1. In the sweep of time and of peopleplacesthings, I’ve discovered that my body is like a tuning fork which vibrates to the tenor and tone of my circumstances: I arrive (someplace); (but arrive, not enter;) and at the door, I cock my ear like a dog, like a jazzman late to step up on a stage, and I listen.

I have an envelope with some photographs of me from birth to the present. There are maybe twelve of them, all together.

Excerptum sum helium

Isolated as we may have been, it was still a formative time in a tumultuous era. We lived here through the Kent State killings and the Beatles’ breakup, Woodstock, Easy Rider, the My Lai massacre, the moon landing, the Amazin’ Mets, the Sylmar earthquake (6.4) and the Tate-LaBianca murders that happened just a canyon or two away, even if, in our Linda Lane years, the ugliest spectacle Mack and I ever witnessed firsthand was a traffic jam in the Dodger Stadium parking lot after a sold-out game.

1977 – 1980

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