Daily Blues & Views

Twilight brings the faint noise of a dog whose failing bark yields to night The silence shatters from within  I realize the days and miles have added up too many times The stepping stones become a blind crossroads I cannot follow I turn and enter the room where candlelight sketches my past and the moonlit faces of comely women, faded poems in hand I see the quiet street, the unpaved roads and the directionless signs Days became miles became days and miles became years Gone.

We're back in Watergate mode again.  All the cliches are blossoming on the surface of this dirty dishwater we call a Presidential administration.  Let's see, it's not the crime, it's the cover-up, what did he know, and when did he know it? don't forget about "midnight massacres" and the ever-popular "Constitutional crisis." So the Attorney General acting under orders fires the Deputy director of the FBI right before he's eligible for his pension.  After 20 years on the job, some "thank you for your service." Your service... your service, we hear this when people work for the government.  We hear it especially when they fight the government's wars.  It's become a sacred chant for most who serve their government.  But there are a few who serve and never get thanked.  They get explanations, accusations, and all too often, shown the door. What happens when government service takes another form?  Those young people, myself inc...

On the surface, the notion that arming teachers is a viable solution to the complex issue of school shootings is absurd.  It's ridiculous for so many reasons, not the least of which is the destruction of the learning environment that would surely be a consequence.  Oh, I know that an active shooter roaming the hallways is a greater disturbance to the learning environment, but what I'm suggesting is that any proliferation of firearms in or near a classroom diminishes the idea that this is a place of learning and that inside the walls of a classroom resides a learning community. I get that one well-trained person might make a difference during an active shooter incident but to add the idea of arming teachers onto the job description of an already overstressed profession is both repugnant and ludicrous. I say this because of the reality of a teacher's day.  Unless they walk around their rooms with holsters or have a rifle rack behind the desk, the chances of a teac...

The magic is in the numbers                                 the colors                                  the people                                   the lineage                                     the names You have to take a risk, follow a link, look deeply and      understand the weather                        the myriad of variables, and, always,                        be willing to abandon logic and certainty in an instant. Each race is a puzzle with its own cast of characters       ...

The secret was our name. Somewhere along the way, it got trimmed. Shortened.  Nobody said when. Did anybody know when? It was a tidy 6 letters. It proclaimed its neutrality.  GRE E NE and demanded put your questions away. This is how you grow silence. Once, in a box of old letters, I saw the original. Hey, if this is my father's father's father, why is his name longer than mine. Who decided? How?  The loudest silence centers on Why? A name has power.  Who gets that power and how much is not always something we can control. Those who came before me, most directed by this secret, did not remain long enough for me to question. They were gone before I could say, "Tell me the story and tell it how it was told to you." Sometimes I like to think the secret is safe with me.  But I know its worth lies in the unveiling. Veil...cover...hidden...buried... I long to take back the need; it is the map leading to places and ages past. Those on whose lives and sa...

I love period pieces.  It's the detail that attracts me the most.  Like going into an antique store and seeing the Christmas ornaments that existed in your childhood, watching a movie or TV show set in the 1950s or 60s offers up those little surprises. Recently on a TV series set in the late 1950s, I noticed everything from cigarette packs to breakfast cereals.  The parking meters took pennies then.  How impossible does that sound now? It got me thinking about all that has vanished from our shared popular culture.  I soon realized that one of the mainstays of my childhood is not relegated to misty memories: the milkman. I think three must be people driving trucks around in 2018 who drop off dairy products somewhere.  Perhaps in more rural settings, but there was a time when neighborhood streets were familiar territory for early morning milk trucks.  In my neighborhood, there were Adohr, Carnation, Arden, Golden State, and a few others all vy...

Part V in which the evening ends and we all become dearly departed from one another's lives Apparently, there was some set of rules in place that would govern the behavior of all in the aftermath of this group dinner date.  It was fairly simple.  Each person would receive a phone call telling them that either someone or no one was interested in seeing them again.  Sounds cold-blooded.  It was, but it was also a way to move beyond. By the time my phone call arrived, about a week later, I'd figured out what had happened.  All three of us men were clearly interested in only Bonnie.  Susan and Marsha, though very nice people and fairly good company, inflicted no sparks.  Bonnie was clearly the best looking of the 3 women and given the conversation was less than stimulating, it was all we had to go on.  After all, we were men.  We came into the evening with all the sex-role conditioning that growing up in the 1950s had to offer. ...