Daily Blues & Views

There is a wonderful little record store in my neighborhood.  That's right a record store.  It's name says it all: Vinyl Resting Place.  We seem to have hastily buried the notion of records a few years back and now, as a culture, we may be having second thoughts.  It's no secret that younger generations prefer listening to vinyl.  They say the same thing that we said when CDs first came out.  All that stuff about sound quality and tone.  I've never really been able to tell the difference but I confess I did buy into it.  I used to find myself buying albums I had on vinyl as CDs only because I thought they might sound better.  Still not sure if that was a mistake but I have a few hundred of each now. So, I peeked into the resting place the other day and found it was much more alive than I suspected.  One of the owners was there, a woman about my age and playing some Muddy Waters.  The selection was modest, but all albums were reason...

This has all the hallmarks of a long hot summer.  Start with the literal.  Here in Oregon, the record for consecutive 90+ degrees was not broken, it was smashed...with authority.  No rain here in Portland for over a month and though the city's beautiful parks still have greenery, the grass is turning brown.  Maybe a thunder shower or two will stop by this evening, but things are dry and getting dryer. Last week I drove up to one of my favorite little lakes on Mt. Hood to do a little fly fishing for the first time this year.  The water temperature in the morning was well over 70 degrees and even at 7:30 in the morning, there was very little fish movement.  Only a few half-hearted rises and no interest in a dry fly whatsoever.  I managed to hook three in a two hour period, while landing only one.  The other two came unbuttoned either because they only nibbled at my nymph or because I was deliberately taking it easy on them and opted for the quicker...

My problems are first world problems; of that I'm painfully aware.  If I struggle to find a semblance of satisfaction or belonging in my new neighborhood, I contrast that with the plight of many former Syrians today.  Living in Lebanon, or other countries and hiding in plain sight. Not wanted, having no other place to go or means to get anywhere.  It must become my problem. As the country bathes itself in an orgy of sparkling red white and blue, I continue to see the non-sparkling, dove gray of homeless veterans begging for something, anything.  It has become my problem. This country overflows on it's holidays.  People stubbornly cling to the fireworks that celebrate something most haven't the faintest idea about.  They know only the simplest history.  Freedom to flaunt ignorance is certainly something to shout about. These are uncommonly hot days...in every way.  We are continually asked to support our troops without helping them ask the qu...

We drive miles                 so we can walk, We take the time to do what took very little time               before, Simple acts, reading a newspaper, buying an apple              become identity conflicts, We inch out our loyalty, embarrassed but air conditioned,        mindful, but out of touch,  in earnest, waiting...for  this move to be complete. Funny how when people move, they return to their old neighborhoods, again and again, and depend on the familiarity to function.  W've been doing just that for the past few weeks.  Almost in defiance of logic and our own intelligence we seek the companionship of familiar friends and knowing where to find each day's necessities. It will not last forever.  But for now, in uncommon hot weather day after day, it seems to be working. Is this the price of making a tou...

The national conversation has suddenly shifted to the removal of the Confederate flag in the wake of the tragic shooting deaths of nine Bible study participants in a Charleston, South Carolina church.  The "stars and bars" of the confederacy still fly above some state capitals in the south and and as part of state flags like Mississippi. The comparison of that flag to the flag of Nazi Germany is a point well taken.  Why do we still allow one to fly when we'd never dream of letting the other one near a flagpole? Yet the Confederate flag lives on in more than banners.  From Tee-shirts to bumper stickers it rears it's image from coast to coast.  I've seen it used as horse racing silks from an owner/trainer combination whose politics are as dubious as their desire to be identified by that emotional image. With these calls for removing the flag I hope will come even more calls to re-teach the way we understand the Civil War and the complexities of Reconstruction.  ...

Note: This piece was originally written for Sun Magazine's Reader's Write feature.  The title is the theme prompt.  I don't think they are going to use this, therefore it can appear here.  I think the ironic message about standing up to misguided authority is relevant as teachers like soldiers clarify their moral conscientiousness and how to effectively act upon those beliefs. I remember the moment the thought crystallized. I was looking for a parking place near the Berkeley campus, thinking about the draft closing in on me.  I’d done a year as a VISTA Volunteer in hopes of serving my country in a way that would preserve my pride in being an American.  “If you do nothing else with your life,” I told myself, “this refusal will be the most important thing I ever do.”  That day I decided to say no.  I would not allow myself to participate in an illegal and immoral war.  Deciding to refuse induction into the U.S. army was difficult for a compl...

On the afternoon of June 9, 1973, I climbed the stairs of the 3 story old Berkeley house and entered my bedroom.  It was my only room in the house I shared with 4 others.  Great way to split rent for a graduate student finishing up his state teaching certificate.  I was two weeks away from working in a Del Monte cannery while waiting for word of a teaching position.  Like millions of others at the time, I was also waiting for the first Triple Crown winner of my lifetime. The 60s were beginning to yield to the 70s during this time and my thoughts, when not focused on lesson plans or job interviews, found their way, momentarily, to Big Red: Secretariat. Horse racing seemed to be in my blood.  From the time I'd wait for the afternoon sport's pages of the L.A. Herald Examiner, to sneaking a peak at the Hollywood Park race of the week in black and white TV, I was enthralled.  Riding a bike became galloping a thoroughbred more often than not. While I vaguel...