Proletariat

Growing up in the depression, I went to school with children (in my neighborhood) who came to school with serious insect bites. When I visited my friend, Freddie, I noticed that many of the windows around his duplex didn't have screens. One day a child came to school with what looked like a rat bite or something, and was sent to the nurse. The clothes in class were very different, some people wore what might be called "rags," and shoes were defintely an issue. On the flat we had the poorest people, renters and the like. On top of the hills (the Moreno Highlands) the people with money lived, and most of the children came to public school.

Later the lots between the hills and flat were subdivided and we moved to this area after having had a house built. People were trying to upscale themselves here it seemed, and I guess we were among them. Thus it was possible to have a bedroom, a garden and lawn, a garage and pingpong table. Inevitable problems developed because a Filipino family tried to move in (and did!) then a Jewish family, then Chinese, gadzooks. I can remember serious discussion among the neighbors about the possibility of going to the City Council about this, even by those who has been earlier discriminated against.

My ultimate lesson in all of this was a parttime job my automotive mechanic Father got me with one of his wealthy customers. Seems that the man and woman liked to entertain, and needed some help in dealing with the guests, messes and the like. & the man needed some help with some of his stuff, personal affects and the like. The entertainment part wasn't much of a problem, but when it got down the the nitty gritty of picking up after this wealthy man, and doing his "personal bidding" things soon became difficult. He wanted a "pickup man," and I wasn't it. This was my first very serious lesson about class society; we had words and I was out of a job.

Another job I got through my Father was on weekends with a man who owned and managed a small manufacturing operation. He needed someone to go with him on Saturdays to do odd jobs which just couldn't get done during the regular work week. The difference between this man and the earlier mention one was that he was totally respectful about the work process. He explained everything, did not expect "miracles," and never acted like anything was beneath him. Seems to me that he had worked his way "through the ranks." truly appreciated the work of others, and I learned a lot from him.

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Walking into the repair shop of one of the local fixit people, you can't but notice a handmade sign over the work area: "Due to the energy crisis there will be no light at the end of the tunnel." The humor strikes you first, and then the serious side kicks in. There may be a chagrin aspect to this, which I guess we have all felt one way or another. Wouldn't it be nice if we could just dial back to an earlier spendthrift, wasteful time and have it the way it was? But it isn't, everything has changed. Even the arch conservative, neocon types know (beyond their rhetoric) that we have gone beyond the pale here, we are through the energy veil, period.

Next time over to Paul's I intend to take an LED light (& I understand that Phillips has developed an LED light bulb now, not on the market ... yet) and a compact fluorescent bulb. Not that he hasn't discovered these for himself, but I would like to engage him about the sign, and whether it might be possible to have another kind of light bulb there. Paul is my generation, way back in the "dark ages," when we were instructed by parents and others to turn lights off, keep the bills down, etc. Then there were several generations where this was just not an issue, and it seemed cranky (or worse) to ask that things be conserved (!).

Now Bill McGibbon is saying that it isn't possible to change people's behavior through "the facts," that people are so buried in data (& counter data, "push back), that we will have to use slogans and careful media manipulation to engineer change. Thus his 350.org effort (is that the name?). There are university studies to prove this theory, and now those who want to encourage change are going to have to do things another way. "Information Overload" and "Future Shock" are mentioned elsewhere in this BLOG. Those who are in denial about the energy crisis, Global Warming, etc. are not convinced with the so-called facts anyway. We may be entering a new communication era where facts just don't matter that much and the "newspeak" will be based more in the emotional brain than the rational one.

Denial

People ask "what is the driving force in our society/" The answer seems simple to me, perhaps too simple, "Denial," and the most obvious example is "push back," especially in our political life. It is very obvious in other areas too, for example the way that groups respond to criticism, believing that they have "answered" a charge of some kind by a baldfaced denunciation of tbe critic, a "lateral arabesque," intended to put the criticism elsewhere, perhaps off shore.

So denial is the fuel that has taken the place of gasoline as a propellant of choice. It may be time to return to thermodynamics & look at entropy as a serious malady rather then a mode of transportation. Stasis is a dangerous state of affairs, and it seems that with a reliance of dysfunction as strategy and policy we are gambling with pretty much everything. The cover up to much of this is what the well known critic & writer, Chris Hedges, calls "the empire of consumption;" but we are having more and more difficulty consuming our way out of difficulties.

* The examples of denial in our society are seemingly endless, here are a few: problems of nuclear waste, energy in/energy out
equations, eg. ethanol, religious bigotry and hypocrisy, political maneuvering instead of action, etc., ETC.

Canaries in mines

60 Minutes recently hosted a program on a program developed by technologies by Halliburton (and others) to remove natural gas from rock. This is seen as one of the important intermediate technologies which will get us through "dependence on foreign oil," ETC, The problem is that there are deep seated problems with it, which have been pointed out by environmentalist and industry people as well. Fracturing and the wholesale use of water and the accompanying hazards are being pushed aside in the name of energy solutions and the like.

Ethanol is another of these intermediate technologies which have been promulgated by everyone from Federal bureaucrats to the Farm Bureau, and yet it has been proven that the amount of energy applied to producing it does not offset the amount of energy used (!); & it doesn't seem to matter because the forces behind it have gained enough momentum to not only keep it going, but to expand it as well.

Corporate and government precaution seem to be beside the point when our transportation and energy systems could grind to a halt because of problems. It seems that we are at a crossroads here, and that precaution must be employed in order not to create even greater problems for ourselves. Not only do we need whistle blowers (60 Minutes?) but the most intelligent, grounded technocrats imaginable, and ones who are not profit driven. How in the world are to get through this?

Tragedy

A program on NPR lately featured a man who had not listened to his feelings, his concern about a possible problem. And then "tragedy struck," a fire broke out and because some precaution had not been used, some fairly simple process put in place, a friend or relative died. A simple, avoidable tragedy resulted. This event is all too common in a time when people are overloaded with preoccupations and not focusing on basic necessities.

I was raised in a totally different time, of course, and part of that time insisted that things be attended to, that solutions to problems not be assumed. The Boy Scout motto of "Be Prepared" was a further redundancy on this, and it was drummed into us by successive scout masters; it was the mantra we were told to live by. Later in the Navy, we had drills to deal with fires, lifeboat use and the like, and late one night we scrambled to fight a fire in a hold which could have taken the ship in the mid Atlantic.

So I recently spotted a possible problem in a new home moved into by my Son and his Wife and children. I was hesitant to mention it, because in today's society it seemed like it might be "meddling," messing with someone else's business, their sovereignty. But I went back to the story on NPR, thought of that and felt I had to say something, even though there might be problems. The Boy Scouts are considered passe nowadays by many people, perhaps they and other avenues of advice and correction are too old fashioned in a time of rapid change and quick fix solutions.

Hardware

The first hardware store I remember was in Echo Park (L.A.), and I think it was my Grandmother, Nelly Mae, who took me in there. I looked in the drawers and cabinets, the bolts, nuts, washers, what a treasure trove. It was described as a place where you solved problems, got just the right thing to make things work. (Elsewhere in this blog I relate how a father and his daughters lost their hardware store to senseless business development in Minneapolis).

Many years later I discovered another hardware store in another neighborhood, run by a husband and wife team, Steve and Jolene, excellent hardware people. They never failed to come up with a solution to this or that problem, and when I went in with a vexing one one day and asked for their "wizard," Steve took me back to the room where they repaired and reglazed windows, etc., etc. and introduced me to a young Man, Chris. He would fix the problem and did, later to become a friend and work not only with me on projects but works with my carpenter son, Aaron, to this day, and is his friend.

Process, engagement of problems, not something you are about to solve in the aisles or Walmart, KMart or Fleet Farm, unless you are extremely lucky. Lately I found another hardware store, on a side road in Wisconsin, which presents itself as an equipment rental place, construction company that also does snow removal, etc., and only secondarily as a place to solve problems and get needed parts; in other words, a hardware store, When I complained to the man who has been a huge help to me, Jim, he shrugged his shoulders. Are we going to see a resurgence in hardware stores and hardware men and women? I hope so, because this will be an indication that problems can be solved, that you don't trash what doesn't work, it can be fixed.

Vacillations of aging

It is instructive to be with siblings and friends who are getting on in age, and to compare how they see themselves with your own (elderly) attitudes, and those of others. In an age dominated by youth and mass media & advertising, controlled by those who would market to young people or people who would like to appear or be younger than they are, things can be extremely confusing (!). At times it seems that people are almost chameleon like, and at others want to be recognized for what they truly are.

Having been raised by parents who were born the early part of the twentieth century, and grandparents who born in the 1880s, the dimensions of the changes are undoubtedly greater than for others. My grandparents showed their age and didn't seem to need appear younger. My parents were more "youthful" in their elder years, but I never got the idea that they wanted to appear any younger than they were.

At present my confusions are mostly generated by the differences in appearence and attitude, I guess. Often when I am speaking with someone who wants to be in a younger generation (and tries for those appearances) but is stuck with beliefs and mindsets of his own generation (or even earlier ones) it makes me feel a little crazy, and I will find myself moving away. My suspicion is that this may become even more extreme in the future, since the social trends seem to be more supportive and even forgiving of Chamelon like lifestyles; and everything from plastic surgery techniques, organ transplants and advanced cosmetics
may just push the envelopes.

Hysteria

I often think of the word "hysteria" when I view television ads or programs, or observe public advertising or life extremes (in town, in the Cities). Is it my reaction or are these some manifestation of hysteria? When I explained this to one of my sisters she was offended, as if I was describing a norm as something abnormal (?). For example, people running around in a car showroom, as if their lives depended on it, or the fast food ads which have people taking enormous bites out of junk food sandwiches. Or the hyperdrive activity of sitcoms, which are supposed to be funny, and which are backed up by canned laughter. I don't know, perhaps it is my age.

"dinosaur without a mate"

In the concluding chapter in the legendary book on barbeque, "Smokestack Lightning," the author quotes Frank about the future of barbeque in America: "You know, " Frank says, looking around, "what we have here is a dinosaur without a mate." Which sums up a lot of enterprises, from GM right down to a local store not connected to a national chain. If you don't have a "bail out," or a sugar daddy connexion to Wall Street/Feds you'd better enjoy your dinosaur status, and hope for the best. Let the good times roll.

Speaking of the apocalypse, don't miss the production "Collapse," featuring author, ex-police officer & reporter, Michael Ruppert. This mindboggling production documents life beyond peak oil & 9/11 in an alarming, basic way. This is available on DVD, of course, I got it from the public library. Can we avoid "global disaster," (?), this is a primer on the subject.

Alexander & Aaron Roberts

Alexander is auspicious, draws attention to himself, and thus gets a lot of publicity. Lately he has won the James Beard Award and thus more attention is coming his way. The sad thing is that most of this attention is superficial, not focusing on his true contribution to the health of food, as well as the taste and presentation of it, the way he treats (and holds) his employees, his deep and continuous support of local growers (vs. the recent, faddish implications of this), and agriculture itself, and his deep devotion to family. It is one of the highlights of my life to be able with my partner in life, Joni, to deliver vegetables to his restaurants, invite his staff out here to enjoy and work in Otter Creek, to celebrate the soil and plants with them.

Aaron is a carpenter, a builder, someone who can fix things, figure out what went wrong and get to it. He has done a lot of work with his brother, and he has been invaluable to us in Otter Creek. His profession is under rated because so much of the building trades are (perhaps unwittingly, employment is critical) involved in building structures which are not really respected; built not to last but to sell. Recently Aaron sent me an article which rates carpenters along with other trades and professions. Guess what? They come in 237th "out of the 250 most common -- or most visible -- jobs in America, according to the recently published "Jobs Rated Almanac." Garbage collectors ranked three places back at 240. I wonder how chefs ranked, or cooks for that matter (?).

Personal note

I have neglected this Blog because of fall work (putting the farm "to bed"), harvest, firewood, and assorted tasks. Plus a trip West for a reunion with my dear siblings and the 50th Anniversary of The Temple of Man. Besides the unnerving entry into post 9/11 airport life (not as bad as I expected) and an all night Greyhound Bus ride (OK too) I would say that sensory overload and over stimulation were my only difficulties; together with the accompanying fatigue. I may indulge you, dear reader, with some more observations from this trip and work at a later date. For example, the Day of the Dead celebration in the Mission District of San Francisco, or the Petrified Forest in the upper end of Napa Valley, and garlic planting.

authenticity

The word seems old fashioned in this disingenious world, doesn't it? But people like Robert Jensen are still trying to define it as something to be lived: "Authenticiy comes when your thoughts, your words, and your deeds have some relation to each other. It comes when there's a real organic relationship between the way you think, the way you talk, and the way you act ...." In a world driven by relative reality the authentic is in a shaky dance with a tottering, tattered superstructure of "reality."

A millionaire stepping back from his computer after having scanned the present evaluations from Wall Street, walks through his vast backyard around the pool, and down through the gate to the pier to fire up his spacious Chris Craft for a trip to the yacht club for breakfast. His authenticity will be tested as he navigates the relative realities of the channel between his home and club.

An aging Vietnam vet starts his day by arranging things in his sparse, small but comfortable apartment. Government benefits have finally caught up with him and now he can dress warm with his Goodwill clothes. He double locks the door and climbs up the stairs to the cluttered street. Two blocks away is the welcoming diner. Buon appetite.

Several years ago I found myself coming in for a landing at the Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport. I was seated in first class because they had overbooked the flight, and my companions next to the window were what I took for a very wealthy man and his young blonde escort. He had been describing a variety of things which were meant to impress. The last thing I heard him say was
"that you could tell what was really happening with metropolitan area by the number of corporate jets on the ground." Now I wonder how far he got toward or in his, and how that young woman has progressed with her authenticity.

Redundancy

The unwelcomed repetition of concepts, stories or whatever are an anathema to me. I have had this feeling for my entire life, and as I get older I fear that I may or will start doing this (perhaps I already am?). I have watched friends and acquaintences do it, have had to ask them not to tell a favorite story for the umpeenth time, and it is painful to do. They, after all, are excercising what is left of their memory, they have found something to share. And I am going to ask them not to? This is a deep dilemma.

I find media indulging in repetition in an unhealthy way, for example NPR/Wisconsin Public Radio. Slogans are aired so often as to be completely meaningless, as are requests for support/membership, etc. The spots aired to give credit to commercial and noncommercial organizations come around so often as to make me wonder if the radio staff ever listen to the station/network, have any understanding of how this repetition can undermine their work (?).

Am I too sensitive to this? Must I desensitize myself as I get older, with the hope that others may be more forgiving than I've been? Vamos a ver.

The Obvious

My partner in life sometimes complains about something she describes as "the obvious." It is as if I insult her by saying something that is a "foregone conclusion," not necessarily trite, but unwelcome. I don't mean to insult her, of course, and thus find myself apologizing for what I probably intended as a clarification. Often the obvious is unspoken because clarification is not deemed important, and could be unwelcomed as mention above.

Something that might seem obvious is the thought that a lot of what one knows is in a general stream of consciousness, out of which we may pick a combination of concepts/words to solve or describe a problem new or different to us. Specialists might not go through the trouble, since the process does not interest them since the subject or problem does not fall within the purview of their specialization. How to manage the obvious without insult to others? It seems that risks must be taken one way or another.

Crossroads

A recent book names an Obijwe town called AAZHOOMOG, crossroads in the Anishinaabe language. And as I say the word "crossroads" I think of the well known rendition of the song done by Ry Cooder. The place where roads cross can be significant, but also may not be of importance. You may be out in the middle of nowhere, see on a map a seemingly significant crossing of roads somewhere, and expect a gas station, cafe or more (?). If the road crosses a river where there are possible or described settlements on either side, you may have something there too. I think of the Twin Cities in Minnesota where the University of Minnesota is on both sides, and St. Paul & Minneapolis are (seemingly) divided there. I have always found the word to be potentially haunting, with possible promise.

Intersections are a version of crossroads, within a city or town. Some of these do not even have stop signs, much less stop lights. But often these city/town crossroads have power to them, and I have heard some described as "power intersections," where more is going on than meets the eye. There may be some strong businesses there, or organizations which carry some weight, perhaps a church. So what?, as Andy Warhol would have said. What was the first intersection or crossroads to affect your life, the first crossroads?

opacity/transparency

One of my siblings has commented on my opacity, suggesting I be more transparent. One of my erstwhile readers has asked that I reveal myself: Who am I? What do I do for a living/ Etc. So, I intend to describe myself briefly to clear the air a bit, and then satisfy my Sister (and Son, Aaron) later on. I am a 79 year old male, live on a farm and grow vegetables with my dear partner, Joni Lynn Cash. My major identity at oresent is a Haus Mann, described elsewhere in the BLOG, and I intend to go more into this subject in the near future.

Information Please

In a so-called "Age of Information" we are not doing a very good job of it. We have a glut and we are expanding upon that as fast as we can. Is this a version of a world in which expansion for its' own sake is considered the key to well being and prosperity? What about improving on what we have with the maximum humaness we can apply? While teaching library education in N.Y many years ago, a genius named Richard Saul Wurman came out with what was known as the "Smart Yellow Pages." I acquired an example of this from one of the cities nor far away (I think Bell Telephone was involved); paradoxically it was not employed in Buffalo, N.Y. where the University was, and thus I could not just send the students to the local phone booth or the phone books at the library reference desk.

We examined this book for the differences (between the stupid yellow pages which was and still is available from coast to coast), and I was reminded of how many times I had been utterly frustrated as a librarian, but also in my home use of phone books. What was the difference? Mr. Wurman had applied not only his considerable intelligence and imagination to the project, but his deeper human inclinations as well. So that what might be considered an obvious cross reference to find something was given, not assumed. Instructions on the use of the smarter Yellow Pages were given, not assumed. In other words, the Yellow Pages became a legitimate reference book to find valuable resources. How amazing, how simple in a sense.

I challenge you to go to you local Yellow Pages and see if it is smart or dumb (or somewhere in between). Does it make the kind of connexions you need to find resources there? Or is it just one more avenue to sell advertising? Does it display human concern in its' design and execution? Does it ask for user feedback for improvement? In other words, is it an interactive resource in your community/region?

Extrapolation

There are certain critical elements today which are not focused upon, and in my estimation need to be. The first definition in the dictionary I found of "extrapolation" is mathematical, I'm focused on the second: "To infer or estimate (unknown information) by extending or projecting known information."* I can't remember whether my Father actually used the word or not, but in teaching me to work it was a basic template to learn from the present task and apply that learning (if appropriate) to another. Otherwise I/we would be "re-inventing the wheel," wasting everyone's time, and just plain being stupid.

I don't mean to limit the use of this powerful word/concept to work, but that is where I know it first and foremost; and I remember my Father giving me a cuff on the ear for having missed an obviously extrapolation in a work process. I had accomplished such and such a job earlier on, here was a job that was obviously parallel in processes to get done. Why on earth was I asking for instructions, reinvent the wheel here, I don't think so (?). Years ago I tried to describe the implications of not finishing a job to a teenager, thus the importance of a completed piece of work, not only in terms of personal satisfaction, but of client or boss satisfaction as well. Didn't work, he had not been taught about extrapolation and couldn't make what to me were obvious connexions on his own. From then on I let him work things out for himself. In other words, I gave up on him, which was a mistake.

Now, let's go away from work for a moment, and talk about "diplomacy" or political actions. It seems to me that from Ronald Reagan on (through both Bush I, Bill Clinton & Bush/Cheney) there has been a blindness to the importance of extrapolation, not only in politics & diplomacy, but in terms of the practical implications of our so-called capitalist/imperialist stance in the world. Carter may not have been much better, but it seems he took more risks in extrapolation than other presidents/ administrations. I think the results of Obama and his people are still out, a mixed bag of rhetoric, and questionable results, Eg. Wall Street and the Banks ... especially in terms of our post petroleum/post financial crisis (& within both, of course, worlds).

* "The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language; New College Edition"

Non-Communication

My personal observation is that the amount of information being exchanged and responded to is going down. Fewer messages left on telephone answering devices and on the Internet are answered. Why? It is obvious that too much is on the plate, there is what used to be called "information overload" in an extreme sense. Part of the problem is that information specialists and the like are trying to promulgate and then organize information rather than reining it in in terms of use & practicality. Wes Jackson, a savvy plant geneticist in Kansas has suggested that a basic human condition --"our basic ignorance," must be met, and that we adopt "an ignorance-based worldview" that could help us understand these limits. This is not to suggest that we revel in human stupidity, but that we have "an obligation to act as intelligently as possible, keeping in mind not only what we know but also how much we don't know."*

Multitasking is not something that everyone can do well, and its demands are undoubtedly taking a toll on the way many people do and do not communicate. Choices, it is instructive what people can and can't respond to. I know that many things that come through the e-mail simple have to be erased immediately, I haven't time to even give them a chance. There is a sense of frustration and anxiety in the way messaging is going on, somewhat like advertising and fund raising, politics via media. How many of these things would be useful if I had the time for them? The same thing goes for the telephone answering device, and cell phones have certainly accelerated the amount of traffic here. News reports of people having car accidents because they are trying to text message, talk on the phone and pay attention to e-mails while on the road have sky rocketed, now causing some legislatures to take action, and insurance companies to be concerned.


It seems inevitable that there will be "courses" offered by schools and various organizations to deal with these problems, probably already are. And there will be more sophisticated devices put in place to help people screen incoming calls and messages of all kinds. These probably already exist for those who desperately need them and can afford to have them in place. For now interpersonal communication is especially taking a beating at a time when it is needed the most. There must be more attention given to this problem, and fast; and Wes Jackson's advice would be well heeded in the mix.

* Paraphrased and quoted from Robert Jensen's "All My Bones Shake," page 51

"Song for My Father"

Many years ago I purchased the great Horace Silver album dedicated to his Father, with the amazing title track. Not long after that it was ripped off in a robbery of my house by a junkie looking for some quick cash. It was decades later when I discovered the CD version in a used record store bin, with the same picture of Horace's Father on the cover. The liner notes are brilliant but leave undescribed the relationship between Father and Son, and only a very brief description of John Tavares Silver. The glorious track has to say it all, and I guess it does.

I was at sea for four years and received only one letter from my Father, and it kind scared me. Before I opened it I had to ask myself what has happened at home, something wrong, something happen to Mother (because she was the correspondent in the family)? Well, Dad didn't write very good grammatical English, and so he was hesitant to write. When I wrote home I usually wrote to both of them, referencing my Mother's letters. Now decades later I'm unhappy with myself with not having pursued more communication with him. Why didn't I? It is sad in a way.

Now I find myself writing what I call a "Last Exit" letter to my sons, Aaron & Alexander, and my partner, Joni Cash. At 79 this letter is to provide instructions to them for what is to happen when I pass. And in writing it I have been encouraged to look back at my communications (& failure of them) with my sons. At times I have worked hard at it, and at times this has backfired. When I have described loneliness or the like, I have been met with derision by one son, and silence by the other. Truth be told they are both extremely busy, and I understand that. But that doesn't keep me from trying.

They have both been great sons, extremely generous and kind. I am deeply indebted to them for staying with me, even living in the same region (which is often unusual these days). It has been a huge gift to work with Alexander in providing his restaurants with produce, for example; and he has gone way beyond "the call of duty" to help us with everything from a walk-in cooler to a computer. Aaron has given of his talents and expertise in helping with buildings, grading the land, and much help with firewood and kindling. But mostly it is being there for me, for us. You have provided many "songs," both of you, and I look forward to our exchanges.

Bully Pulpit

Soapboxes and pulpits are the stuff of frustrated minds. I hope my blog won't indulge in those venues, although I suspect that some of that will occur. In times as frustrating as these, with all the stuff to react to, it is difficult to imagine not complaining about things, and trying to solve them. Well, I hope that if and when I indulge myself it will be more in the solution columns. I have already had a couple of comments about this dilemma.

I have an acquaintance who has been a kind of counselor for me at times, with some astrology in the mix. He is a psychic, a word I do not use loosely, and his mind is much to be admired. He puts out a newsletter, and it is often dominated by the kind of verbiage that I have warned about above. With a difference, and that is that his vision (some dark) is very much based upon his d e e p concern for the outrageous things going on in our Nation and throughout the world. So in slightly different (shoes) he could be considered a muckraker, win the Sinclair Lewis award, etc.

The other aspect I want to mention is what might be called (in John Steinbeck's language, a book title) "the winter of our discontent".... It is so hard to live so long, to have gone up and down with optimism and cynicism, to be all but worn out by "hope" and despair, and then landed again on a rocky beach by the latest wave of w h a t e v e r. Part of it is undoubtedly the sheer amount of news coming at us, eg. with Amy Goodman's "Democracy Now" ("bad news Amy"), and the bits and scraps of jetsam and flotsam coming from across the beleaguered planet. It may be a bit of news from an e-mail sent by a parent whose child serves in Iraq and Afghanistan, or the latest story of non-action in the long battle to change the problems in our watershed. Forgive me, people, if sometimes I indulge in the verbiage.

Cajun is back

We live in a semi-remote area, surrounded by small canyons, lots of trees, little mesas, populated by coyotes, fox, raccoons, owls, hawks, eagles, and other potential predators. So when an indoor cat gets out, and into a mean little storm, there is some degree of concern. Cajun, a Maine Coon Cat companion of mine for ten plus years got out there, into a powerful thunder storm and was out for three weeks.

Lots of flyers were posted, calls to neighbors, random surveillance, calling him of course, and for the last week a live trap set.
During this time an animal/bird person we know suggest we contact a psychic who specializes in animal communication (& this woman lives far, far away from here). She was contacted and we set a time to talk on the phone; this was done, she asked questions and then claimed to have tuned him in. The problem was, she said, that he had passed on to the next life, seems a predator had got him. Well, I was devasted and hung up. Meantime, he had been spotted a day or so before by a child in the area & the life trap was out.

Next day he was sighted again, and I moved the trap back to an earlier location (his favorite tuna as the bait). Meanwhile the words of the psychic were making me wonder about continuing with the trap. And then he was spotted again, and after that I saw him going away into a berry patch. He was, according to the vet still too scared to come to me when called. So I set the trap and did the usual visits to check it. Finally, three weeks after he had left I found Cajun in the trap at 4:30 a.m., and he was mighty unhappy to be in there. Burrs, sticks, and other debris were removed, and lots of matted fur was lost in the process. Then a trip to the vet was made for a check up and antibiotics and into recovery. Since then our farm dog has had an emergency and been to the vet. & Albert, one of the barn cats, is missing. Cajun is back, and we are blessed to have him. Moral to the story ... don't give up on a missing animal. Hopefully Al hasn't been caught by a predator.

"War is Peace"

George Orwell's novel "1984" has never been as cogent as last week when President Obama's pronouncement of the official occupation being over in Iraq was broadcast, and the last so-called combat troops moved into Kuwait (?). Thus a campaign promise was met, regardless of the fact that thousands of troops are there to back up the Iraqi forces, and have already been in "firefights;" and that thousands of mercendary soldier contractors are there as well. "War is Peace."

When is a war not a war, when is a "peace action" a peace action? My war was Korea, called a "police action" for a long time. We were, ostensibly policing the communists because they were breaking our cold war rules ... imposed largely by us, of course, and in collusion with the UN. Vietnam was an admitted war, a full scale version of a cold war outbreak, and it was on television (Korea was not, except in a minor way, and then became a TV sitcom for years after that).

A journalist named Rosen said last week (as the Orwellian rhetoric tried to drowned out the realities") that "Iraq is in a twilight zone." He described what he has seen and knows to be still happening as the Iraqi people suffer horrible standards of living while the largest American embassy in the world watches, waits and survives as part of the Green Zone. The realities he described are so contradictory as to be totally Orwellian. Who is scripting this thing? Is George Orwell novel to become mandatory reading for the times ahead? Has President Obama ever read it?

"Mend Your Ways"

A Hopi medicine man made some "rounds" in California (probably elsewhere) in the late fifties, early sixties; I heard him, as I recall in a Unitarian Church. His message paralleled Buckminister Fuller's ... "mend your ways before it is too late," and it may already be too late. His delivery was basic, things are "gathering steam," the downward momentum was more powerful that we imagined, and Mother Nature would not be nice in her reactions. This handsome, tall man reminded me of my Grandfather Roberts, nicely dressed in plain clothes, speaking his heart out.

Rachel Carson was in the wings, and Gaylord Nelson was on deck, soon to be pushing for Earth Day and the legislative recognition of the ills we were perpetuating. Meanwhile even into the turn of the century and beyond many legislators, politicians, bankers, professors and business people of all stripes denied the obvious and suggested we continue in our ways of environmental destruction and mischief. "Global Warming" was disputed, downplayed. I remember having the image of George W. Bush and Cheney riding in airconditioned limos, denying what was in everybody's faces, and then talking about "oil addiction" and other consequences seemingly with no thought to their life styles; while the glaciers were melting, the polar bear was becoming the "poster animal," and the confused American public tried to fathom its place in "The Long Emergency."

I tried to imagine recently that Hopi medicine man sitting in his hogan in Arizona, watching the latest TV coverage of floods, hurricanes, melting ice flows, drought in Hawaii, the reconstruction of New Orleans, a couple of burning oil platforms, shaking his head, apologizing to Mother Earth and praying. His is not a "I told you so" mentality, he is deeply hurt for his Mother and for her children throughout the Earth. I'm glad my Grandfather Roberts is not around to see this, his would not be as understanding as his Hope brother in Arizona.

The Cosmos

A BIG one, this subject, and I am humbled by even mentoning it. In L.A. in the thirties and forties, we lived in a time before smog, and one of my seminal trips with my parents was to the Mount Wilson Observatory on a mountain chain near by. But the skies in our Silverlake neighborhood were clear, we could see the "stars," be intrigued by the heavens. In a trip to the desert with Uncle Jess we stayed overnight in Death Valley, among some sand dunes. After watching the kangaroo rat jump over the fire, and a fox circling around the perimeter of the campsite, things got dark, the fire went down and Uncle Jess said simply "look up." In fact that was to be a kind of theme between us, the need to look up.

Elsewhere in thie blog I mention the "holy man" who came to the Silverlake Playground (I think I've written about it already, or have intended to), One of his themes too was look up, but it was always in the day light then, and he brought some celestial diagrams to enthuse the local urchins to do as Uncle Jess advised. But the Indian man (India) had a more spiritual twist, Hindu sort of. He wanted us to know what the common (today) poster with an arrow pointing at the heavens with the news that "You Are Here" means, that you are temporary, life is very transitory, the cosmos abides, is our home.

And thus I have circled around back to those beginnings, reading a huge book which I highly recommend: Dennis Overbye's "Lonely Hearts of the Cosmos; The Story of the Scientific Quest for the Secret of the Universe," what a book. The first chapter takes place in the San Gabriel mountains near L.A., at the Mount Wilson Observatory with the great astronomer Edwin Hubble, and his sidekick, Allen Sandage, the California Institute of Technology, Pasadena. What a story, including Einstein's pilgrimage there, and how the dances of discovery play out, and continue. Look up and out, understand how mankind's ride is a tiny part of things.

"Shit Happens" & "Whatever" decades

I was in the Uptown area, going to the hardware store, and had been listening to a program on President Reagan's advice not to be concerned about being out of work. Just take whatever money you have and go into business, the great American way ... free enterprise, the American dream of working for yourself. The week before he and the Congress had succeeded in doing away with some anti-capitalist legislation enacted in the thirties, to enable business to succeed better it was assumed.

As I parked I saw an old, beat up pickup truck with a bumpersticker which read "Shit Happens" (the first of many sightings over the years), and it brought up the political situation real quick. I greeted the father and daughters who ran the hardware store and they quickly gave me the news. Seems their lease was not being renewed, they were soon to be out of business, and a boutique would soon take their place. Their years of experience and huge knowledge was pushed aside for the shit happens decade. The boutique didn't last of course, nor did the trendy furniture store which replaced it. Now that whole end of the building is gone, and another series of businesses are on the horizon.

"Whatever." a close relative to "Shit Happens" is now the reining word, and is undoubtedly on bumpers as well. I think of the word when Bill Clinton comes up, but the "Gitmo" ethos of Bush and Cheney bring the shit happens ethic back with a vengence now and again. Obama is embroiled in an Orwellian word of war and peace and high finance & unemployment, duking it out with generals and the Pentagon, the Tea Party, Wall Street and the banks. What his primary bumper sticker will be is anyone's guess, whatever.

Mrs. B

I met Mrs. B. in the neighborhood, at my Father's automotive garage. She was a person with authority, which I was later to find out about, both in and out of class. It took me a few years to catch up with her at the local high school, both in physiology class and around the school grounds and buildings. She was highly respected, tough but fair and intensly human. The most unusual thing she did was to invite athletes to offer her the opportunity to wear their letterman's sweater on Thursdays, the usual (but not for teachers, of course) practice between boys and girls. And, she taught an elective course for senior boys called "Boys Foods," which ultimately I was priviledged to take part in. Also, boys would offer to wash her black, classic car, a Lincoln as I recall; & I did that one time.

The most ibiding memory was the day in class when she lectured on germs, and then had us look through a microscope at flies and maggots. It was the big eye opener of the decade in a sense, a memory now that comes back to haunt me, expecially when I am at an outside (farm) dinner and there are flies crawling all over the food. She did things like dissolve metal in Coca Cola as well, with the accompanying talk about the hazards of soft drinks, sugar. She was no evangelist, no prude, but there were some health issues which she delivered on with no mercy. I can see her as clear as day walking down the hall with an enormous letterman's sweater on, way big, her hands doing their best to push out of the cuffs. I hope that students now and in the future will have at least one Mrs. B in their lives.

Haus Mann

By the time you get through a work day it is well nigh impossible to write in the BLOG, the combination of farm work and house tasks remind me of the dilemmas described by feminists decades ago. Haus Mann is a name heard on the media some time ago, perhaps described by Werner Herzog (of a character he was to have filmed, I don't know)? This mythical man was born filling new post feminist shoes, taking on tasks at home and abroad because the woman had shifted to the public sector, and he was left with her other pair of shoes. Am I making this up, did I really hear this, or could it be a comic strip, attributed to German culture?

An older haus mann, such as myself, has still another dilemma. He has to "pick up the pieces" because he is no longer employable, can only fill in as he can, and if he doesn't do the minimum required might find himself in a retirement home (?).
For me the paradoxes are compounded because I have farm chores outside to contribute, and must followup with teenage and other help to make sure things get done. Not only that, but because my partner, Joni, is working and studying off the place so much, I must still act as if I am managing most of it, anticipating problems, fixing and cleaning, a lot of it. And why not?

A couple of decades back I visited my old neighborhood in California, stood in a local gas station watching one of my former class mates working in the office, Alan R. Meanwhile an old, big Detroit station wagon rolled in with two women, half a dozen children and another classmate, Jimmy R. My interest went up and I identified myself and asked about his life. While he pumped the gas he described living with the two sisters, having children with both of them and taking care of the house, car and yard. He saw no reason to imagine things would change much. He was a version of haus mann in a prefeminist time, and I suspect that the aggregation still exists, although perhaps feminized some, and some of the children would have undoubtedly departed by now. Jimmy may have worked his way into a retirement complex by now, and perhaps he has managed to shift his job description to that facility. I wish him all the best, as I try to improvise in my different roles.

Phantom Pain

Pain is one of the hardest things in life, and thus the prevalence of "pain killers." entertainments and self forgetfullnesses which are so dominant in our culture. When I was taking physical risks to deal with libido and perhaps boredom, I also took on some abrasions, concussions, etc. (luckily never broke a bone) and the like. And at that time, especially the fifties, these were referred to as phantom pain when they came back later as "memory" in the bones and muscles. It was only later that I found out that this popular culture term was really to be thought of in terms of amputations, and undoubtedly my dear Uncle Joe, who lost a leg in Leyte in the Second World War, probably had phantom pain for the rest of his life (although we never spoke about it).

Denial is as prevalent as pain, and they are very often intertwined. Fear is also a driver in this venue, and part of the risks I took in surfing, car and motorcycle racing were undoubtedly driven by these crazy mixtures. I liked to be "on the edge," and my favorite color, orange, is, in part because of the caution light, neither stop or go, but ... The only traffic ticket I have ever gone to court to beat was because of a ticket given to me for running the caution light. I lost, but the judge did not fine me because of the philosophical discussion we had. Just a warning,

It was strange to feel sometimes in the past a dull pain in the side of my face where I took a punch from an unknown assailant in a Bremerhaven bar. Or a pain in the femur where another hit occurred at one time or another, and others too. And I can well remember ship mates and others recalling events in their lives because a pain had returned in their bodies and brought back a memory that they had thought was forgotten. Most of these pains are gone for me at this age, but once in awhile something shows up and as age progresses it is harder and harder to have an "a ha" about it.

I have asked a couple of doctor acquaintances to let me know if there is a proper word for this phenomena ... as opposed to the improper phantom pain or just plain pain. Why? Because it is something different than just a memory of pain, deeper & a little more mysterious. The other day my arthritic (right) hand took on another pain, deeper, and I had to look way into the past and see if that might be the phantom of a punch I had thrown way back then.

Regrets

Age seems to bring with it regrets. Reading an astonishing book by Diane Aphill on her aging experience, it was fascinating to read her thoughts on the subject. Her two main regrets were: a tough central core of her character ("a nub of coldness at the center"), and laziness (cowardice). I think I share her regret about the coldness, my second would be impatience (which brought about some indecision and procrastination). Regrets are largely futile, but important none-the-less. I highly recommend her "Somewhere Towards the End' a memoir," a very deep and pervasive book.

Japanese-Americans

My first encounter with an American of Japanese ancestry was at the local Silvermart as a child. Sent to the store to pickup things for my Mother, I noticed the beauty of the fruits and vegetables in the produce dept. The man who arranged and maintained this was Japanese-American, called a "greengrocer" at that time, as I recall. Unfortunately he would vanish at the same time as the Japanese orphans who lived over the hill and attended the local elementary school.

One traumatic event that happened when all these children were taken to an interment camp was that one of the children had to leave his dog behind, and this became one of the dramatic happenings of my youth. My family couldn't take the animal for him, and thus we became part of the search group to place him. Meanwhile I was able to get to know the boy through his grief. We did find someone and my hope is that the dog was reunited with the boy after the war (but that would be highly unlikely).

The last time I had the pleasure of knowing someone of Japanese ancestry was at sea. Turns out that one of my shipmates had been in an internment camp and was willing to share stories with me about this (stories which, for the most part, had not been told here-to-fore in the media.) And so we would sit in mess hall late at night and he would open up to me, the unbelievable heat and cold in the desert barracks they lived in, how barren and uncomfortable it was, how exceedingly difficult for his parents, siblings and neighbors.

After I got back to L.A. I looked him up. We had talked about small boats earlier and he was interested in a sail. I was crewing on a double ender which had a smaller version available to me for day sailing. We went down to Yacht Haven in San Pedro, hoisted the sails and made our way toward the main channel. Problem was that I didn't notice that storm flags were flying and when we sailed out beyond the shelter of a wharf we took a knock down ... very close to one of the California Bear freighters which was coming down the channel. It was embarrassing to have to accept a tow by a stinkpot Chris Craft in order to get back to the slip. Unfortunately the ill fated sail concluded our communication with each other. Too bad. I hope he and my schoolmate from earlier on have had a better time of their lives.

Story - Korean underground railroad

The earlier night we were anchored out and my M-1 seemed to weigh fifty pounds on that frozen deck. My watch was to look out for frogmen who would attach plastic explosives to the bottom and sink us in that terrible, cold harbor. But tonight was more comfortable, moving up and down the dock with that heavy piece, presumeably to prevent the theft of cargo we were unloading. The Korean winter cold was terrible, but at least you could find some minimal cover from the buildings along the dock. If the apparitions had been daunting at anchor, they were equally strange along the pier.

Some of those were the Korean police and soldiers, also patroling around; and they made me worried because we were smuggling in aid for the orphanages run by Catholic nuns. It seems that the Korean hiearchy, including the dictator/president, Sigmund Rhee, had a bad habit on confuscating aid and then sellng it as they could. We were never caught, but it was fearful, scary business bringing in drugs, blankets and clothes and some food right under their eyes and noses.

We went to the orphanages to visit a couple of times, and the nuns gave us Suntory Whisky (Japanese) and pickled radishes for our trouble. Their situation with orphans was dire and we were humbled by what little they had, and how little we were able to smuggle in. One of the "unknown" stories of the Korean War, and one that has not played well with people I've tried to share it with. One of the "inconvenient truths" of war, that the women and children are hurt the most, and are seldom mentioned.

Story - "Superstition"

I don't know why I was called to watch in the Wheelhouse, I didn't have the experience to handle the wheel in the storm we were in. It had been a tough afternoon, mostly trying to keep things from being destroyed (eg. lifeboats) and we were all dog tired. The bridge was tense, even the so-called "old salts" seemed apprehensive, scared. The Captain paced around, getting on his own and everyone else's nerves. The waves, huge grey-green water were certainly the highest I had ever seen, and some of the older crew said they hadn't seen anything bigger.

You looked out toward the bow and then this enormous wall of water came luming up, and up, and up some more, and then it passed over us, the wheelhouse, the stacks, everything, and the shudder was truly frightening in itself. Everything was tied down, and the Executive Office stayed below in his cabin; we thought it just as well with the Captain roaming around and giving orders some of which seemed to us to be meaningless.

One of the people from the Black Gang showed up to try and fix a broken something or other, a man from the engine room, who seldom came above deck, I saw him only in waterfront bars. He was huge, tattooed all over, and was seeing something he had never seen before. This was the biggest scared man you ever want to see. He kept working, but couldn't keep his eyes off the forward port holes, and was completly distracted from his work, dropped his tools several times.

He got done what he set out to do, I guess, and fled below, probably to his bunk (in which he would have to be strapped in). The Captain came back up, cursing and wandering around. The entire trip had been beset by weird happenings, and being the Captain's last voyage before retirement, and feeling extremely superstitious about it, it seemed that this voyage created its' own problems, its' own reasons for fear and dread; the Great Northern Route icebergs (with ailing 2nd WW radar) and last the lobster pot field we found ourselves plowing through near Noval Scotia (again, no radar), the broken line in Bremerhaven, etc. Even our ultimate tying up in Staten Island had some strange problems as I recall.

As the Skipper was piped off for the last time, and we all stood and saluted him as he went down the gangplank, it was fitting and somehow predictable that he didn't look back, nor acknowledge our work in getting him through the last days of his final command. As a man who had been through the Second World War, even been an Admiral for a time, and then got stuck with the Korean "Conflict." Capt. O'Daniel had paid his dues. My hope is that he didn't have to face anything like those huge walls of grey green water again, even in nightmares driven by superstition.

I found out later that the giant mechanic who had come to the bridge was on one of his own last trips before retirement, and had shared the superstitious feelings of the Captain. He didn't have to face another storm like that and left the ship before we went through the Caribbean to the Panama Canal, and the Pacific. He was from Iowa and intended to return with his Navy pension to farm to live out his days there. Bless his huge, tattooed heart, and I hope too that he is not bothered with stormy, wintry sea tale nightmares.

Fiction

Stories and more stories, some of them mixed with fact, most completely contrived. I have known consumate liars who could remember their lies in such detail that it would take a mastermind (Sherlock Holmes?) to catch them up on their stories (and I think of a man I sailed with, who knew he was lying, but created stories which jibed with each other, seemingly without contradiction (?). He was an imposter, and the only way I knew was that he trusted me to let me into (some of) his mazes of lies. I thought of turning him in a few times, but ended up being an accomplice (unwittingly) until he suddently left the ship.

Some of my stories are so old at this point that I'm not completely sure of the details. & yet I want to share some of them, and will in this blog. They will be labelled fiction, if and when I can figure out a way to do that. Part of this is identity concern, perhaps, wanting not to use exact circumstances, names and dates (etc.) in order to "protect" some of the people involved. On the other hand, at times I will use the names, in part because I feel these individuals are either passed along, or wouldn't care one way or another.

My Grandfather Roberts told me legends, stories with meanings, sometimes (like LaFontaine) with animals as the characters. He did not, as far as I know, tell these stories to my siblings, but passed them along to me as the first born grandson. Unfortunately I did not inherit his memory for these tales, and now would have to visit some of the books which he had seemingly memorized to share these. He was a reader, but came from a time where aural memory was much more important. His memory worked well for songs too, and would sing to my Grandmother at times. I have gone back to some of the books and found them disappointing, it was better to me to get them live, from Grandfather's memory (eg. the tales that warned you about dangerous behavior, Cautionary Tales, or the Fables of LaFontaine).

Carelessness

It seems we are in an era of carelessness, lots of mistakes being made. Is it because of self and mass preoccupation? No sure. When I was racing automobiles many years ago (or was it motorcycles?) I told my Mother that my middle name was Careful, so she wouldn't worry & be preoccupied with my safety. Julia did not think it funny, but did seem to backoff on being upset and critical.

Reading the amazing book by Bell Hooks on love ("All about Love; New Visions") she makes a valuable distinction about the differences between care and love. Seems that a lot of caregiving is called loving, but does not really go there; eg. cared for but not loved. I think part of my problem is that I am a much easier caregiver than a lover. Too bad. I do like to care for people, and be cared for. Love goes another way, and I have been uneasy there.

Carelessness is indicative of neglect, of a lack of attention to details, which the "devil is in..." Carelessness is the turning away at the crucial moment, when something might be saved, or healed. To be careful may be too cautious to apply care when it is timely needed, "timing is everything." My hope is to love and be loved more in the years I have left. But it may take some work, OK? & caregiving will continue too.

Wabi Sabi

in a "Shambala Sun" article on Wabi Sabi, Elizabeth Farley focuses on "imperfect beauty," from the Japanese notion "the beauty lies in what is flawed." In a world that prizes cheap goods, machine made and mass produced, she has dealt with examples as wide ranging as the "Wall-E" robot in the movie of the same name (eco-fable) to neighborhoods of Venice, Italy, where tourists are invited to see the aging, deteriorating canal walls and structures as fragile beauty.

In a recent radio program a man described finding a precious, small, wooden box, which he purchased (thinking it might be an antique?). And then found to be mass replica, (probably made in China or Indonesia). At first he was a little miffed, but then decided that the box had its' own authenticity, that it needn't have the approval of the "Antique Roadshow" on PBS to have a "time worn" authenticity. Can its replication be said to have the imperfect beauty described by Farley? I guess, but it would probably not appeal to the originator of wabi sabi, Murata Shuko, a fifteenth century Zen monk and tea master from Nara.

Getting by

One of my Father's sayings was "getting by is not enough." I heard it first in the late thirties, at a time when we were on the edge of the Second World War. We were still in the depression, of course, although his skill and business as an automotive mechanic was doing fairly well. But what he saw was people just trying to get by, and he equated that with some kind of laziness, as I recall, sometimes called "bad habits." As a person who was used to 12 to 18 hr. work days, he looked around and saw neighbors, customers and friends who were indeed lucky to get by ... and he was not always understanding about that.

Norman was a tough teacher, a man who was blunt about quality control. If you didn't learn to complete tasks, to be demanding of yourself, then you would be playing into the traps of trying to "get by" with less effort and intelligence. I can well remember a few times when I tried to move along before that was practical. No, no, forget it. & now I have not only those old lessons riding with me, but I am still tempted to share them with others.

The saying has stayed with me, obviously; and I am, in a sense stuck with it. It comes up when I see people who seem perfectly OK with just "getting by," and it seems that there will be more and more of them as things get tougher, worse. "The Long Emergency" will be with us a long, long time, and with it will come a continued sense of helplessness which in turn will produce a sense of rationalizations which may bring with them a kind of shrug and turn. Norman's character was formed by lessons which came from an earlier century, and mine is as well.

Happiness

Awhile back I ran into this definition of happiness: "Infantile optimism." Having studied Tibetan Buddhism off and on for a decade or so, I've seen hundreds of referrals to the word in the teachings, and so I asked a Tibetan Lama for a translation of the root word in Tibetan ... the closest definition of the word he could give me was "gratitude," if I understood him properly. My own reaction to the over use of the word is primarily negative, turning away from what I imagine to be version of a Disneyland of the mind, and endless desires for media driven comfort, self indulgence and forgetfulness, and the like, including possessions. Imagine brimming over with "infantile optimism" while BP oil flows in the gulf as the hurricane season approaches, the Massey Energy mine yet to be examined, Haiti & New Orleans awaiting reconstruction, the latest deaths being reported from Afganistan and other wars & "disturbances."

No argument with being grateful for what you have, for the blessings of well being, but in my play book those feelings are a long way off from the business as usual trappings of h a p p i n e s s . As we reevaluate the nuts and bolts of life in this troubled century we may find ourselves more content with far less, and find it much to our liking. &, it would seem, we may have little to say about it.

"L.A. Confidential"

Author James Ellroy was born in L.A. the year I graduated from high school there. Published in 1990, it takes place in the early 50s, a time when I was visiting home off of ships; the Korea War was in progress and I was a part of it. What brought me to the book was a portrait of Ellroy in "Rolling Stone," and thus the book served as not only as in introduction to his writing, but a review of what might be called in those days "my stomping grounds." In fact, the Silverlake neighborhood is mentioned more than a few times; our across the street neighbor, Mrs. Ball (a policewoman who undoubtedly knew many of the police and criminals portrayed in the book) took me to a couple of DAP (Deputy Auxiliary Police) meetings

I can see how people could become quite addicted to this kind of writing. Not only is it excellent in quality, but goes into a seamy part of life that seems to be so attractive to so many people ... eg. teenagers and people who are drawn to criminal activity via videos and computer games, not to mention all the "cop shows" & the like. What it brought back for me was a neighborhood (unmentioned in the book) close to Silverlake, Echo Park ,,, where my grandparents Roberts lived, and where there was a park which was the rival of our own neighborhood park. Echo Park was partially a Chicano area, and the team we played was dominated by tough street gang type people (called Pachucos in those days).

The game was rough. even though it was "touch football." and one of our players got his faced pushed into a drinking fountain at half time; & thus did not finish the game. We tied the game at 12 all in the last few minutes, and felt an ominous feeling as we left the playground, to walk to Sunset Blvd. to catch the streetcar. Along the lake we were suddenly surrounded by neighborhood teenagers, and if we had not outnumbered them we may have ended up in the lake, or worse. My prejudices for several years were toward Spanish speaking young people, and it was only after I served with some of them in the military that I was able to turn this around.

It was fascinating to visit Los Angeles again, via the l950s, and I look forward to the film version of the novel via video. It will be instructive to see how the neighborhoods are portrayed, the cars, costumes, speech and mannerisms. Ellroy"s major novels are set in Los Angeles, and he has been for many years recognized as a major American novelist. I may indulge again one of these days.

Limitations

Often people describe themselves by their limitations, as if to give their identity understandable perameters: steelworker, GWF, housekeeper, cook, etc. (even though these descriptions might be dangerous for growth?). Life can be very circumspect, and I wonder if we will see a growth or dimutation in these self profiles. At a time when we are encouraged to be multifaceted it would seem to be imperative that our resumes go in multiple directions, less of "this is what I will and will not do." We are going to have to learn how to better duck, weave and dive, & be as flexible in our martial arts as possible (Aikido) ... A danger would be to be identity less, a pandora's box, a cameleon.

Mythologies of convenience

Many of them, "Too BIG to fail" comes to mind right now (BP, Massey Energy, Goldman Sachs, etc.), the big boys pushing their weight around, daring the little ones to shut them down, refuse to pledge allegiance. When we were first going through our man overboard drills at sea we were reminded that it would take about 11 miles (as I recall) to come about, return to the place where the man "hit the drink." Luckily we never had to pick someone who went over, especially if it had been in a storm.

I came periously close to going overboard one night when we were lashing the lifeboats down in a real "blow." A tall, very thin shipmate from Oregon, Johnny, grabbed me as I slipped toward the edge, no lifeline on. And after we came in and went to the galley to warm up I thought of that 11 mile radius. & now I think of the eleven men lost on that massive BP oil rig in the gulf, and wonder if overboard drills are held on these mammoth contraptions. Fire, fire at sea, always a terrifying possibility, I've been through it once. Aye. "Fire in the hold, below number 2 hatch." & fires in mines too... men's business, who could imagine women showing up to testify in congress about mines and oil rigs? Too big to fail.

The Ball is in your court

A statement made often by my Father, a better than average tennis player, and left handed. He was a man who deeply distrusted those who didn't respond to obligations, and to give and take expectations. The saying seems so old fashioned now-a-days, as does obligation. And this absence throws me off, because I am "my Father's Son in this regard. Very often when I ask someone about something that I've said (or I've heard them hear from someone else) there is simply no response.

I can imagine, almost feel, my Father grabbing my ear, saying "the ball is in your court," and/or giving me the dutch rub. Where are you? Have you forgotten the human duty to respond to conversation, to a request for information? S i l e n c e, I don't think so. Dialog? What is that? With a wicked topspin my Father could sometimes get a tennis ball to hop over your waiting racket, & sometimes it went clear over the fence. He could "lob you to death," too, if he had to.

BLOG

Not sure about this, perhaps blogs are already obsolete, passe (?). But yet it seems to make sense, perhaps. Writings which go back for years may find themselves here, shared thoughts which would otherwise go into oblivion, notebooks and journals gone to a landfill or (better) recycling bin. I'm not giving this enough time, and I'm not sure I will. It does take time to write, and I have a new appreciation for those who knowingly put themselves on the line for readers. I was a librarian for years, and bookseller, and I do think this sense of appreciation has not truly been there earlier.

Chivalry

"Chivalry is not dead," a slogan heard in the forties or fifties, perhaps in response to my Grandfather's gifts of plants to women on the bus we were riding together. So I grew up when chilvalry was still OK, sort of, and that is within my character too. I imagined Betty Friedan's possible response to a gift of a plant from an aging man on a bus the other evening, what might she have said (?). Grandfather treated women with a decided difference in respect, and some people today would be critical of that.

Religion

One of my first memories of the word "religion" came from my Grandfather Roberts. He said "organized religion is the work of the devil," and another memory was that he was look upon as kind of a pagan, someone who would rather commune with nature than in a sanctified building. Grandmother Roberts had Mary Baker Eddy on her bedstand, next to the Bible; but she did not go to church. The otherside of the family, the Webbs were LDS, Mormons, came from Idaho, and my aunt Haroldeen felt that I (& my siblings) should be involved in it. So there was some attendance for awhile, but Grandfather Roberts's words were always there, one way or another.

Recently I heard the words of Cornell West, something about "religion as ideology," organized or not, I guess. At this point so many memories are floating around, eg. of Taliban fighters and arch conservative talk hosts and congregations, employing the words of religion in various ways. The amazing speech by Martin Luther King on Vietnam, at the Cathedral of St. John Divine in NY, aye what a mix. My cynicism about religion deeply affected my family, and gave a different twist for my siblings, none of whom attend "church" as far as I know; but who are "religious". Mormons/LDS are notorious for missionary work, and for hounding people they feel should be in their flock, and thus in heaven with them. When I insisted they leave me alone, and they didn't, I threatened them with First Amendment rights, and said that I wanted to be excommunicated & left alone, or would sue.
My parents were deeply upset by this since they were "practicing" the religion from middle age onwards. I'm not sure my dear siblings know about this chapter in my religious history, but it is probably time to share it with them, if not.

Elders

Elderly people are reduced to putterers, doing little chores, taking out the trash, wrangling the dishes, etc. Trying to be helpful to stay at home, and then drawn into more serious work when needed, and the risks are justified (might break a hip), Or, go to the nursing home? Ram Dass said years ago it doesn't make any difference what you've been today (perhaps you were the president of Harvard, or?), you are nothing but a person on their way to institutonal care in a age of NOW, just a matter of time.

Wishful thinking

Self deception is an inevitable result of a civilization hell bent upon illusion. The present oil spill in the Gulf is an excellent example of this. After the explosion there were immediate under estimates of the damage .... we could relax and the President could proceed with further off shore oil drilling elsewhere (?). A day later it was evident that this mammoth "blow out" would not have a convenient exit, no amount of wishful thinking would help. ps. An oil burn was proposed to prevent this spill from moving toward the coast, almost the perfect panacea proposal, supposedly proven as a way to do this at a burn off Nova Scotia years ago. What became of this version of wishful thinking?

A further development here has some of the energy czars suggesting that it will probably be nuclear power that will be a more convenient panacea than off shore drilling. I guess they missed the news out of Russia this same Earth Day week which proves that the Chernoble disaster had been largely covered up, and the victims and damaged survivors (most of whom are dead) was in the millions, not as earlier downsized by the Russian government. When will they ever learn?

"When the going gets tough, the tough get going."

An old Roberts' family saying (shared by Norman, but who knows how far back it goes?), you were admonished to "hang tough" (a more modern version) as a way of making your way through difficulties. It wasn't necessarily a "stiff upper lip" attitude, but more of a call to action, not to give up or give in. This was suggested as an obligation of circumstances, to not back down or negotiate with circumstances. It would be interesting to know if this was suggested to our sisters too, or whether it was a male thing ... some of it was.

I remember one Christmas afternoon, we were about to join other family members for the big meal. An automotive customer of Dad's called, she was broken down 10, 15 miles away, unable to get to her family gathering. He invited me to join him to deal with the problem; we dropped my Mother, Brother and Sister off at Grandfather & Grandmother's house and then went on ....he did get her started and on her way. This would be one of many character building episodes for me, & probably for my Brother Jim as well.

The basis of this character building aspect was a version of "tough love," what might be called "tough care" the way Bell Hooks
describes the differences between love and care in her book "All About Love; New Visions." Which meant that through prepared-
ness you not only might survive, but your shipmates or fellow workers might as well. Trying to lash down a lifeboat which we were about to lose in the North Atlantic, a shipmate acquaintence undoubtedly saved my life with a forceful grab of my arm, backed up by another sailor who fortunately had anchored himself to back up Johnny. It might have been just lucky happenstance, but we were trained to care about each other, and be "tough" in the process. Care for yourself and care for others, often spoken of in terms of our troops in Iraq and Afganistan.

Entitlement

Last year one of the elder statesmen of NPR was asked about his wisdom of past decades, especially the last round up, up to the changing of the millineum; I think it was Ted Koppel. And to give his view of the ruling theme of this period. He didn't waste time nor words, "entitlement" was it, and he felt that is was especially evident during the Bush administration years. At first I was surprised, but as it sunk in I was convinced he had nailed it.

From the billionairs & millionairs down to those who feel they can run their credit cards right up to the max, from the Wall Street manipulators and giant banks & investments firms, to the petty on line criminals & pornographers, the entitlement junkies take it to the max, and then wonder why our so-called democracy is in so much trouble. People are "entitled" to fine wines, brandies
(cognacs), beers and the cusines which can go with them? The unrealities are forgotten in the process. Can anyone be surprised that countless numbers of people were convinced to take on mortgages for which they had no possibilty of pay off, and that the cynical people who made them available were also convinced that the pay offs to them was just a logical extension of the American entitlement dream.

Does this entitlement business only apply to those on the top and bottom? No sir, it is endemic, up and down the line, especially in the middle classes. & the ultimate paradox is that the entitlement mania has, in large part, driven the damage to our environment, created the huge weather problems we are suffering through, and helped to undermine our own abilities to produce products which would be healthier and more sustainable. & this doesn't even touch the glossed over subjects such as bad diet (diabetes & fat), childhood malnutrition, homelessness and a host of other problems which do not belong to a working democracy.

"Shit Happens"

A couple of decades ago (?), perhaps during the Reagan years, maybe later during Clinton's presidency, a very common bumper sticker appeared. At first I reacted negatively to it, assuming it was a kind of existential brush off, we can't do anything about it so be it. Well, this attitudinal slogan has stood the test of time, and now seems ingrained in our way of doing and accepting things. It doesn't have to be utterer or displayed anymore, it just is part of the "boilerplate."

Whether it is the corporate or wall street executives appearing before congressional committees, or the stereotype responses and actions of "Tea Party" activists on the media, the cynical descriptions of their "realities" and expectations resonate with this now timeless slogan. As far as I'm concerned it is part of common mindsets which assume a negative base combined with a personal expectation of self fulfilling prophesies.

There is an absence in all of this of a resilient, active, determined attitude of positive change. As a version of personal shortfall, of a willingness to bow down to misfortune and chaos, it seems tailor made for the Boomers and the following generations. But perhaps it predates them as well, I hope not, and my hope is the the so-called Millennials and their successors will turn it around and then a new bumper sticker will appear. And I don't mean "Expect a Miracle."

Earth Day 2010

Evidentally the local schools gave it no mention at all; I'll call tomorrow and see (we do pay taxes to the school district). Amy Goodman led off well from Bolivia on "Democracy Now," and WPR and PBS did some nice work. As for Otter Creek, the newly formed Otter Creek Otters (Jessie & I) did some ditch cleanup work, and got One Eyed Ed's (Jessie's Father) motorcycle accident site (where he essentially died) ready for some landscaping. As usual, the bulk of the trash was cans (beer/lite and pop), and there was less of it this year. A trip to Tonya's greenhouses, afterwards witnessed the offer to make her a honarary member of the OCOs, and a request that she prepare to help us with Ed's Memorial Oasis. A call to the town chairman afterwards elicited a quiet but respectful response. May Gaylord Nelson and Rachel Carlson rest in peace, as this poor, bewildered planet rockets on into an expanding universe.

Impermanence

A key concept of Buddhism, in which we are admonished to be able to treat our present moment as our last, to be ready to go without regret. It has, of course, parallels in all spiritual/religious teachings. a Buddhist teacher of earlier decade suggested that this aspect of life was crucial to liveliness, that change was essential to life. An even earlier teacher warned that one's passage from impermance was as if (we when pass) we are hurtled into outer space without our baggage, our ego, body or past; we are suddenly orphans of the cosmos, with nothing to rely upon.

Another version of this to me represents a twisted scenario of anthropomorphism, since its story assumes that we want to hold on to this lifetime, our present ego, learning and acomplishments, etc. tenaciously expending our consciousness trying to hold on to the "unholdable." Isn't this just the reverse side of a coin? Indeed much of religious/spiritual thought and writing seems to be an indulgence with this legacy of anthropomorphism.

Another version in Zen Buddhism is that of "transitoryness," c h a n g e is the constant that can be relied upon, "Here today, gone tomorrow." When I was a child there was a saying about "Not taking it with you." But the deeper matter is that when you go you cannot take you with you, in the sense that ego pictures possession and identity. Back in the 1940s a novel by Aldous Huxley called "After Many a Summer Dies the Swan" about William Randolph Hearst drammatized this dilemma.

Infrastructure

This might have been my first post for the Blog, since it is of primary importance to most any endeavor. One of the first stories I remembered as a child was the one cautioning about building on sand, the importance of a good foundation whatever the structure was to be. Now-a-days, infrastructues are seldom if ever mentioned ... the are assumed as is much else. Except when a bridge goes down, as it did in Minneapolis a few years ago. I was heartened, and almost dumbfounded to hear a program on Wisconsin Public Radio on the subject last week. Voila.

Someone commented a few years ago, perhaps when Bill Clinton was President, that the boomer generation was particularly re-miss when it came to infrastructure focus. About that time I called Senator Wellstone's office in Minneapolis and suggested that the good Senator would do well keep his sights and actions more focused there. The young voice taking messages asked: "What is infrastructure?" I gave her a few examples and suggested she check any dictionary about the word. I never heard from Mr. Wellstone, he died not long after that.

Growing up in the depression it was utterly mandatory to pay attention to the foundations of things, the "nitty gritty," the reasons why things worked or didn't. To make assumptions about whether something was "grounded" or not was just not a good thing to do There wasn't the slack around, and maybe that is a problem in some regards. But my feeling is that with the growing number of so-called "natural disasters" and the disasters caused by humankind's proclivity to manufacture problems for itself (eg.building standards, techniques & inspections) including so-called terroist actions, we had better turn our sights to what supports us, what ever that is.

The second definition is extremely important: "The basic facilities, and installations needed for the growth and functioning of a country, community, or organization," The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language.

BIG NOTHING

The "Big Nothing" is what persons, cultures and civilizations tend to or seek to forget. It is at times on purpose, most often it is a kind of necessary abnesia. Utah Phillips, radical folk singer & raconteur, said that "Long memory is the most radical thing in America." It took Howard Zinn to point out the convenient deletions in American history with his landmark & best selling "People's History of the United States." What is it about this time which not only encourages but rewards abnesia?

As a person who has lived a long and active life, who spend years at sea, and in travels, in several occupations, etc., I seldom get a question about anything, almost never. Could this be considered deference or manners? I doubt it. It has in part to do with the almost complete lack of curiosity in our society. Thus conversation is filled either with facts or trivia, or media updates. What could be a bridge to ones own memory and sharing of that memory is a kind of dead end.

So, if one is to share one's life and memories, it takes intervention into the "big nothing," and can be nothing short of the interruption of nothingness. Continuity which is the ideal of conversational sharing is made extremely unlikely, and thus one's attempt to share thoughts and memories in spite of this becomes an existential exercise ... often very uncomfortable. Some of the Stories which will be a part of this blog will cover ground in this area, and some will use fiction and fictious names to do this.

For those of you who have read about the origins of this blog you will know where some of my people curiousity came from. But it was also through my immediate and extended family, later by mentors, teachers, coaches and the like. For the twenty or thirty years my memory tells me that conversational life was an interesting free for all, and that one was challenged to question, comment, find out about the people who surrounded you, t h e w o r l d. An elderly Indian man (from India) showed up at the local playground and sat at a picnic bench. At first people wondered who he was waiting for, what was the deal? But he was just there waiting for anyone with a question or comment to share, and before long he was at times surrounded by an unlikely little crowd of neighborhood urchins. Sometimes when he was pleased with the questions and answers he would deputize one of us to go to the store and get some gum drops, or chewing gum or something to share. Today I suspect that the playground personnel would call the authorities and have the man's background check run. He remains one of the most fascinating people of my childhood. Should anyone else be interested, wonder what subjects were discussed?

Music

First recollections of music was with my Grandparents, the Roberts. Grandfather spoke of the "music of the Gods," and played a windup gramaphone with everything from opera selections to symphonies, plus singers of the twenties and early thirties. He wanted me to know that music listening should be a conscious act, not just something in the background. And then there were the popularized "classics" that my parents listened to (Freddie Martin, I think), and my mother's time at the spinet. Soon I would be trying to pick things out on that piano, and then found myself taking lessons on the accordian. We had music at school too, of course, chorus and the infamous harmonica orchestra in grammar school.

Later I would take piano lessons from an excellent neighborhood teacher, and I had the good sense to sneak into her yard and listen to her and her husband play beautiful duets for piano and violin. Luckily my school arranged for us to go the symphony orchestra rehearsals, and I became more and more interested in music, including jazz, mostly through a local musician, Eddie Hatten. I learned to play rhythm piano, and played with groups in high school (New Orleans, Dixieland). Meanwhile, my focus was primarily upon small group music, I could always understand the harmonics and such better than large bands and symphony orchestras.

So to this day chamber music is number one. And Mozart and Schubert (for example) are of more interest, as are small jazz groups. I truly feel deeply unhappy for people who are unable to have experiences in music which can reach deeply into their inner selves, persons who seem treat music as something in the background, a kind of muzak.

Example of what I suggest for listening? J.S, Bach's Partita d-Moll BWV 1004 for Violin Solo & Chorale, especially cuts 9 - 11: Giga, Den Tod ... & Ciaccona (plus other cuts for those who especially like chorale music), This music was composed by Bach while away from home making music for a living, and his wife died in his absence. This music was composed in the time after her death in the memory of her and their family. Recording: Mortimur, The Hilliard Ensemble, Christoph Poppen, ECM New Series 1765, 289461895-2. Some musicologists consider this to be the most beautiful musical theme in all of music.

It is difficult for me to imagine life without music. It is one of the things which makes existence work, to be a part of the whole of humanity. There are a lot of divisions in music, and it is amazing how few people in our society have heard music from Muslim countries, from Africa and Asia. When you listen to Amy Goodman's "Democracy Now" you hear music from around the globe, depending on the culture of content within the newscast. And on community radio in our region you hear indigenous music as well. A world of music, and next I'm going to take on i-toons

time

"Now" or the next five minutes? vs. the 7 generations, long view, forward and back. Or the "now" within the 7 generations, the sense of the present within the longer view. The "Be Here Now" title, Ram Dass, the insistence that when you carry water you carry water, when you chop wood, yes, you chop wood. My complications are many, especially with the nervous, self driven who want it all in the next five minutes or less people.

Grandfather Roberts did not go by the clock, when we worked in the garden often times Grandmother had to call us to dinner.
My Father too could get lost in a task that truly interested him; but the clock was always present, nearby. He and my Mother encouraged us to be "on time," to be cognizant of other people's needs, for you to be there when you had agreed to be. Otherwise someone might be inconvenienced, their sense of time violated.

At sea different clocks, not a repetition of twelves but on a twenty four hour basis. Watches (eg. 4 hours at the wheel, on the bridge) based upon revolving schedules. People who reminded me of the beginnings of time, of the relationships between authorities like "the Church," calendars and the like. Who controlled time in the past, who will in the future? Richard Jones had an interest in these things, & the perceptions of them. His was a philosophic interest

Later while in Venice, California I was able to see and feel the way different subcultures dealt with time: including the "time- lessness" of the drug culture, the so-called "manana attitude" (attributed to Mexican-Americans). postponement culture (why do something today when you can very well do it tomorrow -- sometimes attributed to Blacks), etc. Drugs and alcohol definitely played a part in all of this.

My interest in cosmology, another aspect of the "long view" of time ... eg. our universe being 10 billion years old, vs. the Biblical version (how has time changed due to science?). How long it takes for the light of the sun or from other planets to reach us. What is sidereal time? What about time signatures in music, "music of the spheres." Also, astrology.

The fragmentation of time now, the disturbing discontinuities which are largely assumed. Breaks in space and time. People seemingly unconcerned about the time frames of others, not that interested in whether they match up or not.

Generations

Many years ago studying philosophy at the University of Barcelona the professor quoted the famous Spanish philosopher, Ortega y Gasset as saying that if you didn't understand generations you probably wouldn't understand much of anything. It was many years later that I found William Strauss & Neil Howe's work "Generations; The History of America's Future 1584 to 2069." The title is a complete misnomer because the study of generations is universal, and Ortega is sited as an authority in this very volume.

Well, I've lived long enough to know from first hand the wisdom and problems of generation study. My Grandfather was born in the 1880s, my Father in 1911, and I feel that the descriptions given of their generations run very true, not only to the men (and women) involved, and their influence on me; but also the description of my generation (The Silent), and the generation of my children (the Thirteenth) and others. There are many complexities here, and I suggest they are worth the effort. The book's jacket says "that (it) changes forever your view of our national legacy ... and our destiny." More important is the personal insights it offers for understanding oneself, ones peers, predecessors and the people to follow. Give it a try for your generation and the Boomers and see what you think. More on this subject later on. & you can find a good summary of it in Wikipedia.

koans

All my important teachers/mentors have used koans. I well remember finally encountering the actual word reading Zen literature at sea in the fifties ... Blyth, Suzuki (Daisetz Teitaro) & others. Then my fellow dharma bums were throwing it around. But the experience of it went back to my early childhood, first at the bus stop with questions and challenging words to work on after the bus had departed. & with my Grandfather Roberts, quoting from history, telling me tales & inciting my curiousity. Later people like C.B. Stewart used words, poems and teachings to challenge my assumptions and to encourage questions and deeper learning. One of my most important latter teachers, Frederick Franck, insisted upon ontological questions concerning what humanity is, what the human has to be in order to claim humaness as a working birthright. His central koan echoes countless others, "Who Am I?" His seminal volume "What Does It Mean to Be Human? Reverence for Life Reaffirmed by Responses from Around the World (compiled and edited with Janis Roze & Richard Connolly) includes the responses of many many people on the subject. His "Fingers Pointing Toward the Sacred" is a wide ranging pilgrimage to cover many many areas of his spiritual pilgrimage, and ends with a focus on humanity.

Aging

Because of my age, much will be said and pondered about aging in this BLOG, To be an elder in this time is to have challenges backwards and forwards in extreme. As the over-all population gains in elderly percentages we will find all of this to be even more extreme, more mediaized and played upon. At the same time, we will find, as is already the case, more actors, singers and other personalities representing the aging rather than being sent off to nursing homes. Personally it is hard not to take a lot of this personally, sometimes to be on the bottom of the list, so to speak, written off. Grey Panthers are out there somewhere, but I haven't heard about them for awhile. They may be back sooner than later.

Futures

Futurists often avoid messy subjects, there will not be futures without dealing with the nitty gritty. What? Sewer systems ( eg. where your water goes when it leaves you) and other infrastructures which maintain basic life processes: soil, plants, water, etc. Often futurists assume the basics, and that just cannot be done. The same goes for the media, of course, including PBS and Public Radio. In science fiction one seldom finds the remnants of infrastructures, except as backdrops of sorts. Thus when a magazine such as "Time" takes on the challenges to come, most often the same missing elements are found lacking. How long can this continue, this utter unreality?

blog origins

My desire is to share some writings from the past, combined with thoughts from the present. This started when as a child I went from our duplex on Silverlake Drive (Los Angeles) to the corner bus stop. There I engaged my neighbors in talk, the first dialogs beyond my immediate and extended family. From there it was a matter of crossing streets to do the same with the greengrocer at the Silvermart, or Mr. Hoppel at his Mobil Station (and his customers, of course), and at my Father's automotive garage, and at the playground. I later found this to be called the "Socratic method," questions and answers, counter questions, koans to be figured out. The result was an immense curiousity about people, events, history, subjects. I find this curiousity mostly absent in our present life, seemingly taken the place of by huge amounts of information, media and preoccupations; so why shouldn't this BLOG be just a part of the problem? I'm sure it will be to some people. My Don Quixote hope is that it may not be so for everyone.