Kamala Harris | Muriel Murch

Written and recorded by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side

Last week the Wolf Moon rose over the whole world. Shining brightly through clouds and fog, it blazed through the night and our windows while the coyotes howled for mates on the lowlands along with their wolf brethren deep in the forests. It’s a strong moon for the middle of winter that harbors renewal as seal and sea lion birth occurs on the seashores around us, but the ground is still cold and – tempting as the sun can be – it is too soon to start planting a garden.

Coyote looking about the farm. Photo by Walter out West

The predators that come through the farm change through the years and we would do well to take note. For the moment there are no raccoons or foxes tiptoeing up the stairs to our little terrace. They are deeper in the woods, also hiding from the coyotes and the bobcats that are also happy with the local takeaway of pet-fur as chicken feathers. The coyotes are hungry and so are the hawks. Both eye our chickens. From time to time they get lucky and there are raids that end in death cries and feathers to tell the tale. The predators know this small holding lies on the edge of farming country and that we are not always as vigilant as we could be. The hawks fly in silently and the coyote is quiet as he trots up the back driveway, looking here and there for an easy catch or any human activity that precludes it before carrying on through the barn and out, down the front driveway. He is scrawny, this coyote who comes through, hungry and skinny beyond just the needs of winter.

But there are others – in human form – who are searching, looking for some nurturing of the soul. He is young, dark with weathered skin and hair that covers his head and face as if he is risen from the sea, a messenger from Poseidon, and now finding himself on land, is not too sure what to do next. He wandered in, up the back driveway like the coyote, and stood behind the barn looking about him for a while.

Ever the galant host, our son approached the stranger to ask if he is all right? Slowly coming to earth he responds, “This is so authentic man. Your jacket too. It looks like the real thing.” And covetously eyes it. Walter replies, “It is the real thing. I need it. You can’t have my jacket.” They stand in the driveway, as the stranger ponders his situation. He looks again at the farmer before he slowly backs away – like an animal who has stumbled into another bear’s territory.

But the stranger was looking for something, and maybe found it in the grounded feel of this little farm that sits on the knotty edge of what used to be farming country and is now braced between National Park Land and a vacation paradise. It’s a tricky triangle, played out in this tiny corner of West Marin. But enlarge that geography and the mindsets that cherish agriculture, parkland and vacations, and a storm in a teacup doesn’t even begin to cover it. This week – things came to a head and we have seen and heard the outpouring of frustration and grief at the closure of the ranches within the Point Reyes Parks. It’s a pretty brutal execution and one that could have been so avoided a long time ago with bringing all parties to the table for counsel, consideration, and cooperation. In our local paper – the Point Reyes Light – January 16th issue – there are articles beyond articles of the damage these closures will cause to all the Parklands the environmentalists, the tourists, the ranchers, and the ranch workers whose family members also work in the communities. Dewey Livingston added a column, “Point Reyes in Time” laying out the history of Point Reyes since ‘we’ took it over. Sober and sad as it is, it is also a reminder that we are all a part of history. In ‘The Temper of our Time’ Eric Hoffer wrote “Every great cause begins as a movement, becomes a business, and eventually degenerates into a racket.” Putting some of the environmental and conservation organizations into that equation and you might find a good fit.

On the day that I write this letter another historical change is occurring in America. As one administration bows out another is striding in and the world is trembling in happy or fearful anticipation. In a preemptive move, not something the Democratic party do often, outgoing President Joe Biden has pardoned many public servants to prevent false prosecution by the incoming government. The list is too long for this writing but the democratic Chairman Bennie Thompson, and Republican Vice Chair Liz Cheney, leaders of the House Select January 6 committee said on behalf of the committee they were grateful for the pardons. I choke up thinking that Dr Fauci is in need of protection from such harassment. Immediately on taking office the incoming president puts his cards on the table – playing a full flush of pardons for 1,600 people associated with the January 6th riots storming the Capitol. He went on, signing this and signing that and the ‘to do’ list laid out for his administration – the heads of whom – don’t seem to have yet learned how to lay the table – is long.

Meanwhile – after it is over – I study the news, culling from this publication and that TV station. European leaders, some past, some still sitting at their desks, and some not quite there yet I’m seeing a motley crew with their hair and hats and ties as they took their places behind the second generation American Tech leaders of the moment.

Past Presidents Bill Clinton, George W. Bush and Barak Obama with Hilary Clinton and Laura Bush

Then I look particularly at the women who – like our late Queen – know the subtle messages of the clothes they wear and the actions they take. Michelle Obama is absent. Hillary Clinton standing beside her very trim husband is wearing a Peace on Earth broach. Laura Bush has a single strand of good pearls over her dress as she accompanied her husband George.

A universal image probably from Getty or The Guardian.

Melania is wearing a hat – that fits – her mood, and possibly her need to be hidden as she walks back onto the world stage. And as she controls the gloved touches she exchanges with her husband, she does not let his flesh reach hers. Melania’s hide may not be as thick as she likes us to believe. Only time will tell if the oil of parenthood has softened her skin to embrace the world she comes from and is about to enter once more.

This has been A Letter from A. Broad. Written and read for you by Muriel Murch.

As always supported by murchstudio.com

It’s all Theater,

Written and recorded by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side.

As we left London a vote of no confidence had dissolved the French parliament and Prime Minister Barnier resigned. President Macron vows to stay on and form a new parliament before this week. This will be France’s fourth Prime Minister in a year. A shooter took aim at the Health Insurance business and took out Brian Thomson, the CEO of United Healthcare, as he went to work in Manhattan. Fighters have captured Damascus and the Syrian president Bashar Al Assad has fled. Another coup has happened. Hafez al- Assad took power, with a coup of his own in 1971 and his son became president in 2000. Bashar Al Assad is believed to be receiving room-service with his family in Moscow.

As the plane descends to Washington we look down on the winter trees that stand close in a comfortable looking forrest, circling the small towns and villages that have been carved out of them. Arriving in DC, in America, at dusk is sobering and the temperature freezing. While our driver is prompt, efficient and friendly there is nothing else welcoming about the drive into the city as darkness falls. The huge streets coming off the freeway seem lost, reaching for the stone buildings, holding like prisons, places of power. I remember the Avenida 9 de Julio, roaring off the freeway ready to enter the chaos and confusion that is the living city of Buenos Aires.

I wanted to write about the beautiful things. The reopening of Notre Dame cathedral but then – there is the President-Elect of the United States – front and center at the cathedral’s opening ceremony. He sat smugly between President and Brigette Macron, while the current First Lady, Jill Biden, was tucked on the other side of Madame Macron. Over fifty world leaders representing as many countries fell in behind them. Ukrainian President Zelensky is tucked somewhere in there too. The shuffling on this world stage is being played out in the giant nave of this cathedral as politics come before God. Luckily the cathedral was to be reconsecrated and blessed the following day. There was time to brush the detritus of politics back into the river.

From left to right, Congo’s President Denis Sassou Nguesso and his wife Antoinette Sassou Nguesso, Ashley Biden, First Lady of the US Jill Biden, Brigitte Macron, US President-elect Donald Trump and French President Emmanuel Macron [Ludovic Marin/Pool via AFP]

We came to Washington for The Kennedy Center Honors weekend. Walter to introduce his old friend Francis Ford Coppola at the state department dinner. Singer and activist Bonnie Raitt, Cuban Trumpeter Arturo Sandoval, The Apollo Theatre, and the Grateful Dead are all to be honored this weekend.

Honorees for the Kennedy Center 2024. The Apollo Theater, The Grateful Dead, Arturo Sandoval, Frances Ford Coppola, Bonnie Raitt.

We arrive safely at the Salamander Hotel, rated at 4.6. out of 5 and it does very nicely thank you. Malvik wheels our luggage and shows us how our room works. He looks to have been here a long time, his thinning, oily, too long hair barely held back, is somehow comforting, leading me to believe that this hotel may care who it hires and holds onto. The staff, as with any big hotel, is heavily African-American and Latina but there are also Africans from Ethiopia carrying the strength of their own cultures and beliefs. One senses that working inside the hotel is a safe place.

On Saturday night, as supporting cast, we are guided onto the bus taking us to the State Department for dinner with The Secretary of State, Anthony Blinkin. The driver whips this bus along the avenues as if it is a chariot around the Roman colosseum before coming to a screeching halt on the street. Standing on the bus step he exclaimed loudly, ‘we must walk from here’ and – because it is not raining – we all laugh – understanding as we do that the whole evening is theater. Ball-gowned singers and actresses, black-tied, over-coated actors and musicians along with a few low-life politicians carefully climb down off the bus and we walk the last half block to the entrance for the first of the weekend’s security checks. A line here for photos, a line there for hand shaking with a little glimpse into a politician’s life and the world of Politics. Power, beauty, talent and money are all standing in line, (with our name cards to hand over for announcing) as we move though the rooms that are pretending to be older than their 70 years. It is hard to explain – it is as if the building itself is also aware that this is all theater. Hands are shaken and smiles are exchanged by which time I need to find the ladies lounge before sitting down for dinner. I try to sort out who here is carrying what gift. Mostly it is power: a retired Senator, an agricultural Lobbyist, a Board Chair and a bit of art. We look for our friends but we are all separated. This is a working weekend and we each have our parts to play. The schedule tries to be tight but 9.12 p.m. has come and gone before Bonnie Raitt, the first up, is given her honours. She is followed by Francis Coppola, Arturo Sandoval, The Apollo Theater and finally the Grateful Dead. Each artist is given their ribbon and chain and says thank you, speaking of how honored they are to be here. The surprise comes at the last when the Grateful Dead come to receive their colours. How could they get old? Us yes, but them? No way. It seems truly unfair.

Night One is over and we can relax. For tomorrow is show time. Sunday brunch gives us the time to catch up with friends. But like the Oscars in Hollywood one is dressed in a new ball gown – early. This bus driver is a lot more steady for as we approach the Kennedy Center the streets are lit up with rows of police cars flashing their blue and yellow lights as they shepherd the politicians of this fading administration, along with D.C.’s finest and the rest of us, to the Kennedy Center. As we filed through another security check and into the vastness of that building I wondered how the political factors and teams played out in this arena of theater. Are they brought together through music, cinema and opera? Can the arts help break through the animosity of power? The politicians we had sat with the night before were moving on to the deal opportunities that this evening could bring. We sit down early watching the theater fill up until someone tries to get everyone to their seats as ‘the show is about to start’ but it is tricky when the past Speaker of the House is now busy speaking in the isles. As the President arrives with the honorees behind him and the red uniformed marching band enters to the stage, we settle. The National anthem is played. Queen Latifah comes on stage to start the show, Bobby De Niro plays a bar of two on the grand piano, and the show begins – and then – four hours later – it ends. We look up and acknowledge the fading power of President Joe Biden, the lost dreams of Kamala Harris, and the enormous richness of art that the world provides.

This has been A. Letter From A. Broad written and read for you by Muriel Murch

Supported by murchstudio.com