Stanley Kunitz died this month

One of my very favorite poets, Stanley Kunitz, died this month. He had an amazing and venerable
career. The link is to the Washington Post's article about him. I had a mental image of Stanely and my dear friend Harvey Birenbaum, who died in September, having a lively conversation in heaven about poetry!

In home news, my cousin Johnny has told me there are probably no pictures of my grandmother Mary
among the ones he's sending me--but the man is on a mission now, and is going to various places in Boston
to try and find one for me. This would be wonderful beyond words for me. One reason I wrote The Strega's Story is because I did not want my grandmother to vanish forever--I am lucky to have a watch of hers, a little pocket New Testament, and a pin--but to see her face again would mean the world to me. For now, lots of pictures of Mamma Nonna and other family are coming to me, which is wonderful in and of itself, and a desperately-needed boost to keep plugging away at the book.

meet Mamma Nonna, my great-grandmother

This has been a wonderful and magical couple of days for me. As a few of my writer friends know (I believe I've posted on this blog about it, too), and all of my family knows, all of my family photographs that my mother had were lost many years ago. I have been trying for years to find photographs, and slowly, they have been trickling in.
First, my younger sister was able to salvage childhood photographs my dad had tucked away and forgotten. Now, apparently I've hit the mother lode--my Boston cousin Johnny has found a treasure trove in the basement of his childhood home, including pictures of my great-grandmother (who is one of the most important characters in The Strega's Story).

I believe Mamma Nonna was in her seventies when this picture was taken. The major contact I had with her was when she was well into her nineties, so she was much thinner and her hair was whiter when I knew her. It's hard to tell here, but she's wearing a hairnet (de rigeur for her, apparently, though she didn't wear them when I knew her later in her life). Note the very straight posture. This was taken in the parlor of the house I write about in the book. I remember very well the rocking chair she's sitting in, and the parlor--I saw her there in the early 1970s, a year or two before she died at 98. There is another one of her which shows her incredible gaze and I will post that soon.

There are lots of other photographs I will also be putting on the site in the next few days. My cousin is sending me a box of photographs to look at and scan, hoping I will be able to identify a few of the people. We are hoping that there will be a photograph of my grandmother Mary in there. She was very well loved by that side of the family, so there's a good chance of this. For now, my heart is very full, looking at these pictures and realizing that I really do have a past and a history, and that I belong to a family. There is not a price anyone can put on such a thing.

Thanks to all who've commented

I just want to say that I really appreciate all who've commented here recently (and not so recently) and will try to get links to your wonderful blogs up soon, too. I have been working my little strega-butt off to try and get the book done--lots of delays and frustrations, staring at the page and wondering what on earth I should write. Still, it's the daily plugging away that matters.

In garden news, our huge century plant is beginning to bloom! It has sent out a big purple flower stalk that looks for all the world like a Godzilla-style asparagus. The century plant itself will die off as the flower ascends and is already starting to do so. I told Mr. Strega that NOW is the time for a digital camera.

peace to all--have a good week.

very public praise of my daughter

I just wanted to post here that I am very proud of my daughter, "Prada" (we use nicknames on this blog for a relative amount of privacy). She is in her last two weeks of her second year of college, and working very hard. It was very nice to see her this weekend; Mr. Strega and I brought her groceries from New Leaf Market and took her to the pizza place we always seem to go to in San Francisco ('cause it is open late).
I am amazed at what a wonderful artist and talent she is.

Prada, hang in there--you're doing great!

Ginger Johnson, the Rainbow Lady

Sitting up in the small hours as usual, waiting for laundry to cycle about, I started thinking about all the characters on the Pacific Garden Mall (don't ask me why, 'cause I don't know). Possibly it's because I had an unusual Umbrella Man sighting today; usually Robert just goes up and down Pacific Garden Mall, but today I saw him nearly head down Church Street--at least he turned himself that way, briefly.

I started tonight thinking about the old Cooper House, the beautiful building on the mall before the earthquake, and the lady who used to dance in front of it, Ginger Johnson, the "Rainbow Lady." There was a band called Warmth that played at the Cooper House's outdoor cafe, and Ginger would dance on the sidewalk there (as well as a bunch of hippies and cosmic folks). Ginger was quite a character, and my former sister-in-law actually knew her. It's too bad I don't have a photo of the Rainbow Lady; she had long, flame-red hair and absolutely outrageous costumes. I found her memorial in the Santa Cruz Sentinel archives.

I have lived, unbelievably, in Santa Cruz almost 25 years now, almost half my life.
It's strange to walk around the downtown (where I am every day, just about, because my son's school is there) and still see signs of the 1989 earthquake. I do a lot of my writing downtown (on a good day, I'm in one of the window seats at Peets if I can get it--I call it "the perch"), and occasionally have a sense of the old buildings, the old life of the downtown area, imposed somewhere beneath all the new businesses.
There was a bakery where Jamba Juice used to be; Gateways recently moved from the place where some dreadful clothing store is now; Bookshop Santa Cruz used to be next to Oswald's--and Kelly's French Pastry began there. That little complex is, I believe, scheduled to be demolished. I also used to eat at a place called the Bubble Cafe. Another interesting downtown person was Bert Glick, the homeless poet who used to stand outside the Bubble Cafe with his book in his hand (entitled "Cookie Aura").
I believe he had copies for sale.

So, I suppose that the more things change, the more they do stay the same. And I live in Felton, which never seriously changes anyway.