Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Piedmonty


E. Boyer
In case you haven't noticed, there's a contest..er, uh, I mean an election going on in Piedmont. Its really quite the marketing blitz! I guess the days of good 'ole small town elections are a thing of the past. Used to be a candidate would show up and answer questions at town hall meetings, pass out a few pins, toss in his/her cap and hope for the best. Times have changed. I must admit that the giant postcards and snazzy websites are impressive! All with the same basic message of wholesome, civic minded, fiscally responsible "Piedmonty" goodness. I salute these motivated individuals..volunteering their time and expertise in positions that are demanding and often thankless. But, has anyone else noticed the proliferation of lawn signs? What in the world?!? Seems the ban has been lifted...there was a time in Piedmont when the use of a lawn sign was considered an underhanded tactic, thought to turn the election into a popularity contest. I suppose it makes sense. All the fancy postcards, letters of praise, campaign socials and lawn signs can really get a town whipped-up!! Things haven't changed so much then, since the cliquish days of high school when popularity was crucial to one's existence..as adults, some of us are still just as frantic to be part of the "it" crowd. So, we start calculating: If these neighbors have McBain and Fujioka signs then, that's probably who I should vote for. After all, they have nice homes and drink lots of really good wine. On the other hand, the neighbors with the Rood signs have been here for a long time and seem to go to lots of parties so, maybe I should vote for him. Then again, the flamboyant loud-mouth neighbor has a McBain sign and I cant imagine that we share any of the same values. But, the lady who complains about every proposed project has a Rood sign so, that can't be good. What to do? McBain seems to have the Plaid skirt crew, Fujioka appeals to the no-nonsense group and the NIMBYs favor Rood. Thats just for City Council! Then, we have to consider the school board candidates! Good Lord! Swenson has the old-guard Parent's Club types, Raushenbush has the "stay-the-course" folks on his side, Sarah Pearson has the motivated Gen Xers in her camp, Nancy Bostrom has a dedicated Hitchcock cult following and Jon Elliot has the sensible mature, progressives in his corner. Tough decisions, here. One wrong move and just like the inadequate cheese incident of 2010..you could be off the "important guest list" for good! Oh, sure, they've all got a few blemishes but, who doesn't? Not unusual during an election in Piedmont for the poor, unsuspecting candidates to get lambasted: Ineffective in group negotiations, lacking creativity, too aggressive, too submissive, snobby, mean, lacking warmth, inexperienced, dull and of course, anything deemed questionable behavior. Sorry candidates, don't think for a minute that townsfolk aren't counting your every cocktail, keeping a tally of every encounter when you were less than warm and fuzzy, watching through binoculars every..ahem..party your teenagers host, taking note of every snarky outburst and basically scrutinizing your every move. But, hey..none of us are perfect and who among us doesn't have a few skeletons in our closet? Well, most of us don't have actual skeletons in our closets...or foyers but, still..we really shouldn't judge. 

But, in between all the Piedmont pomp of campaign cocktail parties, lawn sign design lunches and general jumping on of bandwagons, its good to take some time to carefully consider the candidates...not just their camps. Popularity has a way of creating the illusion of validity...much like lawn signs.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Of Their Time


E. Boyer
I was thinking about  a woman I knew a long time ago who wore acorn earrings and loved birds and lakes and nature.  She was lovely and quick and her access to interesting topics took no more effort than pulling scarves from a bag.  It wasn't until she passed away that I learned of her work as a renowned conservationist and of her academic accolades which would humble the most learnedly among us.  During that time, I often had the privilege  of being in the company of similar such people.  They were unfathomably accomplished yet, in common, they had the distinction of being remarkably humble.  They were engineers, bacteriologists and developers of vaccines that are still used today, Mathematicians of concepts and theories that remain undisputed, physicians, renowned anthropologists and professors.  The intellectual giants of their time.   Open to topics of the imagination, the light of intellect shone all around them.  Still, never boastful but, always interested.  Warm and genuine.  They held a casual conversation very dear.  They didn't do power lunches...they brought sandwiches, wrapped in waxed paper, to work and a walk in the park served just as well as a board room.  To have met them all those many years ago and to Google them today, gives me great pause because they never spoke of their success.  I simply didn't know.  Grounded in humility and with reverence for Emily Post..manners were second nature to them. Heed, they did, the words of the French author who said "It is as proper to be boastful alone as it is ridiculous to be so in company." They were Ladies and Gentlemen.  Men and women who had earned their bragging rights but thought better than to exercise them.  It wouldn't do to display the many feathers in their collective cap.  They knew there was much they had yet to do. 
It's otherworldly to me now when, so often these days we're bombarded with unsolicited recitations of nearly everyone's resume`.  Rarely are we left with any curiosity or wonderment...accomplishments are now so crowed about.  I sometimes wonder if I missed the seminar on "How to summarize in three minutes or less that you're highly educated, sought after, successful, powerful and run in all the important circles."  I often find myself longing for a surprise about someone.  Perhaps its generational.  Even the children of that time didn't seem as haughty.  I'm sure there must be a study that could explain the shift simply enough...insecurity, a more competitive work environment, a few too many personal empowerment seminars.  I don't know.  I suppose I'm feeling nostalgic for a time when people really were remarkable...even though they didn't say so.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

From Tahoe With Love

E. Boyer

Alas, winter in Piedmont and we all know what that means. Tahoe. It's the mountain escape dearest to our hearts. Ever faithful to it's glacial temperatures and alpenglow charms, we make the pilgrimage..usually just after Christmas. Prior to Christmas we find ourselves consumed with the stress and anxiety of overspending, over eating and over committing to holiday festivities. But, once the gifts are opened and the wrapping paper is crammed into the recycling bin, we load up the roof rack and head for the hills...mountains, in this case. A long standing tradition among Piedmonters. Other winter wonderlands may tempt with news of fancy shops and hotels, heated chairlift seats and celebrity sightings but, Tahoe in winter is the lover to whom Piedmont old-timers remain faithful. Devotion to camp is often spotted; Stanford: classic white turtleneck under the red and white snowflake sweater, Levi's seemingly starched and belted just a titch too high, the latest in mountain footwear. Cal: Cal knitted cap, Cal sweatshirt, Go Bears license plate, blue and gold blankets of every variety and a giant Cal flag which is promptly hung out front upon arrival. Something in the call of the winter wild that brings out the collegiate spirit. And so, with Christmas wreaths attached to the grills and absurd amounts of food and alcohol in stowage, Piedmont vehicles power their way over the pass and into beautiful Lake Tahoe. Cabins, heirloom or rented, are descended upon and made cozy with a crackling fire and all manner of snack and libation. As if possessed, we're suddenly drawn to the idea of fondue and hot drinks with butter in them..something we'd hardly consider back at home. But, we're not at home. We're in Tahoe and everything is different here. Take, for instance, your skin. Manageable at home with a bit of lotion, despite the ravages of time, now requires a base layer of Vaseline topped with extra virgin olive oil and sealed with what you suspect is bear grease stored in a tub in the cabin bathroom. For heaven's sake, the Sahara isn't this dry! Once you have that under control, the real fun begins. But, as the fun begins, please remember to show a little compassion when dear old dad becomes an unbearable lunatic? Cut him some slack, guys. These little mountain getaways cost a fortune! With the price of lift tickets skyrocketing and fancy lakeside dining a must-do, a guy can get cranky with all those dollars signs floating by. Throw in a couple of unemployed relatives and few teenage friends and poor old dad imagines kissing the nest egg goodbye! (please don''t send me angry "woman power" emails. I know women are often the bread winners but, this column isn't a study of household economics/dominant male/female roles...it's a column of jest...sheesh!) On to the slopes! To fully enjoy the skiing experience requires racing to the mountain before the lifts open. With relentless urging, the troops finally rally, bundle-up, down a bowl of cold cereal and pack into the ice-box of a vehicle. The defroster finally works just as you reach the ski resort, everyone in the vehicle is cramped and fussy due to the three layers of wool which are now blazing hot and scratchy. Except, of course, for the one annoying optimist in the group, dressed in running gear and carrying only a tofu sandwich, no skis, prefers snow-shoeing..figures. After much clamor of skis and poles, obscenities flying hither and yon, everyone marches to the lift like slow motion action figures..prepared to conquer the mountain. The "conquest" usually ends six hours later with several of the elder statesmen on a heating pad and a few others a little green around the gills on account of the "chili bread bowl" from the resort cafeteria. Still in all, a day well spent. Glistening snow on the ground and the glorious mountain air on your face...cue the bear grease again.

Safely back at the cabin, feeling accomplished and worthy of a hearty meal and a heartier cocktail, we tend to our wounds and snuggle in for the night. Dinner is followed by an assortment of B movies found in the cabin's dusty entertainment center and several rowdy games of Scrabble...of course, Mr. Snowshoe-Tofu-Sandwich continues to annoy with words like lalochezia..good Lord...who invited him?? Re-apply the Vaseline/bear grease combo and it's off to bed. We'll wake up bright and early tomorrow morning and do it all over again.

All the hub-bub and ritual aside, the Sierra Nevada is a stunning thing. Skier or no, one need only to experience the view just East of Donner Pass to appreciate forever the wondrous sight. The magnum opus of the tectonic plates.