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Showing posts from 2012

My Twoness

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This is the penultimate day of the year. The time when everything is "In Review." We take stock, we reflect, we try to make meaning out of life's random offerings. Often the tragedies get most attention, but I saw a small item the other day that merits it's own 15 minutes right here. Apparently, a guy went into a fast food restaurant recently and bought an item that cost slightly over a dollar. He was in possession of two pieces of legal tender, a $50 bill and a $2 bill, that most rarest of bills, if you don't count the $500 and %1,000. I guess. Anyway, the poor kid who worked there was offered the $2 bill as payment and rejected it after talking with the manager of the place. Both were of the opinion that it was fake; that there was no such thing as a $2 bill no matter how good Thomas Jefferson looked. The man then offered the $50 but was told it was too late in the evening to accept a "big bill." He could have left muttering to himself. I th

Perfectible

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Most people have a personality that fits into one of three basic types. Our behavior, overall, suggests that we are withdrawn types, aggressive, or compliant types. For those familiar with the Enneagram, these three branch out into nine types. Within that framework are all the sub types and variations. That may or may not be true. In any event, I am a compliant type. I have difficulty saying no, I was a "good" boy as a child, and I do not welcome confrontation. On the Enneagram, I am a NINE. The Peacemaker... I can be indolent when most unproductive, or I can be a gifted negotiator when my behavior is in peak form...the healthiest. I like to think I'm fairly evolved, so my years have taught me a few things. As a compliant type, I can often see the reasonableness of both sides of an issue. If there are more than two sides, I can see that too. Because I tend to be a bit more emotional than most, when I argue fiercely for a point of view, it usually comes aft

Snow on

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In the depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer. -Albert Camus We had a light dusting of snow this morning. For a minute there it looked like it might stick around for awhile. After the first 15 minutes it covered the lawns and topped the trees. Driving became difficult for a half hour or so because visibility became dotted with thick, fleecy flakes. By mid-day the clouds had cleared and all trace of white was gone. Always unexpected, any snowfall in Portland is a welcome change from the constant rain. Snow brings out the kids who yell and scream as if Santa or Justin Bieber, his damn self, was standing on the street corner. Inside, I'm quietly squealing a bit myself. One of my friends mentioned on a Facebook post that the snow, brief as it was,coincided with his reading of the names of the dead in the Newtown, Connecticut school shooting. He went on to say it helped him cry through his reading of the list.

On An....Open Fire

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I sit with my computer on my lap in a coffee shop on the Northwest side of town. This is not my neighborhood, but it is a small independent little place with a good selection of baked goods on the healthy side and great internet service. It's a crowded rainy Saturday morning. All ages come and go. Some with dogs, some with laptops, some overdressed, some underdressed. The noise gets progressively louder as more and more people begin this weekend a couple of weeks from Christmas day. As expected, the recent shootings, both here in Oregon, and in Connecticut are on people's minds. I pick up bits of conversation. People don't dwell on the topic. Some seem much more interested in gossiping about mutual friends, planned ski vacations, and the faltering, sputtering, it's up/it's down economy. I imaging property values and taxes are a common topic in this neck of the woods. From what I can tell, the prevalent feeling is that these overarmed, masked 20 someth

Room Service

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The world music community is remembering Ravi Shankar today. Like most Westerners, I first came into contact with the man and his music through Beatle George Harrison. From the wonderful s of Norwegian Wood to later recordings like Within and Without You, the Sitar became a welcome addition to the progression of Beatle music. But Shankar will be remembered for the virtuoso he was and his total mastery of the instrument. In fact, one of the stories that came up this week involved the uninitiated audience that showed up to one of Shankar's first American concerts. After a brief three minutes of music Shankar and his troupe stopped playing. They received a standing ovation. A smiling Ravi Shankar then announced "If you like our tuning up so much, hopefully you will like our music." My own little contribution to stories about Shankar's first days in the U.S.comes from a former roommate many years ago. Stan was originally from Brooklyn and found himself l

Almost Iconic

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This holiday season there will no doubt be a lot of folks receiving books. The perfect gift, right? OK, maybe not so more because you never know who has gone electronic and who has not. Either way, with the recent spate of memoirs by music icons, rock stars, and...well...survivors of the 60s, the likes of Keith Richards, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, and Robert Plant will do doubt make their way under a few trees. Some of these offerings are rather large too. Many, like their subjects are filled with vivid images, clouded memories, and rich experiences. They are often large volumes too. No doubt, there will be a few more coming down the road in a few years. We still haven't heard from many of the women who broke tradition, set trends, and sang their way into our souls. What we won't be getting, ever, are the recollections of a few of the best who never made it. We have bits and pieces. We have some film and video clips. We have, forever, the recordings. But no long life w

Re-deliver

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I took the small package out of my mailbox and naturally thought it was the book I'd ordered and knew was on the way. Not so fast. The house number was correct but the street was one block over. It's a fairly common mistake, right? Even the post Office makes mistakes from time to time. Next day I put a little post-it note on the envelope stating that it was delivered to the wrong address. Instead of attaching it to my mailbox, I put it next to the mailbox of my neighbor. Here's why. I live upstairs and my mailbox is outside at the base of the stairway leading to my front door. My neighbors live in the house below me and have a lovely covered front porch which includes their mail slot on their front door. It's Portland. It's winter. It rains almost daily. I figured the mail carrier would figure it out. Nope. Next day the package was back in my uncovered mailbox. Funny. For a minute or two. Disappointing that the carrier couldn't get past the

Midstream

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I read this morning of another former non-believer in global warming (oops, I mean climate change) having a change of heart. In recent months, it's not been uncommon to see some experts and not so experts change their minds. Perhaps the video footage of melting glaciers has something to do with it. Maybe after Hurricane Sandy much of the data merited a review by those most resistant to the idea. Of course, in thousands of years, there has always been a noticeable, if not predictable extreme in weather and climate. That our weather has been a bit "out of sorts" if not downright wacky, there can be no doubt. I expect to see more warming resistors going public in the month to come. That will leave only those who have an interest... a strong interest in disproving what most already know lining up on the opposite team. That got me thinking. How difficult is it for people to change sides when it comes to political arguments? It must take a special kind of courage t

To the Bone

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Recently I heard about a fairly new book making some waves in intellectual circles these days. The Spirit Level , by Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett argues that greater equality in a society makes for more strength. This means that when a society, or country's culture, has less of an income gap, the existence of social, economic, political, and even psychological problems lessens. Seems reasonable, if not mildly controversial. It is. In any case, I learned of this work from some folks on an educational list serve that I occasionally read and monitor. It's always nice to get a non-American perspective on educational issues currently in the public eye and this email list certainly delivers. One of the brief reviews quoted on the cover of the book states that its contents contains many findings that most of us know, "in our bones" to be the truth. To know in the bones is a fascinating expression. It's akin to intuitive learning. I've often held

Greed Squared

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It's no longer possible to say that Thanksgiving is the only uncorrupted holiday. That most American of cocktails, a mix of corporate greed and media hype has finally pinned the notion of a non-economic holiday down for the count. Black Friday can't even wait for the Thanksgiving dinner to end, it now begins the same afternoon. For the duped masses whose need to consume, at an illusory "deal" it's finally become clear what matters most. Surprised? Hardly. The profit motive has always reigned supreme in the land of the free and home of the brave. And brave one must be on this day because the news stations are overrun with stories of injuries, guns being pulled, people biting, elbowing, verbally abusing their fellow Americans. On the radio today I heard a psychologist explain that the pitiful behavior that we have come to expect stems from our need for competition. She then went on to explain how it just might be related to the hunter-gatherer behav

Writer's Workout

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This blog has served me well for the better part of four years.  If anyone has wandered here and benefitted by something said, or been amused or even moved to think deeply about something, all the better. I try to post something every other week.  That turns out to be about six posts a month.    Usually that goal gets met, sometimes even exceeded.  Yet, I hardly take myself seriously here. (well, maybe sometimes)  A blog has become crucial for a writer.  It's exercise.  Not unlike running or working out or brisk walking, writers need to work through ideas, to scratch away at possibilities, to save idea fragments before they slide out the back door of consciousness. It's healthy for a writer to start down a road and not have a destination.  Sometimes I do that here. A blog can be a place of beginnings or endings.  An idea will sprout and go nowhere, evolve into a poem or an essay, become the basis for a short story or memoir piece, or simply live here for eternity. This we

Thumbs Up

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I read an interesting article in the New York Times over the weekend. Ginger Strand, the author, tackles the subject of hitchhiking and suggests that "hitching didn't die a natural death--it was murdered." She contends that in this depressed economy, and this polarized nation, hitching a ride just might be a way to reduce our carbon footprints and bring us together as a nation. An interesting notion, especially coming from one who has written a book on the interstate highway system with a most revealing title: Killer on the Road:Violence and the American Interstate. Strand is quick to point out that despite the fear, despite the sensational emphasis in media on serial killers and psychopaths on the loose, most people and most families are safe on their yearly road trips. Probably so...if one is careful and mindful and alert. Still, I don't think we're headed for a resurgence of hitchhiking anytime soon. If that remains to be seen, what is clear is that I&#

On My Watch

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We're bracing ourselves for tomorrow night. We'll take a seat around 5:00 p.m. here on the Left coast in one of our favorite pubs. It's become a tradition to invite a few friends and get a feel for the political climate expected to follow the results. This year will be no different, save for the foreboding that seems to be growing like a low hanging cloud. No matter who comes away with the victory, it will not be like 2008. That felt more like New Year's Eve here in Portland. We're deep blue, midnight blue, blue-black. There seems to be as much indifference this year as in other places. Probably because we have an awful Mayor's race in which both candidates are undesirable. It impacts the entire voting experience, I'm afraid. When I sit down to follow the early returns in earnest, I'll remind myself of previous evenings. It will be easy to say "well, we survived George W. Bush and his father, Ronald Reagan, even the impeachment of B

I.D.

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Studs Terkel, our national treasure and oral historian concluded in his book Working , "Your work is your identity." Sure is. Not only do we identify ourselves by what we do, we lose that identity when we have nothing to do or no longer work. This conclusion that Terkel reached after interviewing hundreds of people in a wide variety of professions is hardly shocking. Americans have valued work from the early days of the republic. It's a huge part of our national character. In fact, we value hard work so much that when faced with the trauma of job loss, or career changes, or loss of satisfaction in the workplace, we often blame ourselves. From the Great Depression of the 1930s right on through to today's stagnant economy, we have been living with identity crises that stem from work. For a teacher this loss of identity is particularly difficult. I know a few folks that have had a difficult time adjusting to their like after teaching. Their identity changes liter

Teamwork

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I’ve been a Giants fan for over 50 years. The great teams of the 1950s are hazy childhood memories. My first recollection of the New York Giants being “my team” goes back to the seven year old days of my life when I would retreat to the backyard of my folks little S. California post-war home and practice making Willie Mays’ catch from the ’54 World Series. Not the over the shoulder basket catch that has become an iconic moment, but a jumping version I thought would suffice. Last night, as the final Presidential debate dominated most of the news stations, the Giants again made it to the World Series with a scrappy little team that refused to quit. As President Obama showered Mitt Romney with his forthright, measured foreign policy salvos, the Giants lived up to their name in the San Francisco rain. Nice evening. While I can’t share my politics with my father, every post-season Giants game he’s with me. The transplanted New Yorker, like the team, gave me a love of baseball that

Please, Sir

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It happens with increased frequency. In fact, I like to tell myself that I must have been knighted. That's the only explanation for being called "sir" so many times these days. I know it's a sign of respect. It's also a sign of age or experience or even good home training. I'm not complaining, just taking note. Occasionally I'll get called "young man." A bit condescending since I'm retired. Guess it depends on the age of the person doing the calling. Sir comes with age. It's a constant reminder, but not the only one. There is a real phenomena called the male gaze. Men look at women. Sometimes appropriately, sometimes not. With age, it can be a real troublemaker whether you care or not. I like to look at people; all people. I also have a long history of talking to young people. In 33 years in the classroom, and another 6 years supervising student teachers, I talk to lots of young people. It's natural for me

Little Gem

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Last week I returned to Little Lava Lake. This beautiful spot, high in the Cascades mountains was where I really learned a lot about fly fishing. And it's not really the lake, it's what happens there. Sitting under the shadow of Mt. Bachelor, a dormant volcano and Central Oregon ski destination, the mighty Deschutes River emerges from this lake as snowmelt from underground springs. The river literally begins as a small stream exiting the lake. About a quarter of a mile from this watery eruption the river, about the size of a large creek, flows through a small meadow. It is in this stunning spot where I have caught rainbow and brook trout, and now, this year a few Oregon Mountain Whitefish. My day there this year was the latest I've ever been there. I usually go in July or August and once or twice in September. But never in October. Last week there were no mosquitos and very few people. The water was icy cold, but the beauty of the place, even on a clou

Mirror Image

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I've seen a lot of them lately. Usually in book stores. These pictures of musicians, writers, generational icons. These pictures of familiar faces grown old. In his new autobiography Neil Young does it perfectly. On the cover is a picture of him, very intense, as he appears today. On the back cover is the same kind of picture of Neil Young in his prime. It strikes me that some folks don't remember the young Neil. I get that. Many of the new friends I have in Portland don't know or remember me as a younger man. And then there are those like Keith Richards and Mick Jagger. Sure their faces have deep lines. Their voices are a bit more craggy too. But their aging over the decades is less obvious. Bob Dylan keeps rolling along. Five decades in the business and the new albums keep coming. The image of Dylan today is radically different from the young curly headed boy with no facial hair. The voice is fairly gone, but the lyrics as contradictory and subtle a

Grad..ually

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Four years ago 81% of the people questioned in a study agreed that a college education was a good investment. Today, that figure has changed to 57%. It's not difficult to see why. Many of the students in the last high school classes I taught are living proof. They played by the rules. They graduated from college, most with the help of financial aid. Now they are still waiting tables, living at home, wondering what comes next. Of course this does not apply to all. Some are working in careers like teaching and engineering, some are back into graduate programs and some are carving out an existence by working and doing what matters most to them in any way they can. Maybe there is no job in the particular field they studied like fine arts, dance, psychology, or mathematics, but they have figured out how to do make a small living and keep their interest and passion in another field very much alive. This got me thinking. What kind of investment is a college education. Cert

Beats Me

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I received a small gift from a lifelong friend the other day.  He'd been to City Lights bookstore in San Francisco and sent me a copy of a new book of poems by Jack Hirshman.   I go way back with Hirshman.  As an undergrad at UCLA, I used to see Hirshman way up in the stacks of the University Research Library.  I worked there doing various things and one of the most enjoyable was shelving books.  Unlike working at the check out desk or checking IDs, pushing carts of books to be re-shelved was meditative in its own way.  Often I'd find bookmarks and various "souvenirs" left behind in the books.  Who knows how long the pressed leaves or ferns were hiding in volumes untouched for years.  There were thousands of books in hundreds of languages.  There were collections and sets and donated libraries.  Each floor was a universe of literature in its own write. Occasionally I had to all but step over Jack Hirshman while finding the proper place for a book.  he lived up to

Undercover

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Social Justice is a popular theme in school curriculum these days. In fact, as a concept it is often listed in state standards and graduate teaching programs as a important part of the underpinnings of all curriculum and teaching. And why not? We are all concerned with justice in this society. Often Social Justice takes the form of egalitarian principles or cultural sensitivity. Again, this is crucial stuff on which to build education in a democratic society. More particularly, Social Justice means making choices in what and how you teach something. That might involve taking into consideration language capabilities, cultural practices, or long forgotten or deliberately omitted historical events. Teachers who are cognizant of a diverse, unbiased curriculum are aware of the limitations of using textbooks. Aside from the fact that textbooks contain some of the worst writing ever published, even the good ones,(and there are good ones) severely limit what can be covered in cla

The Highway is Alive Tonight

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Bruce Springsteen's birthday is today. I think he's 62 or 63. When I think about him I don't really think about all his hit songs. I don't think about the concerts I've attended or the recordings I have. Well, almost. I think about one...only one in particular. The Ghost of Tom Joad. That CD and the title song came along at just the right time for me. As I recall, the CD coincided with what has come to be know as the economic downturn in this country. To honor a character in Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath while in the classroom I was making comparisons to the 1930s was a gift. I taught Grapes of Wrath for at least 25 years. For some reason it became the crescendo of the academic year. But I learned it was best taught before and after the Winter break. That's because the reading amount is heavy for most high school juniors and they have the holiday break to finish and really appreciate the last few chapters. But today is about Springsteen and

Sound It...OUT

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Like most things, teaching has always been fraught with contradictions. Just as the variety of human personality types, there are many approaches to achieving success in the classroom. I guess that's why the concept of standardization seems counter intuitive to most educators I know. Bottom line is, if it works do it. OK, so that's fine, but what if teachers are being "required" to use methods that they know and feel are intrinsically wrong? This is what is occurring all over the country now with the use of scripted curriculum and one size fits all approaches to skill building. Teachers are being de-skilled in many ways. With that comes one of the most important parts of remaining in the profession...JOY. When you are told what to say and when to say it, when you are evaluated by test scores, when you have lost your voice and your will to pursue the natural curiosity you possess, we have a problem. A very big problem. This morning I read part of a con

Masked Man

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He's got one of those faces you see all over. The kind that you can't place because it's always out of context. He speaks to yo on occasion as if you've known each other for a lifetime. You don't know his name. In fact you know absolutely nothing about him except that you recognize his face and it keeps popping up all the time. Today, he's really animated. Fired up because he has something to say and he's got to say it right now. He spills out of the coffee shop and into your face. He sets the scene. Apparently some guy in there is on the phone or on his computer having a video or audio conference. He's way too loud and could care less. He forces his conversation, which is meaningless to everyone in the room, on the faint music in the background. He rapes the ambiance with his voice. He's wheeling" and dealin"' and oblivious to the reader in the room. Oblivious to 3 other conversations near him. Oblivious to the baris

Very Rich

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It only takes one night to see the striking differences between the Republican and Democratic conventions. Even though the process of politics, with all its influence peddling and diluted legislation remains the same, the Democratic Party looks and talks a lot more like the people that inhabit this country. Of course it depends on where you live and how you speak and what you value, but it's abundantly clear that this convention looks very different. Factor in Michelle Obama and her very personal speech. That just cements the perception. Watching the Castro twins from San Antonio, one the Mayor, another running for Congress, is a reminder of what this country will look like in 30 years. After hearing them, It's going to be just fine. Of all the contrasts between the two parties and their conventions, the most striking to me is the role that former presidents have played. I still find it incredulous that George W. Bush was blatantly absent from the big party In Tampa.

Smaller Steps

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With the passing of Neil Armstrong last week, we were all reminded about the nature of true heroism. Armstrong arguably created one of the most iconic moments of the 20th century as he became the first human to set foot on the moon. Many of the commentators rightly pointed out that it was one of those moments when everyone alive on that July (20th) 1969 day knows exactly where he/she was when history happened. It's probably fair to say that everyone who wanted to se that dramatic moment made every effort to do so. Not quite. I grew up loving the space program. In my Junior High Homeroom we all listened to Alan Shepherd's first orbit flight. I read books about satellites and knew the difference between the Jupiter C and the Vanguard missiles. Hell, I even took my plastic model of an Atlas missile and tried to launch it with a Co2 cartridge at the local park. I ate, slept and breathed space travel. By high school and college, my interest in science took a back seat

Duly Noted

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We've probably all done it.  Either directly or as a conduit.  It's been going on for years in most classrooms, if not all.  Part of the fun is that it needs to be clandestine.  There is risk involved.  But information too.  Passing notes.  And now it will most certainly be a thing of the past, another casualty of the new technology. Recent studies suggest that in class note passing is being replaced by texting.  It's not the same is it?  How could it be?  Certainly the urgency is familiar, and  no doubt the themes, ideas, and gossipy nature.  The look, however is quite different.  Risk, yes, but somehow, in this age of thousands of instant messages daily, an even milder risk.  Unless you factor in that most teachers will confiscate a cell phone...but not for long.  Parental need to be in contact in the era of school lockdowns and shootings will always trump the nuisance factor. So a tearful goodbye to those juicy notes that students have passed for ages. In my 33

Going Down Down Down, Down Down

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What are the hallmarks of a culture in decline? If we look at historical examples like the last days of the mighty Roman empire we see all manner of amoral/immoral diversions and amusements. If we look at our own, we see TV shows like "Honey Boo Boo." This program explores the daily life and adventures of an obnoxious child, looking more like the spawn of Porky Pig, and her even more ignorant family. The latter was the subject of a recent Today show segment asking a couple of journalist pundits to comment on the appeal of this TLC (The learning Channel) pseudo documentary about the lives of (in their words) a "redneck" family and their daughter, the aforementioned HBB. That these people are idiots becomes translated into "people being themselves." That the parents, one of whom is bordering on morbidly obese, are about the worst models of parenting makes no difference. Right now, it's cheap programing cost that is trumping any form of intellectual

Sidewalk Noir

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I walk past the stately movie theater and read the marquee once again. It's there, in all Capital letters, SAFETY NOT GUARANTEED, Is this the name of a film, or something necessitated by the construction zone immediately next to the theater's entrance? I've been wondering this for a couple of weeks now. This aging Norma Desmond of a movie palace just might be protecting its patrons. This condo being built right next door to the theater is rife with cement blocks, nails, and all the scraps of metal and wood such a project can provide. The two are just a few feet apart. This condo will literally be backstage. (well, almost) Then again, this warning phrase could just be a film title for the 8:25 showing. Why the marquee? People don't read the marquee standing under it. Safety Not Guaranteed is the story of a disaffected WWII vet new to Los Angeles. He begins his postwar career as a private investigator whose insomnia Takes h

National Geo-graphic

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If reality television is, at best unreality, then one program I've recently seen creates a whole new category. It's a distorted view of reality taken to new, angelic heights. (pun intended) American Colony: Meet the Hutterites, presented by the National Geographic Channel must be seen to be believed. It has the look and feel of the National Geographic we all know and love. But that's where any resemblance departs. The attempt here is to showcase the daily life of a Hutterite colony in northern Montana. Like Mennonites and the Amish, the Hutterites have long held a fascination for the rest of us. They live in colonies that manage to stay true to their Protestant/Calvinistic European heritages. They work the land, revere the land, live off the land, and die on the land. They eschew much of what we cal modern technology...or at least they are supposed to. In the voyeuristic world of reality TV there is very little evidence of the Hutterites eschewing anything. T

Side Tracked

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I really didn't want to sit at that table. No choice. I need a plug for my lap top and that was the only one available. It's the designated "Handicapped" table, but everyone I know uses it all the time at my favorite coffee shop. I always figured that if anyone actually needed the table because of their physical disability, I'd vacate it in a heartbeat. So, I'm sitting there cooling down from our first 90 plus degree day and this couple walks in. Well, not exactly. He, morbidly obese, was walking unassisted and she, heavy, but nowhere near his weight was moving with a walker. They both edged toward me and naturally I offered to move. There's the dilemma. Am I moving because I want to, have to, or because I need to? We all agreed there was room for everyone and ended up sharing the table for about half an hour. To say that this pair was right out of Gary Larson's "The Far Side" would be an understatement. But I'm not tryin