Islands in the Stream

 Islands in the Stream, a song by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers, evokes the imagery of being isolated together on an island. While listening to that song I wondered with whom, besides Scott, I would like to be cast on an island. 

So, first I queried a number of friends and was cheered, delighted and heartened to learn the overwhelming response was the desire to spend the time with a loved one, for many caring and tender reasons and not just because only a loved one would tolerate one’s quirks.

Satisfied that love still rules the world, I then went on line to retrieve the world’s most popular responses and was surprised at the answers. Survival skills was at the top of the list, of course, but in a way that I had not considered:

On line, Queen Elizabeth garnered over one thousand wants (albeit this question was asked while she was still alive). Nonetheless, the gist of these responses was similar: “Not only is she basically immortal and would be entertaining, if she randomly went missing one day it would obviously be the top news headline, and there would be a massive worldwide search party to try and find her and, of course, me.” Of course. The brilliance of the logic is unassailable. After all, if I go missing it’s a mild ‘meh’, if she goes missing the world looks for her and whoever she is with.

The most recent, and most similar, response on line was to spend time with President Trump. He was the top hit and for as similar reason as the Queen: “If Mr. Trump goes missing, everyone would go crazy and surely they will send troops in order to find him”. One person went further to say: “and while they come, I could actually talk to this businessman and learn some stuff.” Again, brilliant and impressively self serving. The same logic is probably true with any president, except maybe Grover Cleveland, but that's another story.

Neither the late Queen nor the current President would have been on my list. However heralded these people might be, they can’t do anything for themselves other than to ask someone else to take care of the problem. I suppose the Queen could trade some of her jewels with the natives for food and shelter and the President could negotiate a deal but in the long run, what? Neither they, nor anyone of their ilk, are self-reliant. Heck, the Queen even had someone to break in her new shoes before she wore them.

MacGyver was another whole hearted contender. He had it all in terms of required needs: Survival Skills: building shelters, finding food and water would be invaluable; Medical Knowledge: treating injuries or illnesses that might arise on the island; Problem-Solving Skills: resourceful, good critical thinking, devising plans for survival and potential rescue; Physical Fitness: required for the demands of survival, including foraging, building, and potentially swimming to safety if necessary. No question that MacGyver is all that, but when the sun goes down, would this guy keep my confidence up, be a soft voiced story teller by the fire that he so expertly built? Small talk was not his forte. Yes, he would keep my body alive, but what about my spirit? 

Asking friends the same question again after asking to omit a loved one, I wasn’t surprised at the choice of the famous intellectual people with whom to spend time on an island. While being in the same room with any one of these people would be the gift of a lifetime, I cannot imagine what I would have to offer in terms of reciprocal conversation. Therein lies the rub. What could I possibly say that would hold their attention for more than a few seconds. What remarks from me could possibly engage their fancy? What brilliance could escape my lips to charm them? “Did I tell you about the time that I wore mismatched shoes?” Nope. 

So, moving on, in order of listings, these were the responses and my responses to their responses: 

Winston Churchill was most often listed. This is a man who ad libs: "He has all of the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.” Or, more soberly: "If you are going through hell, keep going”. His famous stare alone would render me speechless. At best I could offer to light his cigar so he’s crossed off my list. 

Albert Einstein came next on the list: “Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited; imagination encircles the world”. To which I would respond. . . . Duh. Even his Scrabble game words would do me in. What could I say: who does your hair?

 Stephen Hawking: “One, remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Two, never give up work. Work gives you meaning and purpose and life is empty without it. Three, if you are lucky enough to find love, remember it is there and don't throw it away.” So I asked. . . . can I oil your wheelchair? Whose voice is recorded in your translator box? 

Umberto Eco: Really? This one threw me. I did not see this guy in the top 10. Eco’s elucidation of fascism would leave me speechless. He considered himself a professor and was quite unsettled with the fact that people referred to him as a novelist. I did like The Name of the Rose. However, he does not strike me as a nice guy.“There are four kinds of people in this world: cretins, fools, morons, and lunatics.” Yikes. I suppose that he’s an acquired taste, like Oscar Levant but without the snide asides. Even though we're both Italian, he didn't make my list.

Richard Dawkins. I’d never heard of this guy (great intellectual that I am). Like Hawking, Dawkins doesn’t believe in God. Dawkins is famous for his work in evolutionary biology, particularly his concept of the gene as the primary unit of selection in evolution; the gene? I thought (again, not the great intellectual) evolutionary biology had to do with animal magnetism as the primary unit of natural selection. You know: Man clubs woman, drags her to his tent, makes boom boom. I’d always thought that if I was ever in the same room as Jeremy Irons, I blush to consider the outcome if he would allow me to have my way with him, but not according to Dawkins. Clearly, I don’t understand the entire gene evolution theory since it took a second husband to get the basic biology stuff right. 

After the Queen, the top female on the list was Ada Lovelace. “The science of operations, as derived from mathematics more especially, is a science of itself, and has its own abstract truth and value.” She’s considered the first computer programmer. Oh my. Fortunately, I’m married to a computer genius so he’s my translator. I’m good with handing Scott my computer whenever there’s a problem, otherwise, ctrl-alt-del is as far as I could go with her. Then again, she was Lord Byron’s daughter so there might be a non-science recessive gene in there somewhere (what would Dawkins say about her?). Either way, what would I offer her in terms of reciprocal conversation. How do you keep your starchy crinolines from scratching your legs?

On the list went, while other equally brilliant minds followed: Elon Musk, Marie Curie, Lise Meitner, Maria Montessori. Again, what would I say? What would any of us say. And a few smart alecks named Confucius, Aristotle, Pythagorus, Plato and Socrates. Those Greek philosophers? After ‘I think therefore I am’, I’ve got nothing.

Now that we’ve established that I have nothing to say to hold these brilliant minds’ interest, the question still hanging is who, besides Scott, would I want to spend my days with on an island? Obviously, Keith Richards. 

Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys

Yesterday I was at the grocery store looking at my phone for any last minute requests from my darling hubby. Instead I learned that Brian Wilson died at the ripe old age of 82; still a young man by some accounts, especially by those approaching their 80th decade of life. Nonetheless, I was saddened; I remarked to a young grocery clerk about Wilson’s passing and was confronted with a blank look and a “who?”. 

Time traveling back to 1965 I was with my school friends Carol and Kathy (the ghastly trio) at the Maple Leaf Gardens to see the Beach Boys. We were beside ourselves in anticipation; dressed in our best mid-60s outfits of ridiculously short mini skirts, white stockings, big hair and extremely silly eye shadow colors. We were around 16 or 17, probably the best that we would ever look in our entire lives but there we were, painted up like court jesters, secretly knowing  that the minute one of those Beach Boys laid eyes on us we would be whisked away to live happily ever after. We had very rich fantasy lives. Then again, attending a live concert was a big deal in those days and we were thrilled to be forerunners, so avant garde. While waiting for the show to begin, we looked around to see if we recognized anyone. Nope, we saw only more equally goofy starry eyed faces. There may have been some manner of drugs in the audience but we were still too young and naive to be aware of those darker realities. We were there to see the Beach Boys live. 

Finally, it was time for the show to begin and we all sat silently, expectantly, preparing for this momentous event. The lights went down; we waited with bated breath and the first musical lyrics we heard when the lights went back up were: “Baby don’t go. . . ”. The opening act was Sonny and Cher. Wait, what? We had heard of them, of course, and recognized them when they walked on the stage, singing. A lot of clapping and a bit of whistling but no real screaming at their entrance. While they sang, I noticed that they both had a lot of hair. . . a lot of hair. Sonny wore an embroidered Mongolian fur vest and Cher wore matching white fur boots. They sang a few songs, including their current hits: I Got You Babe and Baby, Don’t Go. I remember that we enjoyed their songs but thought they were today’s flash in the pan and so were only mildly impatient with their singing and joking while we waited for the Beach Boys.

Once again, the lights went down, then up and then there they were. The ones, the only, the original Beach Boys; sun kissed hair, candy striped shirts, flashing white smiles punctuating their California tans. We started screaming before they even opened their mouths. Patiently, they waited for us to settle down a bit before they started singing. We sang along with their songs and when they adjusted the lyrics of “I wish they all could be California girls” to “I wish YOU all could be California girls” while they pointed their fingers at us, I’m pretty sure that a few girls in the audience passed out while the rest of us just screamed ourselves hoarse. And they finished with the very pretty “God only knows”. Oh my. At the time we were too moved to speak but later spent hours on the phone telling our girlfriends about this very historic occasion in our lives, as if nothing this exciting was ever going to happen to us again; if we only knew.

Ten years later, as I biked along the Manhattan Beach strand in California on beautiful Saturday mornings I would occasionally hear their songs spilling out from nearby beach homes. “Wouldn’t it be nice. . . .” Life was so simple then, a song remembered while the sun worked its magic: "the warmth of the sun. . . ."

In later years we heard stories about Brian and his mental and emotional setbacks but back in the ‘60s he and his band mates were the stuff of dreams.