September 2001: The Month Before The Baby Arrived

(Mom, Clb, Paul, Anne Berryhill, the cake I couldn't eat, Sept 18th 2001, Alexander's baby shower)

In early September of 2001 I was very pregnant. I had moved back in with Paul (we'd split up 1999-2000, then re-engaged our marriage but had continued living apart, he here in Encinitas and me in West Los Angeles)and I had quit my girl-friday job at Lookout Management/Vapor Records.

I decided I was simply too pregnant to be.. say, picking up and delivering shoes to Lookout client Neil Young or fetching David Crosby from the airport or fielding calls from any number of living legends. So I said my goodbye's and loaded the Corolla station-wagon and moved back down to San Diego County.

As normal, 2001 was a hot September and I spent a lot of time walking and hanging out at our local beach, Moonlight. The city had recently retrieved a bunch of sand from some other locale, and it had dumped and spread the new dirty looking brown stuff all over the popular beach. Most locals weren't very happy with it. Along with the new sand came a bunch of sting rays and so everyone was having to shuffle step through the waves.

I wasn't swimming. It was a red tide that fall, where the waves look dirt brown by day and at night glow with the bioluminescence of millions of phytoplankton, algae. Lovely and compelling by night. But too toxic for a pregnant lady to swim in. Paul and I took many walks down to our beach that month.

I had to walk actually, doctors orders. But I was pretty ambitious about it, marching up and down the steep stairs on the beach bluff called Stone Steps (120 stairs in all). A recent medical test made my obstetrician think I might have gestational diabetes. The fear was I would have too large of a baby. In fact, Grandma Berryhill had two sons that were over 13 pounds, she definitely had gestational diabetes. I was a border line case.

At any rate, I had to cut all the sweets out of my diet, eat one piece of bread a day, stick with the fruits veggies and meat diet and then prick my finger and test my blood sugar three times a day. So if I walked after I ate, you see, it would bring my blood sugar down and I would fare well on the tests. So I did a lot of walking.

Paul and I lived in the same apartment building I live in now with our 9 year old son and the neighbors loved the idea of a child on the way. Checking in often on how the pregnancy was progressing and helping us get the landlord to give us new paint and carpet.

The apartment was clean and ready for a kid. But I didn't have the proper baby-care tools. So my girlfriend Patricia Michal's held a baby shower for us, on the weekend of September 8th or 9th. Lots of friends showed up, mostly friends without kids I might note, and Paul and I came home with a car load of stuff, the usual stuff, and I piled it all in the living room, ready to process another day. Also, I knew in a week my family, the Berryhill cousins, were gonna have their own shower for us at their place in Laguna, so I'd wait and see what we had after that.

Paul had been seeing a therapist since our separation, and now with a baby coming he was inspired to work on unfinished business with his kids from his first marriage, their mother being, Sachiko. He invited both sons, now adults, to visit us one at a time and participate in a series of therapy sessions with him, a place where they could lay out some of their truths and feelings about having Paul Williams as a father.

It was a good thing for Paul. He'd always had trouble controlling his anger, (the brain injury didn't help), and he was doing a lot of good work on finding ways to handle his feelings and look at who he'd been to others in his life, how he'd effected the ones he loved. It was a promising time.

We were involved in a Buddhist study group at that time. We'd both been studying the Buddha's philosophies via a Vietnamese monk named Thich Naht Hahn (who'd been nominated for a Nobel Peace prize by Martin Luther King) . Nhat Hahn had a monastery in east county we'd visit sometimes and the monks would visit our San Diego study group. After a night of reading and discussion the head monk came and sat with me and Paul and talked to us about the importance of bringing mindful peace to the home we'd be bringing the baby into. He was a pretty amazing person, with both a child like quality and a heavy intelligence vibe at once. I felt a strong connection with this monk, sadly he passed away, from diabetes, the same day our son was born. I always felt they'd passed one another with purpose, through the ether's, on their ways from heaven to earth.

This was our life in the month before our son, Alexander was born.

One morning Paul woke me up a little early, he was a bit rattled. His second wife Donna Grace called to tell us that a plane had hit one of the World Trade Center towers in New York. Apparently she didn't know too much about it because Paul didn't have anything more to tell me about it and I pictured it in my minds eye as a private plane. And there was no TV to tune into, I haven't had a TV in my house since, 1991, actually the last broadcasting TV I had was when I lived in New York City.

That morning I had an appointment with my doctors office. Because my obstetrician was so concerned about me having gestational diabetes they were putting me through a series of "stress tests" which boiled down to strapping on a belt contraption and blasting the fetus with some crazy loud blips and seeing if it moved around(no wonder my son is sound sensitive now)...

On my way to the doctor, a half hours drive, I listened to the LA news station I usually tuned into, 1070AM...and was shocked to hear that it had been a commercial passenger plane that had hit the tower. By the time I got into the doctors office they had the TV's on and going full blast. I was in line, checking in when the second plane hit the other tower. The room had a mutual gasp and we all knew it was a planned thing. It was awful seeing all that go down, and I'm just sitting there waiting to be called in and then I'm supposed to take a stress test?

I listened to the rest of the events unfold on the car radio on my way home and I made a decision. I was pretty upset, who wasn't. I decided to not take in the news for the rest of the month. No hunting for pictures on the computer, no tv at friends homes..only enough radio to know whether the cataclysm's were coming west. I didn't want Alexander's last few weeks in the womb to be filled with stress hormones. I still think I made the right decision.

It's ten years later. All the pictures I didn't see, the famous photos I missed I'm allowing myself to see now. And Alexander went with friends to a 911 memorial in San Diego today. On the way home he asked his friends mother, " Who flew the planes into the buildings" She said, " The people that planned the attacks" He said, "You mean they planned it and did it knowing they too would die?" "Yep, she said, noticing how incredulous he was looking." Alexander: "But how could someone plan their own death?" ...

Alexander was born October 16, 2001, six pounds seven ounces, and despite the doctors fear of a large rotund baby brought on by gestational diabetes, I had one of the slimmer babies born that day.

WILD PONIES AND PLAYING CARDS

Sorting through multiple decks of playing cards on Paul's bed. Now he has a full deck.

Lately It's been hard to collect my thoughts and put them into a reasonable form. They've been running like wild ponies to the four directions. But I will make an attempt to type a few words today...

I've thought a lot about Paul lately, and the kind of life he lives at the nursing home. The bad food for one. I try to bring him a bagel and lox once a week.

He isn't fairing so well these days. I got a call from his doctor on Sunday (that's right Sunday...) and he wanted to talk to me about Paul's deteriorating mental health. He recommended anti-depressants (who wouldn't be unhappy living in a sterile Medi-caid run nursing home..?) I explained to his doc that we'd been through 5 or 6 different antidepressants several years ago and they all only managed to make him sleep more (up to 15 hours a day) and then get crazy when he tried to cut back (like when he bit his 2 year old son's arm). The doc agreed that might not be the way to go.

He suggested a visit to a psychiatrist. But you actually need to be able to converse, even minimally, with a psychiatrist in order for him to see what your needs are and then administer medicine based on what you've revealed about yourself. Paul rarely talks anymore. He'll answers a few questions in one word answers. The doctor pretty much agreed.

And then Paul's doctor told me, short of the antidepressants or psychiatrist, Paul could use more family visits. "Can some other family or friends come visit him more often". I told him it was all pretty much me, with the exception of an occasional visit from a family member that lives far away. He'd had a few regular visitors over the past 2 years but Paul didn't want to get out of bed for them.

That's when I realized that Paul's well being was based on whether I was visiting him (and his 9 year old son Alexander). He might live or die (you see he's not wanting to get out of bed anymore) based on whether this person, ie me, is able to see him more often.

So it poses the question...does one life go on hold for another?

In the past two years, since my husband was entered into a skilled nursing facility, I've slowly come out of a time I can call, care-givers burnout. When Paul lived at home, our son and I couldn't venture out, it had become too hard to take Paul anywhere. I payed for a sitter to stay with Paul while I was at work or went out to a movie. It was a very expensive time and we lived on a short leash.

Since then I've discovered I love to run. I run about 3 miles 4 or 5 times a week. It's a blast! I can go on short trips to other cities to visit friends or play some shows now. I can take our son to the movies or do something wild and go star gazing with an astronomy club. I can join up with a running club and meet new friends. It's like becoming a young adult again for the first time, where you don't have to ask your parents and borrow their car. Alexander and I can do stuff.

So I might have sounded like a right ol' asshole to Paul's doctor but I told him, "What I'm doing is the best I can do, visiting him once or twice a week. And it all falls on me, so this is what it looks like. It's just a sad situation. But let's make the best of it. "

And anyways, I won't go back to that place of living half a life. And i definitely don't believe Paul would want me to. Paul was always on the side of living wasn't he....

Let the wild ponies run free.

Two Songs From Club Passim

Our pal Bob Colby, from the colliding worlds of science fiction and rock and roll, recorded some of our show at Passim's in Cambridge, MA last month....

These are two of my new songs: Thanks Again and The Adventurist with my pal Renata Bratt on cello and Paula Luber on glockenspiel.

The show was the first in a series we did on the east coast, driving around in a Ford Impala (I didn't know they still made the Impala), during the great heat wave of July 2011. After Boston we hit the DC area, Philly (108 F) then NYC (105) , playing double bills with our pals from SF, Blame Sally. Except for Rob, it was an all woman show, which was great 'cuz we could get dressed back stage w/out a worry.

As is often the case, I forgot to bring CDs to sell, but that was okay because we were playing songs from Garage Orchestra which is out of print and then about 6 of the new songs which are yet to be in print. So somehow it all evened out. (Plus, I kept forgetting to pick up my end of night cash but the Sally girls had me covered me on that...'what you're supposed to make money? I thought I was on a vacation in Tahiti')...

Paul and the Boys

Paul playing Scrabble with his son Alexander and his grandson Kent, young Seth is directly behind Paul

Paul's oldest son Kenta, who has been visiting this week with his family says this: "Alexander, Kent and I played Scrabble with my dad on Friday. We only made it through 2 rounds (due to the boys' impatience) but my dad did come up with reasonable words (anti and glue) and added up all his points."

Some More of Paul Williams and his son

Alexander and his dad, Paul Williams at home playing catch...we sometimes do this at Paul's nursing home here in Encinitas, where he's resided since June of 09. He doesn't seem to know he doesn't live with us anymore, which is a sort of blessing, as he has no distress about his situation

Paul gets interested in something written on the ball, like the manufacturer's info, this is the extent of his reading nowadays.

Alexander and His Dad Playing Ball

You can get a little sense of how Paul is doing from these little vid's...he's at his strongest and happiest here...alas, most of the time, these days, he sleeps his time away...

What is so interesting here is that Paul can barely walk down the hall without teetering over, in fact some friends that visit him regularly suggested he use a wheel chair now...but here is throwing a ball around with good coordination...it says a lot about what part of the brain is being used for certain functions.

I've Always Loved A Mystery

...no reason that should stop now

American Cinematography

Here's a song I wrote this week....

Shows on the East Coast Starting 7/19...

I'll be playing a few shows out on the east coast next week....here are the dates:

Starting next Tuesday 7/19 Passim's in Cambridge, MA,

7/20 Jammin' Java in Vienna VA,

7/21 World Cafe in Philly,

7/22 Canal Room NYC...

Here's a little bit of me in New York last month...this was our sound check er, first song... (thanks again to Lach and Steve Varaja for saving the day and jumping on the sound board with spontaneous enthusiasm...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0AyGGW40qI

OBSERVER: LOOKS IN THE BOX

This photo was taken in 2002 for an LA Weekly cover story on Paul Williams and fellow iconic rock journalist, Richard Meltzer (who wrote for CRAWDADDY! Magazine in the late 60s).

Half the story revolved around Meltzer's writing and the other half of the story was the writer's take on Paul's philosophy of music writing....that of being a subjective listener. Which is something like this: a music fan which reports the news from his/her own planet of experience, way of moving sound through density of flesh, and then the thoughts that emerge about those sounds, having hurdled down halls/neurotransmitter highways....

I love this idea of Paul's. But, of course, it's not only Paul's idea for the claiming. Paul's old friend Philip K Dick asked the question 'what is real?' in many different ways in his books.

Schrodinger's Cat, brings a similar question in the language of Quantum Physics. "Theorists who accept the pure version of Quantum Mechanics say that the cat exists in some indeterminate state (ie, alone in a box), neither dead nor alive, until an observer looks in the box to see how things are getting on. Nothing is real, unless it is observed." (John Gribbin, In Search of Schrodinger's Cat)

If it's all subjective, then It comes down to the question: what is real? Paul's take was sort of a... 'who cares, if i like it, it defines me in some way .'

Williams James said, "Religion, therefore, as I now ask you arbitrarily to take it, shall mean for us the feelings, acts, and experiences of individual men in their solitude, so far as they apprehend themselves to stand in relation to whatever they may consider the divine."

In the course of Paul's conversation with Alec Hanley Bemis, the LA Weekly writer noted: "Williams likens his approach to music to Henry David Thoreau's 19th-century nature writings or The Varieties of Religious Experience, William James' 1902 take on faith. "My concept was never to rate music in some kind of critical context," Paul explains as we walk along the beach. "Instead, I ask: Why is this so powerful? In what ways is it affecting us? What is the experience?" "

"There is a very famous old line: I don't know anything about art, but I know what I like," he adds. "The greatness of art ultimately has to do with subjectivity. Anything else is, to a large extent, an illusion that there are right answers to the question. Traditionally that's the French Academy approach to literature, the high school approach to literature. The correct answer is: 'Victor Hugo is the greatest French writer, because that is what the academy has agreed.'"

Paul said: "To really care about the quality and originality of many aspects of your life in this way is human nature," Williams tells me in parting. "Sometimes this is a very attractive and ennobling part of human nature. You're saying, 'This is who I am.'"

* * *

And on that note I must sign off with some sad news: CRAWDADDY! The Magazine of Rock is once again being pulled out of circulation. As some of you may know, CRAWDADDY! was bought by the owner of Wolfgang's Vault about 5 years ago. His intention was to start the iconic rock magazine back up as an online only zine only. It lived in this manner at crawdaddy.com for almost 3 years, with an ambitious and talented staff that understood Paul's vision of rock writing. Now it will be folded into Paste Magazine, which is a new acquisition of the Wolfgang's Vault owner, and taken off line (except for some archived bits).

CRAWDADDY has seen its share of comings and goings, endings and beginnings. I send out my condolences to you editors and writers that have worked so diligently at CRAWDADDY these past few years. Thanks for the good work and keeping Paul's vision relevant. I know he has appreciated it....