It was a perfect day to visit Burton Chace Park on its little peninsula in Marina del Rey. The mercury was rising, I was in the middle of an Icelandic mystery by the masterful Arnaldur Indriðason, and I missed the cool sea breezes that characterize the park, even when no one else experiences them. So I stopped first at Bay Cities Italian Deli & Bakery for one of their famous Godmother sandwiches and a soda and took them with me to the park.
On weekdays, visitors to the park could park for free for up to 90 minutes by the parking meters.
As usual, the park was full of hungry squirrels and loud crows. I’ve always liked them. They were good company for a bookworm like me, unlike the bums and spare change artists whom I avoided like the plague. Fortunately, they were not in evidence today.
After an hour and a half, I returned home feeling fresh. Martine was gone out for a walk, so I warmed up some of my potato and spinach curry and served it with a dollop of plain yogurt.
Unfortunately, some of the rich turmeric-laden sauce dripped onto my shirt. Turmeric is one stain that does not come out easily. Sigh!
At Los Arrayanes National Park in Argentina’s Lake District
It’s one of the smallest national parks in Argentina, being wholly contained within 6.77 square miles (17.53 square kilometers). I rode out there on Lago Nahuel Huapi on a beautiful Glasgow-built steamship called the Modesta Victoria and wandered for a couple of hours among the beautiful Arrayán trees (Luma apiculata) with their cinnamon-colored bark.
The Modesta Victoria on Lago Nahuel Huapi
The little national park was one of the highlights of my 2015 visit to Argentina and Chile. There is a myth that the color of the trees inspired Walt Disney in designing the look of the forest for Bambi (1942). I don’t know whether Walt traveled to Argentina or saw some pictures—or indeed whether he or any of his animators were even aware of the place.
One thing for sure, there are no Arrayán trees (aka Chilean Myrtles) naturally growing in the United States.
Poems from Iceland are not frequently encountered outside the island nation. The following poem is from Jónas Hallgrímsson (1807-1845).
On New Years Day 1845
Thus the years open, each of them in turn, endlessly blooming flowers of transiency. Their ceaseless passing is of no concern, for time no longer means a thing to me.
I have a treasure of eternal worth: a guardian heart which—girded against harm— gazes on heaven but is content with earth, and views the threatening fog without alarm.
“Always be tough!” they tell me. “Hold your own!” But I would rather live and feel and see— even when this earns me men’s antipathy—
than be a hollow half-decayed sheepbone, hidden by pack-train boys in piles of stone, stuffed full of slander and obscenity.
For over twenty years, I considered Stewart Brand’s Whole Earth Catalog as one of the major influences of my life. This evening, I unearthed the most recent edition I had, entitled The Next Whole Earth Catalog and published in October 1981.
In the original issue dated 1969, the following appeared on the opening page:
Function
The WHOLE EARTH CATALOG functions as an evaluation and access device. With it, the user should know better what is worth getting and where and how to do the getting.
An item is listed in the CATALOG if it is deemed:
Useful as a tool,
Relevant to independent education,
High quality or low cost,
Not already common knowledge,
Easily available by mail.
CATALOG listings are continually revised according to the experience and suggestions of CATALOG users and staff.Purpose
We are as gods and might as well get good at it. So far, remotely done power and glory—as via government, big business, formal education, church—has succeeded to the point where gross defects obscure actual gains. In response to this dilemma and to these gains a realm of intimate, personal power is developing—power of the individual to conduct his own education, find his own inspiration, shape his own environment, and share his adventure with whoever is interested. Tools that aid this process are sought and promoted by the WHOLE EARTH CATALOG.
The items in the original catalog are grouped under seven main sections:
Understanding Whole Systems
Shelter and Land Use
Industry and Craft
Communications
Community
Nomadics
Learning
It would seem that I’m not really that self-sufficient, not even like my brother Dan, who builds homes of logs (and other materials). I am by nature a bookworm, but I would have to admit that the WEC has contributed hugely to my well being.
For years I used to order my loose tea from Murchie’s in Vancouver, British Columbia. That’s how I discovered the Darjeeling, Ceylon, and Assam teas with which I start just about every day. (Since then, I have discovered Ahmad of London teas, which are readily available at local Middle Eastern and Indian food stores.)
The WEC also pointed the way to that encyclopedic American cookbook, The Joy of Cooking by Irma S. Rombauer and Marion Rombauer Becker. I still use my 1980s edition.
The Nomadics section is largely responsible for the travel bug that has infected me since my first trip abroad in 1975. Much of my information came from Carl Franz’s The People’s Guide to Mexico. As WEC says, “Reading the book is almost like being there and going through the problems and frustrations, pleasures and wonders of dealing with a new environment, new people and new ways of doing things.”
I was not yet ready for South and Central America, but the WEC Nomadics advice influenced me. Two decades before I flew to Argentina, I religiously read editions of The South American Handbook published in America by RandMcNally.
In the coming weeks, I hope to share some of the nuggets from WEC that have influenced me.
Stewart Brand is still around, but perhaps the Internet has probably replaced WEC. The problem with the Internet, however, is that you will find great advice and terrible advice in the same session. And how are we Americans at making good decisions? Pretty crappy, I think.
I would have to say some of the pots and pans in my kitchen. And then there is the 50-year-old Japanese metal teapot with an insert for the loose tea leaves. Perhaps, too, my two wooden spoons as well as my very miscellaneous knives, spoons, and forks.
Most of my favorite moments are connected with travel. The last time I landed in Mérida, Tucatán, I was in a veritable trance. I remembered places I had been as the taxi took me to the Hotel Piazetta at the Parque de la Mejorada. I had been to Mérida five or more times already, and it was like revisiting an old friend.
Around then, two things happened that changed my life for the better:
The accounting firm for which I was working shut its doors when the boss retired.
Around that time, I started attending guided mindful meditation sessions at the Central Library.
In the accounting profession, from New Years Day to Tax Deadline Day (April 15 or thereabouts) is sheer, unadulterated hell. By the middle of March, one had to work seven days a week. The stress was beginning to tell on me, particularly with my blood pressure and cholesterol.
The abrupt end to my working career was a blessing. I could read books, see films, and cook interesting meals. I did not find, upon retiring, that I no longer had a purpose in life. My entire working career was as a well-paid mercenary, writing computer programs, handling corporate communications, preparing taxes, and keeping a computer network in working order. My life was ruled by the clock, and I suffered for it.
After many years of doing, I was finding that there was much to be said for not-doing. I didn’t mind waiting at the doctor’s office. If the bus or train was late, what was that to me? I would sit concentrating on my breaths until such time as the train arrived or the doctor called me in. I was no longer worried about being late, as “lateness” no longer had any real urgency or even meaning. I even began to see it as an opportunity to meditate.
When I was in the hospital in January, the nurses could not understand why I didn’t care to watch television—especially as I knew that the selection of channels was not to my liking. All the other patients had to watch the boob tube lest they go stark raving mad.
As a result of my not-doing, I found my blood pressure and cholesterol dropping. I’m still working on my Type 2 Diabetes, but that is partly genetic. Everyone in my family had it, and I didn’t manage to escape the family scourge.
Even though there are a lot of things in my world not to my liking (Trump, MAGA), I feel confident that I can probably hold on for a while longer. Who knows?
Tarnmoor 
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