A Golden Moment

Noel Laflin

8-25-23

 

A weird thing happened when Tropical Storm Hillary passed through on Sunday, as our musical clock, which had been silent for way too long, came back to life in a surprising manner.

 

It's been a faithful clock, spewing out musical tunes every hour, on the hour, for nearly thirty years - until it just seemed to give up the ghost almost a year ago.

 

Nothing we tried could fix the problem so I figured the wiring was shot inside. It still kept time, as the pendulum kept a steady rhythm, but the little guys with golden hammers wouldn't rise, bells did not ring, and none of the six classical tunes would play.

 

But, as already noted, the much feared storm arrived, humidity rose, and out of the blue, so did the little guys with hammers, and presto, the music was back!

 

David and I both whooped with joy, just as Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring began to play.

 

It's the little things in life that give us joy, including little golden men and their little golden hammers banging out a little golden Bach.

Wolf House

 Wolf House

Noel Laflin

8-22-23

Fifty years ago a friend of mine sent me a letter with a leaf pressed between the pages. She said it was from Jack London State Historic Park, collected near the ruins of the Wolf House. I had never been there, but she knew my passion for Jack London and thought it would be a nice touchstone for me to have.

Wolf House was a 26-room mansion in Glen Ellen, California, built by novelist Jack London and his wife Charmian London. The house burned down a hundred and ten years ago on August 22, 1913, shortly before the Londons were planning to move in. Stone ruins of the never-occupied home still stand, and are part of Jack London State Historic Park, which has been a National Historic Landmark since 1963.

I just stumbled across a photo taken 30 years ago with part of the ruins of Wolf House behind me. It had taken me a while to finally get to where that leaf had been collected.

And somewhere around here is that old letter and touchstone, too, no doubt.

Summer Storm

Summer Storm

Noel Laflin

8-21-23

This is a shot of a Cooper's hawk taken seven years ago today. I was pretty happy as it was the first time I was able to take a photo of one. I didn't even know what kind of hawk it was, so asked a learned friend on Facebook, and he promptly gave me the right answer.

Fifty-four years ago, right about now, three of us sat in a ramshackle cabin in the woods at Camp Ahwahnee waiting out a thunderstorm. As the shutters were open to let in the cool air, we first heard a whooshing flutter, and then watched, awestruck, as a large hawk (most likely a red-tailed) landed on a pine bow a few feet away from where we sat perched upon old bunk beds. I guess he or she was also taking a break from the thunder, lightning and pouring rain.

Neither Jerry, Addison nor I said a word until it flew off a minute later, each of us caught up in the moment of being so very close to such wild beauty.

As much as I like looking back on the Cooper's hawk from a few years ago, and taking pride in capturing a first time shot, the long ago memory of a summer storm, two good friends sitting across from me in a rundown cabin in the woods, and a most unexpected guest joining us for a few moments is even better.

Ashes

 

Ashes

Noel Laflin

8-2-23

Dear Don:

There's a very large rock in our garden that Tom and I moved here 40 years ago. We had to manhandle that beast from the greenbelt while moving slowly over mounds of dirt and debris, cross the street, enter the threshold of our new condo, bump step-by-step down the stairs (Tom played out rope that was attached to the handles of the sturdy dolly as I sat on my butt easing our cargo down the stairs. Bump, bump, bump. That alone took ten minutes, but worked out just fine in the end), maneuver carefully through a tight hallway (avoiding a large one hundred gallon fish aquarium), then proceed through the bedroom, and out the sliding glass door and into the garden. We finally chose a resting spot, unlashed the bungee cords holding it in place upon the hand trolley and tilted the rock over. It took all our strength to do so as the rock was big and heavy, weighing maybe a couple hundred pounds or thereabouts.

 

Tom called it Spirit Rock, as it ‘called’ to him when we saw it one night after its excavation near what would eventually become the community pool.

 

You can see bubbly pock marks all over it as it dates back millions of years ago when the hill we rest up against was once an active volcano, and this guy, along with so many similar but much smaller rocks in our area, were once cooked deep below the Earth, spit out in a fiery blast as lava flowed, cooled and bubbled as it did so, and  then laid buried for a very long time - until a couple of boys found it, marveled over it, and moved it, with some great effort and sweat, I might add 

 

When Tom died eleven years later, I took some of his ashes and buried them deep below Spirit Rock.

 

I did the same today with your brother’s remaining ashes so that the two friends might keep one another company.

 

In the coolness of the morning, I then planted a small oak seedling up against the rock. It stands about four inches tall presently. I grew the seedling from an acorn that I collected beneath a three hundred year old California Live Oak in Irvine Park last Christmas.

 

Tom had instructed me, once he knew his time was near, to spread his ashes beneath a similar ancient oak in Ojai, which six of us did. But as there were ashes left over from that day, I brought some home, just as I did Freddy's last August and put them beneath the rock.

 

I hope you approve of my decision. I originally thought that I would travel to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon and disperse the remaining ashes there. But I got to thinking, maybe I would never get there again, and then what?

 

So, as the old Spirit Rock lies just a few feet from the sago palm that once resided in a half whiskey barrel in your old home in Anaheim, I thought, this was a more prudent resting place. Your mom told me to take that sago, and who says no to Dory? That was 34 years ago, and the once small palm has grown and has been thriving ever since as it is in the ground now and well cared for. So, the proximity of palm, Tom, Freddy, and Spirit Rock made sense to me. And I can rest a little easier now as well.

 

I am guessing that both Tom and Fred rest easier nowadays too.