Quicksilver Mine Co.

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Diggin’ It

Local showcase: Quicksilver Mine Co. owner Khysie Horn and store manager Ron Higgins specialize in locally made handcrafted gift items.

QUICKSILVER MINE CO. would certainly be the anchor member in our Made-in-Sonoma Hall of Fame, if we had one. In a county quick and constant in its commitment to indigenous products, this Sebastopol store distinguishes itself with particularly strong civic zeal: all the items in the Quicksilver Mine Co. are made, grown, or otherwise created in Sonoma County. Quicksilver is a perfect place to buy gifts that show out-of-area friends and relations what a gorgeous, fertile, creative patch of earth we’ve got here.

And even if you forgot your list, you’ll find something even better on these crowded shelves.

While owner Khysie Horn gets many submissions from local artists, craftspeople, and manufacturers, she still ends up following folks around to get their goods for them. “Sometimes it takes a long time to hook up with people,” says Horn. While she’s out stalking potential consignments, longtime employee Ron Higgins minds the store from behind the counter, where he can sit and knit his sweaters, socks, and stiffly stuffed animals (which he sells at the store) and still keep an eye on things. Ask him a question and he won’t drop a stitch.

He’s been here for 10 years; he knows the merchandise.

New this year to Quicksilver are L. O’Neill tapestry garments. Made in Santa Rosa, these vests ($129) and handbags ($46-$77) feature tug-resistant buttons crafted with semi-precious beads as a perfect accent for the rich jewel-tone colors of these sturdy and beautiful pieces of wearable art.

Hanging on a rack near the corner, the linens made by Mana Textiles of Sebastopol are easy to miss. But once you get up close enough to touch these beautiful handwoven linens in simple colors and luxurious fabrics–ranging in price from $16.50 for creamy soft guest towels, to $90 for a chenille runner and $180 for a supple, heavy throw–you won’t want to put them down.

Amid the multitude of jewelry, pens, and other little gadgets in the showcase, a simple wooden kaleidoscope from Greg Stevenson of Santa Rosa caught our eye. This has no little bits of plastic confetti, just a mysterious crystal embedded in one end of a smooth wooden tube. What you see when you look through depends on what you’re looking at: the patterns are your view, refracted into dozens of swirling images. Low-flash toy for a high-flash era, at just $28.

There’s more here, of course: food and drink (with a focus on hard-to-find wines), ceramics, books, and a rotating art exhibit in the back half of the store. But the bounty that’s presently bulging from the shelves has taken 15 years to build up. The Sebastopol storefront is significantly smaller than the former Russian River location, but Horn is happier with the year-round population. And she also loves the community support for their goal, which is simple:

“We want to help keep money in local circles,” she says, “and keep the artists alive and well.” –Marina Wolf

Quicksilver Mine Co., 154 N. Main St., Sebastopol, is open daily from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.; special hours, 10 a.m. to 8 p.m, Thursdays and Fridays only, till Christmas.

From the December 3-9, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Sonoma County Gifts

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Made in Sonoma


Michael Amsler

Mining local treasures: Quicksilver Mine Co. owner Khysie Horn and store manager Ron Higgins showcase works by Sonoma County artists.

Our annual guide to great gifts made close to home

HANDS ON. Handcrafted. Homegrown. There’s something special about great gift items made right here in the heart of wine country. Bumper sticker sentimentality aside, there are a lot of good reasons to think globally and shop locally. From the simple elegance of locally made Pomo baskets sold at Tribal Beginnings to the colorful photography of Robert Janover’s Sonoma County showcase calendars (marketed by True Images; $10.99), here are a few ideas to start you on your way.

Polish That Bod

IN HER SODDEN five-year pursuit to find the ultimate body treatment, Sebastopol entrepreneur Karen Ciesar, 32, literally took hundreds of baths laced with all manner of experimental additives that may have been natural but weren’t always aesthetic.

“Some were great, and some were gross,” she recalls with a laugh. “Grit, grunge, weird floating matter that felt like soup–I’ve soaked in it all.”

One day, after becoming sufficiently prunelike, Ciesar finally hit on an age-old combination that could be adapted for modern use in the tub or shower. She rapidly toweled off and began to blend aromatic concoctions of essential oils, organic oils infused with herbs, and sea salt–all in one jar to be scooped out by the handful, blended in the palm and slathered onto moist skin.

“Before soap, people used sand to exfoliate and clean their skin, and then they anointed themselves with oil,” explains Ciesar. “Now, add our modern showers, and we can do it all-in-one with this mixture.”

Voilà! Ciesar’s Trillium Herbal Co. was born and her cornerstone Body Polish was launched about a year ago. According to Ciesar, the Body Polish benefits go beyond cleansing and moisturizing. “When you polish the body, you come out of the shower and feel completely different–clean and renewed from stress and intensity,” she says. “We live in a toxic world; the sea salt pulls chemical toxins from the body. Furthermore, we live in an electromagnetically polluted environment [from computers, cars, even wiring in the house]; the sea salt and organic oils together cleanse and balance the body.

“It’s a healing product.”

The sensual goop, which also boasts intoxicating ingredients, such as eucalyptus, rose geranium, ginger, lavender, and tangerine (depending on the blend), is getting some major strokes. “People recognize that this product is something different and not of the normal, everyday world,” says Ciesar. “When people use soap they don’t apply it with a healing touch. With Body Polish, you work it in and it feels satisfying to scrub with.”

According to its inventor, Body Polish has inspired some sublime gatherings where partygoers roll up their jeans, slide their legs into a baby pool, sip cocktails, and polish each others’ feet. And, at certain baby showers, Body Polish fans perform a special ritual in which they anoint and smooth mama-to-be’s tootsies with the fragrant preparation.

“People love it,” enthuses Ciesar, a former Wisconsin attorney who recently moved to Sonoma County to work more closely with local herb growers and oil producers. “I’ve been buying herbs from Sonoma County growers for year, and I came here to connect with the herbal community. I found organic ingredients here that have transformed the product.”

Body Polish is blended and packaged at Trillium Herbal Co. in Sebastopol. “Glass jars are filled with herbs and oils and left to bake in the sun for 45 days [to process the ingredients],” says Ciesar. “It’s the old way.”

Body Polish is available in three ayurvedic blends: Zephyr Wind for calming; Virgin Forest for cooling; and Aphrodite’s Allure for enhancing circulation. Individual 8-oz. jars cost $16, or $45 for a three-pack, including one of each blend.
–Paula Harris

Body Polish is available at Milk and Honey in Sebastopol, Food for Thought in Petaluma and Sebastopol, Community Market in Santa Rosa, Oliver’s Market in Cotati, Petaluma Natural Foods, and Petaluma Market. 829-9402.


Quicksilver Mine Co. would be the anchor in our Made-in-Sonoma Hall of Fame.

Say Cheese

WHY DID YOU DO IT? Alien implant, split-second epileptic episode, a dragging magnetism to be everybody’s yes-person? What made you say that you’d host the family holiday dinner this year? Too late now: The damage is done and the invitations sent. But after you scrape the rust from the roasting pan and count the napkins (lip-chafing linen being one of the signs of a truly quality spread), give yourself a gift of love: Call J.M. Rosen’s in Petaluma and put your name on the list for a box or two of their famous cheesecake.

Jan and Michele Rosen’s work has a big following locally, but they’re even more famous down in Southern California, where the sisters’ handiwork has pride of place on dessert menus at the Regent Beverly Wilshire, the Beverly Hills Hotel, and other feeding grounds of the rich and famous. The cheesecakes come in regular, several varieties of chocolate, and, for the holidays, pumpkin, but none of the options are ordinary. The cake embodies the ineffable cheesecake paradox–creamy, yet firm–while the crust avoids the whole crumbly graham-cracker issue entirely and moves into a zone of caramely, flaky grace.

A medium cake serves eight for a mere $23, while a larger cake serves 12 to 16 for $35. If one thing can make up for soggy stuffing, a rapidly draining liquor cabinet, and the kids’ table holding the gathering hostage for a simple pan of Spaghetti-Os, this is it.
–Marina Wolf

J.M. Rosen’s is located in the Golden Eagle Shopping Center, 54 E. Washington St., Petaluma. 773-3200.


A-mazing Puzzles

IT WOULD BE MORE than accurate to call Larry Evans and Nancie Swanberg “multitalented” or “multidimensional,” since these long-associated Petaluma artists have their fingers in multiple metaphorical paint pots–and in multiple dimensions as well. Swanberg–an accomplished painter and portrait artist, mastering the use of oil paints in her much sought-after creations–has worked variably as a picture book illustrator, a designer of dolls, and a magazine developer; that last job, as designer of the pilot issue of the renowned kiddie lit mag Cricket, was the beginning of a long association with that publication.

“Illustrating was fun,” she admits, “But my real love is oils. I like a big canvas. I like creating something more, uh, difficult. I’m fortunate that I’ve been able to do a little of everything.”

As for Evans, the award-winning architectural artist is also something of a legend as a creator of mazes. He’s crafted more than three dozen books over the last 20 years, fashioning eye-boggling mazes that are far beyond the usual two-dimensional boundaries of most similar books. His work is often compared to that of the optically eccentric M. C. Escher, though Evans began drawing his labyrinthine visions long before the Escher craze hit America. His newest is appropriately named The Super-Sneaky, Double-Crossing, Up, Down, Round & Round Maze Book (Klutz, $12.95). It’s a great gift idea (for people of any age, truly, though the announced target age for the book is 9-12) that will appeal to anyone that enjoys having his or her mind bent around backwards and twisted like a balloon animal.

“They start out in my brain,” says Evans of his enigmatic architectural tangles. “I see them forming.” With a chuckle, he adds, “I have to put them on paper just to get them out of my head.”

His maze-making career began while on vacation in Hawaii. His children, less than stimulated by the tropical surroundings, required a little extra diversion. So Evans sketched out a maze on a paper bath mat from the hotel room. The kids liked it, so he found more bath mats and drew more mazes. By the time he returned home, Evans knew he had a book in the works.

The publishing world agreed; his puzzle books are hits around the world.

Taking this brain-teaser thing to an even higher level, both Evans and Swanberg have published jigsaw puzzles–dozens of them–featuring their own painted designs. It’s hard enough to find your way out of one of Evans’ mazes, or to locate all the hidden mermaids or unicorns in one of Swanberg’s fantastical landscapes, but just try to do it when the puzzle is in 1,000 pieces. Once assembled, the result is pretty darn stunning: Evans’ moody watercolors have a way of drawing you deep inside them, and Swanberg’s complicated, evocative netherworlds are hard to look away from, once you’ve been hooked in.

Available at many major retail stores, the puzzles–along with framed paintings by both artists–are easily obtained at the oh-so-eclectic art shop Gallery One, 209 Western Ave., Petaluma. 778-8277.
–David Templeton.


Michael Amsler



Crane Ceramics

ETHEREAL FLOWERPOTS, oddly flattened-out, and two-dimensional. Curvaceous vases mysteriously painted in dreamlike pastel colors. Short, stout teapots seemingly floating in midair, bumping disarmingly against the wall. Petaluma ceramicist Diana Crane has made a name for herself with these striking creations that seem to have been imported from some whimsical netherworld where flowerpots and kettles–but not the real, dried flowers that push up and out, three-dimensionally from within–all have been squeezed as flat as pancakes.

The pieces work as actual vases–each carries a small open-ended compartment in which a sheaf of dried wheat or flowers can be placed, adding to the otherworldly look: a kicky blending of different dimensions.

Crane’s work ranges in price from the low $20 range–simple terra-cotta flower pots–on up to several hundred dollars for larger pieces, such as an enormous bell-jar vase, elaborately decorated with swirls and studded with pointed little doodads, hovering inches above a two-legged table improbably standing by itself.
–D.T.

The work of Diana Crane is available in fine art stores around the country; locally, try Gallery One, 209 Western Ave., Petaluma. 778-8277.


Over the Rainbow

THERE ARE SO MANY creative cooks in our county, releasing cases of swoony toast toppings, that it’s hard to call out just one for your holiday attention. But the little jars with handwritten labels that Nan Solomon of Rainbow’s End Farm stacked out at the Santa Rosa Thursday Night Market were just too cute to ignore. The variety list is irresistible, too, containing such gems as strawberry rhubarb, raspberry peach, and blackberry flavored with rose geranium. The standard single-fruit offerings are myriad, and there are even some sugar-free jams to be had.

Solomon has been cooking up sticky serendipity on the edge of Sebastopol for 10 years now. Many ingredients are foraged from the 46 non-cultivated acres of old Italian farmland, and all are organic to boot. You can’t find this stuff next to the peanut butter at Safeway, which is just as well: a bit of searching adds to the value. Half pints of Rainbow’s End jams and jellies cost about $4.50, and worth every last cent.
–M.W.

Solomon sells at the Quicksilver Mine Co., 154 N. Main St., Sebastopol, and will be putting her entire inventory out at the Occidental Crafts Fair on Dec. 13-14. 874-2315.


Set in Stone

JIM AND VIVIAN Strand practice the enviable art of carving stone, accomplishing in minutes what takes a stream of water centuries to accomplish. But water was never so accurate: The Strands’ carvings, made from sandblasting through stencils, are as sharp and clear as a line drawing.

Jim Strand learned the techniques of sandblasting at an East Bay shipyard. By narrowing the blaster’s focus and pitting it against the surprisingly non-resistant surface of salvaged scraps of granite, marble, and slate–says Vivian, “We’re into basic recycling here”–Jim has achieved a delicate precision that is eminently suitable for meditative objects or decorations. The Strands have created a few of their own designs, but most of the carvings are based on Celtic knot art, Oriental calligraphy, and Native American art.

“We prefer to work with sacred symbols or what we feel is heartful artwork from different cultures,” says Vivian. A small portion of their stock can be seen at Options, 126 Matheson St., in Healdsburg and at Stepping Stones Bookstore at Luther Burbank Center, 50 Mark West Road, in Santa Rosa. But the Strands also will work with any designs brought to them.
–M.W.

Make an appointment now and avoid the Christmas custom-order rush by calling the Strands at their Kenwood studio. 833-6674.


Michael Amsler



Living out Loud

THE WINTER HOLIDAYS bring certain essential sounds: piping carols, sing-song prayers, oral traditions that get handed down from generation to generation. If you’re too shy to do your own storytelling, you can at least make a nod to the tradition with a gift from the Pacific Storytellers collection of tapes, videocassettes, and storytelling materials for young and old alike.

Sandra MacLees, a storyteller out of Healdsburg, has been coordinating the clearinghouse since 1990, back when it was just 12 professional storytellers from California looking for an outlet for their merchandise. The organization has expanded to include works from 25 storytellers from the Pacific Northwest and Hawaii as well, but Sonoma County still has a solid representation. Among the local participants in the venture are Kendall Haven, with cartoony tales and happily moral endings for very young children (a $12.95 book and cassette, Killer Brussels Sprouts, is his bestseller), and Celtic storyteller and musician Patrick Ball, who produces primarily traditional brass-string Celtic harp music and also offers The Storyteller, a tape of Irish stories and music, for $9.95. MacLees is offering her own recordings, too: Sweet and Bittersweet, a multicultural folktale collection about all the wonderful and crazy things that love makes us do, and the autobiographical Pieces of My Life. Both are available for $9.95.
–M.W.

For more information about these and other good storytelling gifts, see the Pacific Storytellers’ website or call 433-8728.


Word Up

WRITING IS LIKE getting rich: Most of us want to do it, but the trick is getting started. (Not that the printed word will leave you rolling in the dough, but writing has other rewards.) So how the heck do you get the ballpoint rolling? One place to start is with two books from Tannery Creek Press that invite you to scribble in their pages. Writing Your Life Story Has Never Been Easier is filled more than 250 prompts, 12 subject categories, and quotes from the likes of Maya Angelou to get the ink flowing. For the aspiring travel writer, there is From Here and There & Back Again, a sturdy tome packed with travel quotes, prompting sentences, and handy storage pockets.
–Patrick Sullivan

Both books are printed on recycled paper and are available at the Quicksilver Mine Co., 154 N. Main St., Sebastopol, or directly from Tannery Creek, P.O. Box 221, Graton, CA 95444-0221. 829-1966.


Angelo’s World

THE COUNTRYSIDE surrounding Angelo’s Meat Market in Petaluma takes on a certain pungency as you approach the ramshackle outbuilding on rural Adobe Road. The air is heavy with spices, brine, smoke, and grease–all the smells of a busy smokehouse, where Angelo Ibleto and his family have been making jerky, sausages, and deli items to go with them, for over 30 years.

Angelo’s–famous for his famous salsas as well–also has a deli in downtown Sonoma, but the big word for the holidays is shipability, with orders easily taken over the phone or by fax, e-mail, or the Web. One of the simplest things to ship is a bag of zesty jerky, which Angelo’s sells in eight varieties–including teriyaki, plain, Cajun, hot peppered, and garlic–for $24 per pound, and will ship anywhere for just $3.75 per pound. Angela Dellinger, Angelo’s daughter, also can custom-pack a gift box with your choice of mustards, sauces, olives, and sausages.

Hey, nothing says love and holiday cheer like a garlicky box of Italian delicatezze.
–M.W.

Angelo’s Meats is located at 2700 Adobe Road, Petaluma. For info, call 763-9586 or 800/631-4796. Send e-mail to mo********@*ol.com, or check out the website.


On the Rack

EVERY YEAR we joyfully give gallons and gallons of good Sonoma County wine, never thinking about how the people on the other end are going to store the stuff. So the bottles inevitably wind up standing on end in a cupboard next to the tequila, with the corks drying out and the labels peeling from the stovetop heat.

Stop the insanity! Go to the Wine Rack Shop in Sonoma, where all kinds of wine-storage systems can be had, ranging from low-budget modular to high-end cellar installations, as well as vats and vats of wine paraphernalia. Many of the items in the shop are made locally, such as a line of finished pine racks of varying sizes made in Petaluma (beginning at $24) and a glass-topped wine-rack table made of elegant whorls of steel ($595). The Wine Rack Shop also features a beautiful line of wrought-iron wine stands by Roger Collins of Collins Welding. The trailing vines cradle bottles and glasses in gravity-defying positions, and the varying hues of metal make shimmering vitisculpture that would grace any wine-lover’s abode, at prices from $125 to $395 and up.
–M.W.

The Wine Rack Shop is located at 536 Broadway, Sonoma, and can be reached at wi******@*****es.com or by calling 888/526-RACK.


Making It Big

KATE MOSS and Callista Flockheart notwithstanding, around 50 percent of American women are size 14 or over. As a present to yourself or the larger woman on your shopping list, why not treat that statistic not as a rebuke, but as a rallying cry for more and better clothing, made to fit and feel comfortable and look fabulous on all sizes of big?

Making It Big has been doing exactly that for 15 years now, first out of a Main Street showroom in Penngrove, now in a larger store space in Rohnert Park, where the racks and racks of seasonally colored clothing have enough room to show off their full lines. MIB’s elegant designs in natural fibers, ranging from sweeping rayon dresses for evening to playful, sturdy cotton activewear and clean-cut office linens, draw shoppers from all over the Bay Area to the store, and also have an extremely loyal mail-order following. Gift certificates are available if you’re just not sure. Not only are the price and product right–shirts from $35, dresses from $55, all extremely well made–but the manufacturing is refreshingly ethical in this age of Third World sweatshops: MIB produces nearly all of its own label in the county, at a fair wage to the workers.
–M.W.

Drop by the store at 135 Southwest Blvd., Rohnert Park. The catalog, which uses real-sized women for models, can be ordered by calling 795-1995, or viewed in its entirety on the Web.


From the December 3-9, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Lolita

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‘Lolita’ Lingers

New film version of Nabokov’s taboo tale of obsession still has the reek of scandal

By

HOW DID THEY ever make a movie out of Lolita?” was the irresistible tagline in the ad campaign for the 1962 film version of Vladimir Nabo- kov’s scandalous novel about a middle-aged man’s obsession with a nymphet. That question isn’t any easier to answer in 1998.

Director Adrian Lyne’s controversial new adaptation of Lolita, starring 15-year-old Dominique Swain, was filmed in part in Petaluma. But it has only just returned to Sonoma County via a torturously winding path. The $58 million film was released in Europe in 1997, but ended up a virtual pariah in America. It had a one-week Oscar-qualifying run in July of ’98 in Beverly Hills, and then played on Showtime. Only recently has Lolita hit U.S. movie theaters in a limited release.

Lyne’s previous films, including Flashdance, Indecent Proposal, 9 1/2 Weeks, and Fatal Attraction, are fired up by technology, coarse shocks, and misogyny. He is, in fact, the archetypal director who graduated from TV commercials to feature films. In an Esquire interview about the movie, Lyne complained that his reputation as a maker of commercials “gets endlessly thrown at you … though I haven’t done a commercial in 10 years.”

It’s an astonishing statement when you consider the array of merchandise his films have sold: everything from CD players to sweatshirts torn at the neck. Indeed, many critics expected that Lyne’s Lolita would be soft-core pornography: Saddle Shoes Diaries.

As it turns out, that is not the case. The rumor that Lolita was not good enough to be released to theaters seems to have been a face-saving excuse invented by the various studios that passed on the film. (Worse than 9 1/2 Weeks, Flashdance, and Indecent Proposal? Yet all of these Lyne films were released, more’s the pity.)

Lolita is set in the United States shortly after World War II. A European professor named Humbert Humbert encounters a nubile, underaged American girl named Dolores Haze, nicknamed Lolita, and ends up both lover and in loco parentis. Lolita, no one’s idea (except Humbert’s) of a pliable nymph, is wily enough to hold her own ground. Humbert eventually loses Lolita to a shadowy figure who pursues him across the country.

Screenplay writer Stephen Schiff’s sharp, faithful adaptation of the book complements the casting. Dominique Swain makes a clever, provocative Lolita, strongly resembling Carrie Fisher in her Lolita part in Shampoo. The reliable Jeremy Irons is Humbert. And Frank Langella’s Quilty the mysterious is so well cast it’s impossible to think of an improvement; this paunchy poltroon is a weird cross between Tennessee Williams and Gore Vidal. The locations are western United States, rather than the English landscapes Stanley Kubrick tried to pass off as American in his version.

Yes, Lolita is easily Lyne’s best work, thanks to the film’s fidelity to a great novel, but it’s not much fun. If you see it without reading the book, you’ll think Lolita is a dusty classic that time has passed by. You know what you’re up against when you see an early shot of a glossy steam engine puffing through the mist–the Merchant-Ivory Express. Lyne tantalizes us with glimpses of Swain’s quite postpubescent body and then hits us with the sermon afterward. It’s an anti-sex sex movie, an approach that ties in with the sexual listlessness of most of Lyne’s films. Though there’s a lot of sex in Lyne’s work, when was it very joyous? Lust is always tangled with power or money in his movies. Even the comic kinkiness of 9 1/2 Weeks was a power exchange: Mickey Rourke feeding his blindfolded lover, Kim Basinger, mystery foods, as if he were initiating her into a fraternity.

By zeroing in on the power struggle between Humbert and Lolita, Lyne has rephrased an extremely funny book as plain tragedy. He identified the film noir elements in the book, but then pursued them single-mindedly. The locations avoid ’50s exuberance in favor of Lyne’s typical clinical blue-white lighting and clammy mist.

NABOKOV once wrote of Lolita that he was advised by an editor to change his novel to a Gothic, with “gaunt, arid surroundings, all this set forth in short, strong, ‘realistic’ sentences (‘He acts crazy. We all act crazy, I guess. I guess God acts crazy. Etc.’).”

Aridness and gauntness mark this new Lolita, fattened with some juicy bits by Swain, Irons, and Langella. Lyne’s Lolita is a brave film, yes, but a glum one, badly missing the sophistication of Kubrick’s 1962 version, and falling far shy of the original novel.

Nabokov’s book was written in 1953 and published by a small French press, like its only rival as the masterpiece of 20th-century English literature: James Joyce’s Ulysses. Also like Ulysses, Lolita was banned, even in Paris. The book was brought to America in 19 at children must try to fight their way through every day.

The novel does not lack a moral dimension. Decades before incest victims by the legions trouped into the studios of Jenny Jone, Nabokov understood what sex with an adult usually does to a child. It’s not the sex itself, not the robbery of some sort of vague innocence. In a soaring passage in which he remembers watching children play, Humbert laments as his final, bitterest regret that he took Lolita’s childhood away. Through the misuse of his power over her, Humbert really is a monster who has to live with his shame until the day he dies. Moral enough for William Bennett, really.

Still, by taking on Lolita, Lyne should have known there is no surer path to censorship than to discuss the sexual relations of children and adults. His detractors are worried about his subject matter, not his aesthetics.

In fact, there are those who point to a new film of Lolita as further evidence of our moral decline. Of course, legislating against pigtailed nude models on the Internet is easier than dealing with deeply underfunded schools and the lack of medical care or nutrition. It’s easier to attack the symbolic degradation of children than it is to do something about the real world–a world that children must try to fight their way through every day.

Lolita plays Thursday, Dec. 3, at 6:40 and 9:25 p.m. at Sebastopol Cinemas (6868 McKinley St., Sebastopol; 829-3456) and again on Wednesday and Thursday, Dec. 9 and 10, at 6:50 and 9:35 at Washington Square (219 S. McDowell Blvd., Petaluma; 762-0006).

From the December 3-9, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Dog Pound

Last Words

By Mad Dog

PEOPLE HAVE uttered some very interesting last words. Right before he died, Douglas Fairbanks declared, “I’ve never felt better.” H. G. Wells said, “Go away … I’m all right.” Obviously they were both wrong.

They might have been delirious. Then again, they might have been optimistic. Chances are they were really just trying to make their family and friends feel better, much like Bill Clinton when he said, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” or Bill Gates when he claims not to remember any of the e-mails he wrote threatening to take over the world unless everyone started using his Web browser. Apparently honesty on the deathbed is no more important than it is during life.

There’s little question that we’d all like to say something truly memorable before we go, but few of us get the opportunity. Even if we did utter something wonderful, what are the chances anyone other than the dog who looked at us like we were nuts when we told him to “go get help, Lassie!” would ever hear it?

One way to make sure people hear what you say is to become a condemned murderer, since they always get the opportunity to speak some last words. And there’s invariably at least one reporter on hand to write them down. This, along with the obligatory movie of the week deal, marriage proposals that come in the mail, and free last meal of your choice, makes it a career choice worth considering for those who aren’t ready for community college or have flunked out of nail technician’s school.

Right before being executed, Gary Gilmore simply said, “Let’s do it.” James Rodges, when asked if he wanted anything as he was facing a firing squad, replied, “Why yes–a bulletproof vest.” And George Appel had the right attitude as he was about to get strapped in the electric chair, declaring, “Well, gentlemen, you are about to see a baked Appel.” Last words are like comedy: timing is everything.

There are a number of considerations to make when formulating your last words. For one, ultimatums aren’t a good idea. Oscar Wilde tried this when he said, “Either that wallpaper goes, or I do” and since there wasn’t a Home Depot in Paris at the time, well, Oscar went.

You should try not to sound bitter when you utter your last words. Neither should you be a smart aleck. Remember, this is your final stab at immortality, and that old saying is true: You never get a second chance to speak your last words. Another about-to-be-executed killer, Thomas J. Grasso, followed both of these rules when he matter-of-factly set the record straight about his last meal by saying, “I did not get my Spaghetti-O’s, I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this.”

There’s another type of famous last words–those which we wish we hadn’t said. These are especially problematic because we continue to live, meaning we’re saddled with them forever. In 1927, Harry Warner, one of the famous Warner Brothers, asked, “Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?” That’s something every Senate subcommittee chairman asks to this day when Hollywood stars parade in front of them pretending to be experts on foreign affairs because they slept with the French co-star of their last movie or claiming to know everything about atomic energy because they auditioned for a part in The China Syndrome.

People utter these foot-in-mouth last words all the time. I suspect Minnesota’s Hubert “Skip” Humphrey said something like “But the guy’s a wrestler, fer Christ’s sake,” when he heard that Jess “The Body” Ventura was going to run against him in the recent governor’s race. Sure Ventura is a wrestler. He’s also going to be the state’s new governor, proving once again that a good nickname is important if you want to win an election.

Then there’s Dr. Laura Schlessinger, whose ratings and obnoxiousness have unseated Rush Limbaugh in the syndicated radio circuit. I can envision her years ago saying, “Sure, you can take some photographs of me naked. Who would want to see them anyway?” How fateful those words would have been now that a judge ruled that Internet Entertainment, the same people who posted Tommy and Pamela Anderson Lee’s honeymoon video online, can put Dr. Laura’s photos there, too. Of course, this still doesn’t answer her question: Who does want to see her naked?

What these people’s last words will be on their deathbed remains to be heard. Perhaps they’ll think of something beforehand to make sure they’re prepared. This is the last rule of famous last words, one that Pancho Villa forgot about when he was clutching onto a comrade and said, “Don’t let it end like this. Tell them I said something.” Isn’t that the same thing Harpo Marx said?

From the December 3-9, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Dave Alvin

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Master Blaster

Stephen W. Smith



Dave Alvin digs those Americana roots

By Tom Vasich

ALTHOUGH HE HAS no chart-topping CDs and doesn’t sell out arenas, Dave Alvin is responsible for some of the most enduring American music of the past 20 years. Fans of the roots-rock movement of the early ’80s recognize Alvin as the wild lead guitarist and songwriter for the Blasters, the legendary band from Southern California that continues to influence artists today like Big Sandy and His Fly-Rite Boys.

In the fertile L.A. music scene of that time, Alvin played a leading role. He helped Los Lobos secure their early Hollywood gigs; he played with X after leaving the Blasters. Along with Los Lobos’ David Hildago, Alvin wrote some of the most enduring music of that time. His songs are featured in the films Bull Durham and From Dusk ’til Dawn, and one of his songs, “Border Radio,” inspired the Allison Anders film of the same name.

In 1987, Alvin went solo. While his late ’80s works revealed his discomfort as a lead singer, it was also marked by a growing maturity in his songwriting. This artistic growth reached a new level with 1994’s King of California (Hightone), an exceptional work that helped build a new musical format, Americana, which eschews contemporary commercial styles and incorporates different modes of American sounds. Alvin’s distinctive blending of blues, folk, and rock places him with Lucinda Williams and Steve Earle as the leading proponents of roots-revival music.

Alvin’s latest release, Blackjack David, continues in the tradition of King of California. Its songs tell a story of love, death, and isolation. The themes are often bleak, revealing the blue-collar underbelly of the American dream. A lifelong Angeleno, Alvin writes of a desperate, tarnished Golden State full of dank bars and broken hearts. He’s been called the poet of the lonely highway, and although they sell in the thousands instead of millions, the past two albums are American classics that will be referred to for generations.

Alvin is also noted for his poetry, which he’s been writing longer than he has been playing music. A compilation of his poetry, Any Rough Times Are Now behind You, shows a definite Bukowski influence and the emotional depth that drives his music.

A contemporary troubadour, Alvin tours seven to eight months a year–sometimes solo, sometimes with a band. I caught up with him at home during a rare three-day break from performing.

Vasich: Although your songs are very personal, I don’t get a sense that they’re autobiographical. You seem to take archetypal themes of folk, country, and blues music and give it a different look.

Alvin: That’s true, but there are also biographical things lying around in there. I wouldn’t say I’m a highly confessional songwriter. But it’s there. In my song “From a Kitchen Table,” if you’re going to write a song about a man who’s living at home with his mom, which is based on a guy I know in Downey [Calif., his hometown], you have to you use your experience and regrets to make it personal.

Vasich: What is the source of your songwriting inspiration?

Alvin: I really don’t know, and I don’t mean to be vague about it. I just get an idea and try it out. And if it works, it works. In a way, talking about songwriting is a little bit like those people who say, “Don’t take a picture of me, you’ll steal my soul.” I don’t like to talk too much about where my inspiration is, because if I talk too much about it, it might go away.

Vasich: How do you address writing music vs. writing poetry?

Alvin: I try to keep them separate. The lyrics for the music gotta rhyme, for one thing. And the older I get, I feel totally uncomfortable doing poetry readings. I really don’t like doing them anymore. I still enjoy writing the poetry, but reading it is not fun. Still, you can take an image in your brain and write it both as a poem and as a song.

Vasich: How has your outlook on music changed since your Blasters days?

Alvin: I still listen to the same stuff that I listened to as a kid. The nuts and bolts are still Lightning Hopkins, Hank Williams, or Big Joe Turner. What’s changed is that I’m now able to use an entire palate [of musical styles]. In the Blasters, we could mix up a lot stuff–we were basically a blues, R&B band–and we mixed in elements of hillbilly music and Cajun stuff. But now I can do blues songs, like I do on the new album, but it comes from a different perspective. And then there’s stuff that sounds like the Carter family, stuff that’s pretty hillbillyish. As a solo writer, I can avail myself to all those styles–hillbilly or Chicago blues, whatever.

Vasich: I’ve noticed on NPR and college stations that artists like you, Lucinda Williams, and Steve Earle are getting more play. Have these become good times for artists such as yourself, who really don’t fit into commercial radio formats?

Alvin: Part of it has to do with that those people you mentioned, and lots of others have been making good records. When we started the Blasters, we knew there were people out there that liked this kind of music; it’s how you access them that counts. There’s a lot of different ways to access them now, between radio and the Internet. I mean, the Internet’s made a major change, just because it’s an alternative way–people go to a show in St. Louis and post a review of it themselves. And some guy in Pittsburgh reads it and comes to your show that night. Little things like that, they all help create a groundswell.

Vasich: Have you a grand design for your career?

Alvin: I wish I did. I just want to pay the rent. The trick is I want to play music I want to play.

The Dave Alvin Band performs Wednesday, Dec. 9, at 8:30 p.m., at the Powerhouse Brewing Co., 268 Petaluma Ave., Sebastopol. Tickets are $10. Call 829-9171.

From the December 3-9, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Sonoma County Authors

Local Lit

By Patrick Sullivan


Let Ocean Seethe and Terra Slide
By Rex Grady
Lilburne Press; $15

SOME MISTAKES are easy to make. For instance, you probably imagine being bored spitless by a volume chronicling the history of the Sonoma coastline–especially if the book tells its story in a breathless 267 pages without chapter breaks. But fear not: Let Ocean Seethe and Terra Slide has its faults, but boredom is never a danger.

To develop this detailed account of the interactions of humans and the nature along the dangerous edge of the mighty Pacific, Sonoma County author and state park lifeguard Rex Grady drew largely on park log books and newspaper accounts. But his own style is anything but dry: In colorful (sometimes purple) prose, Grady chronicles the history of the Sonoma Coast, beginning with the first settlers and moving up through the creation of the Sonoma Coast State Park, with a special focus on the last 40 years.

Mayhem is the order of the day here. Drownings,boating accidents, suicides, switchblade duels, octopus sightings, dramatic rescues, political dogfights–the action just never stops in Let Ocean Seethe. We get accounts of a great white shark attack in Bodega Bay (the victim survived, but required some 200 stitches), the first recorded surfing attempt in Sonoma County history (wipeout!), and the protracted squabble over a proposed nuclear power plant at Bodega Head.

Grady has a strong point of view, especially when he recounts the activities of the hippies, juvenile delinquents, and biker gangs that have apparently marauded with unrelenting fury across the coast’s pristine beauty. Imagine a mix of goons from Reefer Madness and a Charles Bronson movie, and you pretty much have the picture. The author is not always fair, but he never fails to entertain.

The book ends when Sonoma Coast State Park finally gets state-mandated lifeguards in 1990, after 40 years and 100 ocean-related deaths. But, in his foreword to the book, park ranger Michael Martino still offers words of caution: Enjoy the beauty of the coast, he writes, “But for God’s sake be careful.” No kidding.

The Light Inside the Dark
By John Tarrant
Harper Collins; $25

SANTA ROSA author John Tarrant has many remarkable talents: He’s a trained psychotherapist, a student of Buddhism, a teacher of meditation, and a director of Zen training. As a writer, however, he has come up a bit short in this ambitious attempt to bring his knowledge to bear on the task of charting our inner spiritual landscape.

It’s no small thing to criticize a book that sports an approving quote on its dust jacket from Robert Haas, former poet laureate of the United States. Indeed, The Light Inside the Dark sometimes reads like a prose poem, albeit a book-length one. But an intolerable shapelessness and a relentless vagueness haunt the work, dragging it down despite some vivid imagery and compelling wordplay.

The author illustrates his thoughts on spirituality with anecdotes from both classical literature and the lives of nameless contemporary people. But in the latter case, it is very seldom clear just who these folks are: Are they friends, or clients in therapy, or fellow spiritual seekers? Most of the time, the reader has no idea, and so the stories assume a numbing wispiness. Couple that with the book’s lack of anything approaching a narrative arch, and you’ve got big trouble.

“For us, a good spiritual life is permeable and robust. It faces things squarely, knowing the smallest moments are all we have, and that even the smallest moment is full of happiness,” writes Tarrant in his conclusion. Surely the same can be said of a good book, but unfortunately, The Light Inside the Dark is anything but robust.

From the December 3-9, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Greg Brown

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Heart and Soul

Folkie Greg Brown on the simple life

By Alan Sculley

ASK GREG BROWN what he likes best about good music and the singer/songwriter homes right in on the ability of some artists to convey a sense of place in their music. “Muddy Waters, now when you hear Muddy sing, you can close your eyes and see the Mississippi Delta,” Brown says.

“It’s just right in there. Hank Williams Sr., you could see little towns, you could see a whole chain of them all down through the South. Jimmie Rogers, you can see him on the railroad train. It’s just in a lot of American music. And I think even into contemporary times, I mean when I listen to Bruce Springsteen, I can see New Jersey, that whole deal in New Jersey. I can see where he’s coming from. I can hear it. and I think that’s a beautiful thing about America.

“We have such a big country, and there are so many landscapes and different feelings all around the country, and music expresses all that.”

In Brown’s case, his music reflects his roots in southeastern Iowa and the Ozarks of southern Missouri. This makes sense when Brown discusses his musical influences, because as much as he grew up loving everything from classical music to gospel, from the rockabilly of Jerry Lee Lewis to the soul of Ray Charles, from jazz to the country songs of Hank Williams, his biggest influences were much closer to home.

“I think one reason I feel so tapped into American music is just the nature of my growing up,” says Brown, the son of a Pentecostal minister from the Ozarks and a mother who grew up in rural Iowa. “With my father being a preacher, there are so many American musicians who started in the church, it’s just endless. People, you ask them, ‘Where did you first sing? Where did you play first?’ It was the church, and that was the case for me. It was gospel music. That, and then my mother’s people–everybody played. It was really more like Appalachian or Southern folk music than it was anything. I just grew up with everybody playing and singing church music from the time I was little.

“I think another big influence was my mother’s mother,” Brown adds. “She sang old Irish ballads she had learned from her Irish mother. That whole ballad tradition of storytelling through songs, those beautiful melodies … it was just in my heart from the beginning.”

ALL OF THE STYLES Brown mentions are present in his spare, rough-hewn music. Although he is generally considered a folk artist, his music defies easy categorization. For example, on his latest CD, Slant 6 Mind (Red House), there’s a danger-filled grittiness to “Dusty Woods” and “Wild Like Sonny Boy” that seems more based in blues. The scatting rhythms in the percussion and guitars of “Mose Allison Played Here” bring a jazz sense to the song. His sound takes a gentler, more folkish country turn on “Vivid” and “Spring & All.”

In fact, Brown says, the sonic role model for the new CD wasn’t folk or country at all. It was blues great Muddy Waters’ classic 1963 acoustic album Folk Singer (Chess).

“It wasn’t so much the songs, because Muddy’s work, of course, is blues and Delta,” Brown says. “It was just the sound of that record. It had a real presence to it. You could hear every little thing. He was playing acoustic guitar, which I thought was cool. That was a different thing for him. But you felt like you were right there in that room. And it was really that sound and the kind of presence I was after.”

Slant 6 Mind (Red House), released last fall, is Brown’s 13th album over the course of a career that began 20 years ago. It’s a career that by his own admission has been spent on the fringes of the musical mainstream. Most of the time, he has received only minimal radio play or attention in the press. Perhaps his highest profile forum came during the 1980s as a regular on National Public Radio’s Prairie Home Companion.

In recent years, though, Brown’s star has risen. In particular, his three most recent CDs–The Poet Game, Further In, and Slant 6 Mind–have grabbed sparkling reviews in major magazines, and his songs have begun filtering onto Americana format radio playlists. Brown credits his producer, Bo Ramsey (who has played electric guitar on Brown’s recent albums), with helping him discover how to create albums that sound better, more fully realized. Consequently, his work is more accessible. “I think what separates them is having Bo Ramsey and learning how to make records,” Brown says, comparing his recent work to his early records.

“When I look back on my earlier songs, I feel just as good about them as I do of my songs now. I don’t think of songwriting as being necessarily a progressive thing where you get better and better. It’s more like circles. But making an album was a skill I had to learn.”

IF SUCCESS is gradually finding Brown rather late in the game, he isn’t complaining. “My career has always really moved by word of mouth. I haven’t had any kind of a hype machine behind me at all,” says Brown, 48. “So it’s just happened the way it’s happened. It suits me the way it’s gone. I’ve been able to make a living playing music, which is all I ever really wanted to do.

“And things have gone well and at a good pace, I think.”

In fact, in some ways Brown’s approach to career mirrors a theme that frequently finds its way into his music–shallow materialism and the need to live life based on something deeper, something closer to the heart, something that provides a sense of community and belonging. “My own father, who was doing quite well in the world after he got out of the Army in World War II, he had studied electronics and he had his own radio and TV repair shop going,” Brown recalls. “He was building those big, high broadcasting towers. Things were going good for him. But then when he felt a call to the ministry, he left that behind. He made a choice based on what he felt in his heart and not his wallet. So he was my role model.

“And also, I think having all these memories of what it was like to be with my extended family in a little farmhouse playing music, cooking supper, all contribute to this sense of belonging. I mean, to me, things don’t get any better than that. I don’t care how many swimming pools you’ve got.

“Those simple things are the things, I think, that really sustain us,” he adds. “If I was walking through an airport and I looked at all these Americans, all rushing around trying to make more money to buy more stuff, if they looked happy and engaged, I would say ‘Great.’ But they don’t. They look sad, they looked stressed, they look empty a lot of times. They look like people on a treadmill. I just don’t think it works.

“I don’t think my vision of life is really romantic. There isn’t some beautiful, perfect way to live. But there are ways that are better than others. I really think the thing about rampant consumerism is it’s destroying the planet and it’s not filling up people’s hearts and souls.”

Greg Brown performs Friday, Dec. 4, at 8 p.m. at the Sebastopol Community Center, 390 Morris St., Sebastopol. Cheryl Wheeler and karen Savoca also perform. Tickets are $21/advance, $23/ at the door. For details, call 823-1511.

From the November 25-December 2, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Pasta Recipe

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John McReynolds Recipe

1/2 butternut squash 1 lb. whole-wheat taglierini or fettuccine 1 tbsp. butter 8 slices prosciutto, sliced julienne 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped 1 cup chicken stock 1 cup whipping cream 3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan 1/4 cup lightly toasted pine nuts Italian parsley, several sprigs, chopped Black pepper, freshly ground

Cut squash in half and scoop out seeds. Lightly oil cut side of squash and place cut side down on backing sheet. Bake at 375 degrees until soft (25 to 45 minutes). Allow to cool. Peel and mash with fork. Cook pasta. While it cooks, melt butter in large, heavy sauté pan over medium heat. Turn down to low, add prosciutto and garlic, and cook slowly 5 minutes. Add squash and cook 2 minutes. Stir in stock and cream and cook 1 minute on high. Remove from heat. Add cooked pasta to squash mixture and toss well. Mix in cheese and toss again. Divide into 4 servings. Top each with pine nuts, parsley, and pepper.

From the November 25-December 2, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Talking Pictures

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Whizzing on the Wiz

Dr. Joy Brown takes on the ‘Wizard of Oz’

By David Templeton

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time out, he schedules a session with Dr. Joy Browne, renowned radio psychologist and author, to discuss the imbedded messages in the classic film The Wizard of Oz.

Dr. Joy Browne–while admitting that The Wizard of Oz is a wonderful movie–boldly confesses that it gave her nightmares the first time she saw it. She was three years old at the time.

“It scared me to death,” she allows. To this day, that cackling, green-skinned Wicked Witch still makes the occasional appearance in her dreams.

But that’s not what bugs her about The Wizard of Oz.

The renowned New York-based author and syndicated radio psychologist–heard locally on KSRO–feels professionally obligated to point out a certain downside to the classic tale of Dorothy and her misfit friends on the way to the Emerald city.

“It’s such an odd combination of fantasy and reality,” Browne says. “And some of those fantasies–and the beliefs and ideas at the core of those fantasies–can be dangerous if swallowed whole. And with The Wizard of Oz, we do swallow it whole. We open up and let it dazzle us, and then we take its secret messages deep inside us–and then wonder later on why our lives are so messed up.”

“In fact,” she adds, “in some ways, it’s this kind of movie that made me write this kind of book.”

The tome to which she refers is her brand new Nine Fantasies That Will Destroy Your Life–and The Nine Realities That Will Save You (Crown, 1998, $23). Part self-help book, part comedy-routine, this is an immensely readable, reasnoably insightful, occasionally quite challenging look at a number of core beliefs that many of us have based our lives upon; these fantasies include ‘Winning the Lottery Will Free Me, Men and Women are From Different Planets, Good Always Triumphs, Somewhere I Have a Soulmate”–and “There’s No Place Like Home.”

Browne’s debunking of these fantasies is given a practical spin as she makes sympathetic examples of actual phone calls and letters she’s received over the years. Her radio program, now broadcast on over 300 stations around the country, has gained Browne an ardent following–not so ardent, perhaps, as the routine listeners of that other female radio shrink–and has motivated the National Association of Talk Show Hosts to pronounce her the “Best Female Talk Show Host” for the last two years. In person, she is straight-forward and playful; she seems, in fact, to thrive on a certain level of friendly theoretical debate.

As for The Wizard of Oz–currently enjoying a national re-lease, with a spiffy new print and a gussied-up soundtrack–it seems, in Browne’s view, to be laden with unhealthy messages. That No Place Like Home bit is only the jumping off point.

” I suppose,” she laughs, “that instead of calling my book what I did, I could have called it The Wizard of Oz, and How Not To Live It. Look at Dorothy. She’s a lonely orphan who’s best friend is a dog. She can’t get along with the neighbors. She sits around wishing for a place over the rainbow instead of improving her people skills. Think about it, when she’s taken to Oz and her house lands on the witch, she says, ‘It’s not my fault, It’s not my fault.’ She won’t take any responsibility for it. It may not have been intentional, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t her responsibility. She did, in fact, kill the witch.”

“Well, gee,” I respond, thinking this all seem a wee bit harsh (and perhaps becoming a bit defensive of Wizard, a movie that still moves me to tears after nearly 40 years of faithful viewing), “Why was it Dorothy’s responsibility?”

“Because it was her house,” Browne replies gently, sensing my dismay. “She could have said, ‘Yes I did it. It wasn’t my intent, but she is dead because of my house, and I recognize that I was indirectly involved.’ But Dorothy shows no remorse at all. She just starts yelping, “Hey. It wasn’t me,’ and immediately starts blaming the tornado and everything else–and then she takes the witch’s magic ruby slippers! What was that about?”

“Oh, Dorothy didn’t take the slippers,” I protest. “They were forced on her. They magically appeared on Dorothy’s feet after vanishing from from the shrivelling legs of the dead witch.”

“Yeah right. That’s what we all say,” Browne laughs. “The point is, David, she could have said no, and she didn’t.”

Hmmmn. Well, okay. I can see how–on a very subconscious level–Dorothy’s casual theft of the slippers might set a bad example. But what could possibly be wrong with, say, the Munchkins?

“Aren’t the munchkins a symbol of being in touch with your inner child?” I ask.

“The munchkins are adults who refuse to grow up,” Browne replies. “They were all very cheerful and grotesquely baby-ish. They have that ‘Ignorance is Bliss’ thing going, and let me tell you–ignorance ain’t bliss.” Ignorance is Bliss, by the way, is another of the nine fantasies Browne explores in her book.

“I don’t want to give the impression that The Wizard of Oz is all bad,” she kindly mentions. “There are some great realities in the film, too; the cowardly lion learns that if you face your fears you’re less frightened. The tin man without a heart learns that he doesn’t have to be afraid of crying. The wizard teaches them that everything they’ve been seeking already exists inside themselves. That’s great stuff.

“We are always looking for external solutions to our internal problems,” she continues. “The book is full of these kind of things: ‘Do I have a soul mate?’ or ‘The truth will set me free, or ‘Other people’s families are functional,’ or ‘Everybody else is perfect …’ “

“Or ,’If I only had a brain,’ ” I add to the list.

“Exactly,” Browne nods. “So I get to play the wizard here and say, ‘No no no. Use your fantasy, but use it to learn what you feel your lacking, and then go get it. But know that you won’t get it by winning the lottery or by meeting the magical right person for you. You’ll get it through self knowledge. By knowing what you want, you can turn your fantasies into realities. You can, in fact, find the courage you want, you can find the ability to cry, or you can get yourself home.

“But we all still think that there’s something out there, that–once we find it and take it–will make us happy,” she goes on. “And it’s always something outside of us. It’s the magic chalice. The ruby red slippers.”

“It’s going to see the wizard,” I contribute.

“It’s following the Yellow Brick Road,” she concludes.

“Even so,” I mumble, still feeling that the movie meeds a bit of defending, “Maybe The Wizard of Oz does have a lot of negative messages, unhealthy fantasies that run rampant through the story–but I still treasure it. I love The Wizard of Oz.”

“I have no problem with that,” Dr. Browne replies with a smile. “I’m not against fantasy. I’m against believing in fantasies, when believing in them will hurt us. That’s what I’m saying.

Go see The Wizard of Oz. See it thirty times. Enjoy it. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re life should work that way. Don’t spend your life longing for something ‘over the rainbow.’ Figure out what you want, figure out what you need–and then, go get it. “

Web extra to the November 25-December 2, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Chef John McReynolds

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The Art of Cooking

Magic moment: Cafe LaHaye chef/owner John McReynolds realized during a serendipitous moment that he was fated to have a career in food.

For John McReynolds, the kitchen is his canvas

By Marina Wolf

JOHN MCREYNOLDS is a tall man. His diminutive kitchen, a triangular space opening out onto the proportionately small dining room of Cafe LaHaye in Sonoma, seems like a My-First-Kitchen toy when he’s inside it. As he sprawls down into a chair, McReynolds looks like an overgrown boy, his casual corduroy jacket and jeans contrasting pleasantly with the graying hair and the San Francisco Chronicle review taped up in the front window, touting McReynolds and his young restaurant as one of the best new restaurants in the county since the Willowside Cafe.

McReynolds’ embarrassment about such attention from high places seems boyish, too; he says repeatedly, as if still somewhat stunned, that he really was not expecting the success.

“Beyond a local neighborhood restaurant,” he says, “which is what I intended it to be, [the response] surprises me.”

But anyone stepping into the light-filled space at the front of the La Haye building wouldn’t be surprised at the draw. Brigitte McReynolds, John’s wife, has filled the walls of the cafe with her art: canvases of smoky, mysterious figures laid against softly angular backdrops.

And the menu showcases John’s art: simple, hearty European preparations of the Sonoma Valley’s best foodstuffs. “It’s the same process that happens for artists when they get involved in doing their art,” he says, gazing thoughtfully at the play of the afternoon light on the floor. “You lose track of time, you lose track of everything else except what you’re doing.

“For me, it’s the same kind of feeling that I had when I was a child in the sandbox, playing with my tractor and making mud pies,” he continues, blinking out of his reverie. “It’s intensely gratifying and fun.”

McReynolds’ hands-on cooking experiences didn’t stop with mud pies, thankfully. His mother, tired, perhaps, of cooking for five children, let them cook Saturday dinner, so that all the children–four boys and a girl–got their turn at the stove. McReynolds particularly remembers his first cookbook performance at age 10, featuring Potatoes Volcano from The Joy of Cooking, a mound of mashed potatoes filled with a cheddar béchamel sauce. “I was famous for that,” recalls McReynolds with a wry grin. “I wasn’t asked to do any repeat performances, but everybody was impressed with the way it looked.”

The young McReynolds continued his love of food through his years at San Jose State University, where he studied to become a psychiatric technician while working in a county alcohol and drug rehab center. He then took a six-month tour of Europe before coming back to work for five more years in the family construction business, putting in roads for the military in the Monterey area. “We had a contract with the Army and Navy for doing all of their streets,” McReynolds says, “so we lived down there in a motel, and we’d go out every night to dinner somewhere on the Peninsula, and we always ate well.”

He might still be pushing asphalt were it not for a friend with foresight. At dinner with McReynolds, who was talking on and on as usual about food in general and the dinner in particular, the friend suddenly said, “John, you should be a chef.”

McReynolds had never considered being a chef until that fateful utterance, but he knew it was right. “It was one of those serendipitous moments, when you’ve been waiting your whole life to figure out what you wanted to do. …”

The very next day, McReynolds went to the California Culinary Academy in San Francisco, picked up an application, and two months later started the program.

The same casual serendipity continued after his graduation from the CCA: the right jobs just seemed to drop in his lap, out of nowhere, like that yacht gig in Mallorca, Spain. McReynolds was in the south of France on vacation when an acquaintance suggested that he see a yacht broker about getting a job. He was hired on the spot and flown the next day to Mallorca, where he boarded a private yacht and spent the next year cooking Italian food, using the food they picked up at various Mediterranean ports.

Then there was the dude ranch in Colorado that opened up right when McReynolds was working full-time and going to school in San Francisco. “The idea of being … in the middle of nowhere sounded like a perfect job,” he says.

Later, when he found himself again on the verge of burnout with three years at regular restaurants, McReynolds got tapped to establish the food service at Skywalker Ranch, the new LucasFilm complex in Marin County.

McReynolds’ recipe for whole-wheat pasta withbutternut squash, prosciutto, and garlic cream.

NOW MCREYNOLDS seems to be settling down. He has a 5-year-old daughter to take care of, and new teaching duties next spring at Ramekins Sonoma Valley Culinary School. And, above all, he owns his own restaurant. “It’s harder than I expected,” he admits about being the owner. “When you’re just the chef of a restaurant, no matter how committed you are, no matter how responsible and involved in the process you are, you can still get up and walk away.

“But when it’s your own business, you can’t do that. You’re stuck. … I think that there’s a lot more motivation to make it work.”

But for all the drudgery of a small restaurant–cleaning the oven, peeling potatoes–there’s still room for art, for total immersion in the experience, the Potatoes Volcano, the mud pie. Sometimes the artistic abandon gets McReynolds in trouble with the clock, he says. But that doesn’t stress him out, not anymore.

“We open at 5:30 p.m., but at 5:15 I’m often still figuring out what the specials are going to be,” he says. “I couldn’t have done that five years ago, or even three years ago, but now I feel like I’ve been doing this long enough and I feel comfortable enough that I know that something is going to come out, and it’s going to be good.”

From the November 25-December 2, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

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