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Author: James Brush

James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.

Back from Tahoe

Mountains around Tahoe

We returned from our Lake Tahoe/Sierra Nevada vacation late on Saturday. It should have been Friday, but a cancelled flight left us stuck for the night in Reno, which is really not the worst place in the world to get stuck.

We hadn’t vacationed since the summer of 2001 when we went to New York, New England and Quebec, and this time we wanted something that was easy and relaxing. Basically a vacation we wouldn’t have to recover from when we returned. Getting away to Lake Tahoe and the Sierra Nevada mountains seemed like a perfect getaway.

Overall, we had a wonderful time away from central Texas where the sky is a furnace set on ‘hell.’ The weather in the Sierras was mostly sunny (one rainy day) and temperatures never reached higher than the low sixties. We stayed in Squaw Valley which is five miles north of Tahoe City, California and was the site of the 1960 Winter Olympics. We stayed at the Resort at Squaw Creek, which is a ski resort, but ski season was over and summer hadn’t really started so it was pretty quiet, and there were no crowds either in Squaw Valley or at the lake, just total peace.

The area around the lake is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. Water and sky are so cold and blue and would come together as one if not for the mountains that surround the whole area. I’d forgotten how good mountain air smells, full of pine and a crispness that just doesn’t exist at lower elevations.

Here’s the run-down on the week:

Monday: Arrived in Reno and drove to Squaw Valley to check in. Drove down to Tahoe City, CA for our first look at the lake and to pick up groceries. Spent the evening sitting in our room, drinking beer, playing cards and watching the sun disappear behind the mountains while enjoying the slow changes in the sky as night settled into the valley.

Tuesday: Rainy day, but still a good one for exploration. We drove to Emerald Bay to view Tahoe’s one island and check out the waterfalls. Later we drove along the north shore to King’s Bay. We found a little record store run by a guy and three dogs that specialized in indie/punk/alt rock and bought the new Sonic Youth CD. Then we spent the rest of the day in the hotel lobby sitting by the fire, playing cards and watching the rain fall in the mountains.

Wednesday: Gorgeous, sunny morning. We drove up to the old railroad town of Truckee, CA, which has been heavily gentrified. We walked around the historic downtown before driving to Nevada City, CA in the western foothills of the Sierras to visit my aunt and uncle. We ate lunch with them in Nevada City at a little restaurant whose name escapes me, but it was probably the best meal of the trip. That night, back in Squaw Valley we went to Fireside Pizza for dinner and drank my favorite beer, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, which we learned tastes very different in California than it does in Texas, thus confirming what a beer distributor I know once told me: all California beers are skunky by the time they get to Texas.

Thursday: Another beautiful blue-sky mountain morning. We went hiking along the lakeshore at Sugar Pine Point State Park and even saw a bear. It crossed the trail about forty yards ahead of us so quickly we didn’t even know if it was a bear or a bird since we only saw it’s upper half. We came around the bend where it crossed and saw two other hikers frozen on a bridge. They tentatively asked if we were okay and if we’d seen the bear. They’d had a much better vantage and confirmed the sighting. I would like to have gotten a better view, but I guess I’m lucky just to have seen one.

After the hike we had lunch as Rosie’s Cafe in Tahoe City, which is apparently something of a Tahoe tradition. Then we wandered about the main drag, checked out the stores, but ultimately decided to drive back up to Truckee for our souvenir shopping. After some hard shopping, we enjoyed another Sierra Nevada Pale at a local bar and then headed up to Donner Summit to stand in some snow for a little while. We hiked around the trailhead of the Pacific Crest Trail and then cruised back to Squaw Valley for some beers in an Irish bar and then Pizza again for dinner.

Friday: Another perfect day, but unfortunately the one on which we had to leave. We wandered around Tahoe City, taking in as much of the lake as we could, filling up our minds and memories with mountains, lake and sky. We had breakfast in Truckee at a diner called ‘Coffee &’ and then drove out of the mountains and back into Reno. After we learned that our flight was cancelled, American put us up at the Reno Hilton and we wound up having a great time.

We got back to Austin on Saturday afternoon and reunited with Morrison and the hounds who all seemed to miss each other more than they missed us.

Pictures (real ones with the real camera – the one above is digital) will be ready tomorrow. I’ll probably post more about our trip through the week, but for now that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Weekend Hound Blogging: Vacations

It’s vacation time. Morrison and Phoebe left for the resort spa yesterday, but since Daphne is too afraid to be boarded, she’ll be staying with my sister’s family for the week. She doesn’t get to start her vacation until later today, though. In the meantime, you can tell she misses her friends.

Lonely Daphne

Or maybe she’s just glad to have the bed and couches to herself for a little while.

And where are the apes going?

Lake Tahoe - Emerald Bay
(Emerald Bay at Lake Tahoe – Image by Neil Li borrowed from Wikipedia)

We’re off to Lake Tahoe for the week. I’ve wanted to see the area ever since I read Mark Twain’s Roughing It back in high school. We won’t be roughing it, but we also won’t burn down half the lake shore as Twain accidentally did in the mid-nineteenth century.

See you next week.

Old Photo Friday

In honor of the Football Soccer World Cup, I relive my own athletic glory days and present to you the terror of the 1978 Springfield, Virginia Spring Soccer League…

The Sabers

The Sabers. We were undefeated. We were the champeens.

I played soccer (spring, summer, fall, indoor, jv, you name it) every year from kindergarten up through my junior year of high school, but the Sabers was hands-down the best team I was ever on. In the fall, the team reformed with a few more players and became the Sabers II, but as with many other sequels did not fare as well.

So let’s hear it then: Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? THE SABERS! THE SABERS! YEAHHHHHHH!

By the way, that’s me to the left of the sign.

A Hunnert

Today when I got home from having lunch with my family, the thermometer read: 99.9. I waited and did a few chores, checking back on the thermometer from time to time. Finally… 100 F (that’s a hunnert here in Texas).

I can’t remember when we’ve had triple digits this early before, but despite all the dire thoughts about global warming that this conjures, I was kind of excited. Why would anyone be excited about triple digit temps, you ask (or I imagine you asking anyway)?

Cycling. I love cycling and one of my favorite things is riding during the hottest part of a summer afternoon. Usually, I’ve finished writing for the day and being on my bike for an hour or two gives me the chance to think about whatever I’m writing, to work through story and character problems, and also to just burn off energy and enjoy the feel of the searing sky and still air. I find it cleansing.

Today, the sky was full of clouds so there were occasional respites from the sun, but those never came while pushing uphill. It was deliciously hot, and I’m kind of worn out now – I only did about twelve miles – but what a wonderful feeling to feel so close to the sun.

I’ll be sick of this by October when it finally cools off, but for now there’s nothing quite like triple digits while cycling the trails and streets of my little corner of this oven we call central Texas.

The Lost Book Club: An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge

I first read “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” by Ambrose Bierce (the full story is online – just follow the link) a few years ago while searching for a short story to teach on a Friday during summer school. Recently, it showed up on the Lost episode “The Long Con” as one of the books that John Locke is seen organizing in the hatch.

“Owl Creek” tells the tale of the Confederate saboteur Peyton Farquhar’s execution by Union soldiers during the US Civil War. The story begins with Farquhar about to be hanged from the Owl Creek Bridge. He is pushed over the bridge, but the rope breaks and he falls into the river, where he dodges bullets and swims to safety.

He makes his way through a forest that grows increasingly primeval and sinister the closer he gets to home. As he reaches his house, he feels a terrible pain in the back of his neck, the rope breaks, and Farquhar hangs dead from Owl Creek Bridge, the entire story of his escape a flight of imagination occurring in the space between falling from the bridge and the rope snapping his neck.

Great story, beautifully imagined and written, but why is it referenced in Lost?

It seems to me that “Owl Creek Bridge” is something of a suggestion to the viewer that perhaps the survivors of Oceanic 815 are not really survivors, but are experiencing the final moments just before their deaths. This theory has been discredited by the show’s writers, but apparently The Third Policeman (another Lost book, which I’ve not yet read) also suggests this interpretation.

One thing that stood out in rereading “Owl Creek Bridge” was this description of the forest as Farquhar runs from the Yankee troops:

The black bodies of the trees formed a straight wall on both sides, terminating on the horizon in a point, like a diagram in a lesson in perspective. Overhead, as he looked up through this rift in the wood, shone great golden stars looking unfamiliar and grouped in strange constellations. He was sure they were arranged in some order which had a secret and malign significance. The wood on either side was full of singular noises, among which–once, twice, and again–he distinctly heard whispers in an unknown tongue.

Anyone addicted to Lost will certainly be intrigued by this passage particularly the reference to mysterious voices in the woods, which often occur on the show just before strange things happen. There is also the hint of a suggestion that Farquhar has entered another world, perhaps some kind of parallel dimension existing just on the edge of death.

I don’t think the survivors of Oceanic 815 are in their final seconds of life; I think that’s a bit too easy, but I do wonder if they are in some kind of alternate or psychically created world, or at least one in which psychic manipulation occurs.

If you haven’t read “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” check it out because it really is a great story. Also read Jorge Luis Borges’s “The Secret Miracle,” a similar story, though one that hasn’t (yet) shown up on Lost.

For more of my Lost book posts, check out The Lost Book Club.

Lunch

During summer vacation I can actually eat out, enjoy Austin’s many great restaurants, try new things, eat whenever I want, and yet my favorite lunch is to sit at home, read a magazine, and listen to something on the stereo while the dogs watch for dropped food.

Today it was National G, Bill Frissell, and my all-time favorite summer lunch prepared haiku style…

Tuna fish sandwich
Chips, and a glass of iced tea
Good Dog, Happy Man

The Lost Book Club: The Turn of the Screw

Good, as in God, the style of Henry, or if I might call him so, Mr. James, author of The Turn of the Screw, who in the late nineteenth century wrote the thin ghost story, is torturous, as a stretching on the rack. One might imagine, if so inclined as to imagine such a horror, a horror beyond compare, the voice of Shatner, William Shatner reading each phrase, set off with a preponderance of punctuation in the form of commas, commas that precede every unnecessary phrase, like a water torture of Chinese design and implementation, dripping prose into one’s mind in an effort to present a story, a tale, of ghosts and other mysteries.

Woof. It’ll drive you nuts but perhaps that’s the point.

An unnamed narrator has been appointed to take care of two young children at an English country estate called Bly. The owner, a gentleman in London, has inherited the children and wants nothing to do with them so he hires a governess who promptly falls in love with the beautiful, innocent, angelic children.

Then she starts seeing ghosts. The apparitions are the former governess and her lover both of whom died under mysterious circumstances. No one else sees them, but it’s clear the children, Miles and Flora, are somehow involved.

At times I wondered if the narrator was seeing things that weren’t there, which caused me to question her sanity, but her spot on descriptions of the former servants whom she never met, led to me suspect that the ghosts were real.

The spirits seem to be engaged in some kind of communion with the kids, but it is unclear (intentionally so, I think) whether they are controlling the children or if the children are summoning them.

Applying this to Lost, the most obvious parallel becomes the story of Michael and his young son, Walt. When Walt’s mother dies and his step-father wants nothing more to do with him (apparently because Walt seems to exhibit some kind of psychic abilities) Michael comes to Australia to take Walt back to the US, which is why they are on the plane. While stranded on the island Michael comes to idealize Walt in much the same that the narrator of The Turn of the Screw comes to idealize her charges.

As with Miles and Flora, there may be more to Walt than meets the eye. Strange things seem to happen around him as if his thoughts alter reality. There are suggestions of this throughout the series, both on the island and in flashback. At times certain characters see ghosts, and Walt himself has been seen in places it’s impossible for him to be. Michael does not know it, but it seems that Walt (or his spirit anyway) is what led Shannon to her death.

Astral projection? Shaping reality? Your guess is as good as mine, but it’s clear that Walt has some kind of profound power that no one – not even Walt – understands.

At one point in The Turn of the Screw, the narrator describes a day spent playing with the kids on the grounds as a day in which she lived in a world of their creation. One wonders how much of the world of Lost might be a world of Walt’s creation in the form of some kind of psychic projection. There are suggestions that this might be the case as well as the ominous pronouncement in the season two finale that the Others do not want Walt because he turned out to be more than they bargained for when they kidnapped him at the end of season one.

The Turn of the Screw, like Lost, is very vague about what is actually occurring. In both stories the living see the dead, there are children who appear innocent but who possibly harbor tremendous powers, and there are adults who are driven to the brink of sanity in an effort to save those children.

Reading Turn of the Screw makes me think of Walt and raises a question about how his presence on the island affects the lives of the other survivors. Is Walt a cause of their problems or is he, like them, a victim of other unknown forces either natural or supernatural. I think Walt is probably controlling, perhaps unintentionally, some of the strange things that happen on the island.

Check out my other Lost book posts at The Lost Book Club.

Monday Movie Roundup

Do long movies count twice?

Munich (Steven Spielberg, 2005)

During the spring of 1994, I interviewed for admission to NYU’s graduate film school. The interview was conducted in a small windowless room where I sat across a long table from three professors. They asked questions about filmmaking, my experiences, my ideas and then they asked me to name my favorite director.

Joel Coen,” I answered truthfully.

One woman rolled her eyes. The man in the middle gave a snarky half-smile and said, “How about someone who isn’t an NYU graduate?”

I had no idea that Coen went to NYU; he just happened to be my favorite director. Still, they assumed I was trying to flatter them.

The three awaited my answer, and I heard myself saying something to the effect of, “Uhhh…..duhhhhh…..ummm…” while my mind promptly emptied itself of the names of every director who’d ever exposed film. Flailing, I finally said, “Steven Spielberg.”

Which is of course the wrong name to give to a group of film school professors. I assume they thought either I was cuaght up in the Shindler’s List hype or that I was just some doofus who liked Raiders of the Lost Ark and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (both of which I do) but either way, I seemed pretty clear that they didn’t think I was NYU material.

The fact is, though, I really do like Spielberg’s films. There are many movies that in the hands of a less accomplished director would not be enjoyable, but Spielberg is a master of his craft, he knows how to lead an audience and sometimes, he really does make films that rise above summer blockbuster entertainment.

Munich is one such film. The film claims to be inspired by true events and so I take it for what it claims to be: historical fiction. It tells the tale of the aftermath of the 1972 Munich Massacre is which several Israeli athletes and coaches were kidnapped and murdered by a group of Palestinian terrorists. After this, a number of PLO agents throughout Europe started showing up dead, murdered by Israeli secret agents.

The film focuses on Avner, a low-level Mossad agent who is tasked with leading a team that will hunt down and kill the people responsible. The film works on two levels. It is first and most interestingly a meditation on the effects of violence on those who commit violent acts. Avner and his team begin their work filled with a spirit of vengeance and a desire for justice. Eventually, the humanity seems to drain away from them as they get deeper and deeper into a world of chaos, paranoia, and death in which they themselves become the terrorists they abhor.

Because this is a Spielberg film, it also works as a cold-war era cloak-and-dagger picture full of the kind of shadowy intrigue and sneaking around in Europe’s great cities that made cold-war era spy novels so thrilling. In Spielberg’s capable hands, Munich is both an action-adventure tale of international intrigue and an unsettling tale of what happens to those whose business is killing.

The film was criticized for excessively humanizing the Palestinian targets that Avner and his team dispatch, but Spielberg’s film carries little sympathy for the Palestinian cause or methods. It simply tells the story of what happens to individuals caught up in events bigger than themselves. Individuals who on both sides must sacrifice the ideals they claim to fight for in order to protect those ideals.

I wonder if Munich had come out when I was interviewing at NYU if I’d have gotten the brush-off the way I did. Still, I must have done better than I thought because I was accepted. Then I came to my senses and decided that paying student loans for the rest of my life wouldn’t be worth it. Instead, I paid in-state tuition to UT’s graduate film school and though Joel Coen never went there, I can say that I don’t owe them a dime.

And though Spielberg isn’t my favorite director, films such as Munich certainly move him up the list.

Starting a New Novel

Last week, I started on what will someday be my third novel. The second one, Try Everything in a Cartoon Romance, is pretty much done, but it’s time to begin a third one while I decide what to do with the second.

When I was in graduate school, I wrote a screenplay called Right of Way that I always intended to revisit and rewrite as a novel in order to explore the characters and issues more deeply than a screenplay allows. I’m using the old script as an outline while I get started on the story and reintroduce myself to the characters.

It starts in Austin in 1995. It’s about Larry and his younger brother, Chip, who has battled cancer on and off his whole life. After relapsing at age eighteen, Chip decides he’s not going to go back for treatment.

He runs away from his home in Houston and shows up at Larry’s doorstep in Austin wanting to “just try living for once.” He’s never really lived except in the books he read in the hospital and so with a head full of Kerouac, Thoreau, Hemingway and London, his own private wish-upon-a-star is to get to know his brother (who is ten years older and was all but forgotten by their parents who were perpetually focused on the sick kid) and travel to see the Grateful Dead, living the kind of adventure he’s read about in books.

Needless to say this is all quite a complication for his more strait-laced and settled older brother who wants to help Chip, but doesn’t know if helping him involves taking him on his grand adventure or getting him back to treatment.

That’s the story in broadest strokes. Even though I’ve already made major changes from the script I do have most of the story plotted out. I am, however, permitting myself to make as many changes as I want. Including the title, which for now is Short Time to Be Here, a modification of a line from the Grateful Dead’s “Box of Rain.”

I’m on page 15. It’s not really flowing yet. That comes later, when the characters truly start talking. The beginnings are always the hardest for me, but eventually the whole thing will come alive and then it just flows. I love when that happens.

Weekend Hound Blogging: Rumbly Tummy

Sometimes you wake up in the morning and your hot water heater is leaking or perhaps, it’s a sink overflowing. Maybe there are pipes in the walls making odd noises because something got flushed that shouldn’t have. Or perhaps one of your greyhounds has a case of rumbly tummy.

Phoebe 

This isn’t Phoebe’s first case of the internal growls, but we think we’ve isolated the cause: canned K/D. Daphne has to eat K/D (that’s kidney diet, by the way) and Phoebe eats it as well. Usually they get kibble, and I mix vegetables in with it. Occasionally I get some canned K/D, which they enjoy, but now, finally, putting two and two together (or is that K and D) we realize that the rumbling noises are probably caused by the K/D, so back to veggies.

Today, though, they enjoyed that upset canine tummy treat: yogurt. After a couple small dishes of yoghurt over the course of the day, all hounds, I’m happy to report, are sleeping well and trying to figure out what they can eat to bring back the rumbles and thus the delicious yogurt.

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