"No, Babbo, it's gratitude, not attitude."

We went on a bomber run to Reno and had a nice visit with one of my mothers-in-law. I know in the scheme of things, the chance to be with our folks is finite. There was no drama. Nobody cried. The drive home through Smith Valley, Nevada, was glorious.

We're trying to walk that fine line by not spoiling the child, but damn if he isn't blessed with an embarrassment of riches from his four sets of grandparents, school nurse, friends, etc. Still, I had to remind him, "No, Babbo, it's gratitude, not attitude."

So, with this lesson in mind, I must say that I was personally grateful for the following this year:

• our folks' relative health
• our health
• health insurance
• frequent flier miles (can't use them any time soon, but they allow us the chance to dream, non?)
• dual immersion Spanish at Bishop Elementary School
• the first graders I am with on a weekly basis
• the care I got from friends and family - it kept my head above water this year
• work and seeing all my workmates and my dear Diane at Fallen Leaf Lake in Tahoe
• getting to babysit Zartie the Black Lab a few times and not having our own dog - just yet
• the fact that my dad has taken such good care of Judydog who is white faced and arthritic, but happy 
• the mornings where Babbo and I walk a block to school - we're not late and we're just talking and holding hands and being
• the quickie trip to Europe to see the Phoenix Foundation and being with dear people
• the quickie trip to LA to goof off with Sue Brettingen, Steven Schayer, Marc Horton, Chantelle Patterson, Patria Jacobs, Martin Wong. It was the trip that made me fall in love with my hometown again.
• the High Sierra Music Festival
• the yellow I am painting the living room - it has helped with the winter blues
• skiing en famille

All hail the foundation garment

I bought myself a girdle. Middle age has meant that my bits and bobs feel like they are falling off. I am now my grandmother.

Good riddance

I for one am glad to see the backside of summer and spring 2011. A friend said that Mercury was in serious retrograde this year and that all relationships were up for reconsideration. I laughed it off, until one day, recently, the psychic goo I'd been carrying around for months lifted. Mercury went out of retrograde that day.

At any rate, Matt and Babbo and I are still a family. I will take it. My heart really goes out to folks who didn't make it through what has been a hard 2011 and who are finding their way in the world again.

10 reasons to travel - LA Times

latimes.com

10 reasons to travel

Why not? Even in these tough times, it's good to get away occasionally. Think of the adventures that await. The exotic foods, the sights, the memories.

By Chris Erskine

Los Angeles Times Staff Writer

February 27, 2011

Gulliver traveled. Look where it got him: lashed to the land by little people. Columbus, big traveler, right? Underestimated the circumference of the Earth and died thinking he'd found India. Sure, you can come up with justifications for never leaving the splendid safety of your office chair. Truth is, travel makes us better in many ways: better employees, better buddies, better mates. So, no, in these tough times, you probably don't feel the need to spend the money. But here's why we all should escape somewhere anyway:

The anticipation

Pros: A vacation begins the second you start to plan it. A study last year found that travelers' moods improved eight weeks before the actual vacation started.

Cons: Running out of toner the second you try to print your boarding pass. Trying to remember where you put the digital luggage scale. Rushing out to buy batteries for the digital luggage scale.

Why go anyway? Because the pleasure of pre-trip anticipation is almost sexual. It's why December is better than January. It's why puppies are more joyful than dogs.

The romance

Pros: Lonely? Get your booty to St. Lucie. There's nothing like a big, beachy drink to jump-start your love life. Studies show we have more sex on vacation. Whose study? Mine.

Cons: Heartbreak. Disease. Liver failure. Excessive drinking while on vacation can lead to inadvisable hook-ups. Or even marriage.

Why go anyway? Sun. Surf. Wet skin. Diving in. Good snow. Moon glow. Fresh faces. Love in strange places.

Mental health benefits

Pros: Look at your coworkers sleepwalking through their day. Know exactly what time they dine or head to the loo? Look, Dilbert, escape before you do something crazy. Escape now — before you become a cartoon.

Cons: Finding your way around a congested new city can make you nuts. A lousy hotel room can be a sinkhole of the human spirit. I once ordered a martini in Paris that tasted like dog spit. (This has nothing to do with mental health — I just like saying dog spit.)

Why go anyway? You know that moment your fanny hits the plane seat? Or you pull out of the driveway with a full tank of gas? It's freedom. It's conquest. It's you, Steve McQueen, on your great escape. You, the cooler king.

The adventures

Pros: What if Hemingway had never left Oak Park, Ill.? The physical challenges of travel give us fodder for our own stories about the world, some of them epic.

Cons: Death is such a drag sometimes. Imagine the crystalline splendor of being frozen to death atop a mountain, your body missing till the bears find it come spring. In 100 years, Cub Scouts could be camping on you.

Why go anyway? I once saved a man's life on a raft trip on the Upper Kern. Later, he bought me a beer.

The conversations

Pros: Sometimes the lilt of a new language can distance you from the worries back home. Then there are the stories, the humor, the handshakes. Travel is an education, and it all starts with chatting up the locals.

Cons: Hell is other people, Jean-Paul Sartre said. I'm pretty sure he was talking about New York cabbies. Or Parisian waiters.

Why go anyway? The kindness of strangers is a remarkable thing. It can change the way you feel about a country, its people, its culture. Just watch your wallet, especially in Madrid.

The photos

Pros: "The soul cannot think without a picture," Aristotle said. I don't think he was talking specifically about digital photography or that goofy shot of you pretending to be Bullwinkle on a bus tour of Denali. But maybe.

Cons: Your friends may hate you. Watch as they examine the shots from your latest cruise or safari. Bubbles of envy will form as spittle at the corners of their mouths. It will gunk up their throats till they can barely breathe.

Why go anyway? See above.

A change of scenery

Pros: Travel offers new textures, fresh smells, a change in weather. In Seattle, sunlight trickles through a bistro window differently from the way it filters in London. All the escapism found in a good novel can be found first-hand in travel.

Cons: Yeah, at 400 times the price of the novel. By the way, ever awakened while traveling and not known where you were? I once called a front desk and asked: "Essentially, where am I?" The clerk said Room 511. "Thank you," I said and hung up.

Why go anyway? Because you can go home again. Returning to your own bed, your own easy chair is a pretty good feeling all by itself. Just make sure you're in the right house. In my 'hood, they all look the same. At least that's what I tell the cops.

Family bonding

Pros: Is there a better icon of family life than an SUV loaded with tents, beach balls and canoe paddles? Many of our fondest memories are made while on vacation, as children or as parents.

Cons: Happy Meals. Potty breaks. Car sickness. Vomit. Sartre got it wrong: Sometimes, hell is your own family.

Why go anyway? Your kids are going to wipe you out no matter what, physically and fiscally. May as well be some place where a waiter will bring you a margarita big enough to launch a cruise ship. Salud!

The food

Pros: Sampling new cuisines is one of the most pleasurable parts of travel. Meals tend to be longer and more leisurely. Food is a portal to understanding a new culture.

Cons: In China, they eat sparrows, bones and all. In other parts of the world, silkworms, grasshoppers and nutria (rats the size of cats) are popular. Gator is eaten in parts of the U.S. South. Tastes like ... nutria.

Why go anyway? Remember all those flaccid meals they used to serve on airplanes? Now, they serve them in midpriced U.S. restaurants. Honestly, how many times can you eat a skinless chicken breast with a side of mixed veggies?

The memories

Pros: Travel is incandescent. It's the clink of a cocktail glass in a romantic restaurant, the chirp of a calliope atop a riverboat, the sound of your footsteps in Westminster Abbey.

Cons: Travel can be exhausting. As they say, nobody needs a vacation as much as the person who just returned from one.

Why go anyway? On your deathbed, do you really expect to say: "You know, I really wish I'd stayed home more"?

chris.erskine@latimes.com

Going to embrace that inner hippie once again

Tickets bought for High Sierra Music Festival. There will be a fair contingent going from Bishop. We might even be dressed as mules. I don't think I've ever seen Matt so excited about a music event. Maybe that gorgeous, redheaded, foul-mouthed, siren Neko Case has something to do with it?

That unwieldy band I love so

So I didn't come home with any insight other than I will harden the fuck up. I was glad to go away and glad to come back. I got to spend a week acting like an adult, not just a mommy - I forgot what that was like. Mostly, I just people-watched from the comfort of Parisian buses. All hail the mighty weekly transit pass. All hail travel partners who are always up for a glass of wine/beer/aperitif.

I loved giving Jean Van Roy, the current brewer at Cantillon, a bottle of Russian River Temptation. I loved speaking to Jean-Pierre Van Roy, the former brewer, in my poor, poor French. Cantillon's Marmouche (elderflower) is a funky glory to behold. I loved meeting Mark O'Neill, who feels like a twin separated at birth. I get squishy when I think about those lovely men from St. Louis.

The Phoenix Foundation put on an amazing show. They still do the wall of sound that just wells up from nowhere. They still have the nuances that so endeared them when I saw them at Cuba Street in 2004. Tom, the new bassist from the Little Bushmen, is working out just fine. The band have grown so much in the 8 or so years I've been following them. I was proud to hear how the Phoenix Foundation still think fondly of their time in Bishop (they still remembered the name of the local Native American Paiute tribe!). I am just happy and grateful to have been along for the ride.

In case your mama drops dead

Babbo, know that Mommy has every intention of coming back to you to boss you around.

If something happens that I shouldn’t come back, know that raising you has been the best and hardest and most rewarding thing in my life.

I am so proud of your compassion for friends and people in general. You make everyone feel very welcomed, and that’s a special gift.

I am amazed by your love of learning. The way you listen from your little cuadrado morado and participate in class is something I hope you carry with you in life.

I want you to listen to your Daddy. He knows a lot, he’s patient with you, and he’s a fair teacher. He loves you more than anything and will guide you right.

I want you to “focus!*” and know that in life, you will have to do some not so fun things that may be boring or frustration or scary. Some things will even be so hard that you will fail when you try them. Most of these things are to help you become a better or wiser person, so bear through them and learn from them.

When you are older, you will see a lot of the world. There are many folks to learn from and many ways to do things. Travel will teach you this. Mommy heard the call to go for a quick trip. Travel is what she did before she became a mommy, and what she hoped to share with you. Going away on a journey, no matter how short or long, was one path she tried to take to become a better and more understanding person. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. Just know that she tried.

Mommy loves you so very much.

*Something I always say to you in class on the mornings I help.

The fete grows larger

Steve and Mark will be coming all the way from St. Louis to be in Paris the same week! I am so very thrilled for Steve who has loved the Phoenix Foundation for so very long, but has not seen them live.

I'll never forget how encouraging and helpful he was when I first pitched to the band to come to Bishop in 2006/2007.

I'm writing the same "Mommy has no intention of dying, but in case she does" letter I always write Babbo when I leave home for more than a day. It is the superstitious Chinese mother in me. Somehow, all these weird mortal concerns fall away once the letter is written and my ass is on that plane.

An unnatural love

Perhaps even stranger is my excitement that if I have to self cater a fair few meals to swing this trip, there will be a Picard Surgeles around the corner. Foie Gras, escargots, and poor man's macarons, stuffing with prunes, chestnuts, and armagnac, await...not to mention the two meals I'm looking forward to - one of Auvergne-style tripe and the other of AAAA Andouillete.

frequent flyer ticket booked!

Had the last hardware removal a little over a week ago and am laid up w/ crutches. Husband running around like a headless chicken pulling double duty. Child (who was diagnosed with diabetes three years ago today - what a long, strange trip it's been, indeed), a typical unfocused five year old, with a tendency to whine. Hard to believe it, but everyone is fine with me busting out of here, clompy shoes and boots blazing to go to Amsterdam, Brussels, and Paris. There is one, hopefully more, Phoenix Foundation shows to catch. Bibi in Atlanta and Shannon in Bishop will be partners in crime this go 'round. I try to play Devil Woman to SC in St. Louis.

I know how incredibly lucky I am.

It has been a season of:

• volunteering the odd hour at Babbo's public elementary school. I have learned heaps by doing this and have learned to like, really like, children.
• ripping through novels: Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Groet, Cloud Atlas, Black Swan Green, Hundred Years of Solitude, and now David Grossman's beautiful and exasperating To the End of Land. It took me 40 years to learn to love fiction. Better late than never. Huzzah!
• lowering A1c (blood sugar) levels for Babbo. We got a 7.0 - the best yet.
• learning to fight with Matty. After nearly 19 years, we are learning that it's not too late to learn to fight. We will survive these odd, new bumps, and we will keep my bad temper in check. We have to at least try.
• drinking whisky is still best with friends around the kitchen table. Got our resupply of single origin Michel Cluizel dark chocolate chips to go with.

The November 2 Elections

Tuesday's election has me nervous. On the superficial level, I will say this: there are some very angry, angry people who don't seem to find education, healthcare, equal protection for citizens who happen to be of a different color, sexual orientation, or religion as priorities.

At least locally, Measure C, a ballot measures which at least nominally seeks to protect a citizen's right to have up to four hens, has gotten folks into the practice of healthy discussion.

The hair is having a midlife crisis

Have shorn off the hair. It happens every ten years. I look like a middle aged mother now.

It is nice to get away from the thing that is so tied up with identity. Hair schmair.

But I was very, very sleepy

Kindergarten started, and I'm cycling/driving up to school (only 5-8 minutes away) up to four times a day before 1:15. The first week was super duper intense, but the staff at school are very helpful.

I have had flashes of intense sadness for the kid - he's got years of this stuff (the machine that is school) ahead of him. Luckily, he digs it all and enjoys learning.

The sewer lateral at the rental was broken at the main and $1,000 in diagnostics and god knows how much for the actual repair (apparently, I am married to a good ol' boy with good karma and the city gladly stepped in to do the work near the main - at a discount, when compared to a private plumber - It was major, they had to shut down the eastbound lane of East Line St.) - later, it is done.

Matty didn't get covered in raw sewage today. He's out fishing because work still slow at the office.

It's still nearly 100 degrees each day, and I'm passing out on the couch or bed very, very early.

Still reeling from the show that was

I mentioned that I had a bit of stress during the show because Babbo was a bit clingy, but we had beautiful Sandra there to take him home if he needed it, and how rude would it have been to deny him the chance to see the dude who sings his favorite song of all-time ("She's Been Talking")? Little did we realize that Babbo had long committed the lyrics to memory. The best part was, he learned "Car headlights creep across the sea" as "Cotton ice cream across the sea...."

Perhaps the realization of all that was happening didn't hit me until we (Steve Carosello, Marc Horton, Bibi Gellert, Tony Patti, Chantelle Patterson, Matty, Karen, AT, etc.) were sitting around the kitchen table for the SECOND night drinking scotch with Don McG and folks were happily shouting over what books he NEEDED to take home. (AT set everyone up nicely with a box of uncorrected proofs and new publications from her publishers, and I ran and got another copy of William Boyd's "Any Human Heart" to give away). All this together, with a generous dram in hand, made me do a dance on the kitchen floor.

It was a privilege to strategize about my fantasy Bishop shows with dear friends who wanted the same thing and with the man who could help. The consensus was that one day, one day, a permutation of the Bellbirds (with the heartbreaking Sean SJD Donnelly, Sandy Mill, Victoria Kelly, and Don McG) and Humphreys and Keen would be here. Every one expressed their deep wish to hear H&K's "The Overflow" done live - and it came up more than once over the few days we were together. We have put our good intentions into the universe.... We are a patient lot.....We will wait and see what happens.

Tuesday found four women piling into the car and heading down to Spaceland in LA. Spaceland is a hard room to play, unless you are loud or 20 years old and look great in a pair of skinny jeans. The sound was wonky. Some die hard fans came from across the LA basin. Singing and writing folks like Patria Jacobs and David Steinhart came for a listen. Chantelle Patterson came after a long road trip which began with the Bishop show. Bless.

Harry Sinclair with his gorgeous silver hair and the director Toa Fraser were also there. Bibi and I know that we can secure CD jewel cases in a minute's notice. Bibi did a great job selling CDs for the two shows. Marc Horton got the poster he created signed.

John Andrew Frederick of the Black Watch bought me a Shirley Temple. Steven played incredibly well even though his guitar kept going out of tune and the cables were failing. Steven is my talented, tortured, loving, generous, brother. I am always indebted to him. I think I gave him my bottle of Paddy too early in the night, though? Whoops? :)

The diffuse nature of the LA show only made me completely understand how special Bishop is.

Don McGlashan broke Karen Robb's heart and she broke mine

Spent much of the sublime show Thursday night watching Karen cry as she listened, really listened, to Don McGlashan's songs. She started crying on the first song "Don't Fight it Marsha, It's Bigger Than the Both of Us" at the line, "and I want you to be happy, but I rather you were here with me/perhaps we can arrange something ...."

Don McGlashan walked in on friendships in progress. Friendships which had begun years ago because of something he wrote and sang and friendships which have grown richer as other new and common interests enter the fray.

Wednesday night found us meeting like pilgrims over BLTs, beer, and champagne - Bibi had come from Atlanta, Steve, from St. Louis, and Marc from LA. AT and Karen helped Matty and me play co-hostesses (but they are the one w/ the mostesses). Steve was a friend from the Mutton Birds-Phoenix Foundation- Humphreys and Keen mafia whom I'd never met. We have been sending music, notes, and in his case, he'd been sending regional gifts - 2 lb tins of Spudmaster potato chips, a membership to the excellent KDHX radio station, since before Babbo was born. Carosello walked in through the kitchen door, after a long drive through Death Valley, and it was like welcoming an old friend home.

Marc finally got to meet AT. They had books and years of working with independent bookstores in common. AT came bearing a box of books for all.

We were settling in when I got a call from Don McGlashan, who came to the area a night early. Bibi and I knew about the schedule change, but I hadn't really mentioned it to the men. They froze.

An advance team of Matty, Karen, and Kate was sent into the streets to round up the singer. Carosello and I sat in the dark comfort of the backyard. In the end, much whisky was consumed, passionate but good natured bullshit shat, and even a fingertip lost (sharp knives, Spanish chorizo, ignoring the cutting board- ooh, dangerous combo). Don McG was lovely, relaxed, amiable, rolling with all the new faces, the non(yet) fans, the diehard fans, the chaos that is our kitchen. We released him into the dark, late Bishop streets, sure that we plied him with enough scotch and sure that he wouldn't get mugged.

The show was exquisite. Parts of it were stressful for Matty and me because Babbo has been in a clingy phase and so he insisted on laying on me during the show. In hindsight, he did just fine for a five year old. Other pilgrims arrived from St. Louis (thank you Tony) andLA (Chantelle, my beautiful sprite from Easter).

The ICA, normally a utilitarian room, was set up beautifully. I got to put out carpets and homey touches like our table, a glass of a big California red, a Fiesta pitcher of water. I got to watch my favorite songwriter in the world from the comfort of my living room carpet, laying out with my dear friends and family. He sang from a relaxed and cheeky state. The Bishopites hung on every word, saluted all the right sentiments (there was big, lovely applause when Don said that he saw his first hummingbird in our yard and that life would now be divided into the life before hummingbirds and the life after hummingbirds). My in-laws, Walt and Cass, and family friend and Matty and AT's 9th grade English teacher, Chris, and Matty's pediatrician Dr. Beck, and a small cross section of the community were there, and they made me so very proud.

Every time I turned to Carosello, he looked like he was in a state of wordless shock.

Don McG's voice is clearer, stronger, suppler than it's ever ever been. The high notes were unreal, the low notes strong. The coloring, coupled with the clarity (I never knew the lyric in"Ngaire" was "I'm standing, but it feels like falling") sent collective chills down every one's spine. Karen, my rock of Gibraltar, spent the night weeping at the stories through a lens of heartbreak and recognition.

I watched her face as she listened to the lines from Pulled Along By Love:

Sun comes up on you and me and we fall out of bed

and we work all day

we're thinking about the weekend

we're thinking about new clothes

we're thinking about touching

but every one's watching.

Her wry smile- with her beautiful face turned up to Don McG- with her body seated up against AT- was the biggest present of the night.

Turnout was about 45 and 28 CDs were sold.

Don McGlashan at the Inyo Council for the Arts - One week and counting

I am forever indebted to the folks past and present who got us here. Now, fingers crossed for safe journeys to all, no road closures, lovely new fans, etc. etc.

2,000 miles around the state

The Schoberlews hit the road.

We spent a gorgeous, wonderful, mellow, laid-back day enjoying music at the High Sierra Music Festival. Wellington's Black Seeds never got their visas in time, so they missed their set. Pity too. It was the most well-organized, kid friendly festival. The Carolina Chocolate Drops made me celebrate African-Americans (living in Bishop, African Americans are a rare sight) and bluegrass and traditional music and the March Fourth Marching Band (in their 20 piece incarnation - they can go up to 40) mgade us all fall in love with hot, young, sweaty, talented dancers and musicians.

Karen and AT were there. There was licensed and bonded affordable babysitting (we used it for 2 hours). It was grand. We had our own drinks. There was a great Greek-run gyros stand that Matt and I hit twice.

Went to Russian River Brewing in Santa Rosa. Had a weird, but typical run-in w/ a Bay Area white liberal of a certain age and demographic who gave Babbo and me a hard time for not being Chinese enough and for not being Filipino. Whatever grad student lady.

Camped in Bolinas, the part of Marin County where the kind but loud homeless lady can ask the librarian, "Got any pictures of the Indian six-armed Elephant? I've been channeling to it." It is a community in a true sense of the word - the rich taking care of the poor and the poor absolving the rich of their guilt. Wait, did I say that? No, it was a neat place to visit, but after a few days of not seeing the sun, we were glad to get out.

Met up with the Federmans and Marshall Minobe in Santa Cruz where we at gorgeous Mexican ceviche (shrimp and octopus) for days and Matty made the floors shake at the roller rink.

Came home for a week and hit the road again for a bomber run to LA to see mothers, cousins, doctors at Children's Hospital LA.

The diabetes crept up a bit last quarter. Just have to be more proactive about dosing at odd hours, it seems.

We're wanting to give Babbo more positive experiences around his checkups, so we got a room at the Travelodge across the street from the Hospital and took to the streets of LA. We did our version of the "Three's Company" opening scene and cycled the Strand which runs between Venice and Santa Monica until we couldn't cycle anymore. We're all glad that we made that effort.

Chinese fire drill

Today, I miscalculated when Babbo would eat, and he got all of his insulin too soon. He passed out. That was a first, and it was bound to happen. The wonderful women at Country School House preschool knew what to do, and he was conscious and getting back to normal by the time I got there - five minutes later.

It could have been a lot worse. Things ended up just fine, and it turns out, we were all prepared.

"Not the hair!"

Babbo finished a swim lesson course. Being our child and being from the desert, he is afraid to have his head underwater. So, he spent five out of six sessions with the toddlers in the 2.5 foot deep kiddie pool. He spent one day with the other preschoolers in the big boy pool, but wept until he could be let back.

For graduation today, they graduated from the kiddie pool to the deep end of the big boy pool. He used the diving board three times and jumped into the waiting arms of an instructor. He loved it.