I guess I’ve been watching girls since…well, how long now? I imagine since sixth grade. At least that’s when I had my first girlfriend…so I must have been noticing them some by then.

And, all these years later, wouldn’t you know, I’m still doing it. Watching them, that is.

I took the Larkspur Ferry into the city this past Saturday for an afternoon of wandering-around photography. I hadn’t really pre-planned this activity for the day. I did something entirely rare for me: I made the decision to do this spontaneously after my haircut appointment that morning. I quickly packed up a camera body and lens into one of my most compact bags, and drove over to Larkspur Landing to catch the 11:40.

The weather was absolutely perfect here in Marin, with a similarly favorable forecast for the city, so I took a chance and dressed only in shorts and a t-shirt. (For those of you who know San Fran, you realize visiting the waterfront attired thusly is a risk.) Specifically, I had on khaki-colored shorts from REI, a faded-red souvenir t-shirt from Taos, N.M., and a Nikon-logo baseball cap. (This information is relevant later.)

When I boarded the ferry, I didn’t have much of a clue where I wanted to sit. Perching myself inside on such a magnificent day seemed a little weird, so I scoped out the entire selection of seats and finally settled on a spot on the upper deck, outside, in the rear of the boat. (I guess that’s called the stern?)

Shortly after I settled in, I noticed three women (I guessed them to be about my age) sit down on the bench directly to my left. We were in the same row, all facing the water, so I didn’t have a great view of them; but I knew they were there all the same. One of them, especially, caught my eye…as she was dressed in (what I’d call) an elegant black dress. It was a very hot day already (in the 80s, headed for the 90s), so I was asking her, in my head: what possessed you to wear that today? Another of them was wearing a large dressy hat, which also drew my attention.

For about half the trip, we all sat that way, facing aft. But then I realized that, by sitting in direct sunlight on this very hot day, I was perspiring rather profusely and sitting in a small puddle of my own sweat. (More than you wanted to know, I’m sure.) So, I stood up to air myself out. In doing so, I turned myself around, facing the other direction (fore), and was able to both brace myself on the bench and observe where the boat was headed. Of course, this allowed me to watch these lovely ladies, out of the corner of my eye, as well.

Well, watch was all I did. I couldn’t help but notice the rings (or lack thereof): Hat Lady had ringless fingers; Black-Dress Lady had rings, but they presented an ambiguous situation; the third had, what appeared to be, a wedding band. Ms. Hat Lady had a small digital camera and she spent some time taking pictures through a side window that protected us from the wind and spray. The three of them talked and were generally enjoying themselves, it appeared. Although it would have been nice to engage them in conversation…well, that never happened. Frankly, I didn’t have an opening line: for what was I, dressed the way I was, going to say to Ms. Elegant-Black-Dress Lady? I couldn’t come up with a thing.

But, there they were: attractive women, my age. And surreptitiously watching them was a good way to pass the time for the final part of the voyage. (NO, I didn’t ogle them…I did not make myself obvious.)

We reached the city, everyone went ashore, and I figured that was the last I’d ever see of these three.

Once inside the Ferry Building, I took my camera out of the bag, strapped the bag around my middle (it’s a fanny-pack type), and walked north on The Embarcadero. I took the entire four hours (before the return ferry ride) to wander up to the Hyde Street Pier and back. Not that I didn’t rest at times along the way. I had a muffin at a Peet’s Coffee shop. I also stopped at The Cannery to have ice cream and listen to music.

The solo musician in the courtyard when I was at The Cannery played a wonderful acoustic version of Death Cab for Cutie’s “I’ll Follow You Into the Dark.” Although the lyrics speak of an entirely different kind of lady in black, I was reminded of my traveling companions on the ferry…

In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
And I held my tongue as she told me
“Son fear is the heart of love”
So I never went back…

By the time it came to take the 4:40 ferry back home, I was tuckered out. I got to the Ferry Building early, of course, and watched my fellow travelers arrive at the loading area.

Ultimately, though (lo and behold!), I saw that the ladies were taking the same ferry back.

I boarded the boat and sat in almost the same place as I had earlier, only closer to the rear…where I could get some shots of the city as we departed (see photo above). As I was still in photographer mode, the view of the cityscape was what I was most interested in; I didn’t see my attractive “lady friends” (well, you know what I mean) anywhere around.

Oh, well…

As we slowly departed the dock, I took pictures for about the first five or ten minutes. I totally ended my photo activity, though, when the wind and water spray got to be just too much. I decided I needed to have another seat (even if inside) to escape the elements and keep my camera dry…so I headed away from the extreme rear of the boat and proceeded inward (foreward). I got a just a little ways, past about four rows of seats, when, all of a sudden, the boat experienced a minor lurch, tilted a bit, and I literally stumbled and tumbled into the nearest seat.

I checked quickly to see that my camera and bag had survived the fall, then looked up at my new surroundings. Seated directly across from me: guess who?

I’m not a stalker. Honest! It actually happened this way!

As I noticed these three women, I’m sure my eyes widened a tad. Partly because I was initially asking myself: did anyone notice my clumsy landing? Though I was also quickly thinking, upon recognition: oh, it’s you!

I’m sure I also offered up an embarrassed smile. I had performed a totally inelegant landing, directly across from Ms. Elegant-Black-Dress Lady.

They couldn’t help but notice my arrival, of course. It was as subtle as a fart in an elevator. However, they all returned my smile. And, I don’t remember exactly how it started, but, after a little bit, we began a conversation. I believe one of them asked me if I did photography for a living…and that got us rolling.

They learned that I was a college dean and did this for fun. Elegant-Black-Dress Lady told me that she and Hat Lady had been friends since they were eighteen. I told her that I’d had lunch with a friend last weekend with someone I’d known since I was twelve…and that, since I was 60, that was a while ago now. Whereupon she immediately disclosed that she was 63. I said, “I thought we were just about the same age.” She asked, “what gave it away?”, and I replied, simply, “the familiarity.”

She smiled and said, “how diplomatic.”

I learned that Ms. Elegant had just moved to Sacramento last year from Philadelphia, for a new job. And that shortly after the move she had lost her longtime canine companion: a Labrador retriever. She learned that I had just moved from Oregon and lost a relationship shortly thereafter. She made sure I understood the profound nature of her loss, and that she was still grieving. I listened empathetically.

I admitted to Ms. Elegant that I’d noticed her on the trip into the city…that her black dress had caught my eye right away. I told her I wasn’t sure about wearing black on this hot day, but that, certainly, I thought it was a very classy look. (It seems I’ve reached a point in my life when I can look at a woman over 60 and think: hot!)

We all talked about being college students in the Sixties. They know that I was in the Air Force for three weeks in 1969 and took nine semesters to complete my undergraduate degree. We all agreed that, despite the tumultuousness of the times, there was no better time in history to be a college student in the U.S.

I didn’t ask their names, and they didn’t offer. I don’t know where they work, although Ms. Elegant, I learned, has an employer-supplied vehicle. Black, of course. When one inquired what I do with my photos, I gave Ms. Elegant a business card that has my Flickr web address on it. So, she has (they have) my name and contact information; I don’t have any clue about them.

Because I was having such a great time, I missed the photo opportunity of San Quentin from the water…and the arrival at the pier in Larkspur. And, even though I had camera in hand, I didn’t even think to ask if I could take their picture. A considerable oversight on my part. Sigh…

Still…it was a thoroughly delightful afternoon: primarily because of my unexpected tumble that led to the conversation with three new lady friends, anonymous though they may be.

Girl watching certainly has it payoffs. Even though the entire experience is, often, all too fleeting.

Soundtrack Suggestion

My life is brilliant
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I’m sure.
She smiled at me on the subway…

You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.
You’re beautiful, it’s true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don’t know what to do…

(“You’re Beautiful” – James Blunt)

Although I may aspire to the courageousness of an Alice Sebold in terms of my autobiographical writing, I have to admit, when it comes to blogging one’s life: it’s not without some dangers. Here’s a cautionary tale.

A little while back, out of the blue, I received an email from someone who had, more-or-less accidently, stumbled across this blog and become interested in me and my story. She had read a few of my entries, was favorably impressed, and wrote to tell me so. (I make reaching me ridiculously easy, of course, with the Contact TechnoMonk section I display in the right-hand column.)

Now, with the volume of email I encounter daily in both my professional and personal lives, I always have to think twice about responding to a stranger. Do I have the time? Who is this person?

Well, on this occasion, for whatever reason, I replied. I composed a very short note thanking her for her positive observations.

And then: she wrote back.

This went on, an email a day, for two or three days. During this time (I could tell from my blog statistics) she continued to devour much of what I had written about myself here.

The emails took on a tone of increasing familiarity. She started to believe she knew me. She mentioned my attractiveness.

Naturally, I became very curious, and I asked her about her personal situation, as the only thing I really knew was that she lived in another region of the U.S. She answered: married, with kids.

Still, we continued our correspondence…why, I don’t know. Except that, despite her personal life, it felt a lot like the “internet dating” contact I’ve had through match.com and chemistry.com. She supplied pictures.

I now realize I should not have engaged in this activity past the very early discovery-point of her marital status. But continue on I did, as she proceeded to reveal more and more of herself, including clear expressions of dissatisfaction with her life situation…mostly her marriage.

I’ll spare you most of the really intimate details here…except to say that at one point she suggested we have an affair.

Given my level of self-awareness and propensity to fall for unavailable women, respectfully, I declined.

She then indicated that she “was thinking about” leaving her husband: “what about that?”

She said she loved me. (Say what?)

I replied that I barely knew her, and that, even if I did, I was not interested in pursuing a relationship with someone so obviously on the rebound.

Given her intensity, and some of her bizarrely far-out ideas and statements, there came a point when I considered that I might be corresponding with a mentally-unstable individual. At the very least, her take on “reality” was certainly much different than mine.

And I became afraid…wondering how I’d gotten myself in so deeply, so unexpectedly, so rapidly.

It finally came down to a firmly-worded email from me that whatever she decided to do about her marriage and life situation, it could not be because of me, for me, or with me anywhere in the picture.

The conclusion of this whole episode came when she wrote back and said: “of course, you’re right.”

Correspondence then ceased and life returned to normal.

I need to say: you gotta be careful out there…

Soundtrack Suggestion

Went out last night, I didn’t stay late
’fore I got home I had nineteen dates

Well they took some honey from a tree
Dressed it up and they called it me

Everybody’s trying to be my baby…

(“Everybody’s Trying To Be My Baby” – Beatles)

I read both fiction and nonfiction. I love to escape into stories, made-up or real-life. I’m particularly a fan of the memoir (which really should come as no surprise given that a lot of these “musings” are intensely autobiographical in nature). So, here I am to report that I’ve just finished reading a particularly compelling one (memoir, that is).

I became acquainted with author Alice Sebold when I read her first novel The Lovely Bones. Although the book, a bestseller, was published in 2002, I probably picked it up around 2005 or so. Bones is the tale of a 14-year-old girl who has been raped and murdered – and who narrates the entire story from her vantage point beyond the grave: in heaven.

I remember thinking: this is an interesting approach.

For whatever reason, I found this novel to be totally intriguing: though certainly in a dark way. The book was anything but a “quick-read” for me.

On a trip to our local Borders store, just recently, I discovered that Sebold had written another book prior to Bones. In 1999, she published a memoir entitled Lucky (as in “lucky to be alive”). This work is a first-person account of her rape: a tragic event that happened on the last day of her freshman year at Syracuse University. The story includes a chronicle of her eventual identification (a few months later) of the rapist; the subsequent trial and conviction; and the progress of her life in the aftermath. The narrative also provides such details as: the status of her relationships with family and other men; her issues with heroin addiction; the gradual awakening to, and acceptance of, her post-traumatic stress syndrome; and the practically unbelievable development when one of her college roommates is raped, on Alice’s own bed, a couple of years later.

So, you’re probably asking: why is this is a story I’d be interested in? What could possibly make this book worth my time?

Good questions.

Just let me say that Sebold is an excellent story-teller. Although this is a very difficult topic to discuss, she pulls it off with incredible sensitivity and skill. And even though it’s autobiography, which goes into excruciatingly-gory detail, especially with the rape scene at the beginning of the book, it rather reads like a novel. I was completely drawn into her narrative. Wondering what will happen next…how will she find her way through this devastation…how can she put herself back together?

Naturally, Sebold’s life has had many twists and turns because of this crime. That she found the strength to look in the mirror, step back, and try to explain, to us, what she sees – well, this speaks to me of a person of incredible courage.

I am truly inspired by her ability to communicate through the written word, and her willingness to expose herself to the world in this way.

For me: as I write, I aspire to similar courageousness. I believe that it is through stories about the human condition that we learn more about ourselves. And that the lessons these stories offer, help us to live with our pain.

I have written here before about the circumstances surrounding my departure from the Oregon University System (OUS) Chancellor’s Office (CO) in 2004. Leaving was entirely involuntary on my part– as it was for everyone who worked in the Office of Academic Affairs. Starting July 2004, that particular unit of the CO ceased to exist.

(Can you imagine a university without an “academic” division?!)

To a person, those of us who were ousted, in what may be termed a “political coup,” have harbored residual feelings about the treatment we received. But I believe that we all still have an overriding, sincere concern for the fate and future of Oregon higher education.

Since that time, there has been little attempt on behalf of the CO to put back together – on any kind of permanent, coherent basis – some of the critical functions that were lost in the “reorganization.”

Well, until recently.

Early last February, an announcement appeared on the OUS website for Assistant Vice Chancellor for Student Success Initiatives. The new position, as described, entails many elements of my previous job, and I was pleased to see the recognition that these activities are important and need tending-to on an ongoing basis. (It only took four years!)

Now, I have not been actively seeking other work, given that I have been hired into a permanent position here in California…and in light of the fact that I have made major life moves and job changes three times in the last four years. But, because I feel that I left the CO with “unfinished business” with regard to my inter-sector work in Oregon, and because I continue to care deeply about the health and welfare of higher education in the state, I submitted an application. The deadline was February 27.

I was ultimately called in late April to set up a time for a phone interview on May 15. And, when the time came, I thought I did well. The screening committee was comprised of four individuals, three of whom I used to work with; one of them I considered a friend. It sure seemed to be a friendly-enough group (as much as you can tell over the phone). And, I don’t see how any other candidate could have had an interview that even mildly resembled mine, given that I had first-hand experience performing many of those exact duties and producing policy documents on the very issues we talked about.

But, then I waited. For almost three weeks. Finally, finally, I received a rejection letter by mail a couple of days ago, impersonally notifying me that they had hired a candidate who more closely matched their needs at this time.

I can only guess what the story is; of course, I’ll never really know. I might only surmise that while I was talking about my unfinished business in Oregon, they were thinking, about me: “been there, done that.”

Sigh. I seem to be oh-so-good at setting myself up for rejection.

And I did it yet again.

Silly, wide-eyed, trusting, me.

Soundtrack Suggestion

If you change your mind, I’m the first in line
Honey I’m still free
Take a chance on me
If you need me, let me know, gonna be around
If you’ve got no place to go, if you’re feeling down
If you’re all alone when the pretty birds have flown
Honey I’m still free
Take a chance on me…

(“Take A Chance On Me” – Abba)

Ten days ago, I opened up my mailbox and found what looked like “real mail.” It was a rather-fat #10 envelope, neatly addressed with human handwriting (printing, actually) and a first-class stamp. My full name and address were there, but, curiously, there was no return address. It was postmarked May 19: Santa Ana, California.

I excitedly opened it up, thinking that, perhaps, some friend had taken the time to write me a letter – even though I didn’t think I knew anyone in Santa Ana. (But: who gets real mail these days!? What a treat!)

Well, such was not the case.

What I found was a folded-up four-page newsprint “article” (a newspaper insert, one corner identified it as the Weekly Journal, labeled “advertisement” at the top center of the page) describing a commercial herbal mixture called “Cho-Wa.” At the top of the first page, there was more handwriting, saying simply:

James,
Check it out!
J

Or at least I think it was signed “J.” I’m not totally sure. (Maybe it was a “T?”)

So, I’m thinking: what’s going on here? And, who calls me James?

I was curious enough to read the entire article, though, which purported to document the profound health benefits of an ancient Japanese herbal mixture designed to enhance “ki,” or “life force.” (Also known as “vital energy” or “spiritual energy.” The Chinese word is “qi” – pronounced “chee” – and I’ve written about this concept before, here and here.)

(I subsequently found the full text of this article online…click here if you’re interested.)

Since every visit I’ve ever had with a practitioner of Traditional Chinese Medicine has assessed me as “qi deficient,” I naturally paid close attention to this article. Of course, it was an advertisement for a product, and offered up practically miraculous stories of restoration.

And, I continued to wonder: who the heck sent this to me?

After thinking about it some, I went to the website listed and ordered a month’s supply, though. What could it hurt? I’m already taking a variety of supplements, and, over time, have experimented with a wide spectrum of natural products in order to find assistance for what ails me.

A few days later, the product arrived. It was slickly packaged and professionally invoiced. The box of 30 individual packets came with a little 10-page instruction book entitled “How to Experience Cho-Wa. Harmony is Strength.” It advises the user to set up a regular ritual to take the product, setting aside about 15 minutes a day to stir the packet contents into 6 ounces of cool water and then very slowly sip the mixture. As it takes some time to dissolve the powder into the water, the advice is to “simply continue stirring and go deeper into your awareness of the present moment.”

It’s all very Zen-like.

I’m on my third day of taking this formula now. And there’s not much new to report with respect to my physical well-being yet.

But I’ve continued to be curious about how I got this letter; so today I did some research on the web. Apparently, the letter did not come from anyone I know…this appears to be a “marketing technique.” Some even claim that it’s a total scam, aimed at “a demographic pre-disposed to … poor judgment with respect to mass marketing ploys: the elderly.”

Ah, so.

Well, it apparently works. I guess this old fart still believes in the Fountain of Youth, and am willing to follow anyone who claims that it really exists.

Silly, naïve, me.

Soundtrack Suggestion

Live a life less ordinary
Live a life extraordinary with me
Live a life less sedentary
Live a life evolutionary with me
Well I hate to be a bother,
But it’s you and there’s no other, I do believe
You can call me naïve but...
I know me very well (at least as far as I can tell)
And I know what I need ...

(“Life Less Ordinary” – Carbon Leaf)