Mr. Hockney departs

 According to this very blog, which is never wrong, I ran into David Hockney in the elevator at the deYoung Museum in 2013. It was an honor just to be in his presence. He died last week at age 88 ~ a man who loved color and life. RIP to another GREAT talent.

we all mourn

 This horrible Reiner family tragedy. I have no words for this unspeakable horror. Heartbreaking sorrow.

best friends forever

 I met Ginger back in the 70's and we were besties right from the start. Here is a photo of her in 2016, before Alzheimer's destroyed her. She died Sunday night and even though I expected this and even though I know logically that death is far better than how she was living, I am grieving. RIP my beautiful and funny and brilliant friend. 

an empty chair

 Our friend Lee died yesterday. She was 95 and had a wonderful life. We thought she would make it to book club yesterday when we finally discussed James, but no such luck. I will memorialize Lee at a later date, but suffice it to say that we were all so fortunate to know her. The irony of Lee passing on book club day is not lost on any of us. We had our lunch and a subdued meeting at Heidi's. 

I will be back next Monday. I hardly ever take a blog break but I do not want to take MsBook Air to Chicago and I will snap lots of photos and have a few stories to tell about the wedding, the sights, the heat and assorted family members. Bon voyage. 😎

RIP, Reverend

 If there is a heaven, the Rev. Cecil Williams is front and center there now. He co-founded Glide Memorial Church which Bill and I attended back in the 70's. Glide is now famous for helping the poor and hungry with their food kitchen and work programs. Rev. Williams was dynamic and a power house of a man. Talk about a life well-lived. He was 94 and was as important to this city as the cable cars or Golden Gate Bridge. 

RIP Detective Pembleton

 Some celebrity deaths hurt more than others. Losing Andre Braugher is one of those. We discovered him in Homicide: Life on the Street back in the 90's. The Blogmaid gave Bill his favorite mug which I am using this morning to honor our all-time favorite detective. Damn...

local sports radio hero dies

...the best Ralph Barbieri obituary I've read is from our Blogmaid: 

Every once in a while I’d google Ralph Barbieri to see what he was doing, and it was only a 

couple of weeks ago that I found a recent article in The Athletic (I had to subscribe and then 

cancel my membership to read it). I was saddened to read that he was wheelchair bound, but 

wasn’t prepared for the news today.

I replied to a few people on Twitter with a cat story. Ralph had a beloved cat, Sunshine, and 

my ex-husband Lee was Sunshine’s vet. Once when Sunshine was sick and had to stay at 

the pet hospital, Ralph asked us to put a radio next to his cage so he could listen to Ralph’s 

show, and Ralph would talk to him during the broadcast.

No one else on Twitter mentioned Sunshine, but Scott Ostler retweeted my story, and I’ve 

gotten a lot of likes.

I also remember that he coined the term “The Jewel” for what is now Oracle Park. In fact, 

I think he took credit for it being built at all.  

Sunshine was near the end of his life when Ralph was trying to figure out how to have a baby, 

and Lee and I went to his baby shower when he was expecting Tayte. (Scott Ostler was there,

 too.) I think Tayte was barely 10 before Ralph was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, and now he’s

 just turned 20. There were so many objectionable things that came out of Ralph's mouth (and 

Tom Tolbert’s) on their show, but Ralph really wanted a child, and it’s so sad that his experiences

 — and Tayte’s -- were shadowed by his illness and now his early death. 

Angels fly because they take themselves lightly.

RIP Ralph.

remembering Rita

I can't seem to find a photo of her on this computer, but we have been
friends forever. The last five or so years have been difficult for Rita and I
would visit her with groceries from time to time. Not often enough. Her
sister called yesterday to tell me the bad news and to help her locate names,
phone numbers and all that death business. Rita was a regular at Thanksgiving
and birthday celebrations for a long time and here is a beautiful paragraph
from the email of the Blogmaid last night. (Frank, Bill and Rita now MIA.)
These beautiful words make me feel a lot better with our mutual colorful memories.

I keep thinking about your dinner parties, with your table set so 

lovingly the day before, leaf added and name cards in place, and 

then the sparkle of conversation and glasses and laughing (and 

some minimal fussing by the hosts) on the actual night of. Now 

just barely over a year, two beloved guests and our most wonderful 

host are gone, and I know this is especially hard on our most 

wonderful hostess. I’m so sorry.

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades

I brought out my old, worn Mary Oliver poetry book as soon as I read that
she died yesterday. One of my all-time favorite poets. Thank you, Ms. Oliver.

When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility;

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement,
I was the bridegroom taking the world into my arms.

When it's over I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

~ Mary Oliver

my morning write

I’m pissed and upset this morning about the suicide of Anthony Bourdain. He was only

61. I met him once at Borders and he was one of those famous authors who is actually

friendly and nice to the staff. Many aren’t because they are too important to talk to

us. He was gorgeous in that rumpled I-love-this-life sort of way. His wonderful book

“Kitchen Confidential” blew the lid off restaurant work and the people behind the

scenes. We all loved it. Did I mention that he was gorgeous?

Bill and I went to his first restaurant (Les Halles) in NYC once with the youngest

son Rob. For the past few years we have been watching Chef Bourdain in his

travels around the world on CNN. How could a man who seemed to enjoy life

so much kill himself? Not only food, he seemed to appreciate the common

people, the street vendors, the cooks and waiters. He hate horrible local things

so he wouldn’t appear to be an outsider. He drank, he smoked.

Kate Spade, Anthony Bourdain. Two suicides of famous people in one week.

Both by hanging. Stop this madness.

We all mourn today.