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Showing posts from May, 2013

Tracy Delgado cousin of William Garcia 1946-1966

This Memorial Day weekend I was thinking of a high school friend who was killed in Vietnam.  I think of him often, but somehow he was on my mind more than usual.  Maybe it was the recent sexual abuse and harassment that's come to light in the media.  There were plenty of women in the service during the Vietnam years, but not anything like today.  That's why the recent revelations about rape and assault, and the resultant cover-ups are so damning and so disappointing. The dilemma for pacifists like myself, of course, is to retain our beliefs while still "supporting the troops."  It's a non issue in my view.  I say that because anyone who is a humanist will always support others.  If I disagree with the death penalty that doesn't mean I condone the acts of the criminal. So here I am thinking aout my friend Bill Garcia, and I happened to remember the time, about 20 years ago now when I went in search of his name on the Vietnam Memorial in Washington D.C.      

Unarmed

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Middle of May and in the top of the news:  Tornados, government scandal(s), terrorist attacks and terrorist investigations, floods, firestorms, drought, and uncommonly wet weather.  One sensational trial ends and four more are waiting in the wings.  No Triple Crown winner, No legislation to impact gun ownership, marriage to the one you love, or how we spend our money.  Congress is broken.  Politicians can't see beyond the next election.  Our national "stew" is pretty thin these days.  As Woody Guthrie noted in his famous "Talkin' Dust Bowl Blues," ...."Maybe if it had been a just little bit thinner some of these here politicians coulda seen through it."  They can't comprehend the millions they impact. There is definitely something wrong with the climate.  It's easy to have this discussion in the aftermath of a record-breaking tornado that leveled about 40 square miles in the state of Oklahoma.  And still they rebuild. What does it tak

Take It With You

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Occasionally I still hear someone speak of a "depression mentality."  What they mean, of course, is a Great Depression mentality.    What passes for stingy behavior could well have its roots in surviving the Great Depression of the 1930s.  Certainly my parents, who were married in 1932, displayed a bit of this behavior.  My father would come unhinged if someone left a light burning in an empty room.  My mother, always giving and thoughtful, was fairly good at stretching a meal or making due with less.      These days, even in tough economic times, people seem less inclined to hoard.  In my town, restaurants are usually full and even though prices have doubled and tripled on some things in the last 10 years or so, you wouldn't know we';re still in the throes of a deep malaise.  Younger folks seem to be willing to share, care, and otherwise help those less fortunate.  There is a coffee wagon in my town that has a chalkboard menu outside that overlooks the street.  If a

Mother's Day

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We don't really need a Mother's Day to officially recognize our moms, do we?  They are with us always.  I recall a wonderful presentation given by a noted psychologist/therapist about the mother child relationship.  After soft music, cloudy pastel photos of smiling children with their mothers, and lulling her audience into nostalgic stupor, the narrator abruptly stopped and pronounced the mother'child relationship as one of complete power and control...forever.      Maybe.  Maybe not, but there is some truth to that notion.  Considering how vulnerable a newborn is and how vulnerable we remain until puberty, it's easy to understand how love can migrate somewhere else.      I was only becoming an adult when I lost my mom at the rather early age of 54.  To have had an adult relationship with her is something I miss and can only speculate about from time to time.  But she is with me always and sometimes rather surprisingly so.  A favorite story of mine concerns one of her

Oh What a NIght

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It's quite a picture.  The angelic face singing "O Holy Night" in her black and white striped prison uniform.  The A capella rendition won the institution's talent competition.  Jody Arias, sociopath, singing about the night "when Christ was born."  Yes, it's quite a picture. But so is the way the Jody Arias murder trial has captured media attention.  Something about this particular case has the media and those with way too much time on their hands hot, bothered, and blathering for hours, days, weeks, and I'm afraid, months.  That one cable channel can devote it's entire programming to one trial is in itself a wonder.  I guess the ratings are there, and then some. The public fascination with this woman probably has a lot to do with the fact that she is a pathological liar.  Coupled with her blind arrogance and  lack of a conscience, she's money in the bank. Even though the Prosecution did an adequate job of presenting evidence that the cor

We Will Bury You

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Ever walk through a cemetery?  That's right, a graveyard.  It can be most enlightening.  Some years ago, I lived fairly close to one of the largest and oldest cemeteries in Oakland, California.  It was a great place for a stroll.  I used to see folks walking and even picnicking there all the time.  Part of the intrigue is that you never know who you find there.  I don't mean the visitors, I mean the people interred there.  Some of the most famous Bay Area names would adorn the tombstones at this cemetery.  I recall a Stanford or two. Cemeteries are great history lessons too.  I once took an American Field Studies course on Louisiana and Cajun country.  We traveled by bus through towns like Lafayette, Abbeyville, Breau Bridge and St. Martinville Louisiana.  One one occasion we stopped to do an assignment at a cemetery.  We were to note the last names on tombstones as a way of documenting the both immigration patterns and the ethnic make-up of the community.  Looking for French