If anyone is out of sorts, or worried about the North Koreans shooting missiles at us, I suggest a walk by the water. There one may find a certain solace in the salty, rambunctious scent of the sea water. It must be the sound of the lapping of the waves that provides a lullaby for all of us -- even for someone like me, who's far too old for lullabies.
Come to think of it, I don't think I ever heard any lullabies as a child. I don't recall my Mum hovering over me, singing melodies by Brahms. I doubt if Brahms ever heard them either. That's why he had to write them.
But if we are lulled into a sense of insecurity, then I guess the fault lies in us, not in the stars. Not even those splendid stars that we see over San Francisco Bay as we walk by Crissy Field. Sailors used the stars for navigation. Perhaps we might go back to the stars for a sense of guidance. There's a rhythm to the waves that dash up to beat the rocks down here near St. Francis Yacht Club.
It's funny how things that you love may often erode what we thought were solid. That relentless punch of the salt water breaks us down sometimes. It's a quiet sort of murder. We don't feel a thing. There are so many pleasurable, and painless things about San Francisco. No wonder the rest of the country hates us.
And there's the lullaby of the sea, the Bay's best briny that briny can provide.
Just a moment. This is not a gloomy dispatch. Not at all. There are those stars on this very early Tuesday morning. The dazzle thorough the mist. And it's early. The sun's not up yet. The stars are still visible. They never seem to go to sleep. I think I know why the stars are there. Just so I may look up once in awhile, and stop staring at my shoes. If you can call these sneakers shoes.
You see, when you look down, then we might look up, again, and then find a middle ground. The landscape that is right here in front of us. That's the ground that people were walking on this Memorial Day weekend, shivering in their seersucker suits, poor things. For all of the San Francisco chilliness, people looked happy, not so disgruntled at all. On the contrary. I notice these days that people are showing more affection for each other, they cling to themselves in a way I had not noticed before. People will always be in love. It's reassuring. I think it's a good time to be in love. I guess there was never a bad time to be in love.
I now recall a story from my music school days. Brahms, yes the cat famous for the lullabies, was in love with Clara Schumann. I guess that was a bad time for him to be in love because she would not return it, whatever that means. Like a rejected letter to the post office. But he loved her, he did, loved her fiercely, and decently. Here's the trouble: she was still married to her dead husband, the great Robert Schumann. He was a wonderful artist, and he drowned himself in a river.
The great composer of lullabies, Johannes Brahms, never got a good night's sleep after that.
I'll bet he was never sorry about being in love, even with the recalcitrant Clara. As a great composer, he did most of his work while staring out the window before dawn. I'll bet he'd catch a glimpse at the stars, and maybe take a walk by the water. You see, that's the real task we are left with, to come down here to the Marina Green on a blustery morning like this, and listen to the melody of the waves. There's a quiet turbulence to the motion of the water.
Now, that's a real lullaby.
Bruce Bellingham is the Arts & Entertainment Editor for the SF Northside. When he's not meandering near the shoreline, he's adding stories to his book, "The Pitchfork People." Torment him at bruce@northsidesf.com or at 415-346-2593
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