Diamonds and stones

While talking to my daughter the other day, we discussed some of her many experiences in Europe.  Some were good, some were bad.  I paraphrased the old John Denver song, “Some Days are Diamonds”, and  told her that "life will give you experiences like that.  Some experiences are diamonds and are treated as cherished gems.  Other experiences are just stones and you use those stones to skip across the waters of life and amuse yourself by how mundane they are."

D. 

Hometown Notoriety

Greetings from a suburb of San Diego, Ca.  Ok.  As I get deeper into this blogging thing I am putting more clues to my location.  I was hoping to keep it rather generic (So. California) but that is proving to be difficult.  There is so much I want to write about that details are leaking through.

Tonight on the CBS sitcom,  $#*! My Dad Says , my hometown was mentioned.  It is not surprising considering that the show itself is set in San Diego and El Cajon is a suburb, a small town about 8 miles away.  There should be a sense of pride when your hometown gets mentioned on a national television show, but not tonight.  Tonight, this show mentioned my hometown as the "anus of America".  It really isn't.  (My wife and I have in the past referred to it as the "armpit of America", but really only in jest and, kind of affectionately.)  At any rate, it was nice to be mentioned. 

In all fairness, I should state that El Cajon is really a nice little town. 

• At one time in the 1990's the mayor wanted the city to be known as "The City of Trees" and he suggested that we all plant trees. 
• The words "El Cajon" in Spanish mean "the box".  El Cajon sits in a small valley that is shaped like a box. 
• It is the home to Parkway Plaza Mall and the airport, Gillespie Field, (which has an annual air show and a flight museum) http://www.sandiegan.com/airports/gillespie-field/. 
• El Cajon is home to the Olaf Wieghorst Museum and Western Heritage Center http://www.wieghorstmuseum.org/.  My wife and I used to live a half a block from this old house.  We always wondered what it was.  It was an old house with a strange looking wall around the yard.  It wasn't until years later that we realized it was the home of a famous Western artist.  And then they made it into a museum. 
• We used to have an amusement park (Frasier's Frontier - before that, Marshal Scotty's) but it closed.  
• We used to have a race track, too.  But it closed too.  

Ok, well that about covers it.  Come and visit sometime.  Enjoy the weather. 

D.

Update, November 20, 2010:  El Cajon also has the annual Mother Goose Parade, which has been called the largest parade "in San Diego County and the largest of its type west of  the Mississippi" River. 

A Glorious Day

Have you ever woken up on any ordinary day and felt more than ordinary?  Today started like any other day. I slept well.  I had a decent breakfast and coffee.  Got the wife and boy (er, young man) off to school, settled down to my coffee, breakfast and newspaper (really, articles from internet news sites) and I was ready to meet the day. 

About mid morning I started looking for a snack and going through the fridge.  I could see nothing in there for dinner.  I might have to go to the store.  It is amazing that a small decision can turn into a glorious revelation.  I decided that I would need to go to the store. 

After my shower I stepped onto the front porch.  What a beautiful and glorious day.  I think I will walk.  Not a cloud in the sky, the temperature was about 70ºF, I could see the birds dancing on my lawn.  I walked to the store.  Not a bad walk.  No traffic. No noise other than the birds and babies crying in houses along the way.  Babies crying meant that my neighbors had their windows open on this beautiful autumn day in southern California.  Very nice walk indeed. 

At the store I bought fresh vegetables, garlic and ginger.  How about stir fry for dinner? I carried my reusable canvas shopping bag with me.  The one with the shoulder strap, like a bindle sack (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bindle).  An easy way to carry groceries home. 

On my way home I decided to walk by the Presbyterian church.  And it just so happens that it is 12 o'clock.  The church bells started to ring as if to remind me to Whom this day belongs.  They also reminded me of my wife.  She loves our neighborhood, in part because of these bells.  Talking to her on this beautiful, glorious day reminds me why I married her.  She is the one with whom I want to share this moment.  And thanks to our modern cell phone technology I did.  It was great hearing her voice.  She lifts my spirit. 

I am having a good day.  I will soon be employed.  I love my wife.   I have two bright, beautiful children growing into responsible adults.  I have a good life. 

I hope that your day is going well.  If it isn't, I hope that it gets better.  Have a great day. 

Lastly, I would like to share the last line from my horoscope today.  The first four lines were very negative and not indicative of my mood.  But the last..."Fortunately, you'll have some very valuable help; the heavens are feeling quite harmonious."  No kidding!   I already knew that. 

D. 

Bangkok Orchid Thai Restaurant

The other night we had a terrific dinner.  Wonderful flavors, very satisfying.  I have done the calculations here before.  There are about 15 restaurants within walking distance of my house (1-2 miles).  My wife and I decided to take a walk out for dinner to a local restaurant.  We were going to go to Souplantation but my son decided that Thai food was a better choice for a Tuesday.  We went to the Thai restaurant next door. 

This new restaurant has been open for several months.  I was extremely excited when I saw that they were going to open.  The only other Thai restaurant in the area is a bit farther away, a longer walk and we don't get there much.  But this one is very close by. 

My son is 16 and making a lot of great decisions lately.  He is growing up.  His palate is developing quite nicely.  I am teaching him to cook and he is discovering new food items.  He just recently posted on his Facebook page that he "love[s] Thai food". 

The last three times we had been there we ordered the Leaf Wrapped Savories.  We all loved it for the variety.  Spinach leaves to wrap coconut, diced ginger, peanuts, bean sprouts, and carrots.  Top those wraps with a Thai sauce really makes this an awesome beginning.  Every flavor comes through in its original glory.

On those previous occasions we tried the standard Pad Thai noodles with chicken or shrimp.  Both very good dishes.  My wife ordered the Pad Thai Chicken on this night.  Previously I ordered some things I hadn't tried before.  I wanted to experience some different flavors.  On occasion I was surprised by the heat.  But the heat doesn't last long.

Keeping with my sense of adventure I ordered something new.  Calamari Panang Curry.  The flavors were quite simply extraordinary.  A very nice meal. The Kaffir lime leaves and lemongrass were just fantastic. I was also pleased that it came in a coconut sauce.  I vowed to try this dish at home.  I have the recipe right here as I write this.  Someday I will try it.  It is that good.  I would love to make it a part of my repertoire.

I have made up my mind to come back and try some other new and interesting entree'.  Bangkok Orchid Thai has an extensive menu.  I could be quite happy for the next six months.  I think I will be. 

The owner has assured me that the Panang Curry is great with scallops.  I love scallops.  Look for me there next week. 

D.

Desires

I want to finish my coffee.
I want breakfast in bed.
I want to sleep when I'm tired.
I want nothing to dread.

I want to be the ear when you talk.
I want to be the floor when you walk.
I want to say things to make you smile.
I want to stay beside you all the while.

I want to be the air when you breathe.
I want to be there when you leave.
I need your smiles and your sighs.
I need the beauty of your eyes.

I love this woman, this lady next to me,
Except for my love there is nothing she expects of me.
I have given her my life, she makes me whole.
Together we are each other’s heart and soul.


Note: I think I wrote this in the mid nineties. When the kids were small.
D.

Election Day, 2010

Today is election day. I am going to vote and express my right as an American citizen. I am unemployed, but I am not going to vote to keep it that way.

Just my opinion. If you don't vote, you have no right to complain.

D.

World Series Win

Congratulations to Bruce Bochy on his World Series Win. This victory is well deserved.

I think he is the best manager in baseball. I always have. I think the San Diego Padres made a huge mistake in letting him go. That's life. I don't go to nearly as many games as I have in the past. There are many reasons for that. But...

Congratulations Bruce. Enjoy. A job well done.
D.

Elections 2010, automated Phone solicitations

4:46 PM PST, El Cajon, CA, San Diego County:

Tonight, while fixing dinner, I received a telephone call. I am expecting an important phone call concerning a job. I answered. I don't recall the exact words but I do remember the name. Brad Williams. Republican running for state senate. Wow. I hadn't heard of him. Then they said he was endorsed by the Boston Globe. Cool. But why would a candidate for state senate in California be endorsed by the Boston Globe. Then the announcer said "Brad Williams, candidate for state senate, Massachusetts. Really?

Geesh. I am being bombarded. The daily mail brought a whole tree of campaign literature. Vote for this, vote for that. Vote for me, vote for them. Ok. I love our electoral system, but geesh, can't you get the phone number right.

Mr. Williams, I wish you well.

Wow. Saddam Hussein really did have Weapons of Mass Destruction.

Wow. Saddam Hussein really did have weapons of mass destruction. George W. Bush, and all the other European nations that had the same intelligence, were right. Amazing.

Wired magazine just posted this on their website (www.wired.com/dangerroom/) in an article by Noah Shachtman (is that pronounced "shocked man"?). I had to throw that last parenthetical question in there because I was confident that Saddam did have them. I am not privvy to any information I just took him at his word.


But you should also check this out:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHJJQ0zNNOM

Found this also on Wired.com. I want one.

Thanks for checking in.
D.

Coke Machines

I remember those coke machines with the little 5 or 6 ounce cups, and the small cubes of ice about the size of a dime. You know, the ones where you dropped in a couple of quarters and you got a nice little refreshing cold drink. The drink you could finish in a few gulps, but it still quenched your thirst.

I miss those. Don't see many of them around. Now you either get 12 oz. aluminum cans or 20 oz. glass or plastic bottles. I could drink 5 or 6 ounces, not 12 and definitely not 20 at a time. I am glad they have resealable caps but still, it seems like such a waste.

Why not bring those machines back? I know. They compete with the baristas and fast food joints. It just seems like a healthier choice or, at least, a more moderate one.

Old Friends and Love Stories

The other day was a rainy day in Southern California. I get rather pensive on days like that.

I was working at my computer, doing job searches, looking for work and hoping for the best. I don’t know why I thought about it. Something in the weather, I guess, must have reminded me of the story. It was a love story. The kind of endless, undying love, with lovers too young to know any better and dumb enough to give their hearts so fully. They relied on each other too much. They were kids, they were unprepared. This was my friend’s story.

Reggie was an independent spirit. I met him about 25 years ago. We met by chance. We worked in the same hotel. We became friends. We were about the same age. I was married, he was not.

I had been working at the Italian Restaurant in the hotel when Reggie was hired. He was immediately assigned to our restaurant as a prep cook. We hit it off immediately. He had a wonderful sense of humor and lots of great stories to tell. He was a pleasure to work with.

He had come to the lake to start something new. He was tired of his old life and needed something different. He had been chasing a living running a deep fried vegetable concession truck at county fairs, carnivals and craft festivals. He needed a change. I think the economy had something to do with it. The money just wasn’t there.

I remember he rolled into Tahoe in his camper truck. He lived like a turtle, with his home on his back. Come to think of it, he was kind of built like a turtle too, kind of round and hard, about 5 foot 5 (or 6) inches tall, 240 to 250 pounds, not fat, muscular. He used to tell us stories of his traveling to carnivals and festivals, the people he’d meet and things he had seen.

At one time during his travels in the early 80’s, at the height of the mud wrestling popularity, Reggie and a buddy went to a bar one evening. There was a huge sign over a mud wrestling pit that advertised that wrestling would begin that evening at 7PM. There were pictures of nice looking young women all around the pit. After a few beers, as Reggie told it, and with some cajoling from his friend, Reggie was ready to sign up for the wrestling. He figured he would need a few beers to get into a mud pit with a couple of bikini clad waitresses and make a fool of himself.

Seven PM rolled around and Reggie, slightly inebriated, eagerly awaited the girls and the mud. Soon, an announcement was made to the now-crowded bar that the mud wrestling would soon begin. A small cheer went up as the crowd moved to gather around the small pit and arena. As luck would have it Reggie’s name was called first. Reggie stepped forward, was lead into the arena and, beer in hand, yelled, “Bring on the girls!”

Right on cue, Reggie’s opponent was brought in to the arena. No girls. His opponent was to be a six foot alligator with duct tape around his snout and carried by two attendants. The crowd let out a cheer.

“Had I been sober, I would have backed out,” Reggie told us. But since he had “several” beers he really didn’t care about the outcome. He stepped up to “rassle the gator”.

The bell rang and the gator was let loose. Reggie pounced and grabbed the gator. The first two times the gator wiggled free. But the third time Reggie held on for dear life. The gator was having none of that and swung his tail in the air, with Reggie precariously attached, and whipped Reggie completely out of the ring. Reggie did not get back in. Getting thrown out of the ring once was enough.

This was Reggie. He was fun-loving, hard drinking and had a great sense of humor. He was also a very passionate guy. Reggie had been married, to the love of his life he said. They married young, just after he had established himself in the carnival food business. He would winter in Yuma, Arizona, a hotbed meeting place of fellow carnies and fair food service types. The mild winters made Yuma an excellent place to rest in the off-season, to repair machines, and to get ready for the next season.

Reggie met a local girl. They fell in love and married in the spring. He moved her to his home in Modesto, California where they lived a life as idyllic newlyweds.

Reggie and his wife moved into a working class neighborhood in Modesto. He had a small house with a carport. Life was good.

One night Reggie heard a noise coming from his carport and, upon investigating, found someone (or two) breaking into his car. He confronted the individual(s) only to be beaten severely. Reggie told me he spent several weeks in the hospital with multiple broken bones. His young wife was so afraid to stay in the house alone, and not having any relatives in the area, went home to her family in Yuma.

When Reggie finally got out of the hospital he divorced her. “She wasn’t there when I really needed her,” he told me. He also told me it was one of the great mistakes of his life. He never married again.

I knew Reggie 20 years ago. I haven’t seen him since. I have tried to find him a few times over the years. But not for the last five years or so. Internet searches, but to no avail. But just recently, after being laid off, I started my search again. I had an idea for a lunch truck as a last resort, if my current career path doesn’t pan out. I have not been able to find a job. So, I thought a lunch truck, working for myself, might be the route to go. I knew Reggie had that experience. I needed his help for my lunch truck business venture. I needed advice.

I tried searching again. His name came up. I hit the link for the Stanislaus County District Attorney’s office, Crime Victim’s Unit. Yes. There was Reggie’s name, listed on a plaque honoring the homicide victims in Stanislaus County for 2004-2005. This bit of news broke my heart. I should call the DA’s CVU (I have the number on my desk) to verify the identity of my friend but I am too afraid of the truth. It is a scary proposition. Is it better to know? Or should I cling to the hope that it is a coincidence? Perhaps a different Reggie? I do not know what I am going to do. I may never know.

He was a good man. Such a shame.

Keep in touch.
D.

This is Not the Silent Century

This is not the silent century,
everyone has a voice.
This is not the age of truth,
everyone has a choice.
We can toil or not and persevere,
We can stand on our faith and cheer.
We can never regain our youth.


D.

List for the Unemployed

Note: I got laid off from my job on July 22. I need to make a list of what I need to do each day, lest I waste too much time doing nothing but watching tv.

My lists:

July 23rd.
1. Cheer up. You now have time to work on your poetry, novel and your historical tome.
2. Don’t think about the lost vacation plans.
3. Savings can cover the mortgage.

July 25
1. Look for work. Send out 5 resumes to all competitors of old company.
2. Don’t think about the lost vacation plans.
3. Savings can cover the mortgage.

July 26
1. Look for work. Send out 5 resumes to any company that you have an address on.
2. Don’t think about the lost vacation plans.
3. Savings can cover the mortgage.

July 27
1. Have a happy birthday.
2. Take time to read a book. Relax.
3. Play scrabble on the computer.
4. If bored, play some mindless, noisy games on the internet.
5. Don’t think about the lost vacation plans.
6. Savings can cover the mortgage.

August 2
1. Look for work.
2. Don’t think about the lost vacation plans.
3. Savings can cover the mortgage.

September 7
1. Drive son to school.
2. Look for work on the computer, for an hour.
3. Find at least one job a day to apply for.
4. 9AM. Play some mindless, noisy games on the internet.
5. Think about your writing. Ok, that’s enough.
6. Lunch time? Already.
7. Call your wife.
8. Tell her to call you (the phone must be broken.)
9. Check Facebook. See who played hooky today.
10. Just me.

September 14
1. Drive son to school.
2. Look for work on the computer, for an hour.
3. Find at least one job a day to apply for.
4. 9AM. Play some mindless, noisy games on the internet.
5. Groceries – bleach, drain cleaner, rat poison, lighter fluid, Milk, eggs, cheese, pudding, bacon, butter, sausages.
6. Think about your writing, but read a book instead.

September 27
1. Drive son to school.
2. Stop for newspaper and donut.
3. Think about tomorrow’s list.

September 28
1. Drive son to school.
2. Come home, shower, shave, put on clean clothes.
3. Leave in plenty of time for interview. (first one in weeks.)
4. Be nice.
5. Call your wife.
6. Tell her we find out next week.

October 1
1. Drive son to school.
2. Look for work on the computer, for an hour.
3. Rake the leaves, mow the lawn.
4. Go to chiropractor. Back hurts.
5. Thank God for the vicodin.
6. And Ice.
7. …

October 4
1. Drive son to school.
2. Stop for newspaper.
3. Check the phone.
4. Coffee, breakfast, newspaper.
5. Check the phone.
6. Check e-mail.
7. Lunch time already. Call your wife.
8. Check phone.

Whales on a Beach

What if whales stranding themselves on beaches is just a part of the evolutionary process of a million years? What if one of those whales finally develops the necessary features needed to live on land? What if they just want to join their fellow mammals and live on land like other air breathers?

Perhaps it is just a question that we as humans just can't answer. We have to look at the entire history


http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100925/ap_on_sc/as_new_zealand_whales_stranded

Just a Saturday morning pondering. I need coffee.
D.

Unexpected Gifts, Respected

Sometimes life gives you unexpected gifts. Those gifts must be respected. I know a story where this respect seems to have been taken to its extreme.

Many years ago in 1968/1969, while my family was living in Placerville, CA., my dad was commuting to Sacramento, CA each day for work. This was about a 30 mile commute. The main thoroughfare was good ole Highway 50. The venerable old Highway 50 stretching from Sacramento, CA to Ocean City, Maryland. Some people call stretches of it "the most boring road in America." This may be true, but we lived off of some of the most picturesque sections.

The trek from Sacramento in those days covered wide open spaces, the rolling foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and into the mountains once you passed Placerville. On the other side of the Sierra Nevada's was Nevada. In the middle was the tourist and gambler destination of South Lake Tahoe, CA and Stateline, Nevada. Stateline boasted a couple of casinos and hotels in those days. Highway 50 saw a lot of traffic to South Lake Tahoe. It still does.

On one particular evening, my dad was returning home from work. Getting on the highway he spotted a hippy couple, backpacks and all, thumbs out, hitchhiking a ride to Lake Tahoe. It was getting late in the evening and in the fall of the year so my dad offered them a ride to Placerville. They accepted. They tossed their backpacks in the back of my dad's pickup and hopped in the cab.

When my dad reached his turn off in Placerville it was already dark. He pulled over and the couple got out, grabbed their packs and went on their way. It wasn't until the next day that my dad noticed that their hunting knife had fallen out of one of their packs. Too late now to try to return it. This was my dad's unexpected gift. I imagine it looked something like this:



These days, after 41 years of use by my dad, the knife looks more like this:


My dad has respected this unexpected gift. I just wish and hope that the poor fellow who lost it could know that it was not lost but has been put to good use over these past 41 years. Who knows, it may last another 41 years.

Respect to all.


D.

Spider Housekeeping

This weekend I saw a spider. EEK!

I awoke yesterday morning and found him/her building, no, tending the web. It was early morning and over my coffee and morning paper I watched him. Nothing unusual was happening. I, drinking my coffee, reading my newspaper, he, watching his web and waiting for gnats, flies or any other insects that happened to wander by.

Midway through my paper I noticed a leaf hanging on the web, near the bottom where he attached the web to the house. The leaf was wiggling in the slight early morning breeze. With every breeze the web shook. The little leaf was aggravating the whole web. The spider, finally got annoyed and moved down the web to flick the leaf off into the yard. I was intrigued about the spider and impressed with the effort at web housekeeping.

He was back tonight. I noticed there were some insects in the web already. I wish him well. But I hope he dismantles it in the morning because I have some yardwork to do and it is a common passageway around the house. Tonight I will let him sleep.

Balance

For a moment there I stumbled, lost my balance.
Yes, I fell. It happens, at my age and circumstance.
While laying on the floor the only thing on my mind
was that this doesn't seem right.
I used to walk upright, head held high,
shoulders back.
I used to have the self-confidence to stand tall.
Used to...but lately...
I momentarily lost my balance.
I can pull myself up
And get back on my feet.

D.

"Burrocrats"

I saw a report where the US debt now totals $13,310,379,000,000.00 and works out to about $44,000 per citizen. I cannot afford that. I wrote to my congressman asking him to introduce a bill in congress that would deduct the $44,000 each year from the salary compensation given to our senators and representatives and other “Burrocrats” until the debt reaches zero or until the budget gets balanced or debt gets under “control”. This is getting ridiculous. This is destroying our country.

D.

Safe At Home by Alyssa Milano

Alyssa, thank you for this wonderful book. I found it very soothing.

I just wanted to let my family know that I finally finished reading Alyssa Milano's great tome and fascinating tribute to baseball and family. It brought me to tears in the end. She is a great writer and has really uncovered some truths about baseball. I will have to give baseball another look, especially now, since I have so much time on my hands.

You see, I just recently got laid off. I know I mentioned it a few weeks ago, but the realities are starting to sink in. My final paychecks have just run out and I am waiting for the unemployment to kick in. The depression has already kicked in. I get up in the morning, check my e-mail for responses to the e-mails and resumes I sent out the day before and last week and the week before that. (Yes, I know it is a run-on sentence.) The e-mails lately have been about new openings on the jobsites I signed up for. I respond to them.

I am actually applying for 4 to 5 new jobs a day. I might have to print a stack of resume's and hit the road. On some sites they prefer that you don't show up at their door. On those, I wait for the call.

I have a list of the apps in a binder on my desk and I have the application dates listed on my calendar. I plan on contacting them again in about a week after receiving my resume and application. I have heard no responses other than from the companies that are hoping that I am some one I am not.

And so, the depression sets in. I have worked for 40 years. I put myself through college, supported myself and my wife while raising two children. I now have too much time on my hands. I use it to read the books I have been stacking for several years.

Friends and faithful readers know me as a lapsed baseball fan. I thoroughly enjoyed Ms. Milano's book, but I don't think it will rekindle the flame that once was there. I have other books to read, other fires to stoke. But I do agree with her about baseball and life in general. She has awakened in me a feeling of nostalgia for a game I used to love. She has a wonderful writing style and a great philosophy on life.

But I am looking forward. I am trying to remake myself into someone I have always dreamed of being. I have ideas. I can write, too. I may have enough for a book also. But I lack the cohesion of one topic. I shall keep plugging away.

I find my days spent now trying to discover new paths. Old paths are becoming overgrown with uncertainty and chance. There are no guarantees. Ever. I remember the quote from Shaw. To paraphrase, The people who succeed in this world are not those looking for their perfect situations but those who, not finding the situations to their liking, go out and create one for them to succeed. I am looking for that opportunity.

Perhaps I'll drive a truck.

D.

Emotion and a Writer's life.

"The sharing of deep emotion - the sharing of those feelings - between two people is much more important to the survival of the collective human soul than moving the masses with a popular song, poem, or a book."

I hit upon this quote from my notes. I am cleaning up my desk and this is part of the detritus. What tripe. I mean, yes, it is important to love and to be loved, but it is also important to pursue your dreams. I had dreams, years ago.

My daughter is watching "good will hunting" in the other room. I remember when the movie came out years ago. I stumbled across a discussion group online about the use or non-use of God-given gifts. The question asked at the time was, 'was it a sin not to use the gifts from God?' I started to think about that. I have a gift. I didn't know it at the time but I have a gift. When I found out about this gift, that was all I wanted to do with my life. I want to write. But it is not that simple. There are demands, time, money and companionship.

I remember my parents 50th wedding anniversary. My brother asked me to offer a toast. He asked me if I needed some time to come up with something. I told him I was already working on it. Such is a writer's life. If you see a writer sitting quietly in a corner, with the lights off (or on), chances are he is thinking. He IS working. People don't seem to understand that. My mind is constantly working. I am always thinking, always working. The problem I have is in writing those thoughts down on paper. I don't always have the time.

So, years later, I find scraps of paper on my desk. I find little quotes, ideas, nice phrases and I have no idea of the context. Maybe I should just collect them all and publish them and let the reader decide. Yeah, that might work. I have read Vonnegut.

But back to my original topic and the use of gifts. That reminded me of a Springsteen song. See, these ideas are not new, and have haunted artist for a long time. Springsteen wrote:

"Now those memories come back to haunt me
they haunt me like a curse,
Is a dream a lie if it don't come true
Or is it something worse..."

So, is not using your God-given gifts a Sin? I have tried to get published. I have tried to become a better writer. I have not succeeded. That begs another question, is success the measure of success?

I leave that to my fellow ponderers.

D.

Forgetful Me

A funny thing happened to me today. I got laid off. I was told to go ahead and finish out the day. So I dutifully stayed at my computer until it just didn’t make any sense sticking around for the “rest of the day.” All the rest of us unlucky souls had already left the office.

I started to input my hours into the online time keeping system. I am a telecommuter. I usually work from home. I was asked to come to the office today. Never a good thing. Especially when your boss starts out the meeting with “Bad News.” Anyway, I went into the office today. I forgot my password at home.

I tried to do my time card. I was really nervous – never been laid off before. And I screwed up my password. I hate corporate America. It seems that no matter what program you use you need a password. Can’t they make it easier? I couldn’t for the life of me remember my password. Between all of my personal accounts and my work accounts (former) I must have 25 passwords. Well, I was nervous, I just wanted to go home and drink. On the third try the system kicked me out.

I had to call the help desk for my password to login for the last time. How pathetic is that? (Don’t answer that.) I really don’t need to know. So the guy picks up on the other end. I have to answer some security questions. First he asks me my name. I tell him.

I am already depressed by being laid off but he has to ask me my security questions. I feel awful about forgetting my password for my last official act as an employee. But he has to ask me a question about what high school I went to. I went to high school in New Orleans. My high school was destroyed in Hurricane Katrina, and, like my most recent job, it doesn’t exist anymore. Thanks man.

Then he has to ask me about my dad’s middle name. My dad, I love him, but it is hard watching him grow old. It is kind of depressing. Thanks man. Then he asks me my mom’s birthday. “Hey, knock it off, we are all getting older, ok.”

Well, he reaches the conclusion that I am who I say I am. I tell him that it is reassuring that I am who I say I am because on Mondays and Fridays I sometimes forget. We both got a mild chuckle about that one. He said he always remembers who he is on Fridays. Me, I am not so sure. Especially this “Friday”. This “Friday” (the end of my week was Thursday) I wasn’t too sure who I was. Two hours ago I was a gainfully employed, tax-paying citizen. But now…? I just don’t know who I am.

And so, I sit here tonight. Wondering if I should continue on this path, trying to be someone I am not sure I am, or if I should veer off on another course to see what is on the horizon. Who am I? What shall I do?

My daughter, bless her heart, found some jobs online that she thinks I should apply for. She is right. She knows who I am. Better than I do, I think. She chose some interesting jobs. Jobs which will allow me to pursue other options. Jobs which will allow me to grow. We shall see. Next week I might know who I am. Next week I may be a different person.
Wish me luck.

D.

lost friends

on his way to a doctor's appointment he remembers an old friend. they dated once or twice in college. he met her in a geography class. geography always kept them apart. he had thought of her many times over the years. was it his fault they lost touch, or was it the fact that he married and had kids?

he thought of her today. he often does. her shops are all over town. he thinks he should call her up. but a lifetime has gone by. what is there to say? he thought maybe he would see her waiting for the doctor.

he saw her face in traffic. the driver of a car going in the opposite direction.

Priscilla Herdman

These words are long overdue. I have been listening to her music for several years now. Everytime I hear her voice she lightens my heart. Priscilla Herdman has the purest voice I have ever heard. And she chooses such wonderful, passionate and insightful songs. Such a sweet sound. Her voice has an amazingly calming affect on my troubled soul.

I have been a fan of Priscilla Herdman’s voice ever since I first heard her on the XM satellite radio back in 2003. I definitely have to thank the folk channel for that discovery. My first introduction to her music was through her work with the trio, Herdman Hills and Mangsen. The first song I heard was "More Wood" from their "Voices of Winter" CD. Wow, what a CD that was. Beautiful theme and I was struck right away by the pure artistry of it. These three ladies work very well together. There are about a dozen songs that I look forward to hearing when I put that CD in.

The only name I remembered (I was listening in the car) was Herdman’s. So I went home and immediately looked up her web site (http://www.priscillaherdman.com/) and I ordered the CDs. I was hooked. And I have thoroughly enjoyed the music of the trio and of Priscilla Herdman herself ever since.

Last night I listened again. I couldn't sleep. I fired up the I-Pod and played only Priscilla's music. The music again lifted my soul and calmed my restless heart. I am particularly fond of her CD, "The Water Lily" - 1977. This was the album where she uses a lot of the Australian poet Henry Lawson's words and shares his works with the world. My favorites are the songs "Reedy River"(Henry Lawson-Chris Kempster) and "The Shame Of Going Back"(Henry Lawson-Priscilla Herdman). Amazingly beautiful songs. But her duet with the late Utah Philips ("I Remember Loving You" - Darkness Into Light - 1987) is just sheer artistry.

Priscilla Herdman is a true artist. Her voice is the most pure voice I have ever heard. These words are long over due. Priscilla, you have given me many hours of peace. I thank you for that.

D.

Don Coryell, RIP.

And today I find out that Don Coryell has passed away. The newspaper lists his age at 85. In my post about Don Coryell (http://ponderingdave.blogspot.com/2009/07/don-coryell.html), I wondered why he was not in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. I still wonder that.

Don Coryell meant a lot to the city of San Diego. I offer my condolences to his family, the Chargers and the city of San Diego.

Garden Vegetables

Last night we had dinner with my mom and dad. I had made a gift of dinner to my dad for Father's Day. All he had to do was call with the request. I think I still owe him dinner, after all the times he fed me as a kid.

The idea was that we would pick the dinner up and deliver it to his house. He doesn't seem to get around very well these days. And my mom fell on Tuesday and hurt her foot, so she is hobbling, too. So, we would pick up dinner and deliver it to them. We would also sit and enjoy their company. It would be nice.

Knowing that my mom hurt her foot I figured this week would be a great time to take them dinner. When I talked to my mom she said that dad was up to going to the restaurant. It was always his favorite, so we made the arrangements to meet them there.

My dad is an old North Dakota farm boy. I was raised in and always lived in a city, but my dad always had a garden. The victory garden, the vegetable garden, his weekend hobby. I remember he always had one, even the summer of 1968 in Buffalo, New York, he always had a garden. Still does, although his age and ailments precludes the effort he used to put into it. He still has vegetables growing.

And so do I. This year I planted tomatoes, peppers, corn, yellow squash, zucchini and pumpkins. I must admit that my garden isn't doing as well as my dad's gardens used to, but I have been away for awhile and I know I need to water more. Even now, as I look out I see corn with yellow leaves and wilted squash plants. I turned the water on. There, that ought to help.

Even though my garden is not the greatest of gardens it has been producing. So last night I brought two zucchini's for my mom and dad. They seemed very grateful. My dad remarked that this was a first. "This is the first time one of my children has brought me vegetables from their own garden." I could tell that it meant a lot to him. It means a lot to me, too.

I feel extremely grateful to my dad for teaching me the value of fresh vegetables. Indeed, he tried to teach me years ago, but I was too young or too distracted, or whatever, to really listen. Yet now, as I try my hand at gardening again, I find that I really was listening to those words years ago. We really do learn. I am extremely thankful for the gifts from my old man.

D.

Today we witnessed an "attempted murder".

This morning during our usual Sunday morning walk, my wife, my daughter and I witnessed an attempted murder. It was not as shocking as you would expect. Bear with me a sec.

We were walking down one of our normal, quiet neighborhood streets on our way to our favorite coffee shop for our Sunday morning spiritual. The trip to the shop was perfect. The weather was amazing, a beautiful spring day, not a cloud in the sky, the sun beating down and a wonderful, cool breeze came from the ocean. There was the normal greetings of the neighborhood birds and their sweet sounds are one of the reasons we love these morning walks. It is what makes our neighborhood so livable.

On our way back from the coffee shop, our thirst satiated and our spirits lifted, we spotted some crows on a nearby house. My wife saw it first and noted that there was a party on the roof. I said that it was a murder of crows (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Murder_of_Crows_(literal), noting that a flock of crows was a "murder". But my wife said that it was hardly a flock (there were only three). So my daughter said that it was an "attempted murder".

Squirrel Plague

Last night we attended the Battle of the Bands at my son's high school. Tim's band tied with 7 other bands for 4th place. Tim's band, Squirrel Plague, had the largest contingent of rabid, dancing fans. Unfortunately, crowd favorites was not a category. Prior to the band taking the stage, two girls behind us were talking about Squirrel Plague coming up next. During their set, about 15 dancers entered the stage - all unplanned and spontaneous - and danced back and forth across the stage. It was a sight to be seen.

D.

Spring Saturday

Ah, the wonderful spring Saturday. Beautiful weather, warm, 72ºF, not a cloud in the sky, light cool breeze. Perfect day for weeding the flower beds and garden. After the weeding was done I turned the water on. I was watering the vegetables when a hummingbird flew and hovered right next to me, not three feet away. I turned and asked him (her) what he was doing. What do you want? Some water? I realized that I had not watered the honeysuckle in a while. I think he was looking for some water. I turned my attention to the other bushes in the yard. I think I saw the hummingbird lingering in the spray of my garden hose. So cool.

D.

"Longing For Peace"

I wanted to share this from a fellow blogger. She is a friend of a facebook friend. She lives in Israel. I think her thoughts say it all. Sometimes we don't really see the whole story. Check it out. God bless.

http://what-kt-did.blogspot.com/

D.

Phillis Wheatley

Tonight I read a few paragraphs on the poet Phillis Wheatley. I had read her poetry before and I thoroughly enjoyed it but I never pursued any in depth study. Tonight I read about her story.

From Poets.org:
"Phillis Wheatley was the first black poet in America to publish a book. She was born around 1753 in West Africa and brought to New England in 1761, where John Wheatley of Boston purchased her as a gift for his wife. Although they brought her into the household as a slave, the Wheatleys took a great interest in Phillis's education. Many biographers have pointed to her precocity; Wheatley learned to read and write English by the age of nine, and she became familiar with Latin, Greek, the Bible, and selected classics at an early age. She began writing poetry at thirteen, modeling her work on the English poets of the time, particularly John Milton, Thomas Gray, and Alexander Pope."

She was 8 years old when brought to America and "purchased as a gift for his wife". I pray that we have come far. I understand that America is the only nation on the face of the earth to have fought a war about slavery. Hundreds of thousands of people died so that we could abolish this curse.

I find it odd that slavery still exists in this world. It is a shame. Have we humans not learned anything?

other ideas

We have this house. It needs work. I still have yet to paint the family room, or trim the door, or install the floor boards. There are always more pressing things to be done. I would rather spend time with my wife, share moments with her than show my incompetence with a hammer. I would rather spend time with my family than make mistakes at handyman projects around the house.

The yard is full of weeds. The garden has not been planted. The trash in the yard not carried to the dump. I am not a very good carpenter, gardener, painter or handyman. I am lazy.

And yet, the heater works, the roof doesn't leak and the doors remain locked. My family is safe, well fed and, I hope, happy.

There are more important things in life than a green lawn or a showcased house. I cherish the quality time I can spend with my family.

Or maybe it is just a lazy man's rationalizations.

D.

Cell Phone in traffic.

Tonight I decided to celebrate the "almost end of Spring Break" with my daughter by taking the family out to dinner. My wife and I chose a nice seafood restaurant downtown that we had been wanting to take the kids. This meant driving the southern California freeways at rush hour. Our town is such that we would, luckily, be driving against traffic.

We left our house for the 20 minute drive to the restaurant. On the way there we were on the freeway. My kids created a new game. Catch the Cell Phoners and Texters. On the way to the restaurant, 15 minutes they spotted three individuals on their cell phones. I believe one was texting. This in a state where using a cell phone while driving is a moving violation. We were shocked.

On the way home, it was dark. We were on the freeway driving home and spotted 11 different drivers using cell phones. It is interesing. I guess they were all late for dinner.

Be careful out there.

D.

Earthquake, 7.2 Calexico, Mexico

We felt this earthquake this afternoon. I was just coming in from outside on the back patio. Most of my entire side yard is covered in concrete. My wife poked her head out the kitchen door and asked if I felt that. I said 'What?' She said 'earthquake'. I was in the doorway. I held on to the door jamb and I could fell the earth move. It lasted for a good 20 - 30 seconds. I have lived in California for the last thirty years and this was the most I have felt it shake. Pretty incredible.

No damage here at our house. Just kind of shaken up. I hope everyone is ok. I dare say there will be some damage in Calexico (about 110 miles south, southwest of here). I wish them well.

D.

Update: Upgraded to 7.2 mag. after a seismologist looked at the data. Two people dead in Mexico.

As an aside, people have commented on the differences of the death tolls between Haiti and this latest earthquake in Northern Mexico. Differences are in the construction of buildings, mostly because of the strength of concrete and its ability to withstand hurricanes. I think it is mostly a structural issue and not a cultural one.

Easter, 1993

To my daughter, 3 years old at the time. How much fun we had.

Orange and blue and yellow and red.
"make some green," you said.
Said I to you,
"I'll make them blue
and yellow, orange and red."
But you persist,
"Make some green," again you said.
"We have eggs of red and yellow,
eggs of orange and blue."
And you went on to name
the colors as you know 'em.
But I'll not make eggs of green
like a childhood poem.
"But," you said with glee,
"I like green."
But green eggs are not for me.

So now you sit
and make your face to pout.
And your mother says to me
"Make some green."
And I was much put out.


by David R. Normand
Author's Comments:
"We were having fun. I would have made green eggs for her anyway. It was our favorite book."

"Who Do You Think You Are?"

Tonight my wife and I watched on television that new show about genealogy, "Who Do You Think You Are?". I was fascinated by the way this episode turned out for reasons that I will discuss later. Tonight's episode followed Matthew Broderick's search for his maternal great-great-great-(great?) grandfather. I have seen three of these shows and each has touched me quite unexpectedly.

The first show that we saw dealt with Sarah Jessica Parker. It was interesting. She followed her great grandfather to the gold fields of California. She traced his life to an area near Placerville, California and at one point was travelling up "Pleasant Valley Road". My brothers and sisters will note that this is the same road on which we lived for two years in the 60's. (My youngest sister was born in Placerville.) I think I am destined to watch the show. These shows are hitting close to home.

I mean, I used to live in Placerville, and Sarah Jessica Parker drove right by my old house. And for tonight's search, Matthew Broderick found his great-great-great-grandfather's grave and I have always been fascinated by cemeteries. I should explain that a bit further.

During the course of my spiritual, secondary and collegial education I developed an interest in life stories, the dash, so to speak. (Birth-death, where the dash means the entire list of accomplishments of a persons life.) I was fascinated how a cemetery can house a persons body and list there historical record - every one has a story. Everyone has a story that really can't be told on a headstone. I discovered this and set on a journey to make my "dash" mean something.

Part of that quest is the establishment of this blog two and a half years ago. Part of that quest is my poetry and my writing; my beautiful wife and two beautiful children; my life and my work. I am constantly searching for meaning in my life. It is an ongoing journey.

I wish you luck and good fortune in your quests.
D.

Our punny language.

We have a punny language. English. Funny how you drive on a parkway and park on a driveway? I mentioned this to my son and he said, "yeah, and your nose runs, but your feet smell."

Go ahead, give me some more.

D.

On Work

I picked up Philip Levine's book of poems "What Work Is" this evening. I was intending to read a bit before I went to bed. I opened the book. Title page where he signed it right under his name. I met him at the Santa Barbara Poet's Workshop, in 2008(?). I started to read his words, just talking about work. I have to work tomorrow. And I am getting tired.

I set the book aside. I do that a lot. I have other things to do. Not enough time. I have to work tomorrow. It is what I do. Since I was 12 and mowing lawns for three bucks a lawn. Mowing lawns in the New Orleans August humidity, sweating till soaked. Bought my first lawn mower 'cause my dad got tired of me borrowing his. I think I gave it to my brother when I turned 14. By that age I was working as a soda jerk and ice cream scooper. From fire to ice. (Isn't that a poem by Frost, or Sandburg... Fire and Ice...gotta be Frost.) Nevermind, I digress. Work. Yes.

Been doing it since I was twelve. Of course not all the time, but still, had somewhere to go, something to do. Since I was twelve. Not all the time. I took four years off for college. My dad said that was a full-time job, going to school. Somewhere to go, something to do. Thirty nine years now. Wow.

I had a part-time job through high school. A buck an hour. Spending money. Got me out of the heat. When I graduated high school I needed money for college. I started working in restaurants. A buck eighty-five to start. Pretty cool. Big time. Then they raised the minimum wage to two and a quarter. Wow.

I fell in love with the restaurants. I was a quiet kid in school, not very good at studying. But the restaurants I really felt like I belonged. Everyone was so friendly and they were great characters. I loved it. I spent the next fourteen years of my life working in Restaurants. I counted them once. Over twenty. I shall count them again. No, it just seemed like there were a lot. Only thirteen. Hard to believe. I thought there were more. Two major hotels accounted for most of the restaurants. I enjoyed it. I hated it. The work was fulfilling and educational, but also stressful and not very lucrative financially. I met a lot of people and more than a few good friends. Restaurants taught me to love food. Restaurants made me fat.

But work. I digress. It is what we do. Such an unnatural activity. It zaps your humanity, your spirit, your creativity. Some people say that work makes us creative. It gives us energy, character and strength. Perhaps, but for a creative mind, it stifles. But then again, if not for work, where would we go each day? What would we do? True. So, on we go. Back to work. I must sleep, because tomorrow...I work.

D.

A Poet's Observation

A white haired, seasoned citizen rests on her walker outside the neighborhood Denny’s restaurant, nestled in the corner of our local strip mall. She says goodbye to her friends after brunch and slowly begins her walk across the parking lot, picking up her walker for each step moving only inches at a time, to finally reach her oversized, aged car. She takes her time. Nothing waits for her at home.

D. Normand, C. 2010

Captain Phil Harris

My wife and I are deeply saddened this week by the passing Captain Phil Harris of the Cornelia Marie fishing vessel of Discovery Channel's "the Deadliest Catch". We enjoy watching the show very much and Capt. Phil was a major part of that enjoyment. He will be greatly missed.

We want to extend our condolences and prayers to Capt. Phil and his family.
http://www.corneliamarie.com/

D.

Terrorists Trials

I was listening to the news today about the upcoming (or planned) trials for the terrorists being held on Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. A lot of people are now saying that they don't want the trials held in New York City. They are talking about moving them to some small town in New York State. But that still leaves the danger of another terrorist attack.

Also, President Obama has been saying that he wants to close the prison on Guantanamo Bay. Well, I have a solution that will stimulate the economy and help to stabilize the United States of America.

Years ago the Navy stopped bombing the island of Vieques, in the US territory of Puerto Rico. The island is now mostly a wildlife refuge. Why can't the Navy take that island, build a prison there (stimulate the local construction economy) and hold the trials there, on Puerto Rico. You would not have to transport the prisoners very far and the cost of the trials would be lowered. Think of how many lawyers would jump at the chance to go to the Carribean to work for a few months. This would also keep the dangerous prisoners off of the American mainland.

Also, that would leave Guantanamo Bay empty. The Navy could then use those facilities for target practice which could also serve to show the Cubans that we are really just next door.

Age (a re-post from June 10, 2009: for maintenance reasons)

As we get along in years, as we pass the time, turn the corner, cross the bridge, climb the hill to middle age, we notice things that we may not have noticed in the past. We hear things that affect us differently than other things might have. We can become more sensitive to the world around us. We understand more. We appreciate things more. And we also lament the passing of time. We marvel that there are more years behind us than ahead of us. We have reached that age.

Tonight my wife and I were sitting down to watch our beloved baseball team play the Los Angeles Dodgers. You may know that the Dodgers moved west to California in the year of my birth, 1958. They just packed up and moved. The city of Los Angeles promised them a stadium. I remember someone asking one of the owners if he ever regretted the move. He said, "let's see, we own the stadium, we own the land, we own the concessions, we own the parking. No, I don't regret it." With a deal like that, what's not to love.

The Dodgers built the stadium shortly after moving out to California and it opened in 1962. 1962 was a great year for me and I didn't even know it. My wife was born that year. But enough history.

We were watching our Padres and the announcers made some comments about the Dodger Stadium being built in 1962. And now because of all the new ballparks built in the recent years, Dodger Stadium is now the third oldest major league ballpark in the country. My wife lamented that she didn't want to hear about anything being built in 1962 as being the third oldest anything. What could I say? I just had to let it go.

D.
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Movie Night on New Year's Day

It has long been a tradition in our family that New Years Day night, after getting up early, watching the Rose Parade and taking down the Christmas decorations, that my wife and I repair to our easy chairs and become unfortunate couch potatoes. Tonight was a night for tradition. She had gone out to rent the latest DVD version of some action movie franchise and we sat down to a dinner of black eye peas and beer-boiled bratwursts. Our children had decided to join us in our family movie night. The action movie was great.

But my college student daughter had accompanied my wife to the video store. They came back with the rental, and a stack of previously viewed discounted DVD's. One of those little gems we were destined to watch after finishing the action movie. I was looking for something a little lighthearted.

My daughter, a child psychology student, had a movie on her Christmas list. Santa must have skipped that, or not had enough room in his bag. So, at the video store this evening she found the neglected movie. I think we purchased it for her because it ended up in our stack.

And that is how we happened across a wonderfully fascinating little movie called "Phoebe in Wonderland", starring Felicity Huffman, Patricia Clarkson, Elle Fanning, Bill Pullman and Campbell Scott. This awesome movie has the innocent title disguising a beautifully intelligent, deep movie and has some incredible acting. I am thankful to have found this gem. I highly recommend this movie to anyone who has kids.

I found myself with a lot of different emotions while (and after) watching this. From a parent's standpoint I could certainly understand the feelings. The parents (Huffman and Pullman) scenes were great scenes to watch. Elle Fanning was amazing. The depth of character portrayed was fascinating to watch. Clarkson was great.

I came away with many different thoughts. Can a child of 9 or 10 have that kind of lucidity? Certainly that kind of intelligence and self-awareness could be recognized. Also, can we find teachers that use the Socratic method and actually teach our children to think?

As a parent, that is all I ask. I try to teach my children responsibility, honor, and a sense of community. I want them to know that they belong and are a part of the greater good. I am learning that the education of a soul goes very deep.