Through the Looking Glass

Jackie smiled warmly.
“That’s correct” She replied.
“First visit to Paraiso?” asked Garand.
“First time in a few years…I used to come here often; back when I had more free time.”
Garand looked at her. He wanted to keep looking at her; he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
She was engaged filling out the guest forms, and as such had not noticed his intoxication.
“My name is Garand, I’m the new owner here.”
Even though her credit card receipt, drivers license and guest info were right in front of him; he wanted to here it from her mouth…
“And your name is…?”
“Jackie, Jackie Barnes”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Jackie Barnes”
He handed her the key, smiled like a schoolboy, and watched her turn to exit.

Garand was not an unattractive man; self-deprecating to a point, but otherwise in pretty good shape physically.
Six foot-two, one hundred eighty pounds, brown hair hanging past his chest and shoulders, blue eyes and a rather well maintained physique for his age; actually, for any age.

He stole a glance at the photocopy of Jackie’s drivers license; D.O.B. 1962. “Forty?!” he thought. “No way”
Jackie Barnes looked twenty-five.
Five o’clock rolled around; Garand closed the front doors, emptied the remains of coffee from the machine on the counter, and proceeded to lockup the building for the night. He headed out the door, across the meadow, and down the hillside to his cabin; but stopped for a moment by the largest of the hot pools. He HAD to steal one more glance at that woman. She was soaking in the shallow pool. He saw her wet hair flattened against those perfect cheekbones. He walked on; she hadn’t noticed him looking.
Garand headed home, mentally preparing for the weekend, Paraiso’s busiest time of the week.

 

 Anders Vilene

Anders Vilene walked; sauntered might have been a better description, through the front door of the Paraiso office Friday afternoon at three.
Garand was well aware of Anders, as he was a regular overnight guest at the springs. The only thing that seemed out of whack was the fact he was alone. Anders was famous, or infamous, depending on your point of view, for the fact that he was almost always accompanied by a woman. Usually, a different woman each time. On rare occasions, Garand would see Anders in the company of the same lady twice, yet he, Garand, would have trouble recalling when.
Anders’ partners were not ugly, and yet were not particularly gorgeous. “Non desputandum decorum est,” thought Garand, “In matters of taste, there can be no disputes.”

Garand was just now, in the beginning of his third year at Paraiso, coming back to life, as we know it. Years of sixty-hour weeks, fueled by coffee, cocaine and Budweiser on draft, had drained him of any ability to think or feel freely; without impetus. He wound past the cabin, long since fallen into disarray;  “The land claims what the land wrought” he thought, and headed for the final segment of his weekly foray.

Susan crossed his mind momentarily; as she did often when he was alone up in these hills. It was Susan who had brought him to Paraiso for the first time. “All those years ago” he sighed. Susan had left him two years prior to travel the world. She was now ensconced in Thailand, teaching children to paint and draw. Not unlike the cleansing he himself had initiated when he had bought this place. Every last cent and all possible forms of credit were either bargained, bartered or ransomed to garner title to this place.  In retrospect, he would have paid double for the right; indeed that’s what it was to him, a right, to claim stewardship of this place.
8:30am: approximately one hour after he had started up the hill, the trek was winding down; Refreshed and invigorated, he would settle down in his Herman Miller Aeron chair, a last souvenir from the halcyon days of dot-com, and begin his day; Paraiso opened for business at 9:00am.

He came around the final bend on the hike; a steep, often muddy, slope down to the main path, which would lead Garand back to the resort.
“Odd”, he said silently to himself, “looks like the path has crumbled off the hillside a tad”…”mental note, have Lucio”, Lucio being his right hand man, subgerente as they say in Spanish, “look at this immediately, lest someone get injured. The joys of nature not withstanding, too many years wrangling in the legal cesspools that were Silicon Valley reminded Garand that no one, and no place, was immune to the litigators’ hammer.
Garand stepped precariously to the edge of the trail. Looking downward, he saw the body below…

Jackie Comes a Calling

Jackie Barnes left Hollister, a small farming community an hour north of Paraiso, Friday evening after work. She was heading south, out of town, for a weekend of much needed rest and relaxation amongst the palm trees and live oaks of Paraiso Springs. Jackie was a “school marm” by trade; teaching seventh grade literature at Hollister’s only middle school.
Armed with the knowledge that Paraiso  stopped admitting overnight guests at five-o’clock sharp; she pushed the upper limit of the enforceable speed on highway 101. By Jackie’s estimate, she ought to be able to make Paraiso by four-thirty p.m. Safe and secure now, she thought; “No lessons, no worries, no responsibilities, ‘til Monday”.
She sang along with the radio; obscure folk rock tunes emanating from KPIG radio; the obscure, yet favored local station, based in nearby Santa Cruz. Another Larkin Valley Sunday,  eased out of the speakers in her Honda. Santa Cruz natives, The Doobie Brothers had recorded this gem “many moons ago”, thought Jackie, “back when I was a teen in Germany.” Having been sired as an army brat, Jackie had been born and raised in the splendor and munificence of eastern Europe; landing on our shores permanently at the tender age of eighteen. She had assimilated marvelously, perhaps because the stoic reserve of a European upbringing had prepared her, better than the United States own siblings, to excel and prosper.

Jackie slid thru the gates at Paraiso at four-thirty five. “Perfect!” she thought, “A soak in one of the hot springs, followed by a glass of wine and an early bedtime”. “I’ll be set for the weekend”.
Garand was behind the front desk when she walked in.
“Holy Shit!” was the first thought to enter his mind.

In the spectre of Jackie Barnes; Garand, was eyeing the most stunning, gorgeous, example of the female species he had ever laid eyes on.
Jackie stood five foot-ten, blonde hair surrounding her face. Her face, porcelain and flawless, was exquisite. Her lips were full; the type of lips that Hollywood starlets created with the aid of Botox and a discriminating doctor. And, above all, those high chiseled cheekbones that had always made Garand weak in the knees.
“Good evening”, said Garand. “Welcome to Paraiso. Can I help you?”
“Hi, I have a reservation for the weekend, cabin ten.”

Purple Lupine and yellow Chinese Lantern flowers dotted the sides of the trail; a spring shower having fallen the previous day. The first rise on the trail was steep; almost thirty degrees and lasting a good five hundred feet before the first resting spot. The trail wound around the mountainside; each turn bringing one upon a new wonder; perhaps the darting figure of a mountain lion one day; a family of squirrels tomorrow; three hundred ugly pounds of wild pig the next. In the distance the staccato drill of a woodpecker making his families’ daily grocery run; the whooping of a family of quail, engaged in a raucous argument on the grounds of “My dad can beat up your dad”. Schoolyard squabbles in the animal kingdom…Perhaps, thought Garand, Human behavior isn’t so difficult to understand.
Onward and upward, coming on the second rise, not as strenuous as the previous, he rounded the turn, emerging from a copse of oak trees, which were charitably sharing their shade on this warm morning; he came upon the clearing affectionately deemed by Paraiso’s long time tenants as the Medicine Wheel. Paraiso has a year ‘round, on-site population of ten or twelve people including Garand.

The Medicine Wheel is a clearing, halfway up the 2200ft tall mountain, where, as the locals tell it, at one time, had lain an ancient Ohlone Indian religious site. The Paraiso regulars had created, or recreated, as the case may be, in their minds eye, this hallowed ground about ten years prior. A place of vast solace and inspiration, the Medicine Wheel is the finishing point for most journeys up the trail, although one can go considerably farther if one is able.
Varied and sundry objects trekked up the mountain by the locals give the “Wheel” it’s flavor. A Thirty pound bronze Buddha gazes warmly from his perch in a Sycamore tree; Tibetan prayer flags, brought by folks who probably couldn’t find Tibet on a globe, waver in the pristine mountain breeze. Trinkets, coins, keys, photographs; perhaps of loved ones, perhaps not, lie in the circle etched from discarded animal skulls upon the ground. Several chairs, also painstakingly hauled up, on foot, from the valley floor below are arranged around the iconic mural, which lies at ones feet here. Wind chimes sonorously ring in the surrounding trees. This is the gathering place of one great vestigial soul. The Medicine Wheel is, by it’s mere existence, THE wordless embodiment of the spirit that is Paraiso Springs.
Half wonderful, and half sad; The Medicine Wheel, in fifty square feet, will tell you everything you need to know about the human condition: There are the people who always exude joy and confidence; they deposit fresh flowers, figurines, interesting stones and rocks at the wheel. There are those who live life as a constant, mercurial search for themselves; never realizing the answers are right in front of them; not in India, Tibet, Inner Mongolia, wherever; Anything to ameliorate whatever their daily pain is or was.

The beauty of Paraiso, thought Garand, is that people really do find themselves here, and that alone is a rarity on this planet.
Garand took it in, knowing which of his tenants left this bric-a-brac, that photo, that coin, etc. He smiled, thinking that each and every one of these colorful, perhaps slightly eccentric persons, were, and are one of the reasons he was going on his third year here.
He took a deep breath; the type of breath one takes before resuming an arduous task, and looked forward at the trail; time for round two on the Sunday morning walkabout…
The return path led back down, passing by an old abandoned hermit’s cabin, winding down the edge of the mountain, and gracefully depositing you in a gully, awash in ferns and other antediluvian foliage. This transition from arid mountaintop to humid, shadowy riverbed, occupies the space of perhaps twenty minutes tops. It is quiet a change, and further reinforces the spell that Paraiso casts upon your presence.
Passing by the hermit’s cabin, Garand reflected on this long since departed occupant’s temerity and resolve. On a good day it would have been a three-hour walk to the nearest town. One of Garand’s favorite scraps was the original deed to the cabin; now framed and hanging in the gathering room at the resort. “I don’t know if I could have lived that way”, he thought; then quickly remembered that for all intent and purpose, he does.

Good Morning World!

Today, and the balance of the next two weeks, I’m going to try something a bit different here. Hearkening back to the halcyon days of literature, I am going to ATTEMPT a serial. In other words I am going to tell a story, a murder mystery, over the course of several days.

Dickens comes to mind as he used to tell his great stories over the course of many months, one episode at a time. He would even modify the story based on feedback from the populace. (Think: A Tale of Two Cities.) Not that you’ll encounter that level of literature here; but, hopefully you will be mildly entertained.

Our story is titled Paraiso Springs and is set in the hills east of Big Sur, California. ’nuff said, here then is installment #1 of Paraiso Springs.

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Prologue

Speak to me of Summer, Though Winter’s Longer…

Jon Anderson, Long Distance Runaround

 

It’s coming, just around the corner from us all…the new order, symmetry, truth, precision. A way of knowing, a way of feeling, that all is NOT for naught. It’s in the air, it is in my bones, thought Garand, and, most important, it is in me.
Truth be known; the change in seasons, generally, is an harbinger for temporal mood shifts. Summer, being Garand’s favorite time of year, is preceded by Spring. So, the anticipation of such makes springtime pleasant for him. Conversely, Fall is a portal to Winter, and as such drags him down a notch from the dopamine high known as Summer.

The current calendar, long since modified from it’s Gregorian roots, suggested that this date, April 6th, 2003, should officially be known as Daylight Savings Time.
Sunday morning, a.m… As dependable as a Swiss timepiece, Garand Jarrett, age 42, begins his weekly ascent up the trail known to Paraiso locals as The Medicine Wheel.
Every Sunday, Garand Jarrett, for the last two years running, had, without fail, embarked on this journey; what the guidebooks would label as semi-strenuous, one and a half mile hike up and into the Santa Lucia Mountains outside of Soledad, a community of 20,000 persons, mostly of Latin heritage; which lies one hour south of San Jose, off highway 101. The Medicine Wheel trail is surrounded on all four sides by the turn-of-the-century resort of Paraiso Springs.

 

Garand Jarrett, Proprietor

 

So reads the sign outside the sole and main gate at Paraiso Springs.

Garand Jarrett, age forty-two; somehow that phrase was constantly turned as one sentence; Garand Jarrett, age forty-two. Hmmph, thought Garand, I’m still trying to discern what I want to be when I grow up. Twenty years of beating up himself and being beaten up had weaned Garand from his previous existence as one of Silicon Valleys’ up and coming exec’s to the man he was now; owner and manager of this tiny, off-the-beaten-path resort. Twelve hundred acres of pure, unadulterated wilderness shackled between two 3000 ft. rises in the Santa Lucia Mountains.
“I went into the woods to live deliberately”. Thoreau, thought Garand, knew a good thing when he saw it. And so did Garand. Paraiso was, for him, a new beginning, or rather a beginning. Well, duh!! ALL beginnings are new; this was the kind of inane reasoning that controlled the average human, something he could not wrap his intellect around any longer.

The trail had a rise of almost a thousand feet in just over a mile of trekking. Good exercise, mentally and physically. The resort, on its busiest days, would have a crowd of perhaps fifteen or twenty visitors; still basking in it’s relative anonymity, despite having been established initially, over one hundred and fifty years ago. This made for weekend hikes mostly devoid of fellow humans.

Good Morning Monday! First-off, Be it known that both sides of my family have names that end in …sky. My grandmother was from Lithuania; therefore, I can tell Polish jokes with immunity. Enjoy!

OK, ’nuff said, here are three stories, none of them anti-semetic nor racist. Laugh it up!!
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A Polish immigrant
went to the DMV to apply for a driver’s license. First, of course, he had to take an eye-sight test. The optician showed him a card with the letters: ‘C Z W I X N O S T A C Z.’ “Can you read this?” the optician asked. “Read it?” the Polish guy replied, “I know the guy.”
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A man was ordering a polish sausage when the man behind the counter said “you must be polish” The person ordering was taken back a little bit and said “what do you mean I must be polish? Do I have to be Italian to order spaghetti? Do I have to be a Mexican to order a burrito? Why do I have to be Polish to order a polish sausage?” The man behind the counter said “no, no, no you don’t understand, you MUST be polish, this is a hardware store.
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“Polish Divorce -  A Polish man moved to the USA and married an American girl. Although his English was far from perfect, and they got along very well. One day he rushed into a lawyer’s office and asked him if he could arrange a divorce for him.The lawyer said that getting a divorce would depend on the circumstances, and asked him the following questions: Have you any grounds? Yes, an acre and half and nice little home. No, I mean what is the foundation of this case? It made of concrete. I don’t think you understand. Does either of you have a real grudge? No, we have carport, and not need one. I mean. What are your relations like? All my relations still in Poland Is there any infidelity in your marriage? We have hi-fidelity stereo and good DVD player. Does your wife beat you up? No, I always up before her. Is your wife a nagger? No, she white. Why do you want this divorce? She going to kill me. What makes you think that? I got proof. What kind of proof? She going to poison me. She buy a bottle at drugstore and put on shelf in bathroom. I can read, and it say: ‘Polish Remover’

Allrighty then…Let’s see how well this “truth” thing works out.

I am 47, and YES I do look ten years younger. Six foot one inch, 175 lbs. Blue eyes, brown hair-lot’s of it! I can conjugate verbs and can put pen to paper as well. I am retired, a home-owner and (in my mind) still a musician. I work out daily and I’ve never been convicted in a court of law; as far as you know…

Oh yeah, the truth thing…I do enjoy an adult beverage from time to time; maybe even three or four. I smoke. Occasional chemicals as well, the GOOD ones. ☺ I like good food, art, theater and books. I also like a fine dive bar and a Big Mac on occasion. I have no kids. I would prefer that you have no children (that you know of).
I am kind, compassionate, and bathe fairly regularly. (also… as far as you know)

I know this is priggish, but it takes sooo much hard work to stay in shape, so I would kinda like if you were vaguely not round. Could be tall, could be short, blonde, brown, redhaired; 32A, 44D, as long as there’s two of ‘em I’m good. Actually, three would be best; one on the back for dancing! (But, you should know that I seem to have a penchant for losing real property to red heads!…could be a good investment strategy on your part?) Teeth are good, 32 of ‘em would be great! If I said I had the body of an eighteen year old; I meant in the trunk of the car. ☺You would be ideally between 30 and 45 yrs of age. I didn’t date 20 year olds when I was twenty. You have to know that Paul McCartney had a band BEFORE Wings.

I like driving without a plan. Visiting places I’ve never been before. To me, a well-planned date could be as simple as “honey, lets drive south-westish for an hour”

…could also involve cocktails at the meet rack, wine at Sullivans, I’m really open-minded on all of that stuff. Oh, and NEVER underestimate the pure joy of not doin’ shit!! Sitting around aimlessly is a lost art; I aim to be it’s renaissance.

Well, there you are! Other people promise that they’re “off the wall”, or “out there”. I invented it and hold all the patents.

If you’re not, at this point, hiding in the laundry room, screaming, then, by all means write me!! Pics are cool, too. I would be glad to send pics as well. (I’ll even go first!)

Oh, I almost forgot, I know the new age woman luvs a sense of humor. I am not funny, not at all, ☺ .

Ok, Folks! Today we have a slice of life from northern California. As I am from Santa Cruz, which we lovingly refer to as “Flypaper for Freaks”, this enchanting tidbit of news does not particularly surprise me. Keep in mind this is the town that, when the feds blew in and shut down the medical marijuana trade, our mayor stood on the steps of city hall handing out bags. The story below should pique your interest.

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Man in Santa Cruz arrested with beer keg, harmonica, wet suit, hallucinogenic mushrooms -

A transient claiming to be a covert military operative from Australia was arrested Monday on the Westside because he was drinking from a full-size beer keg and trying to sell the booze to passersby, police reported.

Marshall Cartwright, 33, was sitting on the ground drinking from the partially full keg when officers went to the Bethany Greenbelt Park, near Delaware Avenue and Bethany Curve, around 11:45 a.m. Monday, police said.

Someone had called 911 after reportedly seeing Cartwright drinking beer from a Mason jar and urinating in the bushes, according to police Capt. Steve Clark. He had a second Mason jar he used to sell the beer, which he had purchased along with a tap at a Pacific Avenue liquor store.

Cartwright got hostile when officers tried to interview him and told them he was a military operative, police said. He was arrested on suspicion of being drunk in public.
Police said they searched his belongings and found about 20 grams of psilocybin mushrooms and a Camelbak bladder with more beer in it. He also had a harmonica and a wetsuit with him, both of which police suspect were stolen.

Cartwright was booked into County Jail on the public intoxication charge and also on suspicion of possessing a controlled substance, police reported.

If you are like me, you’re getting tired of the endless rigmarole about how 9/11 was a conspiracy and falsified by the Jews,etc. I finally had to let it all out on the letter writers and Oliver Stones’ out there. Following is my reply to this nonsense.

No matter how many times you idiots post your conspiracy theories, and you guys really do need a texting system to let each other in on when you’ll post THE SAME FUCKING SHIT over and over, the facts will be the same. Will you go away if we all post something saying that you are a true disciple of god and we were blind to the real truth the whole time. Or at least until you and your other brother Daryl posted THE SAME FUCKING SHIT again? Chrissake, do you and Igor have jobs? Go to them, stay there. Even if there is no overtime. Never leave- 24/7.

You can use that to protest the inequalities of “The Man” on your personal website, “Fuckstix R Us”.

People died!!!!

No matter if Osama did it, or Cheney did it. Innocent People Died!! Regardless of whether it was the photo nazis or the Arabs or the Jews or possibly you!! Could be, you know…You would be the first to say that You are posting THE SAME FUCKING SHIT over and over to throw the scent off of You and the other guys, yeah guys, no woman is this stupid, who live in your head! Innocent people died and THAT’S what we’re supposed to remember today. Believe me, we will never forget that Don Rumsfeld fooled all 267 million of us. Because we’re dumbfucks and you’re the quantum physicist.

Innocent people died, ANY WAY YOU LOOK AT IT!! Fuck YOU, remember THEM.

The Argus

People with the longest memories are usually of the poorest stock. Revenge goes on forever.    Ian Hunter

Morning Folks,

What we have here today is a letter written by an acquaintance of mine, Michael Powers. The premise is a discussion on CraigsList (CL) about the recently enacted ban on gay marriage here in my home state of Arizona. Well, discussion implies rational discourse, and we ARE talking about CraigsList, so I believe the CraigsList term, Rants and Raves is apropos. You are probably aware of the scenario; dog bites man, man bites dog, dog utilizes flaming profanity and rhetoric to belittle man, etc. (If you are not aware of CL’s propensity to suck every serial killer known to man out of the rafters and into your living room, you might need to visit your local CL - Rants and Raves section for a primer. But…Don’t say I didn’t warn ya!)

Anyway, Here is Michael’s rebuttal:

Sometimes the biggest risk in fighting evil, is that you may eventually become your enemy. Maybe I should step back and get some perspective. Really, I don’t care if gays get married. Why? Because I’m a confident heterosexual.

Somewhere in our ancient past, we developed the ability for abstract thought. The ability to imagine ourselves in another man’s shoes. This led to compassion, and love. It felt wrong to see another in need and do nothing. We felt grief over the loss of those we loved.

After reading most of what’s written here, (aside from making me soul-sick) I can’t help but think that we’re devolving. I have a theory that maybe sentience itself is an evolutionary dead-end. Pity. That means that the dinosaurs will have beaten us by tens of millions of years. If it all ends for us - life, freedom, the pursuit of happiness - it will be because we are no longer worthy of it.

Thanks, Michael, for your eloquence. And, yep, I figured out the movie in question: “Rustler’s Rhapsody” (Confident heterosexual)

A dog went to a telegram office, took out a blank form and wrote: “Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof.” The clerk examined the paper and politely told the dog, “There are only nine words here. You could send another ‘Woof’ for the same price.” The dog replied, “But that would make no sense at all!”

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Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn’t seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed. The other man pulls out his cell phone and calls emergency services.
He gasps to the operator: “My friend is dead! What can I do?” The operator in a calm, soothing voice replies: “Take it easy. I can help. First, let’s make sure he’s dead.” There is a silence, then a shot is heard.Back on the phone, the hunter says, “OK, now what?”.

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A man suffering from amnesia tries to pick up a girl at the local bar. He asks her: “Do I come here often?”.

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A man walks into a bar and says, “Give me a beer before problems start!” Again, the man orders a beer again saying, “Give me a beer before problems start!” The bartender looks confused. This goes on for a while, and after the fifth beer the bartender is totally confused and asks the man, “When are you going to pay for these beers?” The man answers, “Ah, now the problems start…..

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A guy walks into a bar, sits down and hears a small voice say, “You look nice today.” A few minutes later he again hears a small voice, “That’s a nice shirt.” The guy asks the bartender, “Who is that?” The bartender says, “Those are the peanuts. They’re complimentary!”.

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A guy walks into a bar with jumper cables. The bartender says, “You can come in, but don’t start anything!”