16. More Reflections; the British Election

Thursday, 10:15 p.m.  Tuscany.  In light of all Jesus said about the rigors of following Him, it seems odd that one of our customs in mass is to celebrate the sign of Jesus' peace.  Perhaps, however, what Jesus offers is the peace of not worrying about our deaths.  Don't worry, He says, have peace in me.  Thus he does not offer peace in this world, but peace from the existential terror of death.

 It is practically hopeless to think of ever knowing all the information, data, possibilities, etc. in the world.  Yet how much more is God!  So what do I do now?  There is the business of living the life God has given.  Something is to be done with this gift in living out our lives.  Death is the fact, but life is what we are given.  There must be something to do with it!

 Our location reminds me of Flintridge 20 years ago.  The hills, the oaks, the cypress trees, the arroyos.  The resemblance extends to the hilly areas of Florence and the large villas, as is the case in Pasadena, above the arroyo.

 Friday, 7:10 a.m.  Tuscany.  Despite all the polls, Conservatives and John Major, won a surprise victory in Britain!  Does this portend Geo. Bush's re-election?

 Dream: Cousins Barney, Diane and Tommy.  Planning a party for their parents (Walt and Liz).  Corky comes at the last minute, "Oh, hi, Michael.  Sorry.  Come in.  The Angels won.")  Diane holding a baby, Sara.  I forget whose.  I said I thought there was a Sara.  Diane, "No."  Me, "Perhaps I'm just confused with Karen.  She looks like a Johansing."  Diane, "You look like a Johansing."  Me, "I saw someone who looked like Bethy (an ugly Bethy), would have introduced myself and said hello if she spoke, but I heard German, not Italian."   Peter, Barney, Tommy acknowledge this is slow time of year on the farm.  Having a party with 500 people for their parents as they leave. (Leaving Pasadena, but already in Paso Robles).  Barney, "We've been going around in small groups assuring friends that everything will be the same, OK."  (Sounds as if they are treating social friends like business contacts.)  Some secret going on in the family, didn't pry.  Barney definitely the family leader and spokesman.  They're going to move to somewhere in the Sierras.  I said family reunion there not 29 Palms.  Not enthusiastic response.  I'm thinking of asking if I can go to work there with the family. (Perhaps a fleeting thought yesterday.)

 The setting could have been the music room at Flintridge.  Someone else present, not family.  John.  We're close to the street.  Corky big glasses.  We're all sitting around.  I think it was the music room at first, we walked out to the living room.  Friendly dream.  Sara lovely.  Interesting family meeting.  (I thought of the surprise party for Bob and Barbara in 1968.)

 The evening before was windy.  I could hear the wind.  It's still windy this morning.  Some clouds, but white and more high clouds.

 In some ways I feel like a child.  So pleased by the arrival of the day!  What is it that makes it better than night?  Must be the surrendering, at night, of control to unconsciousness, not being willing or happy to surrender to that state where anything can happen.  Does this at all explain my relationship to Jesus?  Perhaps it is difficult to believe that I have completely surrendered to Him; always, instead, holding back, or asking Him to come to me on my terms, not His.  Withholding my trust just a little, asking Him to prove Himself a little more, perhaps not having enough humility to admit to myself that I do not always know or do best?

 I resolve to be better, to be more willing to lose control, though no sooner do I write that, than I do not quite understand what it is I have resolved to do!

 It is something of an oddity that, in all the writing I have done in my life, and especially the summer of 1968, I do not ever remember writing about that surprise party we children had for our parents in September, 1968, on the occasion of their 19th anniversary, though I'm not sure there is much to write about.

 I guess Jan and I were sitting around one night at Altata with mom and dad out and said, why don't we have a party.  One thing led to another and we actually did it.  M. did the invitations and I think Jan had them printed, or perhaps M. wrote them all?  I myself remember a trip or two to Farmer's Market for what?  Food?  Flowers?  We hired my parents bartender.  (Charles?)  I think I paid for a lot, since I was working.  I don't remember doing much in the kitchen.  Perhaps we even hired help, though I seem to remember we all passed around plates.  My mother had been to the beach with the children and returned to a house full of people.  My father walked up then turned and walked out.  It could have been our greatest triumph as children.  We did it all, of course, in light of moving.

 Before we actually did it, moving, leaving our childhood home, was only an idea, not formidable.  In my book I said it seemed we all blithely went along happy and then one day we were out in the desert, wondering what happened.  The Beach Boys sang "Do it Again."  (In truth, we were good travelers and excited by changes, just as I was excited by the prospect of the new freedom offered to me in my old home town.)  It was only in the actual move that the reality of separation sank in.  Talking about moving and visiting Las Vegas all amounted to talk, till the separation occurred.

 9:40 a.m.  Friday 10th (still).  Thinking at last what a marvelous car this is, as I sit at the table in the back seat, outside our villa, in my office or writing room.

 It is quite windy today, which is good for us, I think, get some of the moisture out of the ground and house (the windows are always wet with condensation, leading to, we think, the puddles that now (that it has stopped raining) mysteriously appear on the floor below.

 Just saw a dove flying over a gully next to our promontory, flying with a pigeon; how it stood out in its whiteness!

 Garden here has Italian cypress (how magnificent they look, perched on top of the hills, singular, not a blur of trees as the usual forest appears, but tall identities; boxwood; magnolia; palm; oleander; naval oranges; roses; and, of course, grapes.  Roses at the end of the rows of grapes.

 Yesterday or the day before I found it so easy to think that the Conservatives had really made a mistake by dumping Thatcher in the middle of her reign.  She had led them to victory and for whatever reasons, jealous rivals or serious concerns, her party had dumped her.  Today I find it just as easy to see how much sense it all makes with Major now leading the party.  I am somewhat appalled at my adaptability, almost like a chameleon, a mimic.

 This leads me to the thought I had last night that my problem in life seems to be that I do not have something to die for.  There is nothing in my life that I have adopted so much as my own that I am prepared to risk all for it; not that I have been put to the test, however.

 Cathy told me the other day that she had been impressed at how I was willing to risk all to take this sabbatical, and perhaps that is so.  The first time I ever laid it all on the line, prepared to take the risk.  But the sabbatical is a means to an end, it is not an end, though having a year as a real family, when I have been around to guide, to teach my children, has been a worthwhile end in itself.  I remarked to Cathy the other day that this year has been a good investment.  Others save money to send their children to college, perhaps working so hard that the children are gone to them by the time they are ready to go to college.  Have we taken a superior step by spending our time and money with them now, making an investment in their future rather than a college savings plan?