25 April 2020. Martinez Marina II (for Ethan)
What
is the portly Chinese sage doing there with grandma, at the edge of the
bay, near the Martinez Marina? It’s a blustery afternoon late in the
fall of 1977. We’d made one of our excursions, bag of bread scraps in
hand, heading out to feed the ducks. How did we know there'd be ducks?
Well, there always were ducks. And right there, swimming around
in the shallow water at the edge of the boat landing. Something
particularly inviting about the place—just far enough away to feel different,
which it was—after a long hour’s drive up through Tilden, down Wildcat
Canyon, and then past the Briones Reservoir and right on Alhambra Valley
Road, passing the old pear orchard en route. Now that I remember it,
getting there was half the fun—those names remain a part of me…
And so, Ethan Alexander will be turning four. It’s happening as we speak. I tried to explain this to one of Lydia’s great grand-daughters (she’s wandering in back just now, nibbling on some fresh shoots.) But no use—she doesn’t understand time the way we do. After all, a little tiny baby, rocked by his mother, here in the kitchen on Miramar. We all sat there together—special things spread out on the small painting table. I think we shared some guacamole—Saba probably explained how the recipe came from his father. And Ariella was a fan of the Prosecco. That made Saba especially happy—no standing on ceremony as to who’d supervised the growing and picking of the grapes. After all, there’s really only one season in this long year of ours, and it’s already filled with such marvelous things…!
Like the ducks and deer and snakes and geese, getting along together as they do…
Happy Birthday, Ethan!
