The Bamboo is Whispering Again

Happy Memorial Day 2014 from Snooky, Marlena, and me

Today, the morning was brilliant in sunlight. I need light. The darkening days of our species were beginning to leverage its tacky toll on my need to fly free. 

Besides the noisy boys of Edinburgh supporting Palestine, there is more rockin’ excitement closer to my heart. Jack Davis S., my grand nephew, and only Macomber heir of his generation, as team forward won their league, yesterday. They are the champions ! ! !

Seen below is Jack D. working on his lego space machine he and his Uncle Ben put together (see my Fedbook faceline). This is his Aunt Natalie and Uncle Ben’s 1959 ranch house they renovated in Austin, Texas. In the background, is Jack D’s grandmother Rodeina, born in Palestine yet grew up in Lebanon. Rodenia and my bro Dan met at California Polytechnic University. It was an astonishing connection, and continues to sparkle.

Rodeina and Dan both lived amazing international careers in emerging computer technology. Dan was a futurist innovator in remote sensing (U-2 plane and then satellite mapping). He VP’d and then did the briefcase from out of town drill. He managed the introduction of digital graphics for environmental planning for govts. and the largest architecture and engineering firms on the planet. But he was picky who he shared his secrets with because honor is huge with Dan. Rodeina started as a systems engineer finishing as an IT Exec. VP, and now consultant. She was first in Parisian perfumes them NYC banking (ATM inventor) and then in USA and international blood banks (keeping blood safe). They both are poster adults for paying it forward.

Talent, consistency, vision, respect, compassion, brains, and inspiration is the whole loving package for a creative problem solver. The support and advice of extended family, all the way along the journey, is the legacy we foster and continue. It is far easier to be standing on a bedrock of a large family, who love you dearly, to carry forward your life and aspirations. This is the familial/tribal/clan tradition of the Middle East and Scottish highlanders, melded together. 

Next week, my godchild, brilliant beautiful Randa, takes another step forward in her life’s work. She becomes VP for the Lower Colorado River Authority (, Austin, Texas, a quasi govt. entity established in 1934. She made her decision to leave her prior hefty position, not alone in her process of considerations. We (family and friends) offered advice and guidance she sought. Since my family are managers and basically too independent difficult sweeties, we try not to be too overbearing with each other – but we tell it the way it is. At times putting a muzzle on, after pitching analyses, possibilities, suggestions and consideration, is a test of love and patience. It is her life. Randa, will live by her decision. Yet, the family is standing steadfast for whatever she needs from us. This is God’s way, and one hell of a model for productive creative human activity.

Of course, I am the lone wolf ex-pat ex-politico honking from across the lake with my noisy commentary about the condition of our condition. When I think about it, how respectful my family is of me, since I am not inside the bubble they work and play, I smile and gurgle. Sitting here in the jungle, there is not a day, I do not hear from my brother and one or another dear friend. 

Without your kindness this past year of transition would have been a hell of an oozing deep wound. Foisted into being alone was not the problem. I lived a great deal of my life alone, happy and involved. The too sudden loss of one’s mate are many piercings to a heart. I was married to an utmost remarkable incredible human being. I know he is watching over us whose lives he showered with his humor, giant brain, bottomless compassion, and forever story telling, laughter, and insight. His unbelievable expertise to be there when we most needed his honor and creativity with some off-the wall workable solution or workaround with an unsaid support. Arthur’s too many suggestions seemed to arrive forever in the nick of time. It was an equal exchange between us. Our sober life together with each other was barely rocky, even when seas were falling, tides rushing and a sky absent of pin holes of light. It was educational and inspirational, our 19 years alone together. My husband’s maturing nurtured and matured my maturity. We accomplished far more together than separate. Some stuff was on the very edge of major paradigm shifting. Maybe in the next lifetime, together, we cannot just rock the boat, we can help install the tipping point.

We never totally move on empty from what was, do we? We carry what some label emotional baggage. My train include treasures, gems, and joyous memories. I rely on the past to lead the future. I look forward to what is to be, and become. Connections with others arrive through no fault or act of our own. Planning works for near focus. The big picture is spontaneous with its unknown possibilities and surprises. Clouds form and disappear with little import from us as they impact our world view. A human desire to know the linkage of beauty and science keeps us enthralled and humble.

Instead of being swamped by forced changes this past year, I became closer to my family and loving friends. Yet, some folks were jettisoned. After all, it is my life to lead with God’s enduring vision for this kid from Napa. Faith surfaces on the lake of doubt I swim in without any attempt on my part to take it hostage, or for a sail. The mystery is the mystery. 

Capt. Arthur, my husband, was one spinning mandala of wise comments and wise-cracks. Today, I see him sitting at the helm of one of his classical wooden fishing boats, smoking a cig, sipping from his mug perfectly Virgo brewed coffee, and at the same time singing a goofy sea chanty in his awful baritone voice with his Brooklyn Hamptons accent. No man of the sea is happier, than when underway. 

The water would be splashing across the bow with terns and gannets flying over a perfect ocean wake behind the transom. Eventually as the hours passed heading to a favored fishing ground or secret gunkhole, he would in slow motion (on purpose) spin around to me. I would be sitting with my bins (binoculars) on my breasts, my flip-flops soaked in salt water, my clam shorts and halter top slightly damp. My captain would yelp over the roar of the Penta inboard engine, “Hey, Bon, got any delights in the cooler for lunch, or your cute britches, or both?” 

And so it went, every Memorial Day, with Capt. Arthur , Esquire, for nearly 20 years. Really, what more could a woman ask for? 

Stayed tuned – there is probably more, life goes on.


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