The Dentist

My dentist is probably the coolest dentist ever. Not only does Dr. Ken Garcia have an immaculate, modern office and a TV for every patient, but he is also a surfer and a musician, with long flowing hair and a Jimi Hendrix plaque on the wall by reception. And he's just the nicest guy. I’ve never had an unpleasant experience in his office, and was just in today having my teeth cleaned. All good.

But what is it about sitting in the dentist’s chair—even though I have been blessed with good teeth and the coolest dentist ever—that makes me squirm and sweat? It’s not even the scraping of the dental tools, I don’t think. There’s just something about lying on my back, with a ridiculous paper bib on and the dental hygenist’s hands in my mouth, that makes me feel completely helpless and triggers a primal sense of uneasiness. From the dark recesses of my brain comes the thought: this person could help me, but then again she could just as easily kill me.

If you turn out to
be an evil dentist, I
will probably bite.

Heart and Torch


Today I was looking through some photos and posters that I want to frame and hang, and was struck again by how much I love this picture of Rick Griffin, taken on Easter in 1971, at (I think) his place in San Francisco’s Bernal Heights district. (I have a poster-sized version of it, signed by the photographer, John Van Hamersveld. Definitely a keeper.) The tiny jpeg I posted above really doesn't do it justice; you can't see the eyes, but never mind. If you want to see it full-sized, come over to my house. Anyway, Griffin was an artist who became famous for his psychedelic posters in the 1960s. He designed some of the Grateful Dead’s most iconic posters and album covers, and became well known in the surfing subculture of southern California for his illustrations and comics for Surfer magazine.

In 1970, Griffin became a Christian—a self-professed “Jesus Freak”—and changed the focus of his art to religious themes. His most significant works from this period were the hundreds of paintings and drawings he produced for an illustrated version of the Gospel of John. He died in 1991, at the age of 47, from injuries he sustained in a motorcycle accident in Northern California.

A few years ago, the Laguna Art Museum held a retrospective exhibition of Griffin’s work called “Heart and Torch: Rick Griffin’s Transcendence.” David and I took the kids, who loved the colorful, comic-book style of much of the art. I personally don’t love all of Griffin’s work, but there is a current of hope and longing that runs through even the darker-themed pieces that is compelling.

I think I love this particular photograph of Griffin because he looks like a wild but gentle prophet, able to see things the rest of us might miss.


Your drawings of
breaking waves,
flying eyeballs,
swirling colors
and sacred hearts
tell me that even when you were here,
you weren’t really here.
You were never of this world
and left it a little early.
I look at your eyes
in a black and white photograph,
your hair and beard as wild as John the Baptist’s
might have been,
and wish you could tell me
what you’re seeing now.

Baby Emmett


David and I have a new nephew, Emmett Joel Vanderveen, and he is exceedingly cute. He was born Sunday, February 21, and is a peach-perfect, 7-pound 10-ounce bundle. His parents, Joel (David’s brother) and Katie are two of the sweetest, smartest people I know, and they produce the most darling children. As I always say, Prada just can’t make a bad shoe, and Joel and Katie just can’t make an un-adorable baby. Well, this might be the first time I’ve actually linked those two concepts together, but there you have it. Emmett joins his sisters Ava (3 years) and Leah (18 months).


Welcome to the world,
Little E! We’ve been waiting
for you. Wrapped in light
blue blankets and love, with your
mom and dad and two
sweet sisters close by, you’re off
to a good start. I
can’t wait to get to know you.
Let the adventure begin!

Del Mar Avenue

I dropped Willem off at soccer practice this afternoon at Moulton Meadows park and on the way back, driving on Del Mar Avenue, I got to take in one of my favorite views of Laguna. I love driving down Del Mar on a clear day because it gets so steep so quickly that, for a split second, it looks as if the road ahead drops directly off into the ocean. (I’m also partial to this particular avenue because my friends the Herricks’ house is on it; they’re living in Italy right now and I miss them.)

The road is so steep
and the ocean so blue I
may stop and dive in

Shelter

One of the lectionary readings for today, the first Sunday in Lent, is Psalm 91, which has long been a favorite of mine. It’s a beautiful, comforting poem. I love the psalmist’s use of vivid images to describe the trouble and fears we might face—flying arrows, deadly sickness, fearsome animals—and also the language of shelter and reassurance, with God as some kind of great majestic bird who gathers us under his (or her) wings.

When we were living in Napa and the boys were very young, David had to travel a lot for work, which wasn't much fun for him or me. I went through a difficult time—maybe it was post-partum depression, or a spiritual crisis, or probably both, but it was a period of several months in which I felt overwhelmed during the day and fearful at night. When the sun went down and I put the kids to bed, I felt like something dark and cold had descended on me; at night I was uneasy in our house and literally afraid to go downstairs. The verse “you shall not be afraid of any terror by night” resonated with me; I clung to this psalm as my mantra, and made it through those months (which is another story for another day). Some of you may see this as a purely psychological coping mechanism, but I believe there was—and is—something much more powerful at work.


O God
Whether it is a bright serene Sunday
like today
or a night in which the cold, corporeal darkness
comes and sits on my chest
like that one
Let me not forget
to seek your shelter
and stay in your shadow

Band Practice

My son Willem and a few of his friends have formed a band and are learning to play some of their favorite songs together. Today they had planned to practice, but were missing the drummer and guitar player, so Willem and his buddy Reed gamely forged ahead on bass and keyboard. I love listening to them play, and get such a kick out of hearing them attempt a classic song like "Dazed and Confused."




One boy on bass, the
other on keyboard, and Led
Zeppelin in the house

Lent

The season of Lent began yesterday, and I didn't attend Ash Wednesday services because I was on a family ski trip. But I don't feel too bad about that, because I got stuck on a very steep run that I shouldn't have attempted that late in the day, and it kind of felt like the imposition of ashes. There was a lot of falling down and prayer and repentance going on. I felt duly chastened. Anyway, as we were packing to go home and watching the Olympics on TV, I had a few more thoughts on Lent. Note: this isn't intended to be a theological treatise, so please don't read it that way!


After the fat and
fun comes Lent: prayer, penitence
and self-denial,
which, today (even to those
who believe), can sound
like words in a foreign tongue
or concepts from a
galaxy far, far away.

But:
Watching the winter
Olympics, I remember
that discipline and
preparation are what lie
behind all of that
beauty, the flashing blades and
flying boards and arms
raised in victory. And that
the point of Lent is
preparation, a kind of
athlete’s training for
the soul, except that
there’s no contest at the end,
no first, second and
third place medals, but rather
the joyful celebration
of Easter and its
empty podium.