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Mediocre Expectations

The life expectancy for American men these days is about 76. As I am about to reach my 79th birthday, I have a few thoughts on the matter. I wondered, today, if my life ended on schedule, and I were no longer, alive, what I would have missed by now. I made a short list: 1. Another chance to take to the streets in a No Kings rally. 2. Teaching my little writing your memories class at the local community center. 3. Dental appointments where I can wonder what now? 4. The chance to see the next election. (Im optimistic) 5. The first fishing trip of another year. 6. New lakes and streams. 7. A big bash when I reach 80. 8. The Kentucky Derby 9. More significant downsizing (Sweedish death cleaning) 10. Playing blues harp with my friends in our geriatric music group. This is a partial list, of course. I expect to add to it from time to time. All I have to do is survive. I shall do my best.
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Recent posts

The Tug

  It was more than a guilty pleasure.  It was pure fansasy.  It kept hope alive.  I loved flipping through catalogues.  The Sears Christmas catalogue was the granddaddy of them all.  I’d sit off by myselfand peruse the toys, musical instruments, sporting goods and even, on rare occasions, the clothing.  At age 11, one particular catalogue held my attention more than any other.   Not nearly as big as the Sears tome, the Blue Chip Stamp gift redemption cagtalogue had something Iusted after.  About everfy third day, I’d open to the sporting goods section.  There, past the baseball gloves and football kicking tees, past the basketballs, golf clubs, and camping gear, were the fishing poles.  Most were spinning reels and matching ten foot poles made by Shakespeare, Mitchell, and Eagle Claw.  But nestled under these 9-10 feet giants was a beginner’s outfit made by Zebco.  The pole was only about 6 feet long and had a built in...
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Free Speech Anyone?

 I haven't been on the UCLA campus in many years.  But in the late 1960s, when I went there daily, I had a few favorite spots where I would hang out before and between classes.  One was the grassy knoll that surrounded Kerkhoff Hall.  It has a name, Meyerhoff Park. Back then there was a small free speech platform painted a bright Kelly green.  People of all persuasions would stand within the confines of that small space and address the crowd that would always gather.  This space is right next to Bruin Walk so there was always a constant stream of traffic moving by as they ascended to upper parts of the campus.   Many times this open mic attracted serious speakers who shared their opinions on current events of the day.  In 1968, a hellish year with huge anti-war and civil rights demonstrations, shocking political assassinations, and of course a profound generation gap, there was always someone with something to say.  Of course, that platform a...
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Two Lines

 Lines Two lines diverged in my neighborhood. I'm thankful I only frequent one.  Line 1 appears on Sunday mornings.  My wife and I never miss dutifully taking our place in this one.  We leave or home about 9:20 and walk a few blocks to what she has deemed the "Bread Church."  No house of worship, we wait patiently for the opening of a bakery that appeared shortly after the pandemic.  This sacred place sells bread by subscription during the week, but on Sundays the door opens to a wonderland of other baked goods.  My favorite is the olive twist a spiral shaped roll laced with  three kinds of whole olives.  They are usually still warm when we get them.  Katie likes the cherry buckwheat scones best.  But there are so many other things to choose from.  Last week we saw marionberry hand pies, molasses cake, oat raspberry scones, and mushroom gruyere slabs.  The breads are composed of a variety of local grains, sunflower rye, tr...
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The Names We Carried/Candles and Rain

 Seems like political demonstrations are an everyday thing now.  When a democracy is at stake, this should be the norm. It's got me thinking back to the days of the late 1960s when that was also the case.  As US involvement in Vietnam became increasingly unpopular, the opportunities to protest became frequent and the number of people involved grew exponentially as well. In November of 1969 the largest political demonstration in US history took place in Washington DC.  Called the Vietnam Moratorium, as estimated 500,000 people took to the street.  This event took place over two days, a Friday night and the following Saturday.  I was there.  This experience was probably the most significant thing (of which I'm aware) I have ever done.   While the Saturday march and rally featured speakers and musicians, and a march through the streets of Washington, the smaller march the night before is what I remember most.  On a rainy night, about 100,000 peo...
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Three Days in Texas

 Whenever I hear a politician say, "this is not a racist country," two things happen.  First I wonder who they might be (usually a Republican) to make such a ridiculous statement.  Either they never studied US history, or they have lived an incredibly sheltered life.   My first 20 years on this planet were spent in relatively all-white neighborhoods.  I was aware of other nationalities through the Latino, Black, and Asian populations that surrounded my neighborhood.  To be sure we had diverse groups in my school and community, but for the most part, everyone and everything was white.  I idolized Black baseball players as a kid, but even then I had little knowledge of the context in which they played and the unwritten rules they were subject to.   In college I studied US history and because of the zeitgeist of the late 1960s, I ended up majoring in African American history.  Reading books about the brutality of slavery and the autobiographies ...
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