Hollister

Hollister is not your typical tourist attraction. For one thing, they don’t serve food there. The shopping is great if one is looking for trendy southern California clothing. The sights are limited to absurdly fit mannequins and blown-up photos of young models. There is not much to do except browse the latest fashions.

Hollister, CA, is not your typical tourist attraction either. It is a mainly agricultural town of slightly over 30,000 people. It serves as the county seat San Benito County in the central valley. It is a city with wide streets and strip malls. There isn’t much for a tourist to do either.

It’s a different story just outside of the city, however. A few miles north of the town, celebrating its 100th anniversary, the Casa de Fruta fruit stand is now Casa de Empire. Conveniently located at the intersection of two county highways, it became a convenient watering hole for weary travelers. The orchards and nut trees of the farm supplied the refreshments to this day. It soon expanded to Casa de Diesel, Casa de Restaurant, and so on. Casa de Sweets and Casa de Zoo has made it into a must stop for kids while Casa de Wine and Casa de Coffee made it essential for adults. As for their latest addition, Casa de Burrito, well, you get the idea.

In the other direction, Pinnacles National Park offers a completely different experience. Born 23 million years ago after an ancient volcano erupted, it is now a rock climber’s delight with its many crags and peaks. The hot and dry conditions that reached over 100 ^oF were interrupted by frequent caves one had to walk through. A short hike later, one came to a reservoir where many dragonflies of different colors chased each other in circles.

The best part, after a long hike, was returning to the campsite to chilled, sparkling pomegranate wine. It was snacking on a variety of dried fruit – kiwi, papaya, strawberry-flavored pineapple, nectarines and apricots. It was munching on six different flavors of roasted pistachios. It was chilling at the campsite pool. It was sleeping under the stars.

Now that’s a tourist attraction.

The Sound of Time Wasting

Consider the drive from Seattle to San Francisco. If done at a good pace without pushing oneself, the trip can take a good two working days, including meals, rest stops and an overnight stay. It certainly can seem like wasted time with that many hours spent on the open road. Yet it was incredibly relaxing to allow the mind to go numb for two straight days; to have the eyes fixated on nothing but the horizon off in the distance; to meander through miles of mountainous highway and forests of alpine trees. While at a rest stop near Mount Shasta, I realized that there had not been a need for a single coherent thought for over 24 hours. Luxury.

Perhaps it is the moving of boulders. A friend and I do periodic upkeep of a Frisbee golf course. Since it is deep in a wooded area, we find ourselves doing mundane tasks of clearing trails or moving fallen logs. We also end up creating more work for ourselves than necessary, such as when we decided to delineate some of the tee pads with boulders. Armed with a wheelbarrow, a pickaxe and a shovel, we pushed, pulled, rolled and heaved several rocks nearly 150 pounds apiece to their final resting places. After digging some trenches and burying half the rock into the ground, we congratulated ourselves for the completion of three new areas for launch. That evening, I slept far more soundly and deeply than any other night in recent memory. Bliss.

Or is it the triviality of silly games? BBC Radio 4 features several light-hearted programs where the enjoyment comes from the gentle breeze of time passing rather than intense intellectual stimulus. Shows, such as Just a Minute, where the object is to speak for sixty seconds on any subject without hesitation, deviation or repetition may sound simple, but hilarity ensues when one tries to do it. Others, like I’m Sorry, I Haven’t a Clue, are merely a string of mindless feats, like Singing One Song to the Tune of Another. They are simple in their setting, difficult in their execution, amusing to listen to when done poorly, and exciting to hear when done properly. Joy.

Sitting very still in a field for several hours may qualify too. It doesn’t matter whether the purpose is to stare at a picturesque stump in the middle of a pond on a breezy afternoon or to sit outside of a barn while enjoying the music from the Olympic Chamber Music Festival. In both of these situations, one just soaks in the surrounding – a feast of colors for the eyes or a kaleidoscope of sounds for the ears. In both situations, stresses just melt into the ground and the inertia to get up and leave is immense. Peace.

But it might be the running around from one coffee meeting to another on one’s own time. It might be the choice of working late nights or early mornings or both, when necessary. It might be the frequent socialization and networking to stay on top of industry news. It might be the speaking at industry events to advance a solution or the creation of partnerships that streamline business processes. It might be the ability to work remotely. Liberty.

Which one(s) is it? Perhaps we will never know.

Threnody to an Empty Bowl of Iced Cream

Iced cream: I hardly knew you. You are a rare foodstuff – one that soothes the bitterness of pain and accentuates the pleasures of joy. You generously lend unwavering support to an ensemble of pies yet can stand bold and strong in solo acts of pints. Your luxuries royale have eluded the masses until the invention of artificial freezing and even then, the perfect texture eludes many to this day. You satisfy the hunger pains of the right brain and the poignant urges of the left. And so today I want to celebrate the full life of what is now an empty bowl.

Born one faithful morning a short two weeks ago to a Danish Jersey and a Guernsey cow, you were rapidly whisked away from your biological parents and spent your formative minutes in a large vat with others like yourself. You were eventually singled out for your high concentration of hydrocarbon chains of the lipid variety. You spent the next few hours in a special slow-churn school system where you were fed a special diet of sugar and vanilla while you studied French and Italian. As your ice crystals grew and hardened with age, you gained the respect of your peers and earned a right to sit between them. By the time we first met, you were well established already and the sitting Mayor of Naples.

Although we only knew each other for a short amount of time – less than 15 minutes – your impact was huge. You were placed next to the pretentious Dulce de Leche and the pessimistic Death by Chocolate on the shelf. It was love at first sight. The winds of fate had brought the two of us together and nothing was going to stop that. After a short ceremony at the cash register, we were finally on our way into the wide world.

So as I stare at the empty bowl where you once stood proud, all I can think about was the wonderful time together, burnished in memories for time immemorial. It seemed but a moment ago when we basked in the coolness of your company, the richness of your flavors and the creaminess of your texture. The loss of your company only set in after the ineffective scraping of melted cream at the bottom of the bowl. Your simplistic Neapolitan nature made you who you are and you will be missed. Our memories together will never be replaced.

Except, perhaps, by a pint of Rocky Road.

Sand, I Ego

Jimmy Carter is a lot shorter than he looks on television. That was one of the more unexpected conclusions while visiting friends in San Diego. I am embarrassed to admit that this was my (mostly) first time to the city even though I grew up in California. The “mostly” comes from the fact that in high school, I was participated in a college tour of UCSD, but we were literally bussed in and out of the university with no time to see the rest of the city. This time, however, outside of a few hours in a biomedical laboratory, which looks like every other biomedical laboratory in the world, I had a chance to really get to know the place.

I left Seattle early in the morning, after a short drive to the airport in the cold rain on Interstate 5. I was welcomed by a warm sun in San Diego before being whisked away on The 5. The similarities between the cities were striking. Both cities have strong aerospace traditions with Boeing in one and Lindbergh the other. Both have a vibrant downtown and personality driven neighborhoods. Both enjoys microbrews and both serve really good ice cream, but only one has a climate suitable for eating it in winter. Both also have strong maritime traditions with large naval bases for air craft carriers. We toured the Maritime Museum with submarines and tall ships amongst the collection. My favorite part of the museum was touring the boiler room of the steam ship Berkeley. The three-hour whale watching tour also had many sights that we would not normally see in Seattle, namely fighter jets take off and landings, helicopters flying in formation and tall ships sailing in and out of harbor.

The highlight of the trip was meeting Samson and Delilah, the Saint-Saëns version. Delilah had a nice voice but the tenor, we all agreed afterwards, didn’t start truly singing till the 3rd act when he was forced to push a giant mill stone as punishment by the Philistine. As Samson belted his remorse at his own failures, he begs God for one last chance to redeem himself and save his people. He gets his wish. During the last scene, he is chained to two large pillars near the altar of the Philistine temple when God returns his enormous strength. With his new-found strength, he destroys the pillars, bringing the roof down onto the worshipers, thus killing the oppressors and freeing his people. As we left the opera, the humor of life did not escape us. We had parked under the Church of Scientology, a building that is held up by pillars to enable street-level parking underneath.

Running into Jimmy Carter was perhaps the most unplanned part of the trip. We were walking down a sidewalk on our way to the Hotel del Coronado, a well-known seaside resort, when we passed a contingent of men dressed in black suits and wearing ear buds. Typically, when one passes a contingent of men in black with ear buds, it means that they are escorting someone of importance. A quick glance at the person walking in the middle proved that theory correct, with the former President holding hands with his wife.

Indeed, our the trip was full of the sights and sounds of San Diego interspersed with speakeasies, Mary’s chicken, gelato, aircraft carriers and Jimmy Carter. Perhaps the only thing we did not get to see was whales. Sadly, I was also denied the request to tour the engine room on our vessel – and was told that no one had ever requested to tour it before. Those experiences will need to be rectified on future visits!

Mixed

T’was a dark and stormy night, and all through the train,
Not a sound could be heard, just the pitter-patter rain.
All luggage was stowed, no one feared the pickpocket,
Since our attendant was the man from Nantucket.

The Parlor Car was filled and passengers well fed,
While thoughts of green eggs and ham, danced in their heads,
And I in my coach seat, my computer on my lap,
Grading some term papers, before taking a nap.

When out in the distance, there arose such a shout,
Like in Mudville – where Mighty Casey had struck out.
I jumped from my seat and others listened to hear,
Half expecting a message from Mister Revere.

The streetlights from above cast down an orange glow,
Like a fire in the Yukon, dancing in the snow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the Walrus and the Carpenter, eight oysters and beer.

“The time has come” The walrus said, “to talk of many things".
“Of fox in socks — and Goldilocks — of mice and men — and kings".
“Old men in boats, out deep at sea, and eggs that sit on walls",
“Of pigs and wolves and jabberwocks, of holly decked in halls".

They spoke no more, their lunch was set, drank wine and broke the bread.
And did not stop their massive feast till both of them were fed.
Poor mollusks, sad oysters, unlucky pearls of the sea.
They liked you here, they liked you there, they liked you with their tea.

There is a place where the sidewalk ends, where the raths do outgrabe,
Where the caged bird sings and spiders swings on a web spun for their Babe.
But on this train droned on a dirge, a melancholy burden bore,
For a blackbird stood, above the door, quothed the raven “Nevermore”.

A Leitmotif

Virtually everyone I know will say they like music. It is certainly true for me as well. However, what most people mean when they say that they like music is that they enjoy listening to music. As a violinist, I can add another layer of complexity and say that I also enjoy creating music. Indeed, listening to music only uses one of the senses - sound. Creating music requires not just the ears but also eyes to follow the notes, touch for tactile feedback, muscles to execute techniques, the mind to weave the narrative and the soul to instill emotions. It is enjoyable be in an audience listening to a Mahler symphony. It is gratifying to sit in the middle of a full orchestra playing the same piece.

As an entrepreneur, my days are usually full of tasks and deliverables and the stress levels of work can be very high. No doubt, listening to music is a stress reliever. It has a calming, soothing sensation that helps recharge some energy to keep going. But there is a limit on how effective it can be. After all, it is tempting to continue working and one easily finds oneself writing reports or responding to emails while listening to music. In fact, music sometimes diverts attention away from the important task at hand, thus negating the benefits of it being a stress reliever.

Playing music, however, is the exact opposite. It is hardly possible to do anything else while creating music. It gives one a temporary reprieve from the busyness of life. One’s mind is too busy trying to figure out how to vibrate the fourth finger on the G string that one cannot think about accounting discrepancies, legal reconciliations, or personnel problems. One’s ears listens to luscious melodies, drowning out the monotonous hum of a computer. It also helps put one’s problems into perspectives - it occurred to me once while playing that Mozart probably had bad days too, but it didn’t stop him from composing beautiful music.

Music plays different roles in my life depending on what I need. Like most people, if I had a hard day, I’ll listen to the radio or a playlist. However, if I had a stressful day, I’ll pull out my violin and play Mendelssohn, Bruch or Vitali. Whereas other people will go to a gym to take their anger out on a punching bag, if I feel the need to be loud and violent, I’ll play the 3-octave A major scale, building from 2 notes to a bow to a frenzied 24 notes to a bow. If my fingers are cramped from typing at the keyboard all day, I’ll play one-string arpeggios or double stops thirds. If I’ve been working on rote paperwork, I’ll improvise some klezmer. If I’m super stressed, I’ll do all of the above.

This relationship with music evolved over time as it found a niche in my life. In college, I noticed that my academically worst terms were always the terms where I did not participate in a performance group. That made me realize that music was not just an interest or a hobby. It was a necessity to keep at my best. That has stayed true as I continued into graduate school and my professional life. Today, whether it is sight reading chamber music with a group of friends or playing scales in the office, a little bit of music makes a lot of life.

The Magic of Big Sur

In no particular order...

Vastness

Sheerness

Ruggedness

Stormyness

Colorfulness

Sea Urchin nests