P404 “...Sometimes, before going to dress, Mme. Swann would sit down at the piano... It was on one of those days that she happened to play me the part of Vinteuil’s sonata that contained the little phrase of which Swann had been so fond. But often one listens and hears nothing, if it is a piece of music at all complicated to which one is listening for the first time... Probably what is wanting, the first time, is not comprehension but memory... When the least obvious beauties of Venteuil’s sonata were revealed to me, already, borne by the force of habit beyond the reach of my sensibility, those that I had from the first distinguished and preferred in it were beginning to escape, to avoid me. Since I was able only in successive moments to enjoy all the pleasures that this sonata gave me, I never possessed it in its entirely; it was like life itself. But, less disappointing than life is, great works of art do not begin by giving us all their best. In Vinteuil’s sonata the beauties that one discovers at once are those also of which one most soon grows tired, and for the same reason, no doubt, namely that they are less different from what one already knows. But when those first apparitions have withdrawn, there is left for our enjoyment some passage which its composition, too new and strange to offer anything but confusion to our minds, had made indistinguishable and so preserved intact; and this, which we have been meeting every day and have not guessed it, which has thus been kept in reserve for us, which by sheer force of its beauty has become invisible an remained unknown, this comes to us last of all. But this also must be the last that we shall relinquish. And we shall love it longer than the rest because we have taken longer to get to love it... The reason for which a work of genius is not easily admired from the first is that the man who has created it is extraordinary, that few other men resemble him...”
P406 “If I did not understand the sonata, it enchanted me to hear Mme Swann play. Her touch appeared to me (like her wrappers, like the scent of her staircase, her cloaks, her chrysanthemums) to form part of an individual and mysterious whole, in a world infinitely superior to that in which the mind is capable of analyzing talent.”
I include this to continue what he’s written about the “phrase” and also about the progression of art. But it seems to me that he is also talking about love. Romantic love but also the artful love of a courtesan. With that in mind it is probably a good thing that this passage, which starts with Odette “playing” for a smitten young Marcel, ends with M. Swann talking about the sonata and of those years of his life so that it is clear that Marcel is not alone with Odette.
Day 109 of pandemic. Also the 43rd anniversary of my arrival in San Francisco from Central Arizona. Still my only interstate move as an adult (my parents had moved three times by my age, not counting the war years.)
Restoration work has finally begun in my building so I was trapped on site waiting for contractors all day yesterday. Today all the scheduled work was completed so I was finally able to make my second, post lockdown, visit to Trader Joe’s supermarket. Once again everything has changed. I went once just before the official lockdown started and the shelves were virtually empty. Then a couple months ago, I stood in the over-a-block-long line to rush in and get a few essentials (microwave brown rice is as close as I’ve come to crack or meth. I don’t exactly approve of it but I can’t stop using). Today the line was half as long but now all the aisles are one way. That doesn’t sound too bad but it means there is one path you can, or are supposed to, take through the store. You can’t dart to the frozen section to check on the supply of organic brown rice before you start the rest of your shopping. Or see how much room is left in your basket after you get a six-pack of toilet paper. Yes, I did both of those things and then had to cut through the barriers to start again at the produce section.
Now I know that it is no longer enough, in this new normal, to have a detailed grocery list, you must also know where the items are so you don’t skip something and have to start all over again. And to tell you the truth, I don’t see the point of this but I’m not going to be more difficult than is necessary. I got everything I needed and I was able to pack it in my bags. But I will continue to shop at my local markets for everything they have.
This is certainly not a way of life I foresaw 43 years ago when I arrived on a Greyhound bus. Though really I can’t complain. I’m in a better apartment. I have more money. I’m more physically fit. And there’s a decent chance that, a year from now, I will have access to the city again... or at least to what businesses still exist.
Day 115 of the zombie apocalypse... I’m tired of hearing about the pandemic. If someone would have predicted that I would go 115 days without eating anywhere but in my apartment I would have laughed. But here we are. Tonight I had my favorite veggie chow fun from the local Chinese place and a glass or two of cheap Chardonnay, but I enjoyed it at the little counter in my kitchen that is also my desk.
The Eagles
Last night, just as I was about to go to bed, YouTube suggested a recent live performance of an Eagles song. “One Of These Nights,” to be specific. And this is where the addictive quality of YouTube kicks in because how can you listen to just one Eagles song? And after you’ve listened to several performances in recent decades you can’t help wondering, “But what about back in the ‘70s?” So I watched a couple of those videos too.
Even though the Eagles followed some of my favorite musicians out of Laurel Canyon -- C,S,N & Y, Joni Mitchell, Frank Zappa -- they came a little later and were never “my” band. I can’t tell you why.
Listening to them last night I noticed how they were really the descendants of the musical tradition that came out of Buffalo Springfield in the shape of Poco. There has always been a Country & Western aspect to Buffalo Springfield -- signified by Steven Still’s hats, if nothing else. Poco ran with it but were only a moderate success. The Eagles did much better.
It’s worth noting that Gram Parsons, and then Emmylou Harris, were also working this C&W crossover terrain. Emmylou Harris’s band, after Parsons’ death, was actually more Country and she stayed on that, and finally the Bluegrass, side of music.
The Eagles went mainstream but their songs, mostly story songs, are very Country. It’s hard to be less of a one-hit-wonder band than the Eagles, and yet I think some of my problem with them is because of “Hotel California.” It’s a great song, but not really a typical Eagles song, and yet it’s great success may have distorted the image of the band. Just speculation here. But it doesn’t give me a peaceful easy feeling.
Hitchhiking in Colorado in the ‘70s I got a long ride with a guy who played nothing but the Doors. I carpooled to Yosemite at the end of the ‘80s with a guy who played nothing but the Eagles. This may have been what Hesiod had in mind when he said, “moderation is best in all things.” Though I guess he could also have just said, take it easy.
One of my favorite people died yesterday. She was 85 and it wasn’t COVID-19, but it still deserves a mention. She could be annoying. She imposed our alley garden on the neighboring properties. I will end with my favorite Janet story, but she was the spirit and story teller of our little building. When she was forced to leave, three years ago, the building suffered.
She died early in the afternoon of Bastille Day, though, because of the zombie apocalypse I hadn’t realized that it was Bastille Day -- normally I would be greening the local Bastille Day event. I only talked to her twice, on the phone, after she received her fatal diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. We didn’t have the opportunity to talk things out over the building’s house (cheap) wine and local (not very good) pizza the way we would have if she had still been in residence. Their “real” home was way out in the country and with the zombie apocalypse and all, getting out there was next to impossible.
I would have liked to have visited one last time, with our common friend who is currently holed up in Sweden. It wouldn’t have made any difference, but it would have been worth the trouble. She was fortunate enough to have home hospice care at the end and her hospice care providers were two of her granddaughters. Life doesn’t get much better than that. As is often the case, death most disadvantages the survivor. This couple has been together since high school and now he is alone.
Now for that story: When she was in residence she would water the garden in our alley. I try to waste as little water as possible when I water but after Janet watered it always looked like a main had burst. One day she got a little carried away and, since she had a good hose in her hand, started washing down the windows of the building next door to us. She went from window to window until there was a scream from inside the unit... the window had been open and she blasted the inside of the apartment with a strong spray of water.
I’ve been busy with HOA work again, but am caught up again. It is now 140 days into the zombie apocalypse. Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival, my favorite event of the year has been officially cancelled for 2020. We’re now past the time for the big Art & Soul Festival in Oakland -- one of my favorite East Bay events. Also for the Berkeley Kite Festival that usually happens the same weekend.
Last week I walked a record eight blocks from my apartment to buy a new laptop. My old one was so slow it was only semi-functional. I’m still fully in social distancing mode.
Recently there was a train derailment and fire followed by a partial collapse of the railroad bridge over Tempe Town Lake, the old Salt River bed. On YouTube tonight I saw a video of the explosion of part of the bridge as they continue clearing away the debris so that they can rebuild the bridge and restore service. This drove me to Google Map and a survey of my old neighborhood. Almost nothing remains of what I knew back in the mid-’70s.
At that time I lived in the Casa Loma apartment building with a shared shower and only a half bath in my unit. The kitchen and dining room was in what had been the sleeping balcony, since enclosed. It was a delight in Spring when the citrus trees were in bloom and much less of a delight in summer when the little AC unit mounted on the wall struggled to control the temperature as I tried to sleep days while driving a taxi at night.
Most of downtown Tempe was very old. Mill Ave was lined by decent sized masonry buildings while, closer to the tracks, there were old detached houses. The old highway bridge still existed back then and you could walk out on it but not cross to the other side -- or at least not safely. The old highway landed on a raised strip of land that also formed the left side of the local baseball field. I seem to recall some small stands and lights at night. The tar divided, concrete squares of the old paving continued through the residential neighborhood. I’m not entirely sure of it’s complete path, but I found another abandoned bit of it over near the Orange Julius stand on Rural. It was a hobby of mine to trace the old highways through Phoenix and Tempe, almost nothing remains of them now though I did find the strip along the baseball field though I think the paving is gone.
Back then the Sunset Limited train still passed that way and I liked to watch it pass almost as much as I liked riding on it. There was a small rail yard closer to the Casa Loma that smelled perpetually of citrus -- not the blooms of spring but the smell of juice from cars loaded with citrus that must have set in the sun there waiting to move on down the line. It was a sweet, not entirely unpleasant scent.
The Casa Loma, too, remains, though it looks completely different. Aside from the remains of the old Mill on the other side of Mill Ave, I’m not sure there’s a single additional brick or patch of pavement from when I lived there. I think more people now live there, which is good, but their experience is generic suburban. It has lost the character it had.
Our dating system is confusing. We are, technically, still in the 2nd decade of the 21st century but we are also out of the teens and into the twenties. Did anyone consider having a year zero? Wouldn’t that have been better? And it’s not like anyone would have had to deal with a year zero, it would only have been called that after the fact.
Time has been steadily passing. It is now day 155 of the zombie apocalypse and I am returning to blogging. I've been watching some health related videos on YouTube talking about plant based diets and the shortcomings of even a veggie diet. This has forced me to reevaluate my shelter in place diet.
I'm eating less sugar, which is good. And drinking less iced tea which I don't know how to judge. I'm eating more frozen and restaurant cooked food and a lot more bread, so more sodium. I'm eating fewer salads and more cheese and eggs. My diet is still much better than the average American, but that's a really low bar. It may be time to finally return to Whole Foods and stock up on some of my usual healthy staples.
I've decided to put off my optional dentist appointment but to see my eye doctor and probably my chiropractor for my usual six month adjustment. That will be strange as it will be like returning to normal times but, as a friend put it, while dressed up like a bandit.
It is now day 190 of the plague and, as you might guess, I’m having a hard time returning to this. I really wanted to wrap up my HOA project but that seems to be beyond my control. Since I last wrote we have undergone a new plague of wildfires and the resulting smoke. This should have given me more time to write, since I couldn’t leave my apartment for almost a week, but that’s not the way it worked.
Now, however, we are at what should be the peak of my greening season and I have to at least say something about that.
I continue to exercise, though the poor air quality has frequently curtailed my outside hikes/climbs. The social/political situation here in the USA continues to get more and more interesting -- from the perspective of a student of history. I continue to eat pretty well. In fact my diet has gotten much better with an emphasis on legumes and flaxseed and also a reduction in dairy.
So let’s get to what is on my mind these fraught days: Greening and The Magic Mountain. Sorry.
The weekend coming up would have been the Northern California Dragon Boat Races at Lake Merritt in Oakland. Not only is this one of my favorite events (though diminished from what it was out on Treasure Island) but it is also the warm up (for me) to my favorite event, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival which is on the first weekend of October. HSB is being held this year, but it is an online event. Not at all the same thing.
I congratulate myself on being in decent shape so I probably could work the events if they happened. But, in fact, that is stretching the truth. I am in decent shape given the circumstances but working hard for eight plus hours on warm to hot days is my yearly fitness test that I only can pass after building up to it slowly over the greening season. I wouldn’t bet on my being able to stay on my feet for my normal twenty-four hours of HSB madness.
On the otherhand, I’m in a good position to get in shape for 2021, should the plague come to an end.
The other day I found myself wondering what the current political/social craziness reminded me of, and it finally came to me. To summarize, on the right there are white supremacists who seem determined to provoke the insurrection they’ve longed for. On the left the anarchists think that we need to burn everything down so we can... I don’t know, start over again in a state of nature? At any rate, they hate each other but both are equally determined to destroy the status quo.
What all this reminds me of is “The Great Petulance” toward the end of The Magic Mountain. I understand Mann to be arguing that everyone in his microcosm for Europe was fed up and longed for some violent solution to all the disagreements. I think America is in the same state. We haven’t done anything as cathartic as the Civil War in almost 150 years and we are bored. Also, we don’t remember history well enough to understand how nasty something like that can get. Or maybe we just don’t care. We want to sow the wind and reap the whirlwind.
These are the times that remind me why I became a Burkian conservative in the first place. What saddens me is that it will probably take twenty years to get the good books on this history and that’s getting close to my Sell By date. I don’t fancy holding on that long just for this. (And two centuries might be more realistic.)
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