi to the airport, then a plane to Tel Aviv to begin his difficult journey to become a Jew the way Jews were before they embraced the soullessness and immorality of the post war Gentile world. One day he sought a Jewish religious library to delve into his roots in order to save himself.

An old rabbi came over to him with a twinkle in his eye and love in his bearing and said, “Welcome home my son.” Isn’t that incredible! I never felt anything like that from a priest.

You know I often refer to things I’m reading or doing but never talk about them again. So I’ll mention some.

On Sunday I watched the Paul Newman movie I told you I was going to watch. It’s set in Antioch and Rome when Saint Peter was old. There is a great scene of Peter healing a girl who can’t walk. She is between her parents struggling to stand as Saint Peter exhorts her. Finally, she awkwardly walks to Peter where he hugs her to him.

What was amazing is that the guy who made the movie had the insight to think that maybe the apostles, since they weren’t Jesus, couldn’t heal as effectively as he did. And Peter, as an old man, probably couldn’t heal like he used to. So the girl didn’t just get up and walk delightfully away like the cripples who Jesus healed did.

Remember the 1300 page book about Texas I was reading and told you I would stick with like a Texan? I stopped on page 1100. I wasn’t interested in what happened after 1970. I guess now I can’t go to Texas.

Well Jim, it’s been great writing. I’m filled with passion, and you always admired me for it.

Love,

Dave

Sunday, March 18

Dear Jim,

It’s funny weather – overcast. It reminds me of The City.

I’ve been thinking a lot about The City. I want to go there so bad, but it scares me.

Yesterday I looked at a San Francisco travel guide. I wrote down the names of the major streets between Van Ness, Market, and the bay. I want to walk all the ones running north to south.

The other way, Sacramento Street, would be daunting even if I were young. So I won’t try to walk many of the east to west streets. It would be stupid to try to do it now. If I did, I probably would not be able to walk again.

We Vaszko’s are walkers. Mom and I are the weakest. You and I did the most walking, then dad when he retired. Walking was part of your identity and mine. I had a great walk, but now I don’t wobble or waddle or whatever I did as much as I used to.

I think the reason I want to walk in The City is to feel like I accomplished something and went somewhere. When I walk in Sacramento I keep track of how far I walk, but that is only to make sure I don’t get too far out of shape. I usually don’t feel like I accomplished anything, and I don’t feel like I have gone anywhere, unless I walk to the river after a big storm in a rainy winter to watch the logs float down and to gawk at how wide the river has gotten.

Walking is as much a part of my identity as a car is to the identity of people who drive. If and when they lose their car or their license, they feel like they are not free, that they are not a man anymore.

When my legs go out, I will not be free. I will feel very small, like life isn’t worth living anymore, that God has destroyed the legs that carried my incredible passion for him.

God I love to walk. Being confined here in Sacramento, I need the vistas and rhythm of San Francisco. Up one hill, stop, a great view. Up another hill, a different view. Go down a hill, a different rhythm. I need to do something great like this while I still can, to be inspired not just by a great view in a great city, but because I struggled up a hill and feel proud.

I can see where San Francisco gets it’s air of superiority. If you can walk up all those cold windy hills, you are tough and you can toot your horn. But just because you walk up all the hills with great views doesn’t mean you can act as if you are the one who created them. But that’s human nature.

One of the attractions of walking in downtown San Francisco is that north of Market, the streets have names not numbers. You see the early heroes – Washington, Jackson, Clay and the later heroes – Polk, Taylor, Grant. Plus Geary and Green – the local heroes.

San Francisco had the imagination and patriotism to name it’s streets after great men. It had a sense of destiny about itself and the nation. Sacramento wasn’t a city of dreamers and did not feel a sense of destiny about itself. It was very patriotic, but naming all it’s downtown streets by letters and numbers didn’t give magic to the city.

The guy who was a dreamer was Sutter. He was in Sacto before it was a city but he failed in his dream. Even so, there’s a hospital, middle school, and gentlemens club named after him.

He was a great dreamer and a great failure. He helped others get started on their dream, so he was a great inspirer. He got old young, like a lot of us have.

A very human man. Sacramento should have named one of it’s major streets after him, honoring him as the original dreamer who got thousands of other dreamers to come to California. Only rather than get old young like Sutter did, thousands died young from chasing their foolish dream.

Sutter was a man of great selfishness, vision, foolishness, and generosity. So he is great for young people to study. How could he refuse to support his family but help hundreds of strangers? Do you lie to get what you want? Will you abuse your power? Will your dream make for a better world like Sutter thought his would?

Sutter took advantage of Indians. Will you invest in 3rd World sweatshops? How do you think Sutter felt having his land stolen and swindled from him? If you fail in your dream, what will you do? If you succeed, will you be happy?

Remember when we went to Sutter’s Fort in the eighties and we were full of wonder? I remember you saying it must have smelled terrible when all the dirty travelers slept in the same room passing gas.

I don’t think Sutter fills too many people with wonder. The focus is on destroying Sutter by calling him a racist. So if there is ever a time when people want to rename the hospital or middle school, I will fight it. He helped a lot of people and was such an extraordinary man, he should be remembered not forgotten.

I’m glad San Francisco named a street after him. It appreciated his daring-do. He was by nature more of a San Franciscan than a Sacramentan.

One of the reasons I haven’t gone to visit The City since dad has been in a rest home is because it would not be fair to him. I hardly ever visit him so I shouldn’t be going to San Francisco unless I visit him all the time. You would probably go every week, even without a car.

Another reason I haven’t gone to walk in The City is I’m not sure my legs will hold up. It would shame me knowing I can’t do it anymore – all this beauty but I can’t glory in it. I want to make peace with the city I never felt part of, even though it is beautiful. But if I can’t walk in it, I will have to make peace with myself in a different way.

You know how when we talked about religion you often talked about forgiveness? Well, I was thinking about forgiving San Francisco for it’s pretension, for it’s refusal to make an eccentric like me feel welcome in a city that used to be known for great characters, but since the fifties is known for people making a spectacle of themselves.

I will stand at Powell and California, then walk up to the hotels. I’ll look over the city Tony Bennett loved. I’ll try to forgive The City, then I’ll beg it, ”Let me feel like you are mine.”

I have always wondered why there was so much drinking in San Francisco. Why do you need to get loaded in a city that should make you naturally high?

I think most of our lives are bitter disappointments. You walk up a hill and see a great view of the bay, then shiver thinking how unbeautiful your life is, how the grand dreams never came true. You failed in all this beauty. You’re in the city of dreamers but you let yourself down, or life let you down. So you drink.

Well Jim. You are nine years older than I am. You might not be able to walk now. That’s a scary thought.

I hope my legs hold up until after dad dies.

Love,

Dave

Sunday, March 11

Dear Jim,

It’s daylight Savings Time. Last night, instead of hurriedly setting my clock ahead before I went to bed, I calmly set it ahead as soon as I got home. Then I relaxed and went to bed at 10:00. (11:00)

Today I feel great! I listened to a half hour of The Psalms and a half hour of church hymns on the Christian station I told you about.

I love The Psalms. The Psalm writers are pissed off like I am. They are suffering a lot too. You talked about suffering – how it can make you take yourself less seriously, become empathetic or more empathetic toward others, and get you on the path toward God.

I remember when that woman you loved dearly broke your heart. You said to me, “For the first time in my life I have truly suffered.” It was wrenching for you. The Psalms are wrenching.

I needed to keep going on the religious theme, so after the church hymns I turned to Radio Vaticano. I love the narrator’s Italian accent as she speaks Spanish.

After she got through giving the news and reporting upcoming events, she interviewed a woman who just published a book about women in The Church and their quest for power. The interview was hard to follow because they were talking so fast. The writer spoke different Spanish than I’m used to and the one being interviewed usually doesn’t speak as clearly as the interviewer.

I needed to be still, so I didn’t get up to try to write her name or the title of the book. I will try to look it up.

As far as I can tell, The Church has two big problems. Women are pissed off and men don’t give a shit. Sounds like the country.

Then I listened to the sage priest in Sacramento who grew up in Mexico. He talks every Sunday about the three readings from Mass.

The theme today was light versus darkness. He said we call ourselves Catholics, but we embrace the selfish aspects of our culture like pornography and violence.

He said really, we are not Catholics because we do not accept that Jesus died for our sins, died to bring us the light. He said we must dump our egos, admit to ourselves that everything about us – our money, job, title, property, talent is because of God, because Jesus paid the price to bring the world out of darkness – if we so choose.

He said we better so choose because the barbarians are at our gates just like barbarians burned Jerusalem before the Jews were sent into exile. Like the Jews who lived a life of debauchery before their fall, we are doing the same thing. He said America has fallen apart because we Catholics have accepted contemporary paganism just like Jews accepted the paganism of their times.

There were a couple of other things too. He said the Mexican devotion to Maria is horseshit if Mexicans believe in abortion. He said presidential candidates need to speak against abortion, because if I understand him right, abortion is a great evil or our time and an example of paganism at its’ worst.

While he was talking he made the distinction between being in the darkness like America and Western Catholics are, and stepping into Jesus’ light to reclaim ourselves, our church, our country, and our Western tradition.

That got me thinking about The Psalms I listened to an hour before him. In The Psalms the psalmist is protected by God’s shadow. He can either walk in it or seek shelter in it. He can be good knowing he is protected by God.

In the New Testament, people are challenged to walk in Jesus’ light, step out of their darkness and into the world’s darkness to do good, to try to get others to trust in the Lord like they do.

A lot of people trust in the universe. That is good because if you listen to the universe you sing your own song. It might be painful. If it doesn’t bring you peace it will cause you to stand your ground, say I’m going to live my truth no matter what.

The problem with the universe is what do you do if you end up on the street? I’ve had homeless guys say ”Jesus loves you” and ”God bless you” to me, but I’ve never had a homeless guy tell me “Trust in the universe.”

If I were homeless it would be terrifying for me to say to somebody, “Trust in the universe,” since the universe hadn’t gotten me money or a place to live.

But if I say “God bless you” or ”Jesus loves you,” I’m acknowledging not commanding. I’m hoping that he will thank me or say ”God bless you too.” But even if he doesn’t, Jesus said don’t expect to be rewarded. Until later. I would be trusting in the Lord.

Trusting in the universe is attractive. It’s becoming more popular. It’s drawing a lot of young people away from the Lord, away from The Church. And with the powerful technology that we have, you can communicate with the universe instantly.

The reason I bring this up is because young people, with the new technology that anyone can afford, are creating political movements intended to take our streets back from the police and our neighborhoods back from the real estate industry. Even though the groups I am aware of are not religious, are not Christian, they are putting into practice the Gospels.

In addition to visiting prisoners, they are trying to close prisons. In addition to giving food to the homeless, they are tying to pass rent control laws so people do not end up on the street.

If these things happen, what wonderful cities we will have. The love of Jesus will have taken over the world. We won’t need a savior. People will raise their kids to ”Trust in the universe. It will give you everything you need. If you aren’t greedy.”

So Jim, maybe what’s going on today will usher in some great changes for the better. Before Jesus there was God the Father. For two thousand years we have had God the Son. Maybe we’ll have an Age of the Holy Spirit, the Age of Aquarius, and Jesus’ work will be over.

That’s it for now.

Love,

Dave

Friday, March 2

Dear Jim,

March came in like a lion. It rained from midnight to 9 am yesterday and the wind blew like hell. When I woke up there was a puddle on the window sill and water on the floor.

I knew it was going to rain after I got to work, so I put a rug and thick towel on the floor beneath the sill. Then I put some buckets to catch the water below the leaking points. Then I took a heavy classy new bath towel that Sis II gave me and that I hadn’t used yet on the sill to absorb the water.

That was a brilliant move. When I got home from work there was no water in the buckets or on the towels on the floor, but the towel on the window sill was soaked.

It’s been a stressful week, more because of the weather than anything else. It’s been very cold and windy. I itched like crazy, but I was pretty good about not scratching. The rain has made me itch less.

This morning I went downtown to a quarterly staff meeting. It was boring. The organization is so full of positive horseshit it makes me ill. I felt like retiring.

Downtown is as ugly and lifeless as ever. I used to think beautiful architecture made cities great, but I don’t think so any more.

A city is great when there are lots of people walking who are too busy to be afraid, or when people are not afraid and so they come out to walk leisurely. Sacramento could build buildings and design neighborhoods to my aesthetic satisfaction, but people would continue to be afraid and lifeless and Sacramento would continue to be soulless.

The other night I listened to a Bishop Sheen program from World War II. I stumbled across his rebroadcasts a few years ago on Catholic Radio.

Mom and aunty always listened to him. Dad remembers him. Do you? Did you listen to him? At the seminary did they make you guys listen to him?

I was impressed by his sense of authority. He definitely was not positive. The current pope is, but I wish he spoke with authority about what is wrong with the West.

Bishop Sheen wasn’t cool. The current pope is. I liked Benedict because he wasn’t cool and didn’t try to be. He was full of love and respect for others, even those he felt were destroying the West.

What I like about the current pope is he loves the great poet from his homeland – José Hernández. Hernández wrote an epic poem through the eyes of the narrator, Martin Fierro. I read the first book in Spanish as best I could. It was incredible.

Fierro is a cowboy on the pampas – Argentina’s Great Plains. He talks of his struggles there, the land, the Indians. Someday I will buy the book, and the Spanish equivalent of the OED, then take my time to gain a better understanding of it.

Anyway. Sheen was speaking about godless modern man. Sheen said that man wants Eternal Life, Truth, and Eternal Love and seeks these as God; therefore God is man’s ultimate end.

He said that the reason ”Christianity does not speak to modern man is because modern man is only part man, a disconnected man.” I agree. People today want to live forever and expect to live until they are ninety. but they are not interested in a transcendent God to live with when they die.

People don’t want Truth to guide them through life. They want facts to build a career, get the prize, and become rich. People want to be able to fuck into their eighties, but they don’t want to feel or cultivate God’s eternal love or eternal mercy.

Sheen is intense. I’ll try to listen to one broadcast a week, but I don’t know if I will be able to. Nobody talks like that anymore.

Or I should say, Catholics don’t talk like that anymore. A lot of times when I am tired of listening to Radio Católica or the Mexican station from The City, I turn the FM dial all the way to the left than back to the right to tune in to public stations.

Every time, the first station I get is a fundamentalist Christian station from Oakland. I’ve always hated the pompous tone of the guy either reading from The Bible or giving a lecture. I’ve said, ”Oh please!” or ”Fuck you asshole!”, then changed the station.

But last week the narrator sounded authoritative to me, not pompous. I listened. He read from Malachi. Here’s the quote I like: ”The burden of the word of the Lord to Israel.”

Yes. Truth is a burden. Honoring God is a burden. Obeying the Ten Commandments is a burden. Loving God every second of every day is a burden, especially nowadays when God is hated every second of every day.

Listening to that guy read in an authoritative tone fit the authoritative tone of The Bible. If a positive reader read that passage, the listener would not feel the seriousness of God’s message and would not feel the heaviness and fear that Jews felt when they heard the word of the Lord to them, God’s chosen and burdened people. Now I understand what professors meant when they said you have to read the classics from the point of view of the Jews, Greeks, or whatever.

For three days I listened to that station and went to its’ website. On the website is a list of songs sung on the station. One of the titles caught me: When I Survey This Wondrous Cross.

It got me thinking of the cross and the crucifix. Which is better? When the Protestants broke from the Catholics, did they reject the crucifix? Is the crucifix too negative, too bloody?

I think with the crucifix the focus is on Jesus’ suffering. With the cross things are more abstract. We are at a crossroads. We have a burden to carry. There is hope. What exactly does one focus on?

So I got to thinking about the cross as something to see from a distance – sitting in the parking lot looking at the cross on the steeple. Or being on a hill in San Francisco seeing the cross on top of a church far away.

The cross is a beacon, a symbol of God’s suffering and our redemption. A crucifix makes Jesus’ suffering real. What did he go through for us?

Remember Mt. Davidson? I wonder how many people have surveyed that wondrous cross. I know liberals hate it. Maybe Catholics hate it too.

I like it. I’ve never meditated on it. But I’m glad it is there saying fuck you to all the godless juvenile artists. The left never sees the cross as a symbol of God’s infinite mercy, but only Western arrogance.

I don’t think you liked it, but we never discussed it. Maybe you thought I didn’t like it, which I didn’t until twenty years ago. I wonder if an artist or progressive ever buys a home because of it’s view of Mt. Davidson.

It’s funny that in a city that so many people come to with so much hope, the great symbol of hope is far removed from the neighborhoods they move to. They think it’s BS anyway.

That’s it for now Jim.

Love,

Dave

Friday, February 23

Dear Jim,

It’s been the most exciting winter of my life. There have never been this many cold and invigorating days. Even though the wind is exhausting, I hope it lasts until April.

Yesterday during lunch I took a great walk into the wind. It was like March. All these big clouds of various shades of dark gray with a few white ones blowing along. I could have walked all day.

I’m trying to let myself get excited, be carried along and away with beautiful days, especially cold clear windy ones. Whenever I tell people I just had a great walk, they are usually amused. It’s always too cold or too windy or too hot for people to get off their ass to go outside.

Last weekend I read a graphic novel. It’s about a girl in Japan who is going to apprentice as a witch when she turns thirteen. Her mom is a witch.

On the night of her big day, all the relatives and neighbors gather outside of her house to wish her luck as she flies away on her broom with her cat, trusting in the universe that she will find a place to learn and a mentor to teach her.

They’re having a ball flying around trying to figure out the wind patterns. Suddenly a storm comes up. They get soaked.

As she is trying to figure out what to do, she spots a freight train. So she flies down to it. When she sees an open hatch on top of a rail car, she guides them in and they land in a huge pile of hay.

What luck! She takes off her wet clothes then snuggles into the hay.

I loved it. There are three more books in the series, so I’ll read one book each of the next three months. It’s nice to be excited about something.

Did you hear about the killings in Florida last week or whenever it was? I’ve tried to avoid it, but today at the coffee shop I read an article about it. I didn’t know the FBI received a tip about the murder, but failed to act on it. There was a local cop who answered the call about the killer, but did not go into the school when he got there. He stayed outside until it was over.

Everybody is saying we’ve got to ban guns, or not sell machine guns, or run more extensive background checks, or raise the age of gun purchase to twenty-one, or arm teachers so nut cases will fear to enter schools.

But these are not going to solve the problem of mentally ill men, angry frustrated men, and alienated men. We need to have forums: ”What Happened to the Confident American Male?”, ”Why Do You Feel So Small Guys?”

Of course most of the people who showed up would be women wondering what’s wrong with their husbands, sons, brothers. Men don’t know we have a confidence problem. But women do.

One thing to do is not tell boys they are potential rapists. Another thing to do is don’t call a father with no money, car, property, or job a deadbeat dad unless you are calling an unwed mother with no money, car, job, or property a selfish bitch who has abused her feminine intuition.

When I see billboards encouraging men to embrace fatherhood, I cringe. It’s like women have designed these billboards of feminine men being gentle with their kids. Just like mom.

Mothers should be the nurturers. Fathers should be the inspirers. I would love to see a billboard of a father looking sternly at his son. The billboard would say, ”I don’t give a fuck if the other boys steal. Don’t you do it. It’s not right.”

A billboard like that would not be allowed. Comedians can say it every other word. Rappers can say it in every song. Writers can title their books ____ the Boss and ____ Courtesy. But to say it in such an important situation as I just mentioned would offend the people who make family law and lead discussions about the family.

These people are less offended by a man who says fuck you to his wife or calls his son a dumb fuck because in each case the man is weak. Hearing a father judiciously and threateningly use it to his son shows a strong confident proud dad who loves his son and wants him to be good and do good.

The other night my neighbor and I went to a chain Chinese restaurant. We like it because it is close to home. We also like it because it is clean. I got sick of going to the Vietnamese place in the South Area. It was filthy. When you went to pay your bill, you saw huge streaks of black footprints coming from the kitchen.

We always receive a fortune cookie. I never eat mine. I open it, split the cookie, then give it to my friend. He reads the fortune, gives it to me, then eats the cookie.

Last time he handed it to me with a ”Take a look at this.” expression on his face. I laughed when I read it. It said Your confidence will lead you to success.

I stuck it in my pocket. When I got home I taped it to my lamp. I crack up every time I see it.

That’s it for now.

Love,

Dave

Friday, February 16

Dear Jim,

I’ve got two Fuji’s in the window to finish ripening. Somehow I remember you used to have bowls of fruit on your table. I think you meditated on them. You loved the still life’s of fruit of the old European guys that we saw in museums.

I don’t meditate on the Fuji’s, but I love to glance at them. There is nothing rich or subtle in the appearance of most apples. I remember you telling me that an orchard man in Wenatchee said that when he was a kid, his dad grew apples to taste good; but nowadays he doesn’t carry on his dad’s tradition. He grows apples to look good so they will sell. But that’s just it, they don’t look good. They look flashy. They look phony.

Even though I don’t meditate, I am becoming more centered. When I am doing something, I look at my hand or I look at the door knob as I turn it. I want to get to where I naturally meditate. Just have Fuji’s sitting around so I can contemplate them.

In the seventies or early eighties there was an article in Harper’s. It was about a guy in Vermont who lived in the mountains with his wife and kids. The guy would contemplate for two hours at a time.

Dad used to do that every morning before Mass for an hour. What a great combination – meditating then going to Mass. And of course he prayed before meditating.

I’ve thought of taking a yoga class or doing Tai Chi, but it doesn’t feel right. I would like to go to a meditation group where the leader doesn’t talk about peace and tranquility and all that Eastern shit, but says ”Contemplate Justice, Truth, Beauty, Freedom, Love, Lust, Hate, Fear, Confidence, Youth, the peak of your powers, falling apart.”

You are going to find peace and tranquility whatever you meditate on. It always amazes me that the chic seekers of Eastern wisdom don’t give the slightest shit about Western values. Except Prosperity.

Wednesday was Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday. What an interesting combination.

I didn’t get ashes. I hardly ever have. Dad can’t remember if he got them this year or not. I think getting ashes is an admittance that you are a sinner.

I’m usually self-conscious so I do not get them. Maybe next year I’ll swallow my self-consciousness and do it. It’s a way to acknowledge we are a bunch of sinners without getting hysterical or saying ”I was a…” But we are still sinners even if we don’t have our old bad habits.

Then there is St. Blaise Day. I used to like getting my throat blessed. In these disgusting times, it would be good to get my throat blessed as I ask God to help me not to speak profanely or with hate.

The other day I got together with my friend I lived with for eleven years. She is going through a very difficult time.

She’s a year older than I am but is always sick. Her sister is 73, an invalid. But as pale and stressed as she looked, there was something good I noticed: ”Your eyes look great. The colored parts are real luminous and your whites are really clear.”

She prays and meditates. She prays to St. Anne. She did yoga every day for at least fifteen years, but hasn’t done it lately. She listened to the same yoga tape every day. It broke after I moved out.

February is her favorite month. She loves camellias. They are looking good this year.

February has always been my least favorite month. This year, even with all the sun and wind, I have not gotten as many headaches or been as down as I usually am.

I remember a lot of times coming home in the daytime in February to go to bed because I felt so bad. Do you remember, I guess it was the late eighties, when a friend of mine moved from Sacto to the Marina? You and I and her spent a sunny drought year Sunday afternoon in February on the Marina Green.

I felt like shit. I had a sinus headache all day. I couldn’t eat. When the outing was over, you and I went to mom’s and dad’s. I was in bed the rest of that day and at least all of the next. I wondered what dad thought of me.

Tonight is the crescent moon. I’ll have to step outside to watch it.

I’ve been thinking a lot the last few years about our cousin who committed suicide. It’s something I struggle with. I was too self-important to attend his funeral. After mom died and I was grieving for her by writing her letters, I decided to write to each of our dead family members. I wrote to him. I assume I apologized to him for missing his funeral.

He was a gem like you. Everybody loved him. I’ve told some of the family that the two best of our generation died young.

Mom thought he was gay. She thought he might have killed himself because of it. When I think of him, I remember thinking that something wasn’t right, even though he was a great guy and full of goodness. I wonder if he was pissed off at our aunt and uncle and our cousins.

That was a tragedy. If I ever see our cousins, I will apologize for not being there for them.

That’s it for now Jim.

Thanks for letting me get this off of my chest.

Love,

Dave