Apologies for the prolonged absence, I've been making notes for the BLOG and my intention is to be better about blogging those. Meanwhile, the terms of "elder" and other such words are in transition, probably with the Boomers; thus "late state adult" showed up in the New York Times awhile back. Who knows where it will go next? I've recently received the advanced notice for the "2014 Senior Americans Day," "Fun, fit, focused and fulfilled!", "26 Years of Being Positively Ageless." Aye, Senior American. My intuition was to suggest that the Grey Panthers be invited to do a presentation.
Vamos a ver.
The subject this time is dread, dreading change. William McFee in his excellent book on the merchant marine ("To Catch a Ship") captures this with the feeling which can happen when some one signs on a ship and then goes to it and up the gang plank. The dread can be palitable because you seldom if ever know what the crew is like, the captain and officers, the physical conditions, and what the journey/journies will bring.
When I went the last time from San Francisco to Portland to join the crew of a ship in dry dock there I drank my way north on a Greyhound bus. And when I got to the shipyard in a driving rain, soaked
and in rough shape, the gang plank looked to be pretty much straight up. Strangely it was wide enough for two people and a half way up a shipmate leaving for town said three words: "She's a feeder" (which was a close as I was going to get to a greeting, the food was going to be tolerable). Which was enough. The bunk felt much better that night for those few words. Gracias, senor.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Friday, June 14, 2013
Familiarity Breeds Contempt
One might guess that this could be attributed to Oscar Wilde, it originates with a Roman philosopher named Apuleius (124 AD - l70 AD); the second part of the quote is: "While Rarity Wins Admiration." In an age where privacy is given up to surveillance, where intimacy is sacrificed to bad taste, public confession and support, the possibilities of contempt seem endless. For those willing not to tempt the paparazzi into a chase, there may be a diminishing possibility of the rarity which wins admiration.
I've said earlier in this BLOG that the hazards of individuality in this time seem endless, and those hazarded by familiarity seem to be the most tragic. The cute approach to information (a very telling example of familiarity) and self serving promotion is one of the most blatant examples of the the hazards. Even organizations such at National Public Radio are indulging in this, perhaps because of the view that this is necessary for fund raising. And that may indeed be true. Sad if so, familiarity
breeds contempt.
I've said earlier in this BLOG that the hazards of individuality in this time seem endless, and those hazarded by familiarity seem to be the most tragic. The cute approach to information (a very telling example of familiarity) and self serving promotion is one of the most blatant examples of the the hazards. Even organizations such at National Public Radio are indulging in this, perhaps because of the view that this is necessary for fund raising. And that may indeed be true. Sad if so, familiarity
breeds contempt.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Close Calls
Having lived as long as I have, I have had many so-called "close calls." Recalling a California memory for my son Aaron last week, I then elaborated it in memory, both as it seems in reality; and then as an extension of memory. During my last residence in Venice (Calif.) I body surfed at night sometimes below the fishing piers with a group of crazies. Sometimes we were on acid, sometimes we had smoked "dope," I guess at times just alcohol was involved, and often none-of-the-above.
As I shared with him, I do not have a single memory of anyone having really hit one of those piers, but it had to have happened over the years, without doubt. I had a close call where I just kind grazed one, tore up the skin on an arm and it got me out of the water for an examination. The fictional account included splinters, blood and a creosote smell, but did not, when I try to sort it out, really happen (?).
The is a prelude to an advertisement for a time when I will not longer be able to write this BLOG. It will be when my "wake" is to be held along Highway 35 in Wisconsin, from Bay City to Fountain City, all the small towns, camping places, parks, bars and restaurants, shops, and the like. This will be to celebrate i m p e r m a n c e (especially those who come, but mine as well). My hope is the people will wear orange clothing, hats and such so they can identify each other as part of the celebration. My further hope is that no one disqualify themselves because of time or money limitations. You can stay as long or short as you wish, and in any manner you can afford (eg. if you cannot afford lodging, fine, sleep during the day on beach, in a car or truck ... whatever works).
When will you know when this is going to happen? My wife, sons and associates will hit the grape vine, and this BLOG will provide lists of resources for your use. For example, the A-Z Farm, above Stockholm on the bluff has a pizza dinner on their grounds every Tuesday evening. My hope is that there might be a gathering there at least once. Overlooking Alma is a park not to be missed, Buena Vista. I would be hugely pleased if people could come there as part of their stay on the coast.
A three CD album set of music has been prepared by a good friend from Minneapolis, and that will be available for audio celebration Enough, for now. Thanks in advance for coming. Zoom, Don
As I shared with him, I do not have a single memory of anyone having really hit one of those piers, but it had to have happened over the years, without doubt. I had a close call where I just kind grazed one, tore up the skin on an arm and it got me out of the water for an examination. The fictional account included splinters, blood and a creosote smell, but did not, when I try to sort it out, really happen (?).
The is a prelude to an advertisement for a time when I will not longer be able to write this BLOG. It will be when my "wake" is to be held along Highway 35 in Wisconsin, from Bay City to Fountain City, all the small towns, camping places, parks, bars and restaurants, shops, and the like. This will be to celebrate i m p e r m a n c e (especially those who come, but mine as well). My hope is the people will wear orange clothing, hats and such so they can identify each other as part of the celebration. My further hope is that no one disqualify themselves because of time or money limitations. You can stay as long or short as you wish, and in any manner you can afford (eg. if you cannot afford lodging, fine, sleep during the day on beach, in a car or truck ... whatever works).
When will you know when this is going to happen? My wife, sons and associates will hit the grape vine, and this BLOG will provide lists of resources for your use. For example, the A-Z Farm, above Stockholm on the bluff has a pizza dinner on their grounds every Tuesday evening. My hope is that there might be a gathering there at least once. Overlooking Alma is a park not to be missed, Buena Vista. I would be hugely pleased if people could come there as part of their stay on the coast.
A three CD album set of music has been prepared by a good friend from Minneapolis, and that will be available for audio celebration Enough, for now. Thanks in advance for coming. Zoom, Don
Monday, April 29, 2013
An Open Letter to the President of These United States
4/29/13 Dear President Obama:
With all due respect, I would like to share some humble opinions from the hinterlands. My feeling is that you are too much in touch with the power brokers, the revolving door swingers and the like, with not enough "input" from the trenches and back roads. This is from a BLOG written in farmland, it will also be published in the "Hay River Review" in Prairie Farm, Wisconsin.
Although I have never held public office I have an enormous amount of respect for what you and the Vice President do, including and especially the part that has to do with vital memory, applying thought to problem solving and the like; extrapolation, crucial in times like ours. With that in mind I am going to start with your latest trips to Boston and Texas. Part chaplain, part cheerleader with the weight of your office behind you, you become, willy nilly, a publicist for terrorists and a mourner for victims and a mourner and celebrator of first responders . What often gets lost are the meanings attendant to issues like the fertilizer plant (the lack of inspections there - 5, 10 years, the violations involved by the plant -- eg. the huge amount of anhydrous ammonia stored there (270 tons/54,000 pounds), adjacent to a school, senior citizen housing, and houses! Nothing said about this, the focus was put on the loss of the first responders and their families.
With the XL Pipeline on deck we have next to no response by the White House to the Mayflower, Arkansas tragedy. It is as if it this Pegasus Pipeline is a "sacrifice zone," a not to be talked about precursor of the mammoth XL in the West. The same goes for the behemoth Shell Kulick oil rig in the Artic. Hardly mentioned in the media, it as if the weather conditions which have been described in great detail up there just have no bearing on what is done or not. Corporate energy power is almost sacrosanct, and you needn't dial back far to discover that there is plenty of BP oil on the shores of the Gulf; and Williwas in the Artic are considered just a figment of indigenous imagination, or cries of leftist weather wimps.
Weather and the response of corporate and governmental power to it. Mother Nature has lashed back with unbelievable fury, the bills paid in part for Katy are instructive, the earlier ones in New Orleans and the South are by now assumed, but are unfinished, incomplete, as well. Part of the deal, as we know too well out here in farmland, is that continual droughts and challenging weather condi- tions take a tremendous toll on agriculture, and how much is that mentioned in Washington (?). The latest absurdity there was that you signed the spending bill with a very dangerous Monsanto rider in it, something that will unleash a huge amount of genetic engineering mischief with alfalfa crops. Can it be that Mr. Vilsack missed providing you with information about this outrage (?), or are his and the USDA's ties to giant agribusiness such that it was a fait accompli.
In order to make all this work Air Force One has to be a "frequent flier," which means that our very fragile atmosphere (ozone layer) takes a beating as yet another assumption. Again, little or nothing said, a lot assumed. We are doing our best out here and it isn't good enough. It was only a week or so ago that we had a lot snow on the ground, now that soil seems to be as "dry as dust," as I heard someone say yesterday ... and the temperature today was in the seventies. You are doing a lot of praying, Mr. President, don't forget the farmers and growers, and Mother Nature. Thank you.
Respectfully, Don Roberts - in Otter Creek
With all due respect, I would like to share some humble opinions from the hinterlands. My feeling is that you are too much in touch with the power brokers, the revolving door swingers and the like, with not enough "input" from the trenches and back roads. This is from a BLOG written in farmland, it will also be published in the "Hay River Review" in Prairie Farm, Wisconsin.
Although I have never held public office I have an enormous amount of respect for what you and the Vice President do, including and especially the part that has to do with vital memory, applying thought to problem solving and the like; extrapolation, crucial in times like ours. With that in mind I am going to start with your latest trips to Boston and Texas. Part chaplain, part cheerleader with the weight of your office behind you, you become, willy nilly, a publicist for terrorists and a mourner for victims and a mourner and celebrator of first responders . What often gets lost are the meanings attendant to issues like the fertilizer plant (the lack of inspections there - 5, 10 years, the violations involved by the plant -- eg. the huge amount of anhydrous ammonia stored there (270 tons/54,000 pounds), adjacent to a school, senior citizen housing, and houses! Nothing said about this, the focus was put on the loss of the first responders and their families.
With the XL Pipeline on deck we have next to no response by the White House to the Mayflower, Arkansas tragedy. It is as if it this Pegasus Pipeline is a "sacrifice zone," a not to be talked about precursor of the mammoth XL in the West. The same goes for the behemoth Shell Kulick oil rig in the Artic. Hardly mentioned in the media, it as if the weather conditions which have been described in great detail up there just have no bearing on what is done or not. Corporate energy power is almost sacrosanct, and you needn't dial back far to discover that there is plenty of BP oil on the shores of the Gulf; and Williwas in the Artic are considered just a figment of indigenous imagination, or cries of leftist weather wimps.
Weather and the response of corporate and governmental power to it. Mother Nature has lashed back with unbelievable fury, the bills paid in part for Katy are instructive, the earlier ones in New Orleans and the South are by now assumed, but are unfinished, incomplete, as well. Part of the deal, as we know too well out here in farmland, is that continual droughts and challenging weather condi- tions take a tremendous toll on agriculture, and how much is that mentioned in Washington (?). The latest absurdity there was that you signed the spending bill with a very dangerous Monsanto rider in it, something that will unleash a huge amount of genetic engineering mischief with alfalfa crops. Can it be that Mr. Vilsack missed providing you with information about this outrage (?), or are his and the USDA's ties to giant agribusiness such that it was a fait accompli.
In order to make all this work Air Force One has to be a "frequent flier," which means that our very fragile atmosphere (ozone layer) takes a beating as yet another assumption. Again, little or nothing said, a lot assumed. We are doing our best out here and it isn't good enough. It was only a week or so ago that we had a lot snow on the ground, now that soil seems to be as "dry as dust," as I heard someone say yesterday ... and the temperature today was in the seventies. You are doing a lot of praying, Mr. President, don't forget the farmers and growers, and Mother Nature. Thank you.
Respectfully, Don Roberts - in Otter Creek
Sunday, March 24, 2013
John Clayton
Johnny Clayton came through the door of the Venice Public Library, sometimes with his siblings with him. It was the sixties, the family lived a few doors to the East. Mother worked at the Post Office & the children needed a place of be ... the Father gone elsewhere. Soon Johnny asked if there might be a job he might fill; and luckily we had one, shelving books.
It wasn't long there after that he asked if we might like to have his band play in the Library (we had started some performances and such) and we said "yes." The quartet was composed of Johnny and his fellow students and they were quite good. Then he and I did a project to build a collection of LPs to play in the Library and circulate.
I went on to Buffalo, N.Y. to teach library school and Johnny won a full scholarship to Indiana University in music. Later I heard that he had played an extremely difficult bass concerto to complete his degree there, and later on I heard from him on the phone in Minneapolis; he was playing with Count Basie and could I come that evening and hear them?
Now I am honored to count John Clayton among my friends, treasure his recordings and still know his family. We have kept in touch, and I was so pleased when he came to the Los Angeles Airport to pick me up during a visit to Venice and its' environs a few years ago. I want to ask that you get to know John and his music too, first by going to his website at John Clayton Jazz.com and then to You Tube to hear both his small group and orchestra. Specifically I would like you to hear his rendition of the great Stevie Wonder tune, "You won't go when I go,' and know that this song is deeply embedded in my "Last Exit"/impermanence recordings put together by another friend, David Motzenbecker.
It wasn't long there after that he asked if we might like to have his band play in the Library (we had started some performances and such) and we said "yes." The quartet was composed of Johnny and his fellow students and they were quite good. Then he and I did a project to build a collection of LPs to play in the Library and circulate.
I went on to Buffalo, N.Y. to teach library school and Johnny won a full scholarship to Indiana University in music. Later I heard that he had played an extremely difficult bass concerto to complete his degree there, and later on I heard from him on the phone in Minneapolis; he was playing with Count Basie and could I come that evening and hear them?
Now I am honored to count John Clayton among my friends, treasure his recordings and still know his family. We have kept in touch, and I was so pleased when he came to the Los Angeles Airport to pick me up during a visit to Venice and its' environs a few years ago. I want to ask that you get to know John and his music too, first by going to his website at John Clayton Jazz.com and then to You Tube to hear both his small group and orchestra. Specifically I would like you to hear his rendition of the great Stevie Wonder tune, "You won't go when I go,' and know that this song is deeply embedded in my "Last Exit"/impermanence recordings put together by another friend, David Motzenbecker.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Elder & Midgit
What set me off here, oh yes, I know, the description of a senior citizen conference I am going to attend later in the month: "Celebrating 25 years of being positively ageless!" My sons (they were about 6) were at a power intersection in Minneapolis, Hennepin and Lake. Great place to watch people, and (bingo!) an ancient man walked across the cross walk, undoubtedly going for a bus there. Cane in hand, bent over, legs in questionable shape, my boys couldn't get their eyes off of him.
Well, he decided to honor their stares with a description of his age, one that was honorable, had taken some beatings getting there, but with the help of his trusty cane still mobile, thank you. I don't think to that date they had ever seen anyone as old, certainly not with his mobility. They kind of smiled, I (as I recall) thanked him for his understanding, and we went on.
Later, however, in a different cross walk at the same intersection, A & A saw a midget woman and, again, couldn't get their eyes off of her. She came at us, struggled up on the curb, and ask "what you little son of bitches are looking at?" They kind of shrunk back, said a few apologetic words, she wished us a "good day" and went to her bus stop. I had seen her before and was to see her again, this intersection was part of her travel routine and as I went to the Post Office storefront and a store there fairly often she was a part of things. I don't think the boys saw her again, and if they had it might have been "interesting" to see how they handled it.
Well, back to the e l d e r l y & our coming celebration. Another memory to share and I will close this. On Geary St. in San Francisco when in and out of there I frequented a sailor's bar. There was an ancient crone who came in to cage drinks and flirt with us. She dressed like a gypsy, and often challenged us to food races down the block for drinks. Unless you were hopelessly drunk it was quite easy to beat her, but often we let her win as part of our understanding of the dynamics of the situation. Now, why (I ask) isn't if OK to not be "positively ageless," to show and enjoy the bumps and grinds you have been through in your life? It seems to this old duffer that that is perfectly acceptable, perhaps much better than even trying to be "ageless!"
Well, he decided to honor their stares with a description of his age, one that was honorable, had taken some beatings getting there, but with the help of his trusty cane still mobile, thank you. I don't think to that date they had ever seen anyone as old, certainly not with his mobility. They kind of smiled, I (as I recall) thanked him for his understanding, and we went on.
Later, however, in a different cross walk at the same intersection, A & A saw a midget woman and, again, couldn't get their eyes off of her. She came at us, struggled up on the curb, and ask "what you little son of bitches are looking at?" They kind of shrunk back, said a few apologetic words, she wished us a "good day" and went to her bus stop. I had seen her before and was to see her again, this intersection was part of her travel routine and as I went to the Post Office storefront and a store there fairly often she was a part of things. I don't think the boys saw her again, and if they had it might have been "interesting" to see how they handled it.
Well, back to the e l d e r l y & our coming celebration. Another memory to share and I will close this. On Geary St. in San Francisco when in and out of there I frequented a sailor's bar. There was an ancient crone who came in to cage drinks and flirt with us. She dressed like a gypsy, and often challenged us to food races down the block for drinks. Unless you were hopelessly drunk it was quite easy to beat her, but often we let her win as part of our understanding of the dynamics of the situation. Now, why (I ask) isn't if OK to not be "positively ageless," to show and enjoy the bumps and grinds you have been through in your life? It seems to this old duffer that that is perfectly acceptable, perhaps much better than even trying to be "ageless!"
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Baby Talk and Cutesy
I have been put off my entire life by baby talk, the talking down to someone, especially children and elderly people; and especially with a change of voice tone, plus attitude. Cutesy talk is the reverse side of the same "coin," and is equally disgusting in my view. I may be wrong, but my feeling is that this is especially endemic with the so-called "Boomer" generation, although I know it goes back far before that generation became so dominant in our society and will undoubtedly be an influence in other generations extant and to come.
It may be that I am a little oversensitive as an eighty year old, because I am a prime candidate for such talk and attitude. And I have watched/listened in horror as I've observed "care givers" indulging in this stuff with people I know. One of my dear friends has the added complication of forgetfulness and dementia, so that people caring for him seemingly do not have to be cognizant of any insults which may be given to him via their attitudes (!).
Thinking about this for myself, I discovered a kind of parallel problem when trying to speak with people in other countries in their language, or in a simplified version of English. You want to "get through," but (and I can remember several very insulting incidents to this day) then found that either the person I was speaking with was fluent in English, or was offended that I subjected them to what amounted to baby talk in their language.
Thinking back to my own family, I never remembered my Father or Uncles baby talking to my Grand Mother Nellie Mae in anything close to baby talk. The same goes for Grand Father Roberts, although he didn't live to a "ripe old age," and thus be potentially subjected to such talk. As for my Father and Mother, I don't remember them being subjected to the baby nor the cutesy either. Can I ask the dear reader of this to be careful in this area of speech? Thank you, much appreciated.
It may be that I am a little oversensitive as an eighty year old, because I am a prime candidate for such talk and attitude. And I have watched/listened in horror as I've observed "care givers" indulging in this stuff with people I know. One of my dear friends has the added complication of forgetfulness and dementia, so that people caring for him seemingly do not have to be cognizant of any insults which may be given to him via their attitudes (!).
Thinking about this for myself, I discovered a kind of parallel problem when trying to speak with people in other countries in their language, or in a simplified version of English. You want to "get through," but (and I can remember several very insulting incidents to this day) then found that either the person I was speaking with was fluent in English, or was offended that I subjected them to what amounted to baby talk in their language.
Thinking back to my own family, I never remembered my Father or Uncles baby talking to my Grand Mother Nellie Mae in anything close to baby talk. The same goes for Grand Father Roberts, although he didn't live to a "ripe old age," and thus be potentially subjected to such talk. As for my Father and Mother, I don't remember them being subjected to the baby nor the cutesy either. Can I ask the dear reader of this to be careful in this area of speech? Thank you, much appreciated.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Hysteria Hype
It may be my age that makes the "tenor" of current events so e x t r e m e, so watching television and listening to radio lately has been a bit more scary. The advertising, which is no stranger to hype, has become even more edgy, in your face, including the teasers for shows to come. Even NPR & PBS indulge in these extremes now, and it make me wonder if we have passed through yet another veil into a twilight zone which all but precludes the participation of someone raised in a totally different time (?). Sitting in a local bar watching cable a few weeks ago took this even further, a reach I didn't know existed.
Conditioning is undoubtedly important here, and how much can we go on which says that our basic templates were laid down by the time we were five or six years old? How much has that changed in the last decades? Can we really be conditioned and reconditioned, over and over again, so that we will accept a kind of Orwellian reality where waves and waves of electronically driven "inputs" can make acceptable what is clearly not, nor, I think, ever was.
Everything from fast food deserts advertising, to the trailers for cop/doctor/adventure shows describe a recklessness which is close to abandon. & yet the people who create and participate in the production of these would be hooks and snares have to get in their cars and go home after work, just like everyone else (?). To keep upping the ante seems analogous to the cautions urged by conservationists end environmentalists on the continued desire by breakaway capitalism for growth and more growth. Some bewildered bumper sticker maker said it some time ago: "Stop the World, I Want to Get Off."
Conditioning is undoubtedly important here, and how much can we go on which says that our basic templates were laid down by the time we were five or six years old? How much has that changed in the last decades? Can we really be conditioned and reconditioned, over and over again, so that we will accept a kind of Orwellian reality where waves and waves of electronically driven "inputs" can make acceptable what is clearly not, nor, I think, ever was.
Everything from fast food deserts advertising, to the trailers for cop/doctor/adventure shows describe a recklessness which is close to abandon. & yet the people who create and participate in the production of these would be hooks and snares have to get in their cars and go home after work, just like everyone else (?). To keep upping the ante seems analogous to the cautions urged by conservationists end environmentalists on the continued desire by breakaway capitalism for growth and more growth. Some bewildered bumper sticker maker said it some time ago: "Stop the World, I Want to Get Off."
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Jason Collins, Saxophonist & Composter
Jay Collins is an extraordinary musician who lives in our "neighborhood" with his wife, Charis, her Sister Becka and her Husband Chris Newhouse and all their children ... on Lostview Farm. Jay also teaches at a middle school in Menomonie, English and writing. I have had the honor of a tune composed for me by this man, "Blues for the Man in the Orange Shirt," and I invite you to dial this up by going to the links in my Blog and thus be able to hear it and some other tunes. It features one of the most exceptional of instruments, the baritone sax. Enjoy, I hope you get to hear this man and his group in person one of these days.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Home Less
Early memories of what are now called the "home less" are few, although the Depression era meant that we had people moving through our community in Los Angeles who were not residents, and who often asked for support, had something to sell, or offered to work or provide services. They came, as I recall to the side door in the back, not the front door. Our very modest duplex was right on a main boulevard, adjacent to an intersection, and thus we saw these people fairly often.
The number of indigent people has swelled over the years, and yet the problems associated with this go largely unmentioned in the media. Why? My suspicion is that it is very much a stigma to be without a place to live, and those who could report on this tend not to. A friend of ours runs what would have been called a "soup kitchen" in the Depression, and although she says they get fairly substantial support from the community for their services the media coverage is minimal.
My reacquaintence with homelessness came in Minneapolis several years ago, especially in two instances. One with a group of "caregivers" who were being sensitized to the issues by meeting with people without homes, talking with them and sharing a meal at a shelter. Very eye opening because we found out in short order what does not come over the news. Namely that many people do not go to shelters because they find them dehumanizing, would rather sleep under a bridge, or in a car, whatever. They will come to a "kitchen," but will chance death by even sleeping out in subzero conditions if they have to. I carried a sign for a man named Eugene who died of exposure back then on a walk from Sharing and Caring Hands to the Simpson Shelter to highlight the tragedies of home- lessness in the Upper Midwest. I still have that sign and have it out right now to remind myself of the conditions which surround us in America.
The second was because of a chance encounter with a person who reminded me of the huge population of homeless people in Calif., which I mostly observed in Venice. The benign weather there means that by far California has the greatest number of people living on the street, and that many of them barely exist in a "climate" of competition for resources For example, there is a shelter not far from where I lived that provided a place to wash clothes, take a (cold) shower, and get a peanut butter sandwich and coffee at midday. Otherwise it was pan handling in order to eat in what is now known as "food deserts," places which sell substandard food/drinks as food. Which brings me front and center to why I wrote this. I want to call attention of these food deserts (urban and rural - see the USDA descriptions under Agricultural Marketing Service). Will our President mention these problems in his Inaugural Address next Tuesday? Doubtful, and tragic. Mum's the word.
Early memories of what are now called the "home less" are few, although the Depression era meant that we had people moving through our community in Los Angeles who were not residents, and who often asked for support, had something to sell, or offered to work or provide services. They came, as I recall to the side door in the back, not the front door. Our very modest duplex was right on a main boulevard, adjacent to an intersection, and thus we saw these people fairly often.
The number of indigent people has swelled over the years, and yet the problems associated with this go largely unmentioned in the media. Why? My suspicion is that it is very much a stigma to be without a place to live, and those who could report on this tend not to. A friend of ours runs what would have been called a "soup kitchen" in the Depression, and although she says they get fairly substantial support from the community for their services the media coverage is minimal.
My reacquaintence with homelessness came in Minneapolis several years ago, especially in two instances. One with a group of "caregivers" who were being sensitized to the issues by meeting with people without homes, talking with them and sharing a meal at a shelter. Very eye opening because we found out in short order what does not come over the news. Namely that many people do not go to shelters because they find them dehumanizing, would rather sleep under a bridge, or in a car, whatever. They will come to a "kitchen," but will chance death by even sleeping out in subzero conditions if they have to. I carried a sign for a man named Eugene who died of exposure back then on a walk from Sharing and Caring Hands to the Simpson Shelter to highlight the tragedies of home- lessness in the Upper Midwest. I still have that sign and have it out right now to remind myself of the conditions which surround us in America.
The second was because of a chance encounter with a person who reminded me of the huge population of homeless people in Calif., which I mostly observed in Venice. The benign weather there means that by far California has the greatest number of people living on the street, and that many of them barely exist in a "climate" of competition for resources For example, there is a shelter not far from where I lived that provided a place to wash clothes, take a (cold) shower, and get a peanut butter sandwich and coffee at midday. Otherwise it was pan handling in order to eat in what is now known as "food deserts," places which sell substandard food/drinks as food. Which brings me front and center to why I wrote this. I want to call attention of these food deserts (urban and rural - see the USDA descriptions under Agricultural Marketing Service). Will our President mention these problems in his Inaugural Address next Tuesday? Doubtful, and tragic. Mum's the word.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Shot Gun Approach --- Pardon me, Dear Reader, but I am going to continue with a kind of scattered
approach until I can settle down into more organized writing. Perhaps I am reading too much, am setting the bar a little high, and to continue with a bunch of subjects joined in a single Blog entry will appear as backing into the year 2013's entries. Please have faith in me. Let me say before i proceed that my personal campaigns for this year will be p o v e r t y/food deserts and substandard housing, namely house trailers. These are subjects that have nearly no focus in our media outlets, I hope you will do what you can get gain a focus on these in your communities.
The so-called "bubble" is an insiders term for the space (or spaces) within which the power resides in Washington. This area is very jealously protected by secrecy, national security paranoia, and the confines of the power elite, military/industrial complex and corporate wealth and influence. Thus the bubble can include everything from the justification of illegal war (drones), to the unwillingness to fully engage in new and radical policies in energy production, and the accompanying stubborn attitudes about weather change/global warming. From the bulletproof limousine, to Air force 1, to the White House, the President is presented with options which absolutely run counter to his stated personal ideals. Torture, illegal detention and other constitutional violations are forgiven within the bubble, as expedient. The number of correspondents to take this on is minuscule, and that may just continue to be. "Learn, baby Learn," the bubble is a luxury that we cannot afford, now or later.
The new commemorative stamp issued for Rosa Parks last Monday, on what would have been her 100 birthday, is a tiny sign of hope ... accompanied by the slogan word "COURAGE." Courageous she was, and I invite you to examine her life and its ideals for action. Typically Martin Luther King is given the credit for the Montgomery Bus Boycott, which in great part he deserves; but Rosa kicked it off and instigated by her example a tough path for nonviolent action. She was asked at one point who her main hero was. Her answer was "Malcolm X," certainly unexpected in many quarters, but in complete character for her.
Another hero, and then I will put away the shotgun for the night. Many years ago I took my sons for a week in Northern Minnesota at a former fishing camp; being changed to a kind of spiritual, "New Age" center by some folks from Minneapolis. A main figure in the camp was a musher who in winter time "ran" dogs in a variety of ways (winter survival, rescue, racing, etc.), and worked around the camp as a kind of handyman, watchman, etc., who had already spawned some incredible stories before we got there. Well, he had the dogs up in a meadow quite aways above the camp on a hillside. We showed interest and he invited us up. Not long after we arrived and started to get to know the dogs, my son, Alexander, stepped into a full scale wasps nest ... and was in an instant covered with the critters. Without a pause, Baba grabbed him, threw him over his shoulder and ran down the steep hillside. Alexander's temperature had climbed to 105 by the time he put him in fish ice bait tank. And then a woman who was presumed to be a nurse showed up with a shot kit. Next after a quick trip to the nearest town and hospital Alexander was stabilized and ready to enjoy the rest of the week. Years later while visiting a musher on Bear Skin Lake I discovered that Baba was his best friend, they live in the same town and he would put us in touch with each other. Ultimately my son Alexander was able to feed Baba and his family at one of his restaurants in the Twin Cities, and this Winter Baba and I were able to get together in Gran Marais and share stories and keep a precious continuity often missed in these times. Baba is truly a family hero to us.
approach until I can settle down into more organized writing. Perhaps I am reading too much, am setting the bar a little high, and to continue with a bunch of subjects joined in a single Blog entry will appear as backing into the year 2013's entries. Please have faith in me. Let me say before i proceed that my personal campaigns for this year will be p o v e r t y/food deserts and substandard housing, namely house trailers. These are subjects that have nearly no focus in our media outlets, I hope you will do what you can get gain a focus on these in your communities.
The so-called "bubble" is an insiders term for the space (or spaces) within which the power resides in Washington. This area is very jealously protected by secrecy, national security paranoia, and the confines of the power elite, military/industrial complex and corporate wealth and influence. Thus the bubble can include everything from the justification of illegal war (drones), to the unwillingness to fully engage in new and radical policies in energy production, and the accompanying stubborn attitudes about weather change/global warming. From the bulletproof limousine, to Air force 1, to the White House, the President is presented with options which absolutely run counter to his stated personal ideals. Torture, illegal detention and other constitutional violations are forgiven within the bubble, as expedient. The number of correspondents to take this on is minuscule, and that may just continue to be. "Learn, baby Learn," the bubble is a luxury that we cannot afford, now or later.
The new commemorative stamp issued for Rosa Parks last Monday, on what would have been her 100 birthday, is a tiny sign of hope ... accompanied by the slogan word "COURAGE." Courageous she was, and I invite you to examine her life and its ideals for action. Typically Martin Luther King is given the credit for the Montgomery Bus Boycott, which in great part he deserves; but Rosa kicked it off and instigated by her example a tough path for nonviolent action. She was asked at one point who her main hero was. Her answer was "Malcolm X," certainly unexpected in many quarters, but in complete character for her.
Another hero, and then I will put away the shotgun for the night. Many years ago I took my sons for a week in Northern Minnesota at a former fishing camp; being changed to a kind of spiritual, "New Age" center by some folks from Minneapolis. A main figure in the camp was a musher who in winter time "ran" dogs in a variety of ways (winter survival, rescue, racing, etc.), and worked around the camp as a kind of handyman, watchman, etc., who had already spawned some incredible stories before we got there. Well, he had the dogs up in a meadow quite aways above the camp on a hillside. We showed interest and he invited us up. Not long after we arrived and started to get to know the dogs, my son, Alexander, stepped into a full scale wasps nest ... and was in an instant covered with the critters. Without a pause, Baba grabbed him, threw him over his shoulder and ran down the steep hillside. Alexander's temperature had climbed to 105 by the time he put him in fish ice bait tank. And then a woman who was presumed to be a nurse showed up with a shot kit. Next after a quick trip to the nearest town and hospital Alexander was stabilized and ready to enjoy the rest of the week. Years later while visiting a musher on Bear Skin Lake I discovered that Baba was his best friend, they live in the same town and he would put us in touch with each other. Ultimately my son Alexander was able to feed Baba and his family at one of his restaurants in the Twin Cities, and this Winter Baba and I were able to get together in Gran Marais and share stories and keep a precious continuity often missed in these times. Baba is truly a family hero to us.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
It is now the 22nd of January and I've had comments about the absence of blog writing. No excuses & I intend to do better. It isn't for the absence of subject matter, that is glaringly plentiful, as I will soon describe. It may be that to be "swimming" in topics, stories and like appears to be disarming. At the moment I am looking at a postcard image of a polar bear trying to jump from one ice flow to another, while thinking about the giant oil rig being towed to Seattle for maintenance and repairs. What would our Commander-In-Chief think or comment about the imagery? It is heartbreaking and undescribed in our media. Just as so much else, such as poverty, the so-called food deserts, urban and suburban, and tales of bone chilling cold for those who do not have adequate housing, shelter from the wind.
MPR had a show today about the possibility of changing our Nation's credo for the world and our foreign relations stance. It seems we have worn out our penchant for "Manifest Destiny" and self righteous preaching about our role model nation and its' benefits to all concerned ... and not. The other candidate for President wanted to reinforce this credo and put behind it all the corporate ideals and power needed. Now it seems we are more on the fence about it, and we will see what happens.
Writing tonight about poetry to a dear friend I am heartened that poetry is holding its own in our bewildered world. Our new poet laureate in Wisconsin, Max Garland, is a gem and it will be a huge pleasure to meet him after having read one of his prize winning volumes. He is a grounded human being, a pleasure to read to say the least. And music, I look forward to accessing it digitally better in 2013. Again, music seems to gain more and more importance as this lurching, troubled planet proceeds along. One of my latest "finds" is a counter tenor from Germany, Andreas Scholl. Try him in his renditions of "Ombra mai fu" by George Frederick Handel (Akademie Fur Alte Musik, Berlin). Another dear Friend has helped me by producing three disks of music for my "Last Exit" strategies ...."Impermanence" the theme.
Good night, and may you be well and inspired in 2013. I appreciate your patience with me. Love, Don ps. The snow leopard pictured is inspired by the great, great Peter Matthiessen book, probably my favorite of all books. The cipher of the animal is deeply inspiring to me.
MPR had a show today about the possibility of changing our Nation's credo for the world and our foreign relations stance. It seems we have worn out our penchant for "Manifest Destiny" and self righteous preaching about our role model nation and its' benefits to all concerned ... and not. The other candidate for President wanted to reinforce this credo and put behind it all the corporate ideals and power needed. Now it seems we are more on the fence about it, and we will see what happens.
Writing tonight about poetry to a dear friend I am heartened that poetry is holding its own in our bewildered world. Our new poet laureate in Wisconsin, Max Garland, is a gem and it will be a huge pleasure to meet him after having read one of his prize winning volumes. He is a grounded human being, a pleasure to read to say the least. And music, I look forward to accessing it digitally better in 2013. Again, music seems to gain more and more importance as this lurching, troubled planet proceeds along. One of my latest "finds" is a counter tenor from Germany, Andreas Scholl. Try him in his renditions of "Ombra mai fu" by George Frederick Handel (Akademie Fur Alte Musik, Berlin). Another dear Friend has helped me by producing three disks of music for my "Last Exit" strategies ...."Impermanence" the theme.
Good night, and may you be well and inspired in 2013. I appreciate your patience with me. Love, Don ps. The snow leopard pictured is inspired by the great, great Peter Matthiessen book, probably my favorite of all books. The cipher of the animal is deeply inspiring to me.
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