A Man in Black

Windy day today. Too windy to fish or bicycle. Bonnie invited me to ride but it looked too windy.

This morning, I fixed an old garden table that we got from Chuck Numbers. The top had started to rot. Beth found an old piece of redwood. I cut it in half and made it into a new table top.

After our pastries from Bovine and a cup of tea, I wanted to get out of the house. We decided to go to Petaluma. I was in a Johnny Cash mood: all black with a cowboy hat. This would be significant later in the day.

Off we drove to Petaluma, listening to The Great Influenza by John Barry, about the Spanish Influenza pandemic in 1918. Good book and very topical now. 

I eat very little meat; but, I felt like eating a steak for dinner. Shopped at Whole Foods in Petaluma. I have a problem. When I buy meat, and a lot of other things, I get worried that I won't have enough. After the fact, I almost always realize that I was wrong. Anyway, I had to get the biggest steak they had; and, another one for the freezer. 

The problem runs in my family. I know my ancestors in the Shtetls in Russia did not have enough to eat. Did their worry about getting enough to eat get passed down to me? I remember my Grandpa Meyer's stories about not getting enough to eat. He told us they would go to the rich folks homes and pull hair off the pigs to sell to the brush maker for a few cents. They took the money to the grocer, where they bought juice from the herring barrel to eat with their black bread. They could not afford herring.

Finished shopping. We had talked about a walk around Downtown Petaluma. I have mixed feelings about Petaluma. More about that in another post. My family comes from the Petaluma area.

I decided I wanted to visit the Petaluma Jewish cemetery where my family is buried. Beth was ok with that. 

My Father Allan 

My Grandfather Meyer

My Grandmother Sarah

At the cemetery I realized that I had worn all black for a reason.

Meyer - "A Man for Justice and Peace". He would have been arm and arm with the protestors of today. How we grandchildren loved to hear his stories about the old country and how he came to America. Pulling hair off pigs; putting a sponge soaked in catsup under his hat at a protest in case he got clubbed by the cops; biting off the finger of a cossack, to name a few. On Sarah's gravestone, she is called a "comrade". Real, honest to goodness, communists. 

By the way, the steak was delicious and we finished it!

the bear