Meeting John Cage, the politics of burritos and remembering the good ol’ bad old days of medical care.
Cage Match
A celebration of John Cage (“Fall Arts,” Aug. 29) here in Santa Cruz, CA, 2012… R.F. Ferrell met Mr. Cage (I called him John) at Reed College in 1969 when he was visiting Professor of Magic.
It was a bright although cool day as we sat on the lawn to experience the ‘Happening’ that John Cage had organized.
We whispered.
RF Ferrell
Santa Cruz
Tired Stereotype
[RE: “A Fine Fall Frenzy,” Aug. 29] I was disheartened when I read the section featuring an upcoming show at Cabrillo Gallery called “Art: A Bridge Beyond Borders/El arte es un Puente sin fronteras,” a mixed media show featuring artists from Mexico and California. I quote the authorsí reason for encouraging readers to attend the exhibit: “Sometimes, just enjoying a burrito is not enough.” Ouch.
Would you ever consider informing the community about an African American artistic exhibit by pointing out that eating fried chicken and watermelon is “sometimes” not “enough” to get a true sense of Black culture? How about encouraging people to attend an Indian cultural event by telling Santa Cruzans to put down the curry?
Whether this was an attempt at humor or an accurate reflection of the deep ignorance of the four writers who put their names on this piece is irrelevant. It is disappointing you chose to demean the artists and the intention of the exhibit by pulling out a tired stereotype.
I plan to attend the exhibit in the next few weeks, and I wanted to thank you and let you know that this insult was not unseen by others in the Santa Cruz community.
J.M. Holiday
Medical Memories
Seeing “Tess is More” on your recent Wednesday cover (Aug. 8) brought many medical memories to mind. How many years ago did our doctors stop making house calls? Fifty years or sixty?
I can remember during childhood illnesses our Mother asking us to stick out our tongue. Another test Mama did was placing her hand upon my forehead to see if it was warm. If heated, in went the thermometer. Fortunately for us we only owned an oral one!
Nails were another barometer of good health. Pink meant well; pale meant sickly, according to our paternal grandmother.
My maternal grandparents had a very popular cure all called a “panacea” for most of our childhood illnesses. It was a stop at the local ice-cream store. They brought our cough-racked bodies, often pimple marred from measles to poison ivy, an ice cream combination: orange sherbert and chocolate ice cream in large containers, as we were a family of 5 children.
When one got sick, it spread; united in expressions similar to Ms. Dunn’s and holding our tummys in both pain and anticipation, NaNa dished out the ice cream, while Grandpa looking benignly on.
Headaches are also an unpleasant memory. As I can see Tess’s brows knitted almost together with her eyes closed appearing to have a whooper of one.
Cavities grew as we patiently awaited our medical to once again cover our dental and optometrist needs.
Oh sure! They cover if you want a tooth extracted, forsaking a more expensive root canal. So [Georgia Perry’s] editorial regarding “Elder Abuse” being widespread in your current tabloid is much verdad aqui.
Her closing argument of: “We all become vulnerable at some time in our lives. Guardianship abuse is elder abuse,” should read: “We all become valuable at some time in our lives. Our Guardian Angels protect us from Elder Abuse.”
Good Health to all.
Kathleene Singer
Watsonville
