Sometimes I Wonder

Reflection.

How early did the world of arts and letters touch my life?
I have a photo of me as an infant, with Henry Miller's personal assistant, a writer and artist in his own right, tickling my tummy with a delighted smile on his face.
Emil White.
A force of personality.
A man my sister and I have great and fond memories of.

And regrets,
at not seeing him towards the end of his life.
My sister thought he would not remember her, years later, when she was driving through Big Sur. But he did, and was disappointed that she did not stop to visit.
She had mentioned her early association with Emil to someone in the area, and word got back to him.
She told me this later, when I told her that I had not seen Michael McClure for the same reason, when he toured here several years ago.
Regrets and memories.
Another life and time.
I remember the feel of metal roller skates on the rough cement sidewalk in front of the McClures house on the hill.
The adults were inside on a weekend afternoon.
Down the hill, the local laundromat advertised 10 cent wash, 5 cent dry.
The Coppertone billboard with the little girl hung over the city.
Sometimes I imagine Jane and see that blonde, blonde, blonde head of hair, here comes the sun...
Sometimes I wonder.

I would like to go to the Henry Miller Museum, housed in Emil White’s home. My hope is to see the photo of a younger Emil, peering from the side of a woman’s hips, gleeful, mischievous eyes, black and white.
It was my favorite when we used to visit.
Somewhere I have a Henry Miller signed hard cover copy of Tropic of Cancer.
It’s somewhere,
and that’s where I think it will stay.