59 word fiction by Kim Guzzetti

The twins began in the shed, dragging fans, toolboxes, shovels to the road. Sitting on a box, smiling, waiting. Items sold off one by one -first the shed, then the garage, the house. Boys.. smiling and selling. As time passed, two boys became one on the road’s curve. Finally, a laundry basket remained. The family buried in the backyard.

catering a women's birthday......

with open curtains & sliding doors I lay my weary body down in a lazy afternoon snooze......under the canopy of a light blue sky with whispy clouds I can hear the excited cackle of our chickens pecking away at the fallen tomatoes I have given them........with a trusty dog lying on the floor beside me and our cat sleeping with me, I relax and sweet dream of my days & nights & the family I am blessed with.........

 It is quite obvious now that his stack was going down.

He still had plenty of chips but the pile was taking a hit.

There was a time when the chip count was quite overwhelming.

It was not like he played every hand, but the times he did, he wagered hard.

And then, there were the hands he just didn't bother with.

They may not have been worth the time, the energy, the importance.

But there were the monster pots.

High stakes, always upping the ante and players flying right at you.

The big pots he won were sweet, righteous and

gave him the heart & conviction connection, almost karmic, he so looked for.

The rewards were plentiful, nothing was forgotten.

The bruises were hardly noticed and part of the great pain.

But now, he plays very little and watches the dwindling pile suffer due to age,

health & dammit he's just plain tired.

His advice is sought as a wise old timer and former player

but still most everyone rues the day he can play no more.

Memories not forgotten, from the full house to the no pair.

Was the gambling worth it?

"Indeed", he replies, as he moves from the thought of despair.

Painted toenails with a purple background and a shining moon on the cool tile floor,

worried through the winter and careful with summer means survival.

Always cooking something and waiting on the swing of that front door, he glows when the friends arrive, smiles continually and never checks the clock dial.

Afterword he feels satisfied and sleep comes easily,

work and play intermixed with love and so fortunate to have all of the above,

onto another day in this blessed company and community.

I thought, I've got to get to know these people.

Her picture was in the paper with some prose she had written

and he was a well regarded artist.

Soon, I spotted her across the street from the coffee lounge.

I jaywalked into action and introduced myself saying

'I just know we have to be friends'.

She blushed and gave me a hug

and now I'm a small part of their lives.

I love their art and we have dinner together

sharing our family ways.

What a town, what a town

we all fall in love when we look around.

'this play is about us!'

Rancho goodbye-o

Butcher Shop 1992: “The Birth of ‘Penis’,” a living tableau by Lynette Montgomery starring (from left) Kelly Meagher, Peter Boyle, David Guzzetti and Kathy Dias.

Chico-cred weekend If you were too young, or too clueless, or you once had a young rocker dude’s vague aversion to theater freaks (raises hand) back when the notorious Butcher Shop was putting on its celebrated backyard theater, music, shadow-puppet happenings 15 years ago, you now have the chance to relive an energetic and creative time in Chico’s history. This Labor Day weekend, many of the original players (most of whom were also original Blue Room Theatre players, as the downtown black-box theater was founded by the Butcher Shop crew) will make their way to 2500 Estes Road (follow Normal south to the end) for two reunion performances, Saturday and Sunday, Sept. 5-6, 7:30 p.m. (lawn seating—bring a blanket and anything else you need).

On the program are new short plays written and/or performed by such Chico ex-pats as Forrest Gillespie, Jesse Karch, Michael Gannon and current Emmy-winning Daily Show writer (and former CN&R Arts Editor) Jason Ross, among others. There will also be music by house band Dave the Butcher, plus surprises by such luminaries as Brad Moniz and members of the family who hosted the original Butcher Shop in their back yard, brothers Dylan and Denver Latimer (sons of Chico lawyer Dennis Latimer and Chico State English professor Mary Ann Latimer). In anticipation of two nights of free, outdoor community theater, Arts DEVO had a chat with co-founder Denver.

The Butcher Shops took place in your parents’ back yard—did you really cut a hole in a wall of their garage for one of the performances?

They were on vacation when we cut the wall open to the garage and built the stage. It was a surprise, but they took it in stride and actually embraced the idea—we staged one of my father’s short plays during the first year. My mother made some cameo appearances over the years and has been extremely supportive of both the Butcher Shop and the Blue Room. I think they both recognize the importance it plays in building and sustaining an artistic community.

How’d the creation of the Blue Room Theatre come about?

Well, it was difficult to establish an artistic identity that people could identify and then follow, and we pissed off all the other theater companies in town, except Chico City Lights Opera. We were the young upstarts and we were confronting best practices at that time. Building a community of like-minded artists was both the most challenging and also the most gratifying thing that happened. This year we celebrate all those actors who came out of the woodwork in 1993-96 and became life-long collaborators.

Any thoughts on how the Blue Room has evolved over its 15 years?

It’s had a succession of artistic leaders, and it’s had its ups and downs. I don’t think there has been a strong artistic mission that has been followed throughout the history. You can argue that each artistic leader brings a different mission to the theater, but I think the space lends itself to experiment and to intimacy. These are very difficult things to develop in a volunteer environment.

Do you think Chico’s current theater scene is in good health?

I’m impressed with the size of the community the Ruttenburgs have built out at the Chico Cabaret. However, I don’t think Chico theater is in good shape artistically. Most of the work I’ve seen over the past year has been hastily produced.

What should attendees expect at the reunion shows?

We have an almost entirely New York City writing stable. I’m very excited about the scripts. Some of the acting might be ragged, as the rehearsal process is going to be abbreviated. But I think the spirit of innovation and the DIY aesthetic will shine through.

Michael Moore slouches toward Chico

GUARDED OPTIMISM Guest of honor Michael Moore signs a poster for host and former Chico City Councilmember David Guzzetti during a fundraiser at Guzzetti Catering. The outspoken Moore, who said liberalism is making a comeback, was accompanied on his book tour by a team of bodyguards, including the ones shown here making sure Guzzetti doesn’t try anything funny. PHOTO BY TOM GASCOYNE

Michael Moore deserves a good rest.

“Now I know why rock stars do drugs,” he groaned in a low, weary voice to a small crowd at a morning benefit for the Esplanade League, Chico’s fundraising organization for liberal politics. The Oscar-winning documentarian (Bowling for Columbine) and best-selling author (Stupid White Men and the current Dude, Where’s My Country?) made his first visit to Chico last Tuesday, marking the 32nd stop of his book tour that covers 39 cities in 23 days.

Running late all day and accompanied by a fleet of security guards in expensive vehicles, the slouching, portly filmmaker followed his brief morning appearance with an entertaining, two-hour talk at the sold-out Chico State BMU auditorium that was equal parts comedy routine and populist rant against Bush and “wimpy, Democratic non-leaders.”

“I have a weird sense of optimism,” Moore said, decked out in characteristic casual garb, including a Chico State baseball cap. “People don’t like being lied to. Iraq will come back to haunt Bush.”

Throughout his talk, Moore echoed the sharp, political humor from his books and portrayed himself as more sympathetic with the average American working-class liberal than professional lefties, whom he mocked as indecisive and whining. While noting there was much work to do locally on preparing a viable third party, he urged that it was now most important to demand a Democratic candidate who is liberal and forthcoming on the issues—from a woman’s right to choose, to universal health care, to the “Orwellian” concept of free trade.

Moore also emphasized the need for instant-runoff voting, abolition of the Electoral College and proportional representation (adding “we need to vote like Canadians—with pencil and paper"). He seemed to relish the adoration and cheers from the rapt crowd, whose members blurted out random comments and questions without microphones. One woman asked Moore to comment on the “non-human, wolf blood line of the Bush administration,” prompting befuddled gazes around the room.

Although he began the event with a skit featuring life-size cardboard cutouts of Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein and later featured an audience participation game show called “Stump the Yank,” Moore ended on a dead-serious note: American casualties in Iraq, which he blamed primarily on corporate oil interests.

“I want to see a perp walk,” he concluded angrily. “I want to see the Bush crime family marched out of the White House in handcuffs.”

Afterwards Moore signed hundreds of books and posed for pictures as his sister Ann looked on in disbelief.

“We can’t believe the [national] response,” she said. “We don’t know how it happened. I guess a large part of it was timing. The people were ready to hear it.”

An alumna of Chico State University and a Grass Valley resident, Ann Moore was responsible for bringing her famous brother to town at the last minute. All of his lectures have drawn huge crowds in various cities, prompting Moore to dub his campaign “the first-ever stadium book tour.” Some 10,000 people showed up in Portland, 7,000 in Denver and 4,000 in Stockton.

“When you get that many people in Stockton, you know the Republicans are doomed,” he joked.

Asked how his personal life has changed since becoming the most famous progressive in the country, Moore muttered, “I get no sleep,” blinking his bleary eyes. His sister said he was pleasantly surprised by the student interest here, having heard Chico State was a party school. Moore was too tired to offer much more of an answer.

“Chico’s been nice. Very normal. Nice motel."

Caught on film

David Guzzetti is often remembered for his 16 years of service as a Chico City Council member. These days, he’s also known for his radio program, Woody and Friends, on KZFR. PHOTO BY TOM GASCOYNE

Back on Feb. 27, former Chico City Councilman David Guzzetti told police he’d been physically assaulted after an apparent case of road rage. Three months later, the Butte County District Attorney’s Office has filed misdemeanor battery charges against Guzzetti’s alleged attacker, Donald________.

On that fateful Saturday morning, as the CN&R chronicled in its March 11 issue, Guzzetti said he was in his vehicle near the downtown Saturday Farmers Market, waiting for a car to exit a parking space. But very quickly the driver in the vehicle behind him, he said, started honking his horn and yelling. The apparently impatient driver then pulled his car aggressively around the idling Guzzetti and saluted him with an obscene gesture.

After parking his vehicle, Guzzetti said he spotted the man using the ATM at Sierra Central Credit Union across the street from the market. He approached his alleged attacker, whom he did not know, to ask why the man was so upset.

That, Guzzetti said, led to a verbal tirade.

“He turned and said, ‘I know who you are!’ ” Guzzetti recalled. “You’re Mr. fuckin’ environment, Mr. fuckin’ community man and city councilman!”

Guzzetti said he took that reaction as a hint to leave.

“I didn’t want any part of that,” he said. “I turned to walk away with my hands in my pockets.”

Guzzetti said he was grabbed from behind and slammed to the concrete curb in the parking lot. He said a witness pleaded with the man, asking him why he was doing this.

The witness later told police she saw the men scuffling on the sidewalk, but didn’t see what sparked the confrontation.

Guzzetti reported the incident to Chico police. His alleged assailant was identified as ______, who soon after gave his statement to the police, saying he had merely put his hand on Guzzetti’s shoulder just before the men lost their balance and fell to the pavement.

Because the incident happened near an ATM, there was the accompanying surveillance camera capturing the action in the immediate environment. Police requested the videotape and then turned it over to the DA’s Office. As it turns out, apparently, the camera caught the entire incident and the action recorded is closer to Guzzetti’s version of events than to the attacker's.

“Both Mr. Guzzetti and Mr._______ gave statements that conflicted with one another,” explained Deputy District Attorney Jeff Greeson. “The police had asked for the video, but until we saw it we couldn’t really move forward. Once we saw the video it was determined the statement provided by Mr. Guzzetti was more consistent.”

The incident first came to light after a friend of Guzzetti’s called the Chico Enterprise-Record, which did a story quoting only him. That in turn led to a scathing series of online comments, some questioning the veracity of Guzzetti’s account, while others accused him of panhandling, cross-dressing and downright whining.

One comment even said that whoever attacked Guzzetti should be considered a “hero.”

And so it went.

During his two stints on the council, from 1981 to 1985 and then from 1988 to 2000, Guzzetti made some enemies. He seldom shied away from speaking his mind.

Once during a council meeting he called a growth-friendly colleague “a lapdog for developers.” Another time, during a particularly surly debate, Guzzetti said something to cause an otherwise low-keyed councilman, the late Bill Johnston, to turn and say, “David, I’ll go toe-to-toe with you any time!”

And he wasn’t suggesting that they dance.

Apparently Guzzetti’s hair-trigger temper, so often aired at council meetings or published in the daily paper’s account the next morning, has not been forgotten in the decade since he stepped down as a council member. And that infamous temper led many to believe Guzzetti must have had more to do with the incident than he was letting on.

The accused in this case is reportedly a licensed family and marriage counselor living in Chico and working in Oroville. He was a bartender at LaSalles on Broadway in the late 1980s, when it was more of a fern-bar restaurant and attracted an older, after-work crowd of local attorneys, judges and other professionals who called themselves “the west-enders.”

That crowd, what’s left of it, has since moved on to Duffy’s Tavern, and ______ has moved onto being a counselor.

When asked about a month ago about the incident, _______ played it down and said it was no big deal.

For his part, Guzzetti said he didn’t necessarily want the matter to come to this and certainly didn’t want the public’s attention.

“The only thing I did, through the press and the police, was to make an offer of mediation with no charges being filed if he apologized, but he refused and continued to tell untruths to the law enforcement officers,” Guzzetti said. “I had no recourse. I’m happy the video apparently substantiated my story, that I never used profanity, that I didn’t want any part of it.”

________ has been sent a notice to appear in court on June 9, in front of newly appointed Butte County Superior Court Judge Michael Candela.
(this matter was settled out of court and I agreed to not publicize his name)

Greatest lefty leaves the mound

David Guzzetti is a caterer, former Chico City Council member and long-time Braves fan

“Spahn and Sain and pray for rain."—Braves fans’ 1948 late-season plea to beloved pitching tandem Warren Spahn and Johnny Sain. Spahn died last week at the age of 82.

Well, Spahnnie has left the insane and has joined the Sain. Expect some rain.

He was off the farm, like Woody, but Warren used his left arm to hurl hardballs instead of holding a guitar. Somehow, I’m a lifelong Braves fan. I’m sure their success and great team of the 1950s was the basis, even with Willie Mays in my “neighborhood.” Spahn won more games and pitched more innings than any lefty in history. That’s enough for a baseball fan to like him, but I still always found it interesting that he was a great role model to me and yet so “old.”

It was the respect for his hard work. Because of World War II, he didn’t win his first game until he was 26. He wasn’t the fastest pitcher; far from it. But he had a ton of strikeouts—despite a body that was hardly superstar-like—because he was crafty and wise and had that great leg kick. So fitting that Spahn and Juan Marichal hooked up with their leg kicks on that July night at Candlestick in 1963.

Yeah, I was tuned to my transistor radio in bed that night, but to be truthful I fell asleep about the 11th inning. I did see Spahn win at least a dozen games or so, including one in 1965 for the Giants. I couldn’t stay away from that day game, because I never wanted Spahn to be finished with his career.

I went to a camera day at Candlestick (maybe 1962 or 1963) and had the opportunity to be a young pest there and had my picture taken (leaning over the railing; you couldn’t go on the field) with Marichal, Spahn, Eddie Mathews, Orlando Cepeda and others. But my buddy Frank Hernandez’s (Baby Bull was his favorite) mom took the pictures, and who knows where they’re at? I had copies at one time. Four Hall-of-Famers. Man! And there were three or four more there; I didn’t even get to the Willies or Aaron, and it was before Perry, I believe. Great day!

Anyway, a little nostalgia for a real American workhorse—we’re talking 375 complete games with a 3.09 ERA! I believe baseball’s best pitchers would hold up in any era. It’s so much more than muscles and bat speed. I ain’t knockin’ those talents, along with keen eyesight! But baseball’s current hitters are probably much better, because of that emphasis on strength. One of my heroes has passed on, and I thank him for the pleasure he gave me watching him work.

RIP Kramore Inn

More than a place to eat

By Emily Brannen

This article was published on 05.24.07.

BACK IN THE DAY The Kramore Inn’s original menu, dating to 1976, features 11 dinner crepes starting at $1.40.

When friends Steven Catterall and David Guzzetti started selling homemade crepes in the mid-1970s, customers responded favorably and convinced the two, who had no knowledge of the food industry, to open a restaurant. On May 14, 1976, Kramore Inn, then at 1919 Park Avenue (in a building that was once a bunkhouse alongside the railroad track), opened its doors, and for 31 years it withstood the precariousness of the restaurant business while earning local fame and even notoriety as a hotspot for political causes and benefits.

Guzzetti and Catterall don’t know how Kramore Inn managed to keep afloat for so long. “We didn’t know what we were doing,” Guzzetti said. “We were just … I’m not afraid of the word: young hippies.”

For one thing, Guzzetti said, Kramore offered the first champagne brunch in Chico. “For $3.50 you got champagne, orange juice, fruit, coffee and a crepe. After the first year, we did a cost analysis and realized we weren’t marking up the prices enough.”

They were even losing money on some items, including a chicken-artichoke crepe that Catterall said went “for 50 cents wholesale.”

They had no air conditioning, Catterall said, so “whenever the temperature was over 100 degrees, we just closed the doors, went up to the creek, took our clothes off, and went swimming. Then we opened back up again at 5:00 for dinner. I don’t know how it ever survived the first year.”

After a few months, Catterall, who now owns Olde Gold Estate Jewelry, sold the business to Guzzetti, who in 1981 was elected to the Chico City Council. Soon, Kramore began hosting a variety of benefits, mainly for progressive political causes such as the Butte Environmental Council, Chico Peace & Justice Center and the Feminist Women’s Health Center.

In the 14 years that Guzzetti owned it, Kramore hosted Holly Near, Rodney Crowell, U.S. Senator Alan Cranston and many others. When Jane Fonda came through town for the local premiere of On Golden Pond, Kramore hosted her benefit for the Campaign for Economic Democracy. “We suffered slings and arrows for that one,” Guzzetti recalled.

Kramore’s crepes and chutzpah attracted crowds of patrons in the 1970s and ‘80s. “We only had nine tables,” Guzzetti said, “and if you didn’t want to sit at a table with other people, you were going to wait in line all night.”

But Kramore’s association with politics rubbed some locals the wrong way. Guzzetti recalled that, after a benefit to raise money for medical supplies for people in El Salvador and Nicaragua, the Chico Enterprise-Record ran an editorial “castigating” Guzzetti and calling Kramore “a virtual communist waystation.”

All this attention only served to make Guzzetti a household name; he calls Kramore the “jumping off point” for his 16-year career as a councilman. In 1990, as he became more involved in local politics, he sold Kramore to childhood buddy Bill Thellar. Though Kramore ceased to be a stomping ground for progressive politics, it continued to hold an important place in the community under Thellar’s ownership for the next 17 years.

Pam Robinson, mother of former Kramore employees Jack Mead and Aaron Neilsen, credits Thellar with giving her sons a chance in life. “He hired them when they were 16 or 17. They had no work experience; they were young. He hired people who might not otherwise have found a job. He taught them to cook, he taught them work ethics, to be responsible—he gave them a trade.”

Mead went on to become executive chef at Morton’s in Honolulu and was so successful in his career that, at 35, he is now retired and building a house in Hawaii.

“Bill has been a real asset to the community,” Robinson said. “Even when the kids screwed up, he put up with them and didn’t fire them. … I just want him to know he hasn’t been forgotten and that he was appreciated over all these years. He’s a personal hero to me.”

On April 2, Thellar closed the Kramore Inn’s doors. Jim Williams, another childhood friend of Guzzetti’s who as manager served as the “face of Kramore” during Thellar’s term, said competition finally shut them down.

“When Kramore opened, there was no Red Tavern, no Black Crow, no Tres Hombres,” he explained. In the end, Kramore just “couldn’t pay the PG&E bill. And PG&E isn’t very forgiving.”

Rare is the restaurant that becomes a notable part of local history. The Kramore was such a place, and it served delicious, healthful food, as well. Its closing is a loss.

Orchard Capital of the world,

now 50 exits off the freeway

When you grow up ‘surrounded’ by 8 million trees, you just might like fresh fruit and produce.  That was the scene in the Santa Clara valley in the late 1940’s.  Nearly every fruit imaginable and in vast quantities.  Many in the family worked at canneries.  When I moved to Sunnyvale in the early 1950’s, after my parents divorced, the main street of town was a road recently cut through the orchards.  Cesar Chavez got his organizing start in San Jose. Woody Guthrie's famous song 'Deportee' was about a plane crash in Los Gatos.  It was written in the year I was born.

The neighborhoods were working class and loaded with kids. My father was 1^st generation Italian-American and my mother was 1^st generation Portuguese-American.  All of their parents were from the ‘old country’.  Ninety percent of the Portuguese in America are from the Azores Islands.  Columbus once stopped there on his way to the ‘ new world’. My parents were just nineteen & eighteen when I was born.

We lived in post WWII housing tracts (bought for $10,000, later sold for $500,00 and more).  Our grandparent’s homes were in the area and the site of many family get togethers.  Fruit trees, a garden, bird and chicken cages, ponds and of course patios and cellars.  Frying or long simmering stews were also done in the basement, so the smell of frying didn’t permeate the house.  We had a lot of fun exploring abandoned barns and farmhouses and of course we were all tree climbers.  Families were large and I had dozens of cousins to run with.  There were numerous produce markets in the area, mostly owned by the Japanese.

My grandmothers were great 'peasant' cooks and remain my culinary role models to this day.  My father and mother were divorced when I was three years old and I didn’t see my father again until I was nineteen at grandpa’s funeral.  At that time we became very close until his death in 2004.  That was the deal that was cut, because my father was a gambler and ‘couldn’t be trusted’.  Very painful experience for a precocious child. He lived just 10 miles away and I was forbidden to bring up his name.  The only contact I had then with the Guzzettis was with my grandparents and my dad’s younger brother, Uncle Al.  Grandma Guzzetti was a tremendous cook and when I visited (brought over by my Portuguese grandmother) she would cook me a variety of home cooked specialties.  I tried so hard to devour it all, but it was hard for a young boy to do.  She died when I was about 10 and visits remained only with grandpa who was most friendly but not very talkative.

My stepfather was cold, stern and mean and also Italian.  His family was much the same.  He looked like Robert DeNiro with a bad attitude.  "He brings his paycheck home", my mother would unsympathetically say.  All wives who were married to Italians had to be tutored in basic Italian cooking by their mother-in-law.  It was the way it was.

My Portuguese grandmother often cooked in the style of the Portuguese festas.  Kale soup, traditional sopashes and fresh vegetables with crusty bread.  She was loud and loving and squeezed me until I thought I was going to burst.  She was 4'8" at the most and drove with pillows under her cooloo and wood blocks on the pedals.  "Dave, come here! I'm not mad, I'm just talking loud!"  Generous with her kisses and hugs, she was a dynamo.  My grandfather never learned English, acted gruff but had a twinkle in his eye for me.  We were all Catholics and although I was an honored Catechism student, thank God I was never an altar boy.  We ate fish on fridays and did not eat dinner on Christmas eve until midnight.  It was usually sausage and lasagne.  Boy, was I hungry by then.  I would give up candy during Lent, but seldom made it for all forty days. 

Italian dinners were always served in basic courses.  First pasta, then meat, finally salad.  Desserts were for special occasions.  A loaf of 'french' bread lasted two days and three were purchased per week.  My mother would wash the dishes and I would dry them.

I grew up working in the small corner grocery store.  A small market with fresh produce and hand cut meat and a place where you could sign the tag if you were a little short of money.  The owner taught me how to cook when I went to his house to eat.  He was Spanish, but mom said it was a cover because no one then would admit they were Mexican.  Didn’t matter to me.  We rarely went to a restaurant.  When we did, it was family style Italian eateries.  Although a small child, I had a voracious appetite from the frantic lifestyle I had.  I tried so hard to eat it all but often got full half way through the courses. 'You ate too much soup Dave!'

Running through the neighborhoods, baseball and basketball were the sports.  Later in high school I went for track and field and did well in the long jump (used to be the broad jump) and the triple jump (used to be the hop, skip and jump).  I set school records on the ‘lightweight’ teams.  I was popular and the president of my graduating class. My good friend (and much hipper buddy) Bruce McLean (who lives in Forest Ranch) was the vice president.  We often double dated, which was great considering I wasn't allowed to have a drivers license until I was eighteen (so embarrassing).

Shy with the girls, I learned to attract them with pleasant looks, a friendly but surly demeanor and a Dean Martin hairstyle.  My mother refused to let me part my hair (parted hair was not the kind of style you wear with your heritage she preached!).  My mother also forbade me to venture into a food occupation because too many of the family started there and never got out and besides I was a great math student….you’ll be a CPA Dave!  Sure showed her didn’t I?

High school years were the mid ‘60’s', and denim was the rule.  Most styles resembled the Beach Boys and it was pre-hippy days.  I was often called pizza face or spaghetti vendor.  Few classmates were aware of the Portuguese side of my family.  My Portuguese Uncle Joe (a former boxer) said, ‘Dave you’re a wopaguese!’.  Wop was a derogatory Italian slur and stood for ‘without papers’.  Not all households then allowed Italian Americans inside (greaseballs!).  I brought my lunch to school and often brought eggplant sandwiches (what’s an eggplant?, my friends asked) and scrambled egg sandwiches with bell peppers, onion and garlic, was also a favorite.  I hated the cafeteria and besides the family budget didn't allow it anyway.

I had a single girlfriend in school and we were married right after high school.  Lynn taught me a lot about the city (SF), music and styles.  She had a powder blue room with a lot of white in it and a picture of the Grateful Dead's Pigpen hanging on the wall in her bedroom.  It was a little intimidating for a young man with levis and a t-shirt.  Her parents were young and sweet.  We had many great adventures together and remained together until 1975.  I began to cook with Lynn and often invited my friends over to share in the experimentation.  They loved it and encouraged me on.

not an only child, but.......my mom and step father had my sister Cynthia (several years younger) and Sal Jr (16 years younger) who I often cared for, changed diapers in my late high school years.....it was a little rough as I was to baby sit him while parents went out and I was forced to stay home to care for him in my late teens (and not go out myself).....they both now live in the south (Mississippi).....I'm closest to Sal Jr., he's quite sweet to me and appreciative of my care for him.....mom and step dad live in Tennessee and we don't talk much
my father had been married 4 times, after my mom he married the heir to the Mariani fortune (fruit/hotel etc.) and blew that  too....he had Peter (deceased by disease in his late twenties) and Dino who is a computer/dot com guy and pretty successful....I never really knew them well...
my Dad was once a painter (artist and houses both) and was painting a new casino in SJ and worked all day once with a young carpet layer.....there was a mysterious bond that day and later at the bar he discovered the young man was Dino!!!!!!!! who he had not seen in 15 years!   amazing story
Chris is his 44 yr old son from the 3rd marriage...a troubled and often jailed man who Sharon and I attempted to adopt when he was 15 and brought him up to Chico.  He was already troubled with issues and that did not work (occurred during my 1st year on the City Council)...
Mary, my dad's 4th wife is sweet and close to me and my age.....she lives in SJ
do you see some issues in my life that manifested in my behavior?      

The snow dust on the ridges the other night was a surprise,. We just didn’t think it had been that cold.  But sure enough, right above Wild Gary’s place was a smattering and quite pretty.  The neighborhood is about 30-40 acres or so.  Formerly a forest, now it’s in ‘transition’. 

There are several of us here, with Gary being one of the longtime residents.  Legend has it that Gary was the last to leave our road on the night of the devastating fire.  His headlights weren’t working on the old, yellow Toyota wagon so he held, outside the window, a flashlight.  When he got to Concow road the light became too hot (it was 108 degrees @ 2am!), so he dropped it as he passed the befuddled CDF. 

We once took a walk near Gary’s place but came to a gate with a bloodied doll on it and we chose to retreat.  Gary’s kind of a hermit.  When you look at his face, it’s as if you surprised him in his room.  The first few years we were here, we never saw Gary without sunglasses, noon or midnight.  Lately he’s been taking a late afternoon walk, with cane, along the road.  For some reason our dog Abby hassles him.  Gary, understandably, doesn’t like it and has warned us about repercussions.  Needless to say, we’re dealing with it.   Turns out, Gary has been going to Alvin’s house because Alvin’s partner has been sick and has recently passed away.  We hired Alvin early on to fix our road and he gave us a lesson on ‘Concow time’.  It has its own pace but he did good work.  Just didn’t talk much between those whiskers.

As our circle goes, past Gary is the Korean lady with the trailer.  Her 1^st post fire trailer got smashed by a tree in the first week.  She has some friendly chainsaws and she’s cleaning up nicely.  She has a Chihuahua.

From there it’s on to Zuleka and Eric.  Wonderful, friendly Jehovah witnesses.  They are extremely helpful and we trade foodstuffs on occasion.  Both Eric and Zuleka have been married before, so there’s plenty of kids.  They all have unique names and they laugh (almost squeal), while they work and play.  There’s now a brand new baby in the house.  To see what that family has done to rebuild off the grid is quite impressive.  Their chihuahua's name is Princess.

Next parcel over is Jesualda.  She’s Zuleka’s mother.  You might see her each week selling produce at the farmers market.  She’s in her mid 60’s, very tiny and walks the neighborhood, rocks and all, in her stocking feet!   She has the dark , long face of the Portuguese, much like my family (I’m half).  She’s like a cousin.

Casey’s place is next and what a sad story.  The parcel is ravaged and uncleaned.  Casey is a very nice, handsome young man who lived in a house with a few friends and dogs.  When my precious dog Rita died in the driveway, Casey helped me lift her into my trunk.  Rita was a Valentine’s present from Kim.  She was an Australian shepherd mix.  As a puppy she had wandered onto a playground where Kim was teaching.  Everyone loved her.  She would occasionally wander off when we lived in Chico, but she’d always be in the same place.  Three blocks away, she would walk to my buddy Will’s house.  She once was gone overnight and I was worried.  But the next day, my #1 chef Jorge called and said ‘el patron, is your dog missing?’.  He happened to be visiting a friend across town and he had spotted her.  Wow.  Oh yeah, Casey.  Well, 50 pot plants growing in the front yard busted him and the fire did the rest. I hope he recovers.

Dennis and the Huffs are cleaning up and making slow progress.  Concow time. We don't really know them.

Rick cleaned up pretty good and has never been back.  We used to talk to him a lot.  He calls on pledge drive to my show on kzfr.  He’s angry and wants to sue CDF.  We don’t blame him, we just think it’s remote and full of bad energy.

Well, that’s the walk and the talk.  Snow predicted tonight. 

Concow road.....(facts and fiction)

The boys must be twins. They are in their mid-teens. They sit in front of their driveway everyday.  They smile and grin broadly and they wave as we all drive by.  They always bring some household items out to the road, hoping to make a few bucks.  And then there were no items left.  And then there was just one boy.  Is the family buried in the backyard?

lying in bed and thinking....peering out into the void

thank you for the call

your communication comes at a special time
I visited my counselor today, she is very special to me
earlier, I watched the dvd 'fierce grace' with Ram Dass
it comes at a special moment for me
it is about Ram Dass and his stroke, a moment that brought him very close to death
what a special place that is
Although 'stroked' he nourishes and radiates tears of joy
I can only hope to never forget it and live it to its fullness while we have a chance on this plane
I pray for such grace and strength
I hug you from a 'distance'
I reach for you
How fortunate are we to have met on the 'airwaves' of this universe
There are reasons for us all to be on this journey, however understandable or not
We will continue to meet
It won't really matter if I cannot sleep tonight
I lie in this grace while I can
What is, is what will be
The ego must move aside
I shall not bark as a scared dog
I shall not crow as a rooster to control its flock
I shall nourish until we are all fed
I will not stare at my slate nor will I erase it
Tears will flow with this grace

I prepared well for this show, took a short nap and then had dessert instead of dinner at Stellas on columbus street with some mellow mint tea.....arrived an hour early at the regency ball room and secured a balcony seat in the front row with a movie theater type chair 50 feet from the stage....later the balcony, although half full was shut off, I guess to guarantee the floor standing would be full, which it was...........at 8pm 'honey, honey' took the stage for about 20 minutes.........a great 3 member group from LA with a strong female singer with banjos, horns and guitar, then it was the Police Brothers a rather boozey, lively group who seemed by their style to be from England, but probably not.  2 members played on their knees in their short set.....quite entertaining.  Then it was Jakob Dylan's band and what a group.  You nevah know, but Dylan seems like such a nice man.  Handsome and personal, he had his usual fedora, sport jacket and a pair of  comfy loafer looking boots.  He is the same size as his dad, average height and slight of build.  His band was super, great guitar/mandolin player, a fantastic slide guitarist, an upright bass player, middle aged with a long, trimmed white beard (it was announced by Kelly Hogan that the beard was celebrating its 10 month anniversary....10 months, that's not an anniversary said Jakob!).  His drummer was a clean, mop haired dude that looked like a polite college student.  And his 'backup' singers!!!!  Neko Case with her sweaty red hair and voice ringing like a bell along with her longtime friend and backup singer the pleasantly plump Kelly Hogan.  Both gals were crowd favorites and stayed in the fold of the band, never on their own.  Neko looked happy but actually sang 'off mike' through some of the songs. You know how a lot of bands aren't as good as their produced records?  Not the case here.  Great vocals, great music.  Dylan did more than 2 dozen songs primarily from his last 2 great albums (no, he does not do any of his dad's stuff). Gracious and in kind control of his band, it was a fantastic performance.  He had many kind words for SF and yes he seemed so sincere.  A nice jewish 'boy' indeed (although he must be in his late 30's and he has 4 kids).  The show started at 8 and was done at 11:30 counting the 1st hour of the opening acts.  That was just enough time for me to quickly walk 4 blocks to my favorite thai restaurant, Thai House Express at the corner of larkin and geary and get in before the midnight closing.  Late night crowds there are quite interesting, hip city dudes and gals, cooks and chefs from other restaurants recently off work and a few streetwalkers.  Are there nicer people than the thai?????   Green papaya salad with peanuts and chile and a great small, whole steamed pompano fish with a wonderful lime dressing....do eat plenty of steamed rice with this spicy meal. In bed by 1am and now it's morning......time for decaff coffee at the beatnik joint Caffe Trieste in north beach and then a ride to my favorite produce market, the monterey market in berkeley.  Off gilman st and on hopkins this place is the subject of the foodie film, 'eat at bills'........probably breakfast at betty's oceanview diner too and back to the north valley............I am blessed.

A flattering quote from a fan……

Democrat fist with a life long passion .

Hanging on for dear life even when out of fashion.

You  danced for the farmer and then they chewed you up and spit you out.

You sparked up the clam room and gave billy a shout.  

Strong expectation soaring for the man that's got game.

Hopefully new direction not more of the same.

But for me when you talk about party recognition, he’s the man who’s given all for a no money position .

My vote would be cast for the man of the hour.

Guzzetti is the democrat that makes republicans cower

 Life as an Italian American......

My grandparents were immigrants, so in my family my great, great grandfather was Calabrese, my great grandfather was Southern Italian, my grandfather was Italian, my father was Italian American, I am American Italian and my son is American.

But what about the goomba speech pattern? Those words and phrases that are a little Italian, a little American, and a little slang.