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During Alison’s visit to Reno, she helped me unshackle several photos from their frames, long relegated to our bookshelves and walls, for all to see.

Carol Ann Hale
Lancaster High School

Carol with Fess Parker during the Ohio State trip to the 1958 Rose Bowl

Who knew Carol’s parents would send her on a train trip to Pasadena, where she hooked up with Fess Parker?

Brian 1971

Eric and Brian in Germany, 1979

Family Portrait in front of our Newton house 1986

Eric and Alison on our Newton back porch just before their wedding in our house.

Eric, Marcus and Alison at Joseph Phelps Winery, Napa Valley, 1992

Eric and Alison, out standing in their field…

I like ham.

I love my Mom.

The calendar says we’re in the midst of the 56th San Francisco International Film Festival. We’re not there.

dirty laundry

A few weeks ago I was sending my income tax package to my San Francisco accountant and the UPS Lady asked; “What do you miss most about SF?”

I said, “I can no longer walk down to Real Food for a half-pound of mushrooms and be back in five minutes.”

That was a spur of the moment reaction, and certainly true as it is “five miles to a loaf of bread” where we now live.

The reflective answer is that we most miss the San Francisco Film Society. We’re reminded of that at least once a week when we get the newsletter. But we don’t need the newsletter to tell us what we’re missing… we’re missing everything that’s not playing at the CinePlex.

We have a very nice CinePlex downtown by the Truckee River — RIVERSIDE 12 — and we enjoy going there to an early show and dinner after at any number of good restaurants nearby. But seeing Lincoln in a theater with 8 to 10 other souls present ain’t like seeing Queen of Versailles in a packed house. That’s what I miss.

We moved to Reno on June 6th, last year, not long after the 55th annual San Francisco International Film Festival closed. We attended 17 films at SFIFF55. I promised myself that for SFIFF56 we would make the trip to San Francisco during the Festival and cram as many films as possible into say, three days.

When the full schedule was available on the SFIFF56 website, I started looking around. I targeted April 30, May 1, 2. The website was arranged pretty well so with about 3 groups of times a day = 3 films a day. I think I picked two or three on Friday and then I started thinking… This is not like picking one or two films a day over 20 or so days. And I know nothing about any film; there’s no buzz, no printed program to peruse, no Members Night to review the films…

Well, all those things could have been overcome. But the Elephant-in-the-Room was Eric and Alison’s trip to San Francisco and then Reno the exact day after the Festival closes. Let’s say we went to SFIFF56 on April 30, May 1, 2… came back home and turned around and drove to SF the very next Friday to meet E and A. And we’ve hardly settled down from out Giants Spring Training trip (and certainly haven’t yet paid for it).

That crushing momentum caused me to just stop planning. I didn’t decide not to go, I just didn’t continue to pick films, discuss them with Carol, coordinate with Sarah, get the tickets, arrange to stay with Paula and so on and on. I guess I didn’t acknowledge it, but it turned out to be either:

Giants and Film Festival OR
Film Festival and Eric and Alison OR
Giants and Eric and Alison.

The latter became the default.
And while we loved the Giants trip and will love seeing Eric and Alison…
Bummer. Can’t get 10 pounds of goodness inna 5 pound bag.

But there is a fall-back. One of the other festivals: Taiwan or French or Italian. I always liked the Italian best. Last year, New Italian Cinema Events (NICE) played November 11 to 18. I’m gonna mark my calendar now.

As partial season ticket holder — Thanks Eric and Alison.

Here we are waiting to park while a tow truck does his business.

We’ll go to the end of this building then ramp up to the third — of six — floors to park. Five bucks, and you can use your ticket stub for a free slice at the pizza place (right beside that Ford). Hey, this is Reno. In SF they charge $20 to $40 within 5 blocks of the ballpark. This is just across the street.

Opening Day — with all new staff — is not a good time to get quick service before the game.

We’re in one of the *Freight House District* restaurants that border the ballpark. Carol is looking out the window to the field as they bring the National Anthem singer in in a limo.

Here’s the Aces starting lineup. No digitized jim-crack-scoreboard in this ballpark.

They do have a nice, big scoreboard, but it’s the kind that shows slides and short pre-made videos (such as advertising).

Our view of the ballpark. Pretty good, sez I.

As Brian promised, when the sun went down it got pretty cold, but we’re used to that from San Francisco — Not to mention Fenway Park in April. What we’re not used to is the Aces trailing 16-3 in the top of the Fifth Inning, and it’s about 9:20. We took the opportunity to leave.

And this is what was happening the next day… April snowblobs bring May flowers, we hope.

I almost never read a review before seeing the film. I like to be surprised… I want to figure it out for myself… I don’t know. Once I see a film, I’m eager to read a review. I guess my favorite critics are the New Yorker guys, David Denby and Anthony Lane. Of those, I’m more sympathetic to Denby, but they can both be really tough. I find the New York Times guys too dense. Mick LaSalle in the SF Chronicle can be brilliant, but most often isn’t and completely misses the mark, as I see it. Sadly, his Roger Ebert obituary missed the mark.

My go-to guy has always, ALWAYS, been Roger Ebert. He wrote so I knew what he’s feeling, and what he felt was very often what I felt. And part of his charm was that he was a storyteller, knew how to spin a yarn. Knew how to talk straight to me. I subscribed to the Sun-Times Media Roger Ebert.com email edition. It showed up in my mailbox once or twice a week. The last one in my mailbox is Friday March 22. God I’ll miss him.

I wrote about the tribute to him on RectorSite when I met him in person for the first and only time at the 53rd San Francisco International Film in 2010. (Feel free to scroll down past tributes to Don Hertzfeldt, Walter Salles and Robert Duvall to reach Roger Ebert’s final slot.)

Giants Spring Training — WooHoo

We went on a Road Trip, Carol and I. Our main objective was Giants Spring Training in Scottsdale AZ. Every year, I’ve talked about going to spring training and every year Carol would say, “I can’t take time off at that time of year.” Carol retired — WooHoo — so this year, we bought the Giants Spring Training package. Tickets to 3 games and hotel for three nights, tee shirts, caps and other goodies. We’re going to spring training!

After the games — around 5 on Sunday evening — we popped over to Tempe to visit my Uncle Frank, 93 and Aunt Wilda 89 and 3 of my Phoenix area cousins that I’ve hardly seen since childhood. Wilda — always full of energy and hustling around — served some snacks and a ridiculously good cherry creme dessert.

Everybody posed for pictures.

Carol Frank Wilda Marcus

Cinda, Frank, Wilda, Sam, Marla

That’s all folks…

Last Sunday, Bill Morris in the New York Times added to the recent meme that college athletics are “out of control” and need to be reigned in. To illustrate his point he profiles the new-ish tradition at Duke University where students camp out, now months in advance, to insure entrance to the Big Game of the year: Duke vs. UNC men’s basketball. While I agree in some part that college administrations sometimes direct athletics un-due attention and resources that are probably contrary to their founding missions as academic institutions, I also cherish the act of cheering for one’s college team as a form of pure and benign community building. And I think that Morris has latched onto the wrong symbol of collegiate athletic access when he speaks of “Krzyzyewskiville.” Then again, I may be biased because I was there, in line, at the beginning.

I arrive at Duke in the fall of 1982, and I distinctly remember our freshman orientation guide, a junior with spiky blond hair, asking our group if we followed college basketball. All ten of us looked around and then shook our heads. He smiled and said, “a year from now you will be big fans.” Frankly I was most looking forward to the ACC football season as our family were big Ohio State football fans, so I had watched many Big Ten football games growing up and finally wanted to see a college game in person. I didn’t even know if Ohio State had a basketball team, though Dad had mentioned once or twice that John Havlicek of our beloved Boston Celtics had played for Ohio State.

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Eric in New York City
Brian and Natasza in Belize

Eric and Brian went traveling and made the mistake of sending me emails with pictures. I thought the juxtaposition was great, so I threw them up here. Brian is still out there, so if he sends me any more stuff, I’ll add it.

Swut im tawkinuhbout… 1.14 3.06

Every time I visit Bennett Midland I get a new seat (the *empty* one), and thus a new view. Today the peak of the New York Life building burns through the mist. 1.15 5.32a

Takin’ it Belizey

Tight connexion to Belize flight in DFW turned into 30-min “security check” delay (which was originally called a “cleaning delay” when it looked like it would only be 10 min). This carried over to our arrival in Belize 30-min late, giving us one hour to get our bags, clear customs, & drive 30 minto th last water taxi to Caye Caulker, where we had prepaid for our hotel & needed 2 b at 8:30 tomorrow morning to catch our 3-day sailing trip. It was quite likely that the 30 min delay was going to screw up our first 3 days in Belize. Well, as u can c by th photo, we made it to th water taxi (of course nothing here happens on time) escorted by our warm, cheerful taxi driver Solano who didn’t even have to speed. It would’ve been completely out of character for th place (although th water taxi threw up a righteous rooster tail for 45 min straight). Got a golf-cart taxi from the pier to th hotel and was greeted by proprietor Rob, a US transplant about my age with th permanent spacey smile of one who makes a good living hanging out in a tropical Eden. We decompressed for a minute in our rustic room before changing into flip-flops & parrot-head shirts and ambling down one of the islands three dirt roads to find a grilled fish.

Quest for fish

If yer looking for a grilled fish big enough for two that was minding its own business on a tropical reef this morning, walk ~4 blocks thru th salty, steady sea breeze down th main drag of th island (see below) & turn right across from th pier. U may decide to stop along th way at one of several mom & pop stores for some bottled water that is sold at a refreshingly sane price (50¢ for a half-liter) in a place where a) u can’t drink tap water & b) there’s absolutely nowhere else to buy clean water. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

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Sully Saab, in better days….

I am a little bit hesitant to post this light-hearted take on “death” directly after Eric’s heart-felt tribute to Cos, but here goes anyway.

Since none of you follow me on Twitter or Facebook,  I realized this morning that you may not know…

DATELINE 1/9/13:  Sully Saab threw a rod at 75 mph on Wednesday and was declared DEAD ON ARRIVAL at Sovereign Saab.  Bob the mechanic gave me $250 in order to salvage it for parts. A few of its organs will live on in others. Rest in piece(s).

I am shopping for a new vehicle. Currently, these are the front-runners:

• Mini Cooper
• Golf (GTI if I can squeeze it out)
• Hyundai Veloster
• Ford Focus EcoBoost Hatchback

For those who have an need to know…

Dr. Costan W. Berard 1932 – 2013

In Central Africa — I learned this when I traveled to Uganda for the NIH — the Bantu people have a saying when a person passes away. They don’t say “he died,” or “he is dead.” They say “he stopped.” – Cos Berard

If he had been born in his father’s home town of Monteferrante — a little mountain village high above the Adriatic coast of Italy — his birth certificate would have read “Costantino Berardinelli” just like his dad. Instead, “Costan Berard” was born in Cranston, NJ, just outside of Newark, the last of four children. His mother, Frances Coma (changed to “Comer” when her family arrived in the US), was widowed when Cos was only three years old, and after that she was busy running the family lumberyard business and Cos was raised by his sister Claire. The family knew him as J.R. (and the “Uncle June” similarities don’t stop there…)

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After moving a few times, our fearless Weber Q grill found the perfect spot on our back terrace.

• Close enough to the house to plug in a lamp for night grilling,

• I grill facing east, for a nice view and the late afternoon sun is at my back,

• near the window, so if there’s a game on the TV, I can look right in.

Then Winter came.

We snuggled the grill and rolling table together for mutual protection (Dec 26).

We realized there would be no winter grilling on the back terrace, the north side of the house.

I shoveled a path out to the grill the next day and brushed off the snow.

What was I thinking? It’s better to have a path than not have a path.

A couple weeks passed and it did not snow, although the temperatures were very cold until 2 days ago. And we did have some afternoon sun from time to time.

On sunny days in the afternoon, I would shovel a bit on a path that would eventually lead to the front terrace.

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I’m staffing the Maine Cheese Guild booth at the Maine Agricultural Trade Show. Check out the Guild web site for more photos.

December 22 to 26, 2012

Sunrise December 26

Yeah, yeah, we all grew up with snow and grew tired of it and for the most part, moved away from it. We were delighted to be able to shovel air in San Francisco beginning in 1992.

Now, we’re in Reno and experiencing our first mountain west winter. On Saturday, that meant snow — lots of windblown, very, very wet snow. So I bored y’all with pictures and so on. The weather changed to sun and a high blue sky on Christmas day. Brian and Natasza came over for a cheese foudue repast. In the late afternoon a big gray cloud appeared in the southwest. Weather guys had been saying that we were experiencing a 3 part storm wrapped around a LOW moving into California. Well, here comes part three. Tiny, flurry like flakes appeared just before dusk, around 5pm. Carol is fond of saying, “Little flakes, big snow; big flakes, little snow.” Yeah, right. The next morning we had four more inches, making 10 inches on the ground on our north back terrace.

Measured six inches Saturday afternoon.

The grill and rolling table; not rolling and not grilling.

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Amy n Gary Tree

Tommy n Kelly Tree

Recently, we got a flyer in our mailbox about Reno Snow and Ice Control. I thought the procedures were particularly enlightened.

Salt Brine

In the winter season of 2011-12, the City of Reno began using a new method to treat streets for snow and ice. Prior to a snow or ice event, City crews apply salt brine to the Priority 1 streets, bridges and inclines. The brine consists of a clear solution of tap water and sodium chloride (road salt), mixed in concentrations of 23 to 26 percent salt, and has a freezing point of -6º F. Salt brine is applied to the roadway to prevent snow from bonding to the streets, making it easier and safer to plow. Brine is up to 20 times more effective than salt and sand and is labor efficient since it is applied during normal operating hours prior to the arrival of the storm. For more information, please read the salt brine FAQs.

I didn’t know when they might get around to little old Sierra Canyon, although from I-80 to our house is all uphill. The next day, I saw this:

For the whole snow and Ice control policy, see the website.

Carol and I haven’t experienced snow and ice since moving to San Francisco in 1992. This makes us feel good about the upcoming winter.