Daily Blues & Views

 In June of 1969, two months after my 22nd birthday and two weeks after my graduation from college, I flew on an airplane for the first time.  I'd been accepted as a VISTA volunteer and was invited to attend the training in Austin, Texas.  I had been outside of California only once before, a brief visit to Tijuana, Mexico after a family vacation in San Diego.  VISTA had sent me a plane ticket and I was equally as excited to board a jet as I was to begin the training.   My flight took of from LAX  at 8:00 am.  It was typical Southern California June weather, foggy, misty, and cool.  The overcast day did not alter my excitement in any way.  When the 747 jet positioned itself for takeoff and the huge engines revved, I braced myself, trying to look cool as if this was old hat for me.  The jet picked up speed, the engines noise became overpowering and the big airplane rumbled down the runway and then slowly but elegantly lifted off.  Loo...

 Sometimes I wonder what ever became of the kids I played baseball with on the street where I grew up.  As we moved from the tweens to the teens, we developed different interests and a wider circle of friends.  Randy moved away to the Orange County area.  His father was a rocket scientist and took a new job in the aerospace industry which was growing in the early 1960s. Paul went to a Catholic  school, wasn't too motivated in the area of academics, and put his energy into cars, working with his hands, and avoiding the future.  He ultimately ended up in the army, but because he volunteered, was able to avoid Vietnam in favor of Germany or Korea, or both.  Last I heard, he married a woman who was slightly older, a single parent, and they both did fairly well flipping houses.   Jimmy is more a mystery.  He had no academic inclination either, so I guess he took a series of jobs and may or may now have been married with kids.   From left, Ran...

The best gift I ever got from my father was a love of baseball. His team, the New York Giants, became my team. His team also migrated from the East coast to the West coast the spring of my 10th year. This love for the game translated to love of playing the game too. In my neighborhood, three kinds of baseball were available. The first was watching the game along with all my idols on TV. In those days, it was the game of the week, televised on Saturdays. To see the World Series, we had to wait for the film to accompamy the "News of the Day" in our local movie theater. We may have heard of a fantastic play or a clutch home run, but to see it was another matter. The second kind of baseball available to me was Little League. Open to boys 8 through 12, it was organized baseball complete with tryouts, scheduled practices and games, uniforms, and a well kept field complete with foul poles, umpires, and a snack bar. Of course there were bleachers, screaming parents and off...

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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  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...