Daily Blues & Views

 Ever been to a reunion ?  Most people I know seem to attend at least one of their high school reunions .  It's such a transformative time of life that the curiosity about what ever happened to__?  Sometimes just a few years can change a person"s appearance, their beliefs, their personality, or even their occupation.  The curiosity about how someone is doing or how they "turned out" is not worth the risk of actually going back home to find out.  Most folks I know go to one reunion and never feel the need to do it again.  Some people live for them rather than avoid them, but as the years go by, the pool of eligible attendees lessens.   About 55 years ago, I was a VISTA Volunteer in Houston, Texas.  Our project did some interesting things and was mostly composed of recent college graduates from all over the country.  We had a 50th reunion that was both fascinating and a tad depressing.  People age.  Some better than others. ...

       The first time I saw graffiti that was memorable was in a middle school bathroom.  As 6th graders I often walked home with friends by the middle school we'd soon be attending.  A stop by the boys bathroom near the boys gym placed me face to face with a piece of graffiti that immediately madame and my friends laugh uncontrollably.  On the wall above the urinals, was penned a short poem that read"                     This is a Teepee to take a pee pee,                         Not a wigwam to beat your tom tom      14 year-old humor at it's best.  The laughter my friends and I experienced was cathartic.  Being bottom of the barrel Freshmen could have dire consequences in the boys bathroom.  Those unpleasantries would come later, but for the moment, we were ecstatic and proceeded to read all the g...

      Last year I bought a Tee shirt that caught my eye.  A white line drawing of a fly fisherman casting a beautiful loop on a navy blue background with the words " Poetry in Silence ."  It's a wonderful thought, b ut often romanticized.  Oh, I can cast a perfect loop like that from time to time, but the reality of fly fishing , especially for an aging fly fisher is often less than poetic, if not silent. Like the sport itself, the art of fly fishing is particularly challenging for the aging fisherman.  Some have challenges with walking in a river, or balance in slinking on and over boulders or slippery river bottoms, while others deal with the ravages of Parkinson's or Dementia .  For others it's simply the strength in their legs, or strain on their backs.        Like myself, most older fly fishers are often just glad to be there.  Fly fishing takes us to some of the most beautiful places on Earth.  With ...

It hits like a dart.  A dart, thrown without warning, that pierces your armor.  A word or two that won't break your bones but inflicts great harm.  That time when someone said something that hurts.   The surprise, of course, is that they said it and your are required to respond.  No getting away from it, their outrageous belief demands attention.  To remain silent is complicity.  The kind of complicity that you decided long ago never to be a part of.  Yet, here you are, silent.   There are reasons for your silence.  Assumptions made by someone in your environment mean that the offending person did not think that you would mind their racism, or sexism, or ridiculous beliefs.  You do, but there are reasons for your silence.  Sometimes, survival.   So here you are, an eye witness to racism, and you have a difficult time responding. Case in point: In the early summer of 1970, I found myself with a small group of friends travel...

 I call it the "Hipster" barber shop.  It's run by millenniums and has all the trappings of their influence.  Most of the men who cut hair there have at least one tattoo, facial hair, and work schedules that give them ample time off.  The women who work there fit the age demographic, have tattoos, and are as friendly as the men.  You can have a beer, a shot of whiskey, or even a non-alcoholic beverage while you wait.  In place of the strictly male barber shop reading material, you might find coffee table books, or copies of Rolling Stone, or perhaps the local community newspaper.  Most people waiting just sit with their phones in front of their faces.  The background music is often hard rock, or blues, or perhaps a local radio DJ.   Within this establishment, I go to the same barber, a 29-year old man called Dash.  My wife goes to a 30 something woman called Cash.  Cash and Dash, is that Hipster enough for you? Dash and I have good ...

 The President has declared my home a "War Zone."  He is prone to exaggerate and use hyperbole, but this is so off the hook it can be nothing but funny.  Only, with Trump, there is very little humor.  His war zone is confined to 1 square block in a city that covers 149 square miles.   And still he rants on. People here are posting pictures of people sitting outside watching the sunset from a restaurant patio, or swimming in a river, lake, or swimming pool, or enjoying on of the many city parks, under the title of "Life in the War Zone.  It's all a big joke that isn't very funny.  Aside from a small flare-up now and then at an ICE headquarters the war is not here.  It's an insult to people who really do live in a war zone.   True, the National Guard troops the President has activated help with the optics, but then people are posting pictures of them, in uniform, standing outside of VooDoo Donuts, clutching pink boxes instead of automatic weapo...