"Electronic Mankind"

At 80 you have to doubt your memory sometimes, and I seem to remember having mentioned a man named John Stiles and his odyssey trip around the U.S. with a team of donkeys and mules recently (?). Forgive me if there is some redundancy here. His classic statement about "electronic mankind" having begun to live in a "global concentration camp," would seem to be the utterance of the ultimate luddite.

His feeling is that "nobody is questioning if we should be doing all this. The only question being asked is can we? And without your bar-code microchip laser beam tattooed implant and your holy trinity of personal computer, cable TV, and telephone, you won't be able to participate in the system at all." (This is from the book "Home Work - Hand Built Shelter" by Lloyd Kahn). The "trinity" is kind of quaint, but instructive.

How do we proceed? Well, as an octogenarian I know that my own options are considerably lessened since I am less and less comfortable with the trinities and the communication assumptions/options. Undoubtedly there are people older than I am who are totally conversant and operational within the electronic grid and hemisphere. I know my younger wife is dealing with an educational system which is making it harder and harder just to function with a MacIntosh computer. Where do we go from here, and how will the built-in obsolescence of electronic devices play out with a population which is sinking quickly into poverty. Upgrades, off the grid, anyone?

Ineffable

Poets, musicians, writers of all kinds take on the ineffable. Just now I'm thinking about Henry Miller's clown character in "Smile at the Foot of the Ladder," that is, perhaps, where I first saw the word in print (?). Right now reading a biography of the great, great Wisconsin poet, "Lorine Niedecker; A Poet's Life," I am constantly reminded of how poets go within this area of description by the poems given in the text.

So much of life is indescribable, and yet we have to try to describe. Looking up at the clear, winter night sky last night I was completely dumbfounded by what I saw. Describe it? I might have to be a Lorine Niedecker or Henry Miller to pull that off. But then it needn't be described, perhaps just pointed to. Luckily we had the electric coop take our the yard light a few years ago, and so the so-called "stars" are there.

The sad fact of our lives is that so much in our media/electronic world view is not ineffable, is all too commercial, literal, "in your face." Sometimes on PBS the indescribable is present and much appreciated. Scientists too appreciate it and present it in their programs. May I suggest that you share your appreciation of it with young people and children, so that they will pass on this appreciation to those to come. Thank you.

Rear View Mirror vision

In the late sixties there was a so-called "media guru" named Marshall McLuhan ("medium is the message," etc.). He taught in Toronto, I was teaching in Buffalo, we were almost neighbors. Anyway, I was teaching a communication course and his seminal text was definitely to be understood by the students. One of his metaphors was speeding into the future looking in the rear view mirror.

I was doing multimedia shows at the time and had one wherein the split screen had a series of rear view shots/slides, and next to that was a l6mm sequence of speed ed up big city night traffic. It was affective at the time, and now I find myself trapezing around in the metaphor with the endless rear view mirror thinking, media and news going on. Our communities, our nation, the world is in such rough shape and we are still doing this insane dance.

How can we possibly afford this? Do we think that we can avoid the consequences or our actions and in actions by denial and cover up? What is that old saying about "Chickens coming home to roost." They are already roosted, by the way; the scary fact is that the rear view vision going on is electronic, digital.

"Leaving Mood"

Toronzo cannon's "Leaving Mood" is featured in an article in the recent edition of "Rhythm & News" published by the Jazz Record Mart in Chicago. This publication is free for signing up for it, primarily to make known recordings for sale, but some of the writing is excellent, especially some of liner notes quoted, often with a street English twist I particularly like.

Leaving a scene is a common theme in the blues, and as Toronzo comments in the liner notes that he "didn't want it to be the regular old, 'okay, this baby left him,' or "His baby givin' him the blues, and he's got his suitcase at the door, and he's leavin' ... " There's a zillion versions of this theme, and I'm looking forward to Toronzo's.

One of mine happened when I was sailing out of Seattle for the Orient. One night I went in a tropical type of bar frequented by sailors and saw a woman I'd seen in a local bookshop (that was different!). She was with a girlfriend and I bought them both a drink, then they invited me to sit with them. I took her out a couple of times before we sailed, found out she was a school teacher, real smart, definitely had something to teach me.

We exchanged letters and next time in port there she was waiting for ship (real different).

Again we exchanged letters and notes and the next time into Seattle not only was she not dock side, but she had left town. I talked to her landlady, "she left the end of the month." Called the school district, she had resigned. I was a little dumbfounded and so sent her a letter with a request that it be forwarded to her (never came back, no answer). To this day it is a mystery,

and when I ran into her friend in the tropical bar a little later she said that she thinks she went "home" to Eastern Washington. No leaving mood for this one, just left. I missed her for awhile.

ps. You can get this publication by calling 1-800-684-3480, especially for Jazz & Blues buffs

Routine

At 80 I depend upon my Day Timers daily organizer, plus calendars and a weekly and daily sheet combination. Obviously these assist my memory, but more than that they allow me to get things done. This isn't new, but it is more necessary than in the past. In part I resent them as I would resent "crutches;" it would be better for me not to spend the precious time on them, but it pays off.

Many years ago on one particular ship I was on, I had the good occasion to have a mentor who had attended the University of Chicago (Philosophy) and prided himself in being organized. He encouraged me to take advantage of shipboard life to get studying done, physical fitness and diet, and to prepare myself for what I imagined might be my future. Part of this depended upon using the watch schedule to be called when you wanted to get things done (other than work, eg. the watch, as well as those).

While on this ship I read an article on the philosopher Santayana in which he extolled routine as a way to get things done. He took this to some extremes, eg. having the same thing for lunch each day so that he wouldn't have waste time on the decision making necessary to have variety there. When I speak with people today it seems that for many of them a lack of routine is essential for them to feel "free," to allow their self preoccupation a "long leash" so that their lives can be led with minimal introspection.

My hope is that people will find their balances with all of this, a "middle way" of sorts. Spontaneity has its' place, undoubtedly, "living in the present" much to offer. At 80 my time for this may return in another incarnation (?).

The Roberts and The Webbs

The Webbs and Roberts were as different to me as night and day. Both had their dark and light sides, but to visit them was to be in different countries, cultures. The Webbs were from Idaho, Mormon country, not only with an Old Testament quality to their belief system and life style, but a kind of stoic, common sense notion of what reality was. The Roberts were from Oklahoma and Louisiana, Grandmother Nellie May had Mary Baker Eddy by her bedside, along with the Bible, but the atmosphere was more open, not at all Biblical, more experimental and free wheeling in my memory.

Food and drink were more lavish in the Roberts realm, Grandfather made wine from the grapes he grew in the backyard. The Webbs were tea tottlers, my memory is of fresh baked bread and cookies, sometime cakes, bean soup ( lima bean soup with Ketsup), and saltine crackers. Both grandfathers were good vegetable growers and I have fond memories of working with both of them in our victory garden, and with Grandfather Roberts in his.

Because my parents were so young I had a lot of time with both sets, and because I was the firstborn grandchild, and a boy, my Grandfather Roberts lavished trips and outings on me

(a library trip is mentioned elsewhere in the BLOG). He sometimes unveiled portraits for clients in their homes and took me along for the ride. He wanted me to listen to Caruso sing arias and read to me from history books, for example H.G. Wells.

Looking back I think I was unfair to the Webbs because they were not as flashy, not so "interesting." But they were there for me all the way, and the uncles and aunts and their married partners were all good, interesting people. Uncle Jess was particularly important; having married Aunt Haroldeen and being childless, he/they became important to me because

I was available to them and they to me. I wish everyone could be as fortunate as I was with my grandparents and uncles and aunts, and that they could live near them and savor their influences. Perhaps that will be the case again in the future, I hope so.

Sovereignty

Sovereignty at the time of the original Tea Party meant a chief of state in a monarchy; a king or queen; monarch, and that is still the number one dictionary definition. But to a nation struggling to define itself and throw out a monarch which had chartered companies which then could impose taxes upon them and their tea, a new intellectual immigrant from England was to insist upon what is today the third or forth definition, complete independence and self government.

A landless, brillant thinker and writer, Thomas Paine was recruited as an immigrant by Benjamin Franklin, and would soon be upping the ante on the semantics of democracy in our forming nation. It is no wonder that he is not brandished by the present day Tea Party; he was, for one thing, a deist, knew how important it would be not to have the nation framed in by Christian, Biblical belief.

His belief was that "Sovereignty as a matter of right, appertains to the Nation only, and not to any individual; and a Nation has at all times an inherent indefeasible right to abolish any form of Government it finds inconvenient, and establish such as accords with its interest, disposition, and happiness." (from Paine's "Rights of Man"). Wouldn't he be surprised today when our corporations are considered individuals under the law, and that they seem to be today's sovereigns, represented by the 1% in the fashion of the companies chartered by the kings and queens of earlier times? It seems that today's Tea Party might pick up the writings of Thomas Paine with some benefit, albeit inconvenient and difficult for their beliefs.

Drivin' Wheel

I began working for people outside my family at six, in a minor way then, but significant because the so-called work process was to be important my whole life; and still is. How work functions is of critical importance to all societies and cultures, and yet much of what it is is largely assumed.

My feeling is that I was attractive as an employee because I was taught to work and liked it. It helped that I grew up in the great depression and I never had difficulty finding work to do. And I was able to observe workers in my neighborhood, talk to others about it, and generally be intrigued by the way people made a living and provided for their families.

In the last several decades I have been able to be a supervisor of other people's work, an employer, as I have continued to work along side of them; even after "retirement." Lately I have had the pleasure of working with young people who have kindly volunteered on our farm.

Because we have very little money we are dependent upon people to help us with our scaled down vegetable growing operation.

Drivin wheel came up recently because my son is working as a carpenter for a local builder and I heard him mentioned as a driving force on the crew. He sets a pace, as does, I'm sure, his twin brother, Alexander, as a chef in the kitchen. My drivin wheel days are over, of course: 80, arthritic and a little guarded. Who wants to spend his last years in rehab or worse? It took me 78 years to get my first hernia .... cuidado is now the motto.

Coal Train

One of my favorite sounds are train whistles, which we can hear from the Soo Line when the winds are right. Unfortunately the trains are hauling coal to power plants to the East, and these trains will soon be hauling fracking sand, if they are not already doing so. What price a sound that comes out of your childhood, associated with so many positive things, when it is now connected to energy systems which are no longer acceptable?

Fracking sand is now radically changing communities, especially one close by where we have friends and neighbors, some of whom will lose their homes, have to be displaced to who knows where (?). And this doesn't even mention what is happening to the communities themselves. This relatively new industry points to jobs, of course, and has even had a jobs fair in the community referred to above which as this is written is being destroyed as it is being radicalized by a technology which is largely suspect for environmental reasons.

Tragedy attends us in many ways, we have to , somehow, make our way through. I have not heard the acronym NIMBY* once within all the dialogs here, either by those who would not live and needn't live near where all the disruption and pollution will occur (corporate investors, etc.) nor by those who are potential employees within this (out of work people of all kinds, from all walks of life). Meanwhile, the XL pipeline from Canada is on hold and the Canadians are threatening to sell their "dirty oil" to China (and does that mean the pipeline will run to Vancouver? May be some trouble ahead there).

* Not In My Back Yard

Degenerating times?

Tibetan lamas and other teachers refer to "degenerating times" as a benchmark of especially Western behavior, culture and economies. Although people like the Dalai Lama seem to tone down such critic labels, they are "in the wings" none-the-less. Organizations which represent the Tibetan refugees and Tibetan people in the West wrestle with the stresses and strains of label karma which would understand and work to change things successfully. This peaked at the time of the Olympics in China, and has taken a back seat since then, seems to me.

How would our ethicists, philosophers and religious figures respond to a charge of degeneration coming from the East? Recently in a film on PBS shot in China to dramatize the plight of countless small town people who work in sweat shops far from home (people who sew in this case) trying to get home and back to work during the annual celebration of Chinese new year. This huge migration by train primarily is beset by terrible facilities, equipment, military and police traffic and confusion management, angst and heartbreak. There is what could be called degeneration here.

Change cries for labels to try for understanding. One of the Chinese critics of the film mentioned suggested that it was not "patriotic," that it sought understanding and yet made understanding impossible because it implied criticism. The filmmaker was, as I recall, was angered by this remark, and rightly so. What will change the plight of the workers who are caught in the desire to be at home and travel there? And how will American viewers take to heart the lesson to be learned about the need to deal with changing infrastructures as a part

of their futures?

Young People

"Back in the day," when I was preparing myself seriously to do library work (eg. a masters degree in Library Science) today's so-called "young people" were called "young adults." Perhaps this was wishful thinking (?), that we were just going to be working with the younger part of the adult spectrum if we worked in this specialization.

In the last decade or two it seems that the way behavior plays out and is encouraged has changed this a bit. People who reach the voting age, who are more or less expected to leave home, can drink legally, etc., are now (more or less) tolerated as a version of continuous teenagers, in dress, habits, employment & unemployment, residences, etc. There is no obligation to "grow up" necessarily, what's the point? What is it to be "grown up," and who cares?

Talking to local "teens" in the last few years, there are with few exceptions any people who have strong adult tendencies (what ever those are?). When asked what their expectations were to be post high school situation a couple mentioned working for Wal Mart, hopefully as fork lift operators. Others mentioned the local vo tech schools, possibly working with computers or something. And now I realize that I need to "revisit" the situation, try and understand it more.

Part of this is the possibility that I may be able to visit and exchange ideas with a writing class in a nearby high school. Another was the request by the one young fellow who has worked on our place with great distinction for a letter to support his case for a scholarship. This young man is so exceptional, so deserving of support, and I/we feel honored to be asked to write a letter. I only wish there were more of him, and my understanding could have more depth because of them.

They belly full but they hungry

In the memorable words of Bob Marley, the duplicitous behavior of Fox and main stream news has branded the national/international financial protests as the work of mobs. Although there has not been any "mob" behavior until things erupted in Oakland, the word has been used both to slander and mislead those who would try to understand what is going on.

I think I've mentioned the report of the Christian Science Monitor on European protesters and now has called them the "new lost generation." What is it to be "lost" when you are found within a movement that intends to change things? Well, part of it is disillusionment, especially with reporting that seemingly would rather obfuscate than focus. Youth is undoubtedly the driving force behind what is going on, and thus "generation gaps" are obvious.

When a movement does not play by the rules which the power structure would seek to impose, there are bound to be problems, and ultimately violence, as has happened in Oakland. When a movement seeks to shut down a major container port there are will be "fireworks;" if the "powers that be" will not "come to the table," be intelligent and responsive with demands for change police build up and militarization seems inevitable. How fair will be the reporting on this latest "development" in Oakland, what will President Obama say about it?

News Networks

News is omnipresent and unsatisfying. It demands our attention but leaves us unfulfilled, dominated by a redundancy of limits which utterly defies the complex world we live in. How can the many news sources be so narrow in content, so unsatisfying to people of even minimum curiosity? This goes not only for Fox, but for NPR/MRP/WPR as well as PBS and the affiliates. Does this explain why so many people are finding their news sources on the Internet, or are there problems there too?

The other aspect I find difficult is what I call the cute-zee deliveries, the attempt to make things palatable via personalization (what the Spanish used to call personalizmo), humor and (as mentioned above) redundancy. Beating things to death is not intelligent, "dumbing down"

for the sake of ratings or advertisers just isn't justified in my view.

Hobby horses are another problem, indulged in even by the likes of Amy Goodman and Juan Gonzales on "Democracy Now." Certainly it is justified at times to give more time to something that is being completely forgotten elsewhere; but when there is unnecessary redundancy in this one has to wonder about what is being left out because of it.

Because what is being left out is immense, and extremely instructive.

Fun

Much of life today seems to be "putting the cart in front of the horse." For example, expecting a fun time or a happy feeling when the elements of such feelings may be absent. It seems that every time you turn around one of these words is used in a kind of wishful thinking way. Does this have anything to do with being satiated by the things which are supposed to bring us satisfactions but do not?

My memory of early life includes a lot of satisfaction, but few if any accolades for the results that you got if things worked to provide it. Sports, parties & dinners, hobbies and pastimes all combined to provide satisfying times, even through we had much fewer personal resources at our disposal to finance things. Now-a-days everyone from the Dalai Lama to TV and radio commentators and advertisers seems to Hawking happiness or fun ... something is amiss.

I became interested in the derivation of "fun" the other day, and discovered that it is from a mixed bag of descriptors, including the one of making fun of ... It seems that there is something very forced about fun expectation, perhaps the same goes for happiness. Perhaps we had better go back to the activities which might provide one or other, or both. Otherwise we may get waylaid with a cart in the wrong place.

"The Fire This Time"

Harry Edwards' (architect of the black power salute at the Olympics a decade ago) rousing talk over alternative radio suggests that James Baldwin's "Fire Next Time" has been updated by events, and that the "fires" we are living with are growing, becoming potentially less controllable, dangerously precipitious. His examples are many, and I won't repeat any of them here.

Troy Davis's execution by "lethal injection" last week in Georgia was still another example of the fires raging in our Nation, and elsewhere. On death row for many years, Tory's time ran out: his appeals, the almost complete reversal of the evidence for his sentence, and ultimately the refusal of the Supreme Court to review the case, meant that he had to die.

We are thus reminded of the stupidity of death sentences, as we are by the African-American minister who presided at Troy's memorial service who reminded us that "we are all on death row." The needs of others are forgotten most often because of our self preoccupations, our forgetfullness, our very survival in d e n i a l of reality. "I am Troy Davis."

Wall Street Protests

There is a word which describes the huge disparity between the so-called 99 per cent and the 1 per cent, and that slips from my 80 year old mind at the moment. Like so many words it has dropped from our vocabulary because it is so much a part of the endemic nature of things that it nearly has no meaning (something like dis ingenious, described in earlier BLOG). Thus the "main stream media" is having a little difficulty putting "a handle" on what is happening around Wall Street (and now throughout the Nation).

In the late fifties, my former wife and I were hitchhiking through the Midlands in England. It was mid afternoon, I was starting to wonder where we would stay that night, and then were picked up by a lorry (truck) driver, Alf Lornley from Leeds. He was on his way home and suggested after a brief conversation that we accompany him, that we could stay with he and his wife and children. We were so pleased that we just accepted and off we went.

For the next two or three days I rode with him in his truck and made coal deliveries. One afternoon we visited a tiny place (two rooms, the aged woman lived in the kitchen and kept warm by the little coal stove), which he described as common for aging people, living on next to nothing. He often gave some of these people small amounts of coal to supplement what they could afford, and he and his wife lived in very modest circumstances to say the least.

How would the one percent understand the situation in this all brick, post industrial city in England, and how would they emphasize and create programs to correct it? What will the rapidly deteriorating conditions for the ninety-nine per cent of Americans be understood and changed by those who insist that "trickle down economics" will change things? The protests go on, as they swell up and proliferate.

Practical Goods

When we sold produce at the Powderhorn Market year ago our next market stall was occupied by a fascinating peddler named Wendy Ward. I'm not sure what she called what she was doing then, but now-a-days it is a shop in St. Paul, Minnesota called Practical Goods What distinguished this lady's stock from others was the innate quality of it, whatever it was, and that continues until this day.

What I want to do more with this BLOG is share positive, especially alternative culture figures, businesses, causes, whatever seems to fit. We have hit the wall in our culture at present, typified by the demonstrations against "Wall Street" and the dominating 1% of the economic elite ... and their minions. What is becoming more and more evident is that we will need a higher and higher concentration and proliferation of alternatives to "business as usual."

Wendy's shop, philosophy and work are instructive of this, and I suggest you support what she does. She is at 1581 Randolph Ave. (just east of Snelling), her phone number is (651-690-1122, her hours are long and convenient (11 to 6 daily), and she is on a bus line. I'm going to quote a couple of things from her broadside: "Who should shop at Practical Goods?" " - People with lots more taste than money" & "People who like our planet and work to keep it nice" - & "People who wear clothes, use dishes, affirm the kind ship of all human cultures and might dislike living in a world that is a wholly owned subsidiary of Mc-Wal-Cola."

If you are not fortunate enough to have a Wendy Ward & her Practical Goods in your region try and support business like hers, even if you have to create something like this yourself. Thanks.

Intermittant Communications

A friend asked why blogs were not being written by me. When I answered "gremlins" her eye brows raised a bit. Having grown up in a time when this word was used fairly often, sometimes for questionable purposes (?), it comes back at times when the"hard luck and troubles" seem more evident than usual. What is it? Superstitions, perhaps. But when a string of misfortunes keep coming on it is hard not to take this personally, and even give names to it.

I would hope that this "string" is at an end, or at least occurs less often and with fewer "punishments." This is not a good time to have things which cost additional money and time prevail, would you agree? & yet they have and have continued up until this weekend. Something that I have intended to write for at least two months will be written next, and my hope is that whatever those "forces" out there that have been occurring will back off, perhaps even disappear for a time. It bring up my superstitious nature to even mention that they will not occur again.

Look up the word yourself, see what you think. I asked a fellow who works next door this morning whether his father ever used the word. "Oh yes," was his answer, and nothing else needed to have been said.

Minimum Wage

There is a lot of blather about Social Security now-a-days, including Rick Perry's remark about the "Ponzi scheme' aspect of it. Well, as someone who worked for decades and paid into the Social Security Trust Fund (?) for those decades, I consider my meagre check for $1,132 a month to be a kind of retainer for my 40 to 50 hrs a week retired "employment."

President Obama has recently suggested that we "do the math." OK, if we divide the amount which arrives electronically to my bank per month by 40 or 50 my present payment comes out in the six to seven dollar a month range, at best. In her original edition of "Nickled and Dimed" Barbara Ehrenreich (sp?) says that one must make in the range of $14, $15 dollars to live a minimal existence (?).

And that means that you must reach into what minimal amount of retirement money one just might have to even exist. Ehrenreich's calculations were based upon 1992 figures, as I recall; it would be instructive what the revisited edition gives as the amount per hour that one must "earn" in order to just exist. As you can tell, I am no economist. But I know full well that when medical considerations get on the horizon, when there is a problem with the refrigerator, a dog needs to go to the vet, when the fuel oil needs to be delivered, the brakes have to be done, and tires replaced, ETC. that small anxieties dance on a trouble horizon, ever closer. The blather includes the "news" that Congress may just not be able to pay the bills, that their squabbling may just shut the government down. "Lord have mercy."

rust buster

In the forties and fifties there were no products for sale that we knew about to "bust" the rust, corrosion, and like on bolts, nuts and other automotive/truck parts. So my mechanic Father fashioned a liquid made from Coca Cola and motor oil, which worked well, but probably not as well as those commercially available these days.

My Father was no fan of many of the so-called soft drinks, and thus made a point of broadcasting and making possible parallels between this automotive solution and the possible health ramifications for the human organs, the complexions of teenagers, etc. I was taking a physiology course in high school at the time, and decided to weigh in with his parallels and analogies with Mrs. B. and my classmates. Well, it didn't go over very well with the class, but I made a few points with our beloved teacher.

Drinking glasses full of coke with submerged pieces of rust, iron and steel enabled us to observe the disappearance of the little "specimens" into the liquid. I presented a short talk with some bonafied results at Norman's Automotive. I'm not sure how many of my fellow students changed their soft drink consuming ways. This memory came up as one of the fellows working on the next property starts the arduous process of restoring a very old Farmall tractor; rust busting will be important.

Beyond Pollyanna

As we reach the threshold of a new era the tendency is to take refuge in Pollyanna and utter denial to avoid going up against "the wall." The so-called "armed lifeboat" syndrome has brought us a new kind of literature, one which goes beyond warnings and denials to state that we must face, what Bill McKibben and many other writers have warned us about. These writings can amount to what Christian Parenti has called "romancing the end times."

Paarenti's book, "Tropic of Chaos," Slavoj Zizek's "Living in the End Times," and Naomi Kline's "The Shock Doctrine" take us to a reality that goes well beyond the fire walls put up and maintained by both apologists and critics of our dire predicaments. This is to be looking at the barrel of a gun, one which is not going to go away with rationalizations and platitudes.

It doesn't matter if your lifeboat has a cross on the bow and the old "red, white & blue" flying on the stern, nor whether you are able to lounge on your bullet and torpedo proof Chris Craft, or kick back in your deeply gated community. Everyone is involved, regardless of their armour or bank accounts. Last evening I hit the bottom of this and it was terrifying. All the best to you.

Redactive

The first hint of this word came with a trip to a library in Los Angeles with my Grandfather. This was the stereotypical Carnegie public library where you had to walk up at least a flight of stairs to enter a portal of heavy wooden doors. There was something very forbidding about the place, it had the shusshing atmosphere, very dark interior, and a no nonsense staff. We were uncomfortable in an environment that my Grandfather had hoped would be a "positive experience."

Its rules counted more than its humanness, and when my Grandfather tried to describe his uneasiness with it he found it hard to describe. Years later I discovered the redactive word, and have found myself in other circumstances which would be well described by it. The dictionary definition of the word is fascinating in that it also relates to collecting, editing and revising.

My present public library is completely the opposite; and I have had the good fortune to work in several libraries during my years of labor as a librarian to work in open, welcoming circumstances, essentially unreactionary in their services and environments. Libraries have changed over the decades and it is tragic to see many library systems being shut down due to financial difficulties and the attitudes of legislatures and institutional hierarchies. "Comes the Revolution."

Civility

To me personal memory about other people's needs is the essence of being human, a hallmark about that is civility. Not that I consider myself a "paragon of virtue," no. But to be thoughtful and courteous is part of the boilerplate of character in my book. My parents and my grandparents did not teach this, they lived it. Now I find that I miss the earlier generations' lives in this regard.

What set this off? Working with a young man this week I found that he threw his pop cans in the back of my pickup truck, and when I got in his car to take a ride to help him with something the floor was strewn with so much debris he had throw some of it over the seat. Now I like this fellow a lot, a very good worker, but I can't handle the situation which puts me at odds with his personal habits.

My Father was an automotive mechanic for many many years and couldn't stand the fact that people did not respect themselves or the cars he was to work on because of the way they brought them in. To him maintenance was critical and for people to expect him to clean up after them before he could solve their mechanical problems was a sign of disrespect. This seems to be an allegorical situation, an uncomfortable one, perhaps a sign of the times.

content

The word "intellectual" is certainly passe, undescribed today. And content (what used to be called intellectual content) is simply not current in today's parlance. I have described earlier what was once an obligatory response mechanism which was expected as part of conversation and idea sharing. Now that there are seemingly no obligations one had better have little or no expectations in this regard.

As I referred to awhile back, my Father would say something to the affect "that the ball is in your court," and he damn sure expected you to bring that ball out. If you missed the ball your obligation was to find out what you missed, clear it up. Now silence rules or obfuscation. Why? From middle age onwards I found that my dear Father had given up on conversation pretty much, controversy was pretty much no where to be found.

Talk shows and NPR prattle take the place of this in our lives I guess. But I miss it, would like to see a resurgence of it before I pass along into whatever incarnation awaits me. I remember fondly the faculty senate debates at the University in Buffalo, and the heated conversation which followed those debates. I remember being invited by an English professor to an afternoon tea in Los Angeles, the expectation was that you would come with ideas and contraversy to mix it up with faculty and students. In graduate school we had a library symposium to take on subjects and opinions seemingly forbidden in the standard curriculum. Why not stir it up, keep the "brain cells" cooking a little?

Salamanca Stories

Salmanca is a post medieval walled city in the Northern, arid part of Spain, Don Quixote country. I spent one academic year there at the University, accompanied by my ex-wife, Jan. There was a active "foreign" community there that made things lively, mostly centered around a couple of University departments, a language institute run by an Irishman, Monohan, and his Spanish wife; plus a few watering holes frequented by the people who were so inclined. I would like to share a few stories that seem worth telling.

One of the English professors from Cambridge (GB) was a better than average story teller, sometimes seeming to embellish the truth, but always in a kind of improper raconteur style. One evening we talked of poetry and he told of the visit and reading of the Poet Laureate of England, at Cambridge. Well, the man started to read his poems and a few in a young man in the audience stood up in silence. The poet, Phillip Larkin, called upon him to explain himself, to which he said: "Sir, you are a great poet, but you can't read your own work." The poet had the sense to ask if he could read the poems any better and the young man said "yes." He was invited on stage, read the poems which were indicated by markers in the collected volume, and they received a standing ovation at the conclusion of the reading.

Monohan had served in India in the second world war, and had gained a liking for curry and gin. He held a yearly dinner which featured both, in part facilitated by his travels to Lisbon to acquire the proper ingredients. This legendary occasion was followed by his doctor assisted bed rest to deal with his ulcer. Everyone brought flowers and other tokens of appreciation, in a continuous toast his health with Bombay; and so he would gradually reenter the local society to take his helm with the intelligentsia and hangers on.

That year the visiting contingent of American would be "scholars" came from Yale. They were an active bunch in the bars, seemingly able to buy drinks and dinners at will, and didn't seem particularly keen about their studies. One of their haunts was a bar down on the Rio Tormes near where the Gypsies lived temporarily in wagons and tents, traded and sold horses and cattle (the women came to town be ask for donations on the street). The gypsies came to the bars to play and sing for drinks and meals. The Yalies decided to have a big party their last night there and invited the university community and hangers on to it. Everyone gathered and started to drink at their expense. The big problem was that the gypsies were paid to sing and play in advance, a big mistake, because they rode off into the sunset to be gone until the Yale men went to Madrid to fly back home. Most be a moral to the story someplace.

Asleep at the Wheel

This title is thought of primarily as the name of a country group originally from West Virginia, who's home has been Austin, TX for many years. I like the name better than their music, although their work in their genre is considered tops by many people. To the point, I have a fear of the existential condition related to this name, and also a deep dislike for those who assume authority way over their abilities, and insist on holding on "for dear life" in spite of their inadequacies.

My Father's bookkeeper, Max, rode a Harley-Davidson (45) up and down Central and Southern Calif. serving his clients. A be speckled, CPA type, he was known for an exploit which gives a different twist to the title of this piece. Having partied a little late, he had to make his way over the Ridge Route (Highway 99) after midnight in a attempt to reach a motel in Bakersfield so he could visit a client next morning. Half way down the grade or so it seems he went to sleep at the handlebars, crossed the double lines and exited on a smooth stretch of shoulder. A few hours later he woke up; having knocked himself out earlier, followed the trail of the scooter, got it on its' tires, and then made his way to the motel to get cleaned up and changed for his appointment.

My memory of a personal incident was in the sixties, returning to Venice from a three day family Love-in event in Marin County. Heavy partying and little sleep had not left me in the best of shape for the return VW bus trip with my friend, Tommy Morehead Sunday night. I decided to travel on a secondary road, two lane with very wide gravel shoulder, rather than risk it on the interstate. The VW had a tendency to pull to the center of the road, so in my semi-conscious state I ended up rolling along on the gravel. A stretch of washboard woke me and I decided to park it (call in with an excuse the next morning). Tommy never woke up and was a little surprised when I explained the existential predicament on the way in next morning.

Mavericks

I have always admired people who are willing to be different, who defy "authority" and the standards of living we are expected to live by. At the same time, I am a person who likes order, who is sometimes shocked or thrown off by behavior I am not ready for. I grew up in a Los Angeles neighborhood that had a wild diversity of people in it, and many of my early memories are of those people, of course.

My Father was a mechanic and had a garage very close to where we lived. Often he brought customers home for dinner because they would be around until he got them on the road later that night. One of my favorites was a singular gentlemen who was a good story teller, who sold fruits and vegetables off a small truck like vehicle, and who was the first gypsy kind of person I was to meet. He entertained us as we ate, with anecdotes and yarns, and I can well remember my Father's responses.

Years later when my parents were making their way through middle age crisis and beyond they became very active in the Latter Day Saint Church (Mormons). Thus they were moving into a kind of closed society, one very different than the one we grew up in. Like a lot of LDS people they became interested in genealogy and thus made a kind pilgrimage to New Orleans to look at the city/county records there to see what the Roberts background was. Well, it didn't take long to find that at the Great Grandfather level (I think that was it) they found the word "mulatto" loud and clear. A firewall, they turned away. But for my siblings and myself we have become even more interested, and one of my sisters pursues the record to this day.

Shadow Walk

Shadows are so much more active at times; this evening, twilight, the wind was blowing, the light active and dark coming on fast. It felt like the thing to do, walk until I reached the oil wells, or just before, and as I did the untrimmed bushes took on a life or their own. I found myself nearly accosted by their imagery, at times it seemed as if they were speaking to me, telling me a story about myself that I didn't want to hear, one that I thought I'd forgotten.

Venice along the boardwalk, walking East and West and then South, it is like a labyrinth. I kept going, tired after a long day of work, but willing to experience what I hadn't done in a long time. Darkness was very close now and it was as if I could hear the immortal words of Sachel Paige saying "don't look back, something may be following you." As I got close to the wells I turned North on Pacific, a favorite bar was only blocks away. A Hindu mantra helped me along...

It felt comfortable to go through the door, even though there was too much noise, and the juke box was a little high in volume, there was one bar stool empty about a third of the way back.

The main attraction of this place for me was a combination of the long aquarium behind the bar, and the owner's custom fed juke box (Billie Holiday, Bix Beiderbeck, Thelonius Monk, etc.). And that evening there wasn't soul in there I knew, that was good at the moment.

"Bar bourbon and beer back?" Yes, that will do. I miss the place now, it is long gone, doesn't exist in another form, as far as I know. Memories of Venice has been stoked recently by a video made about the Venice poets and art world of the fifties. Highly recommended:

"Swinging in the Shadows" - "Venice West and the LA Scene" with an excellent sound track. www.beaters.org

Names

In Patti Smith's book about her and Robert Mapplethorpe ("Just Kids") I found an important comment about names, something to the affect that "Robert was not a Bob" ... but evidently people wanted him to accept the nickname (?). Early on I had a version of this with my Grandfather Roberts (who was never Grandpa, incidentally). His name was Alexander, not Al or Alex. To his close friends he was A.J., otherwise it was Mr. Roberts or Alexander. (His sons seemed to be comfortable with the usual monikers, shortened versions of their given names: Norm, Dick and Joe, no problem, guess).

Several years ago my sisters contested the nickname given my Mother in her youth because she was named for her Great Grandmother, Julia, and thus it was felt that she might be better called "Frankie." Well, it turns out she didn't like the name, went along with it for years, and toward the end of her life Julia was returned to her as her name. I'm sure that you could think of many examples of this type of naming yourself, and hopefully you might find some examples of people who have taken their real names back.

And there are people I've know in the last few years who have decided that their given names (perhaps their nicknames as well) were not suitable for them and have renamed themselves, even going to court to do that legally. I was chosen by a man who worked for me as a witness in such a case and it was intriguing to see this through with him.

Names are extremely important, and yet they are thrown around as it they are not. Very often monikers fit and are comfortable, no problem ... often they are questionable, border on the diminutive or cute; at worst are in the neighborhood of Oscar Wilde's statement (was it him?) "Familiarity breeds contempt." I remember when I was small people trying on the "Donnie" name with me. Never worked, I remember looking at them as if to wonder what their problem was.

Karma tricks

The so-called Third Foundational Thought of Buddhism is Karma, or "inevitable consequence." This very complicated word/concept goes in many directions, but what I want to take on is the aspect of attachment, eg. to "one's worldly circumstances, to one's level of consciousness. I find myself embroiled in what I call "contrary conditions;" perhaps in part brought on by myself, but also, seemingly by the state of the world, greatly (by homo sapiens) modified weather patterns, and the shifting politics of life.

How much am I attached to what I take to be contrary to myself (and others) and thus dependent upon that as a part of my modus operandi? Part of my circumstance has to do with growing things, and the weather has been really messing with that. Part of what I read says that this is the result of weather modification by man, a weatherman from Milwaukee said the other day on the radio that weather conditions are not that abnormal and that a word like "contrary" would hardly be accurate as description.

Positive, negative and neutral karma seem to be simplistic in terms of the complications and contradictions involved. If I am neutralized by conditions the result would be labelled negative, and I'm not sure I can accept that. Bill McGibbon and others have posited that due to the radically changed world we live in we will have to dare to take extremely radical measures to just survive as a species. Another visionary, Rebecca Solnit (in her landmark book, "A Paradise Built in Hell") has described the way communities, groups and individuals have come together to (as she puts it) "arise in disaster." It seems that these visionaries will be absolutely crucial to the future of managing karma tricks and contrary conditions.

Somali Aide - Beyond Paralysis

The dire situation in Somali is confounded by groups within that country who are blocking the entry of aide; while "donor fatigue," "will full neglect," "lack luster effort," (Amy Goodman on "Democracy Now") and the confusion of where your donation might go if you sent it paralyse the potential donors. What to do? The UN has described the situation as the most dire drought/famine for many years in Africa (60) and issued a "famine alert" for 11 million people. Meanwhile the press, radio and TV media are muddled by the impasses.

Paralysis is so common today, as to make personal action practically impossible it seems. There is no doubt that we need changing strategies to make aide function better, to replace charity with systems which actually repair the damage suffered by the people to be aided. Huge order, and one taken on by the landmark book by Rebecca Solnit, "A Paradise Built in Hell; The Extraordinary Communities that Arise in Disaster," Penguin Books, c2009. She describes how communities as wide ranging as San Francisco (1906), Halifax (1917), Mexico City (1985), New York City (2001), and New Orleans (2005), and some of the changes brought about in response to them give us hope and models for the future.

I'm going to look up the Red Cross and Care on Google, see if they have any suggestions about what is next for Somali. Meanwhile let's all look in the directions suggested by Sonit's book and see how things might be different in all of this. As of 7/27 it looks like a way has been found to bring in aide successfully, the UN announced the arrival of planes with aide today.

"luxury"

In the midst of this midwest (national) heat wave, this semi-retired vegetable grower has the "luxury" of sitting by a fan and drinking cold water. And because of circumstances I am able (as a possibly "endangered elder") to be out of the work awaiting me out there, the chores are done. So we are not talking about air conditioning or other luxurious here, it is a bit more basic than that.

My thoughts and hopes at this moment are with the homeless who must exit shelters so those facilities can be cleaned, and make their way to public libraries and other public places if they can through blistering streets. And with migrant workers and other such laborers who are either in or preparing to enter the fields, yards, work sites and such, with no or utterly few resources to comfort them.

The silent minorities who are either living out the legacy of poverty and homelessness in shelters, abandoned buildings, under bridges and other locations,* or are working in substandard conditions (doing work which other people do not have the stamina or desire to do, or need to do it) are most often forgotten in times like this. Why? Because it is too hard to look at them, they are denied by the denial of consciousness, a basic shift of focus.

How long has it been since you have been on the street or on a work site without water, without the access to a bathroom or finding shelter? Have you ever been obligated to go to work day after day with no or little amenities available, live in a home where the water and electricity has been shut off? "But someone has to do it.." I can hear the refrain out there somewhere.

How can our humanity enable us to limit the number of endangered people as much as can be, and help those who are "out there" as much as we can? Not with charity (although that is better than nothing) but with mutual aid, as Frederick Franck reminds us in his book on humanness. Working, active compassion is part of who we are and should. Denial hasn't and will not work.

* I am talking about substandard facilities for the elderly too, of course, people sitting in wheelchairs, on benches and chairs in hot. uncomfortable hallways, waiting for the next move.

Self indulgence

Having been raised in the thirties, within the depression and in thus much more stoic times, I must admit to a sense of shock about what people's expectations and life styles are now-a- days. It seems "the skies the limit" in so many ways, the top 1 or 2 percent of people who spend money in this country live in such opulence as to be downright beyond belief. To hear a muckraker like Jim Hightower describe some of this is to go way beyond any sense of credibility. How could Michael Moore satirize it, even it he had the chance? The seeming lack of self consciousness within these opulent lifestyles is instructive in itself.

Thorstein Veblen's classic "Theory of the Leisure Class" Chronicles how all of this filters its way down to the middle class and lower working class, in the past, of course. Eg. the tastes in liquors, beer and wine, food and entertainment. I remember his classic comment about the lawns of the very rich becoming the models for the millions of yards that are mowed today (?) ... "keep up with the Joneses" ... (?).

I've just finished a book that won Patti Smith a National Book Award, "Just Kids," a fascinating study of the creative process and the unbelievable amount of self indulgence and preoccupation that artists like Patti and Robert Mapplethorpe soldier through to become successful. The so-called "ladder" they ascended is described by Patti in a way that is utterly beyond any parallel in the lives of the artists I have known, including support by wealthy patrons, the relationship of the Gay community, etc. I highly recommend this book.

Meanwhile, I find myself winding down further at 80, trying to enjoy what I can, and sort of looking forward to an elderly existence wherein more of our population is going to have to live more stoic lives and try to help those who have less live better. Vamos a ver.

"Like"

Like is at present the most overused word in the English language. Somewhat as its' predecessor, "you know," the word has swept the language, often used two or three times in a sentence. I find it disturbing enough to write about here, and once in a great while to mention, especially to younger people.

Having no meaning in itself, it seemingly is either a bridge to something else, or a pause for reflection (?) or continuing a thought. Sometimes it seems to be an attempt to keep the listener tied up, for whatever reason, and then there is a kind of stylistic twist, especially for younger conversationalists and/or those influenced by them. Thus it is almost colloquial in a sense.

While studying and attempting to speak Spanish years ago I noticed a similar use of the word "pues," which means well in the sense described above, thus as a kind of semantic stopgap, and I found myself using it as kind of a language crutch. At the same time, I noticed very quickly that using it in class or in serious conversation was frowned upon.

In checking in my dictionary I found that the word is not to be used as a conjunction, in proper usage; and this book was published first in the late sixties. It might be instructive to see what a present day dictionary would advise. Whatever that may be it will probably not anticipate the next overused or misused word to enter and dominate the English language, like .....

How do you leave things for the next person?

These reflections will focus on work, but if you extrapolate slightly they can function for everything from toilet paper rolls to butter dishes. I've mentioned obligations earlier on in this Blog, and so this diatribe will be an extension of those in a sense. If you were raised in a certain way and especially within work processes, you were trained with obligations toward the person or persons who would either work beside you or follow you in. (I'm not sure how common that is today.)

Which meant that you cleaned and put tools back where they could be found, you did not leave tools and other objects in the way of work passages, you were aware that what was done in the environment might affect the work others (eg. excessive noise from a boom box), etc. This does not take a high degree of intelligence, but does require a sensitivity to the needs of others. Yes?

Part of this has been "inspired" by the sounds coming from a work site boom box quite a distance from where I hear it. Also, I've had a few experiences with some workers who are new around here, and thus haven't run up against my expectations before (!). It would seem that signage might be called for in some instances, at least temporarily. My hope is that brief mentions to people will do the trick, I am unhappy with redundancy in this area. Undoubtedly part of the problem is what I describe as "self-preoccupation," which makes memory about the needs of others seem to pale. With age I need to be more and more mindful of this myself.

Weather Prediction

Weather news over television and the Internet seems to be more and more unpredictable as we move into the extremes of radical weather change. In an "industry" dominated by weathermen and their male designed gadgets (eg. Dopler radar) it may be time for a paradigm shift, especially for those who work "outside" and are more dependent upon the predictions to be productive.

For example, we have been preparing for our annual garlic harvest for awhile, set the stage not only by contacting friends and relatives to be here with us to help, but with doing the basic things which will make this work flow and be successful as a yearly event. Watching the weather reports very carefully we were warned about a heat wave (not good) but not about excessive moisture. Now, on the eve of the work we find ourselves inundated with rain and the wind is howling mercilessly. Within an hour or so we will make our way out there to see if the whole thing must be called off.

Perhaps it is time to turn weather prediction and broadcasts over to women, especially those who are not unduly influenced by the traditional approaches which have dominated both the air and video waves, plus digital networks. What if we had more intuition applied and less scientific gadgetry? I'm not suggesting the equivalent of dousing rods here (nor the wholesale scrapping of the technology in place), but perhaps those might be as appropriate for job as have the technologies of the past decades.

The Modern Library and literacy

When I was sailing in the Navy I decided to continue my education at sea by reading my way through the Modern Library. This collection was widely available both at bookstores and through some of the so-called libraries at my disposal. I found many of these books to be down right unreadable, but struggled with them because I was convinced that it was the thing to do.

I went in a bookstore down on Market Street, not far from where we were tied up. A nice looking young woman asked if she could help me and I asked for the Modern Library collection. Her response was to asked what I was reading now. My answer "Galsworthy," and she laughed out loud and said "why?" My answer was that I was reading my way through the Modern Library and she laughed again.

Well, I was in for an "educational experience" that day, she informed me that I didn't have to read books that were not really intended for me, that there were things more suitable, and she sent me back to the ship with a couple novels: one by Saul Bellow, and another by a man named Robbie McCauley (I think that was his name). They were both terrific reads and I found myself going back to that bookshop for more help and titles.

Librarians can provide this kind of help too, of course, and it may be that my choice to become a librarian later was exactly so I could be of help to others in their reading choices, and in choosing learning materials in other formats as well. Today there are so many avenues into learning, often not going beyond those that have been digitalized and thus available via computers. My analog learning past has been updated a little, although I still enjoy reading books immensely, playing LP records and audiocassettes, CDs and DVDs. Perhaps the odyssey might be called "beyond the Modern Library collection."

Blog Neglect

I've missed writing in the Blog the last few weeks, a very confusing time with lots of work, fatigue and an 80th birthday and the aftermath of that. At night when I usually write it just hasn't been possible to focus well. Meanwhile I've accumulated a lot of subject matter to deal with, and some of that will not be touched until Fall or Winter. Things set me off, eg. a book on the bumpersticker phenomena: "If ignorance is bliss why aren't more people happy?"

Have I mentioned the Vatos sunglasses earlier (so essential this summer)? They have proven to be a pair that have not been damaged or lost ... so far; got them cheap at Walgreens, made in China, of course. When I asked my son what the word meant he said: "little street criminal," "hoodlum." Which took me back to an earlier time when I was obliged to mix it up with young street people in L.A., called "pachucos" in those days (forties).

Our rival playground for sports was Echo Park, the teams there dominated by Spanish speaking teenagers, who were backed up at times by the equivalent of vatos. We went to play the second, return game of football there, we won the first on our "home turf." It was a rough game, for supposedly "touch football," officiating there definitely in their favor. At halftime one of our payers got his face pushed into the water fountain hardware, he finished the second half bleeding steadily and the game definitely got rougher. The 12 to 12 tie didn't give anyone any satisfaction

On our walk back along the lake (really an oversized pond) to the streetcar we found ourselves ambushed by a gang of hoodlums. They rushed out of some bushes, some swinging razor blades on strings, others banging on us with fence pickets they had collected, and trying to force us into the water. They didn't outnumber us by much and we were able to fight our way out and run for Sunset Blvd. Our fellow passengers were somewhat surprised at our condition, and I was forced to take a clandestine shower and dispose of some of my (bloody) clothes before my Mother could ask embarrassing questions. To this day if I have any prejudices to speak of, they are of Latino/Spanish speaking teenagers.

miigwech

I've known how inadequate the words "thank you" are in the past, "thanks," but I've never known the complete inadequacy of them until my 80th Birthday and Community Celebration happened. Thus I have used the Ojibwa word with the hopes that it will (somehow) convey my deepest gratitude to those who put it together, enjoyed it, gave gifts and donations, and put it to bed. Parties come and go, but this one was totally off the charts.

So many people worked to get this event to Ridgeland's Dutchman's Bar & make it work, and to carry it in to the park across the street. I can't even begin to name all the names, but here are a few: my dear Wife, Joni Cash, Jody Slocum, Tina Bloomer, Rene Carrell, Jane Anderson, Ila Duntemann, Kathy Ruggles, Stephen & Mary Ann Boe, Joel and Meg Wittenmeyer, Keith Luer, Aaron Roberts, Todd Miller & Crew, Maureen Rochefort, Suzanne & Douglas Owens-Pike, Erica Granpre, Taylor Dees, and Jennifer Norman. The musicians: Mary Stoyke and Will Agar, Mary Klee, Jay Collins, Jim Holdman, Dean Granros, and Willie Williams. Sky Lanterns thanks to Lewis Dees. Beer & Root Beer thanks to Five Star Brewery (aka Viking), Randy & Ann Lee). Video projection by Kurt Buetow, and the video of Elsie's Farm, "Dirty Work," thanks to Deb Wallwork and Mike Hazard.

People were very generous to the organizations represented, the Hay River Transition Iniative, the Prairie Farm/Ridgeland Food Pantry, and Farmer to Farmer and the Wisconsin Farmer's Union were also present. And I received so many splendid cards and presents, some of which were unidentifiable by name ... thanks to you anonymous people, and to so many people for donations to the "kitty" to make things work. Ice run by Chrissie & Bryan. The food by Bifrost Farms LLC, gift of the brisket by Alexander Roberts. The many, many relish dishes and deserts brought by so many, many people were thoroughly enjoyed. A few food containers are here, only one of which we know how to return; please call us if you are looking for one: (715) 658-1074. Again. miigwech. ps. I would like to acknowledge the sizable number of people who wanted to be there but couldn't. Your presence was a part of the festivities. My apologies to anyone I've left out here in "the credits."

Ridgeland & Environs

Ridgeland and towns/villages around it epitomize what an author has recently described as the vital nexus between rural life and cities, the connexions that truly make the word "local" vibrant and meaningful. It is a no-nonsense small farm town that has a huge amount of heart, strong resources and welcomes strangers and regional people alike. No Currier and Ives here, nor Norman Rockwell, its' summer and winter festivals gather people from close by and afar.

We got to know it well in our years farming there (see "Dirty Work", the recently released video on the farm to be premiered at the party in Ridgeland this week), and is still consider our "hometown" out here. In the many years we worked and lived there we were involved in only one insulting incident, and when we left doing the repairs on a well poisoned by a neighbor's dairy there was virtually no animosity.

So it is a fitting place to have my 80th birthday as a community celebration, and as a location to not only toast and make better known some of the vital organizations of the area: the Hay River Transition Initiative, Farmer to Farmer and the local food shelf, Pantry, but to have an essential mix of people both of the region and the cities. Please come and enjoy yourself.

It is appropriate that some relatively newcomers to the area, Joel and Meg Wittenmeyer of Bifrost Farms LLC in Boyceville will prepare the food for the dinner to be served in Ridgeland; Joel has extensive experience in cooking. These talents are not described yet on their website, but I suggest you look at it to understand the first major focus of their work in the region: http.www.Bifrontfarms.com. Food and their relationship to it will soon be added to the mix.

Party Time

Back in the fifties, in L.A., I was trying to "re-invent" myself after having been at sea for four years. Working with a tree man, Lou Hicks, we came into some wind falls some times on jobs

(eg. a cache of copper pipe in a garage we were hired to demo and get rid of). So extra money was around at times, and sometimes this went for throwing parties.

The combination of Lou and Blue Hicks and their variety of friends, combined with mine, plus the availability of a house and swimming pool (thanks to another former shipmate's father's girlfriend); I was able to "borrow" the fabulous place in Eagle Rock, on a fairly steep hill, and in an unforgettable setting.

A local Italian delicatessen did the food and wine, and beer was complimented as appropriate. I invited a buxom, virgin, catholic young woman from my night class to be hostess, with the agreement that I would guarantee good behavior all night. She helped me welcome people with class and a certain aplomb.

The night was memorable, with only two (2) calls to emergency for broken bones around the pool (one arm, one leg, the cracked ribs person dealt with that the next day). Spirited pre- adult behavior via coed water polo and dodge ball kept us busy when not drinking and eating. I awoke the next morning at poolside with a wild headache/hang- over & some cleanup duties. No furniture was broken. The the little blonde was very gracious and hardworking, and the party was judged to be a success.

Which is a long way around to say that I still have a fondness for parties, especially those which have a wild diversity of people, and in a setting they are unused to. The party in Ridgeland has the making for a fine, unusual event, combining country and city people in a small town setting.

My BLOG has some of the necessary details, my hope is that you will make it with "bells on," that the night will be one you will not forget for many, many years. Consider camping in Prairie Farm if you would like to hang around for a little longer. Pioneer Park is a very nice site, only ten, fifteen miles away, $15 a night. Any questions? Fire Away, and don't forget to throw a party once in awhile: "HELP," several people have contacted us about help, and we welcome it. You can call (715) 658-1074 and talk with us or leave a message ... about: setup, serving, cleanup, etc. This celebration is getting bigger, thankfully, and thus help will be needed. Gracias.

Chasing Ambulances

Everyone indulges in this chasing, and it is particularly pathetic to think about the information which is being forgotten or delayed in order to sensationalize the latest thing. It isn't that we don't have problems to solve, but they are not sexy, don't have the uumph, might require more thought. Even NPR is indulgent here, including the bumping of important programs to accommodate the marriage, for example.

The entertainment factor in all of this is huge, and largely unexamined, except for those who are doing the manipulation. It seems that it would behoove education on all levels to up the ante on courses on mass communications and manipulation. This was of high interest in the sixties, and I well remember putting a course together on it for library school students in Buffalo, N.Y. Marshall McLuhan was the rage, leading the way to the taking apart of media. I have a feeling that our library school was one of the first to focus on this.

Who are the present "gurus" of mass communications, and what is their take on things such as corporate conglomerates dominating the news? What would be their stance on the complicity of the Supreme Court in the issues of who owns what on the "airwaves?" We are entering a new never never land in both communications technology and the avenues which are used and abused. With the squeeze on funding imposed by legislatures of all kinds, even public media seems to be falling into fund raising deals with those who would possibility limit the effectiveness of its heretofore independence.

excrement

Rereading Peter Matthisen's "The Snow Leopard" I am returned to the mule yard where I removed the dung from a winter's droppings last week. This is valuable stuff for the compost, chicken and sheep shit will be added, along with leaves and grass. The book's travels through Nepal and Tibet has references to dung throughout, and when Matthiessen descends out of the mountains to the first villages and to the flatlands he laments the "portents" of approaching civilization: "the little of Chetri villages, ubiquitous police, dogs, human excrement, the blare of transistor radios," etc.

At higher altitudes his travel companion, George Shaller laments excrement as a sign of civilization too which, of course, he doesn't miss. At the same time, both Shaller and Mathiessen depend for their cooking on the dried yak dung which the sherpas and others use to prepare the meals, heat the water for tea. It turns out that this dried dung burns clean and hot, and does not smell that bad.

Several months ago, a NRP/WPR program host, Jean Ferraca, took on an hour program about shit, head on and without reservations. It was amazing, and great radio, the kind of radio the so-called conservatives are trying to do away with. In this program it was pointed out that the majority of human beings have no toilet paper, have to resort to all kind of methods of removing shit from their buttons, including their fingers (primarily ones on their left hands, as the guest expert pointed out).

So what? Well, it is often the absence of information from a publication, radio or TV program which tells the tale. & it is hardly missed by humans who are only too glad to be spared information they would rather not contend with. What are we talking about? Well, the Farm Bureau and its' publications, for one, and the AARP would be another. If they can get by by being information deniers than all the better. Meanwhile, shit and toilet paper (or the lack of it) are with us every day.

I think somewhere else in this BLOG I mentioned the story about the aged woman in Iraq who was interviewed standing in front of her bombed out dwelling ... in which she still lived, had no choice. And she lamented being without three things: running water and her toilet, and hot coffee. Toilet paper was not even a consideration.

Preoccupation

A slogan appeared in my mind recently in response to yet another no response by a fellow human being: "My preoccupation trumps your preoccupation," a self defeating stance if there ever was one. As I've said elsewhere in the BLOG, my background was more concerned with response to others and a sense of obligation in that regard than the present necessity for instant gratification and return.

I don't mean to say that I am blameless in the regard to being self preoccupied, I've certainly been there, and will undoubtedly be there again. But this is almost always mitigated by a concern for the other person, and I would like to suggest that our bewildered World might be a better place if we might return to more concern for the other.

"Better said than done," I hear that old saying straying around in my addled brain, wondering how we might in the present and future get beyond a dilemma which is undoubtedly taking an enormous toll on personal communication. Part of the problem is undoubtedly the "informa-

tion in the flood stage" one, too much "overload" to realize the possible affects of our own information responsibilities. Another is the increasing dependence upon digital electronics in the mix, and I realize that these can also be a possible solution to problems as well.

Would it be too much to ask that those who would communicate with us be clear about what they intend to do? But how to sort that out, ask and answer the questions involved. Awhile back a counselor I consult every once in awhile said that I needn't be concerned any more with unresponsive people, that I should simply avoid them. But, as said above, that is "better said than done."

Growing Vegetables

There are many trends in our so-called civilization to mythologize things, and agriculture is one of them. In the making of the video about our earlier farm, Elsie's Farm, I asked the film/videomakers to be careful with this, to shoot the process, the "dirt"/soil, keep the camera and microphones low, and they did. So my hope is that those who see this production will take it on as an exercise in the demythologizing of alternative agriculture. "Boots on the ground" is not the property of the military.

Growing up in both the depression and an automotive garage, dirt was a part of things. When I ran into the slogan a few decades back which suggested "not treating your soil as dirt" I was a little confused. Dirt and soil were the same thing, although not in the garage ... that was were likely to be grease, grime, although we had some dirt there as well. When working with my grandfathers in the vegetable garden it was just plain glorious to "play in the dirt," and Joni Cash is quoted about that enjoyment in "Dirty Work."

I hope that this video will help the viewer cut through some of the stuff and get down to what alternative agriculture and growing things is. And the basis of it is soil, of course, dirt. It would be very auspicious if people who view and hear the video get the experience of dirt, and that they have the desire themselves to grow something, to compost, to dig, to get down and dirty. The mythology of farming is not helped by the advertising and public relations of commercial farming, where soil and dirt are hardly mentioned. This has to be turned around.

"Dirty Work"

Several people have asked me what I do for a living, we all know about how identity is defined in these United States by one's work not being. Well, the production available for viewing has to do with what I/we did on Elsie's Farm in the last decade or so, & I suggest you see and hear it if possible. Deb Wallwork's production (with Mike Hazard) is described on the postcard making known the event as follows:

"Dirty Work" is about an impossible, perhaps quixotic dream to take an old farm, invest it with new ideas, and grow a community.

Community supported agriculture; what does it take? Who are the people that make it happen?

And how are their lives transformed by living the change they hope to see?

TRYLON Cinema
3258 Minnehaha Ave S. Minneapolis, MN
Wednesday, May 18th
7:00 P.M. $8 suggested donation

RESERVE your seat
www.take-up.org

Originally there was to be a BLOG which would accompany this video; that may or may not happen in the future. I guess what I would like to have happen is have the BLOG written by those who have participated in Elsie's, and those who have been affected by farm, including those who have seen "Dirty Work." Vamos a ver.

Eddie

Growing up in Los Angeles in the forties and fifties was for me a musical experience. A neighborhood musician only a few years older took an interest in me, made it possible to sit in with him, go to gigs (carrying cases & equipment), and taking me to my first jazz concert. He played clarinet for a start, then tenor and alto saxophones, occasionally a soprano sax. He played dixieland and blues at first, but was then playing big band Stan Kenton arrangements in high school. It was several months into our friendship that he came up to the house and announced "that it was all over;" he had heard a recording of Charlie Parker and knew that a huge shift had occurred. The added factor for me was that he insisted I share a joint in his car one night, and that was just another shift

Reading the biography of Chet Baker by James Gavin ("Deep in a Dream; the Long Night of Chet Baker") I realized for the first time the dynamics that my friend Eddie was involved in. Musicians that Eddie played with are mentioned throughout the book, and his early experimentation and later trouble with drugs and alcohol became more understandable. His lengendary fishbowl of pills on his coffee table with the "Physician" Drug Reference Manual" for guidance was a normal part of things, and I acquired pills especially to study and stay awake for long periods from him, but for "kicks" too.

The most interesting thing about the book's relationship with Eddie was the description of how one era merged into another, and how this affected the music scene and our lives. "Acting like you were interested only in the fix of the moment was a radical statement at a time when the future meant everything. Americans were supposedly in the midst of a hard-earned dream. The key was mass conformity -- the stubborn belief that a family-oriented suburban life, ruled by God, was all anyone needed for happiness." "Amidst all this sunshiny optimism came the first heroes of a defiant new youth culture: Marlon Brando, Montgomery Cliff and James Dean, all of whom symbolized disgust with every fase hope infecting America." And the musicians were right there with them, of course. Eddie was the first in our neighborhood of this new, cool breed, and he was to live out his own version of Chet Baker's tragic life, "Let's Get Lost" is the title of a film about Chet's life, and the title reminds me of Eddie all the way.

"Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you," etc.

When I was young birthdays were not a very big deal. It wasn't until maybe the forties and fifties that the celebrations of them really got into gear. This may (or may not) have been related to Hallmark & all of that, not sure. But there was a shift beyond a point where you were more or less obligated to be happy about birthdays, including yours. Now, to take it back, it seems to me that what should be celebrated is the day that one was conceived, not the day one was birthed (?). But that date is much harder to nail down, yes? No birth certificate is to be issued for that one.

To many people my views on this will appear contentious, perhaps anti-social (heaven forbid). Talking to an acquaintence several years ago he said: "No big deal, man, the birthday thing is definetely financial, presents, cards, the whole nine yards," which is a simplification for sure, but seems to have some truth to it (Hallmark mentioned above, people defintely have a feeling of guilt if they fail to remember and send in time a card to deal with all of this.) But presents are another thing, and this dials in young and younger. My son's children seem to have a steady social calendar of birthday parties, the question is how many can be celebrated, and perhaps afforded? To this cynical, old codger it seems that for certain social classes this may be a line item.

Now, to the point. Several years ago when I began "farming" in a community in Wisconsin one of the farmers said that if you made it to 80 you deserved a party, and could expect one. So when this self same man reached the age he was roasted and toasted in a local bar, his son was the M.C., it was a terrific event. Well, later on his younger brother (Lester had passed on by this time) came of age and a roaring party was given for him, at the same place. Now, on the cusp of 80 I am qualified and am in the process of having a party in June. I have some serious question about this but will go ahead with the idea that I am actually celebrating those who come, and will toast them for having stayed with me, bless their hearts