California Fix

Yesterday while Kim was going in and out of the front door with some holiday decorations, there was a sudden thump sound and she unexpectedly swore audibly. I did the usual, “Everything OK?” lazy man outreach from my chair across the room. When she said, “This thing fell down”, I had no idea what she was talking about so I decided I probably needed to get up to investigate. What had happened was that the large 40”x15” mosaic tile California map cum historicism, depicting Gaspar de Portola exploring California in anticipation of the Spanish Crown establishing what became the Mission System up and down the state, came unglued from its wooden base and fell onto the travertine marble floor of our entry way. This piece of lovely artwork was created for our new front door by my nephew, Jason. I never asked for a California map, but I did ask Jason, who is a bit of a history buff, to make a big piece of mosaic art for the door. This was Jason’s interpretation of my request. He had already done the mosaic backsplashes in the kitchen with desert art (cacti and roadrunners) and painted a large mural on the house wall facing the garden, all done in the traditional Mexican Otomi style with quail, hummingbirds and cacti. Jason knew that I had visited all the California Missions and that I had a collection of the 21 missions done in miniature resins, all on display on the living room sofa table. This California mosaic made a clear statement on our front door and I have grown to love it.

If you had asked me before this accident what might happen to this mosaic over time, I would start by wondering how it would weather being outside through the year in all sorts of inclement conditions. Then, knowing how heavy the artwork is, I would wonder if it might one day come loose of its moorings and smash to the ground. In fact, at one point, the cleat that was holding the artwork to the door did loosen and I had to have Handy Brad come in to fix it and even repair one corner of the piece where a few tiles had gotten crunched in the door jam. Handy Brad is a master tile craftsman, so fixing tile is a core skill of his and he handled that problem with no muss or fuss. But if you had asked me what would happen if the entire mosaic would come unglued from its wooden backing and crash to the floor, I would have said that it would be time to recommission Jason for another piece of art for the door. There is no way that mosaic could survive that sort of trauma. But I would have been wrong.

The entire California state map, complete with Gaspar de Portola on horseback envisioning a mid-coastal mission system, came off its base in one piece and slammed flat on the travertine floor of the entry and, amazingly, remained in tact. All the damage was limited to some excess filler grout on the edges, chipping off in a dozen small pieces. What was left on the door was a bland wooden cutout of California with a pattern of dried glue marks all across it.

Call me crazy, but these days I am seeing signs in everything that is going on around me. California falling off its moorings but sticking the landing like a dismounting gymnast feels pretty poignant to me. I feel like the people interpreting the vague ramblings of Chauncey Gardiner (Peter Sellers) in the classic 1979 movie, Being There. Simple and meaningless observations of the world around him are turned into great thoughts with deep meanings and Chance, as he is called, becomes a profound advisor to the president of the United States (Bobby, played by Jack Warden). How fitting is that analogy given the nature of the airheads being teed up by Donald Trump to advise him on everything from health and welfare to geopolitical maneuvering. While Chauncey is spouting deep thoughts like “There are spring and summer, but there are also fall and winter. And then spring and summer again. As long as the roots are not severed, all is well and all will be well”, others watch the nonsense in amazement. The most cynical among Chauncey’s ex-co-workers, a maid at the estate where he gardens, says, “It’s for sure a white man’s world in America. Shortchanged by the Lord and dumb as a jackass. All you gotta be is white in America to get whatever you want.” I think at this point that needs to be updated to add “white and a billionaire” to be a perfect fit with Trump’s new cabinet of fools.

But that’s not the only analogy in the air during this holiday season. On Monday night, when Kim went to make dinner, she found that the stove would not light and there was no hot water. It seems that we had run out of gas (propane to be exact). That’s right, my California hilltop was now officially out of gas. Where can you possibly go with that analogy as Kim and I ponder how the United States could forsake liberal democracy in favor of Trumpian autocracy? Once we started to smell that rancid sulfuric artificial gas smell (injected on purpose into propane and natural gas since they have no smell otherwise), I elevated the issue with my friends at Amerigas (my propane provider and another great analogy of a name). They sent a technician in a few hours who explained that the gauge on the propane tank had broken and that was why we had not gotten regular gas deliveries and had therefore run out of gas. He replaced the gauge, gave us a few gallons of propane to carry us until the delivery, and checked and started all the pilot lights. Then, this morning, the propane delivery truck came by and pumped my tank full of 393.4 gallons of precious hydrocarbon propane (C3H8, the cleanest-burning form of fossil fuel, producing carbon dioxide and water as a byproduct). My Amerigas online app tells me my tank is 82% full (the ideal level) and that I have an estimated 67 days of supply on hand. Mike tells me he gets one fill-up per year so I’m guessing that we burn more propane than he does. I guess our carbon footprint is more like a wasteful Republican while Mike’s is more like a liberal tree-hugger, go figure.

I have recently heard a lot of people with like-minded liberal intentions telling me that at least we live in California and will therefore be somewhat immunized against many of the Trump Administration policies. It is clear that Gavin Newsom, as part of his liberal ideology and certainly part of his preparation for whatever opportunities arise in 2028, has started preparing the state of California to resist the maneuvers from Trump. Where resisting was possible during the last Trump Administration, it is unclear that such resistance will be as easy this time around. In speaking to my friend Mark in Vancouver yesterday, I reminded him that Trump’s pre-inaugural jawboning about a 25% tariff on Canadian goods to force Canada’s hand at helping curtail fentanyl smuggling (of which there is little or no evidence that this occurs with Canada) is a shot across the global bow that resisting Trump will soon become a global pastime. So, California will not be alone and leaving the country (ala Sharon Stone, Barbra Streisand, Cher and Ellen DeGeneres) may prove more futile than not. Playing out a state-wide version of Escape From L.A. and thinking we are all Snake Pliskins, seems unnecessary.

I have faith in California to hold up under the duress of a Trump presidency. It might come unglued a bit and it might fall off the door, but this state is a cat with many lives left in it. I, for one, am committed to standing strong, dusting off my old “RESIST” t-shirt (used during the family separation debacle of 2018) and holding my ground on this hilltop. California may get nipped at the edges, but it will go back up on the door soon enough (with Handy Brad’s help) and be good as new.