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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

Industrial Hemp & Marijuana

Hemp, Industrial  -  I would like to suggest that you get a DVD copy of "Hempsters"  and get the story on commercial hemp production.  One of the tragedies today for agriculture is that we lack vital crops which could take the place of some which either cannot be grown and shouldn't be:   tobacco for one,  GMO crops for another.   Hemp was grown widely in the U.S. during the second world war and is grown commercially all over the world,  including Canada.  If it gets planted here the  DEA comes in a removes it and the grower is prosecuted. 

What is the confusion?  Seems that the DEA/U.S. Government doesn't understand that although Hemp is in the same plant family as marijuana,  they are very different plants and the affect of using them is completely different.  Marijuana, which was approved for personal use in two states in the last election,  and is now used widely as a medicinal  substance in several states is still widely considered illegal by government authorities.   Thus the confused actions of the DEA where industrial hemp is concerned.   Kentucky is the state leading the charge to replace tobacco with hemp as a replacement cash  crop.  The fight goes on,  the National Farmer Union has approved it as a crop that should be grown in the United States.  

Have I smoked pot?  Yes,  more than a few times,  many years ago;   but I could never have been considered a "user"  of it.  So,  I would like to share a couple of stories from California about the plant.  The first was in L.A. when I attended USC for graduate work.  Looking down out the bathroom window into the adjacent alley I watched a man go up and down attending plants.  I went down later on and found that marijuana plants had been planted in many yards in the block,  and this fellow was obviously taking care of them and harvesting as needed;  the home owners took care of the watering and, I guess,  some of the weeding.   Ron Le B. was a crafty fellow who I met shortly thereafter and he offered to give me some pot if I could keep his secret.  Instead we became fellow jazz loving neighbors,  he made it possible for me to go to after hours places in parts of town in which I wouldn't have been welcomed without his  (black) presence;   and I had wheels and he had not. 

Years later in Venice, Calif.  there was a local named "Shag" Nightingale ("Shag" because he loved shag carpet and used in heavily in his residence,  and even in his car).  Shag was  a dealer,  but he went to prison because he didn't keep up with child support.  Turns out that while in jail he was put in charge of road crews doing clean ups on the Pacific Coast Highway.  And, like Mr. Le B. he managed to plant pot along the road which was then harvested at  surreptitious times and sold in the community by civilian crews.  When he finished his sentence he returned to Venice after having picked up a brand  new El Dorado Cadillac,  which was then upholstered in shag.   Could it be that these two law abiding citizens might be an avant garde which would go beyond our present drug wars?  Stay tuned.

Knowledge, Love & Forgiveness

In front of the volume of "Thrall"" by our great, new Poet Laureate,  Natasha Trethewey,   there are two quotations which she undoubtedly approved of:        "What is love?

                                                                                    One name for it is knowledge. "

                                                                                               -- Robert Penn Warren
&   "After such knowledge, what forgiveness?"

                    --   T.S. Eliot

When I first read these my response was something akin to being blindsided on both sides at once, perhaps the intention of the poet.  Knowledge/Information is so all pervasive,  so ever present and confusing to me,  that is is completely impossible to think of it as love,  not even close.  And then to add the forgiveness factor is a change up so wild as to confound what is left of reason, to say the least.

In an age of doublespeak,  where there are both individuals and organizations  employed full time to do the utter scrambling of knowledge and information (and I think of Global Warming right now,  because it is so much in the news);  one has to shake his or her head just to imagine all the think tanks dedicated to information manipulation to satisfy their clients and sponsors,  unseat opponents,  win elections, etc.

In the naive days when I first graduated from library school,  it seemed enough to cite a reference deemed authoritative to a patron, and thus be satisfied that you had done an objective, professional job for them.  Little did we know that this house of cards would come down harder and harder, and that eventually the Internet would step in and provide so many sources,  so much information and knowledge  that to imagine an authority would be somewhat laughable.  I guess we can be forgiven
for that,  but to back up and imagine love and knowledge together is just to be blind sided again.