Firefly

 I'd never seen one before,

     up close, or held one in my hand.

But that summer of loss,

     when I saw you walk away,

on that street 3000 miles to the East,

     I couldn't know that would be the last time

my eyes would see you shine.

But that evening,

distancing myself from all,

I wandered in a deep green backyard and the fireflies emerged.

With the inherited awe of a child, 

I reached out and they came to me,

Fireflies,

When our life together ended,

     I left behind fireflies.

All Systems Go

 When I see some of the highest officials in the US government deny the existence of systemic racism, I know they have no knowledge of American history.  They are ignorant, there is no other way to say it.  Anyone with any accurate knowledge of the history of this country knows about the institutional attempts to exclude various ethnic groups from all the blessings of liberty.  The documentation is there for all to see.  The primary sources are rich in detail.

As a history teacher, I always considered textbooks more as primary sources rather than the secondary sources they are.  That's because textbooks throughout the decades provide a revealing look into both the interpretation and inclusivity of our history.  These days any text worthwhile contains both narrative and primary sources.  In fact, the Advanced Placement history exam usually is based on historical interpretation of various documents.

But for the uneducated, history is a narrative.  It begins, usually with the Founding Fathers, and ends with the latest war.  It's names and dates, battles, and presidents.  How naive.  But the current crop of politicos rarely goes beyond any basic knowledge.  They cling to the George Washington and the cherry tree brand of story-telling.  How else could they make statements, like the current Attorney General has, that systemic racism hasn't existed at all?   

As a young teacher, I collected history texts so that my students could see how history is written.  Occasionally at a flea market or yard sale, I'd come across a real antique, or a narrative so biased that I just couldn't pass it up.  When teaching about racism, it's important to deal with images in the mind.  Occasionally those images held by the dominant culture are so racist, so intolerant, that they are all that is needed to open up a mind.  

I offer these pages from an 1896 US history text in describing the Battle of Little Big Horn:

It's clear that the author has no interest in an unbiased representation of the people and events of this famous event.  That this was from a book bought and distributed by a school system in California shows how an institution is complacent with the prevailing racist views of the day.  Is this important?  Or rather why is this important?  Discuss.

I've Seen Fire and Rain

 How much more dystopic can it get? We were wondering until the nearby forest fires surrounded us with thick smoke that gave us more reasons to stay inside and wear a proper mask if we have to go outside. 

"Greetings from the worst air quality in the world," is the way I started an email to a friend who, bombarded by media images of Portland, was wondering how we are managing in this new reality.  Many of my friends from Florida to the Yukon have checked in lately.  I give them a virtual smile and explain that we are muddling along.

This got me thinking about the extremes in weather and the natural disasters I've been through in the years before the pandemic.  Growing up in Southern California there were always forest fires that blocked the sun and sent light ash tumbling down on cars and backyard swimming pools.  Every few years we were sent home from school or treated to a day off by driving rainstorms that flooded local streets where flood control basins were inadequate.  We never had winter storms or snow days there.

It wasn't until I spent some time in Texas and Louisiana that I experienced the real power of thunderstorms and lightning that rivaled a war zone.  One time in New Orleans I saw a power pole struck by lightning and the spark-filled fireworks show that followed.  On another occasion, while swimming in the Gulf of Mexico I saw the beginning of a hurricane and heard the warnings to shelter on local radio.  

In my time in the Bay Area, thee were a few "Shelter in Place" alerts, but those were from human error with bad air from oil refineries or other industrial pollutants. It wasn't until I moved to the Northwest that some of the Central Oregon thunderstorms rivaled those in the South.  One time driving back to Oregon from Montana, in the state of Washington, we received an emergency warning on the car radio.  Ahead, we saw an enormous dark cloud and realized the next Tri-state Washington town where we were headed was right in the middle of it.  In seconds, the hail pounded and the visibility decreased rapidly so that everyone pulled off to the side of the road.  I recall the two barely visible red taillights of the car in front of me that I followed to safety.  When the sky cleared a bit, we took the first exit to a motel on higher ground as the little town's streets flooded.  When I saw a local sheriff patrolling in a rowboat, I knew we'd better just hunker down until morning when the floodwater abated.

In 2000, going, to a family reunion in Hamilton, Montana, we headed directly into a huge firestorm in the Bitterroot mountains.  All my fishing plans evaporated and the only sport I recall participating in was watching helicopters dip and drop water on burning hills.

All those areas subsequently healed but not before a mountain of lost homes, people, wildlife, and plans and hopes.  So too will our latest disasters pass.  Today, with so many restrictions on movement and options, it's a good day for only one thing.  To remember what we've seen before and to realize that the air will clear eventually and we will begin again.

Things We Keep

We all have some.  Those things we can't seem to throw away.  The things that hang around year after year.  The things we keep.  Most of us that have lived for decades have gone through many downsizes.  As we age, we continue to downsize.  Furniture, books, records and CDs, clothing, photos, recreational gear.  But some things remain.  The things we keep.  The things we can't seem to move along or break free from, or even just toss.
Of course, there are reasons some of these objects can't seem to find their way to a Goodwill, classified ad, or even a trash can.  From those objects, I submit, we can learn a good deal about ourselves and why we keep hanging on to some things.

One reason might be that some personal objects like letters, journals, and photos just can't be thoroughly destroyed.  Unless we have a fireplace, it's often difficult to find a satisfying way to rid ourselves of these burdens.  We have to talk ourselves into believing that no harm can come in liberating ourselves and our survivors from these hard-held possessions if we let the local trash collector take them away in garbage bags.  Do people really traipse through the dump reading journals from 1983?  Do they gather up your old family photos? Is the danger we attribute to just trashing some things real?
A compromise might be to photograph some things and then digitize them by putting them all on a thumb drive.  Think of the space that would save.
Some things I've moved on defy that.  For about 15 years I owned an old jukebox.  A real beaut, it played 78 records and lit up like an Art Deco Christmas tree.  I moved it a few times and then decided, no more.  That 1946 Rockola jukebox went to a good home with a collector but I still can enjoy my memories by listening t a few of the records it often played or looking at a few of the photos that remain.  No so with more personal items.
The items of real concern are usually tied with emotion to specific people or events.  I have a few photos of trips I have taken with people who were close to me at the time.  I even have saved a scarf and various handwritten notes.  A night 45 years ago and the first inklings of budding relationships lie preserved in small boxes.  I want to rid myself of these things, but gently.  A fire would be satisfying and symbolic, but just not possible.  So what could be done? If I do nothing then all will be dismissed with no meaning.  Maybe that's OK, but I'd prefer to have a hand in the great letting go.  For any benefit, I must act.