Monday, December 15, 2014

Shakespeare

Things haven't exactly gone according to my plan, but then, what does? I'm going to call a hiatus at the least to this blog, and there is no knowing what the future holds. But in whatever time I have, I'll be occupied with my kids and their world.

I have enjoyed writing here, and have been quite taken with the type of relationships that are formed in this ethereal world.

Take care all, be as happy as you can. I'll leave you with a quote from Willy the Shake:

"If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;
If not, why then, this parting was well made."


Mike



Thursday, December 4, 2014

Follow up to last post

As I mentioned, the girls were both born on the first of December, 13 years apart. Last time I put a picture taken this birthday, here's one from 27 years ago on that day.






At the time, Kate was not totally thrilled to learn she'd be sharing her birthday, but the idea grew on her.

Bruce, aka Oddball Observations, suggested that I show the father of the group, so here's one taken around that time.





I won't burden you with a current picture of him.

My medical odyssey continues tomorrow with two scheduled procedures, culminating hopefully on the 12th with either the last one or a gateway into more invasive stuff. The two tomorrow are in some doubt because The Adorable One, aka Fiona, managed to sneak some of her germs into my delicate system. The plague child strikes again.

Hope all and sundry are well. 

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

1 December

6:30 pm, 1974 the one on the left emerged into the world.

12:30 pm 1987 her sister joined her.


Oddly, my hair and beard were totally light brown before these events.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

We May be Criminals, but we've got gum disease under control.

I'm heading for Seattle on Thursday, be gone for a few weeks. The admirable SIL has assured me he can whip my computer into compliance, and it will be my obedient slave.

So, till then, I'll leave you with the headline from the local paper today. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

FLEECED FLOSS
A teen duo is accused of trying to steal 18 packs of dental floss.
Police say the 16-year-old boy and 14-year-old girl also shoplifted yoga pants, Slim Jims and gum. They were cited for theft from Walmart Monday and released to their parents.

I live in an odder place than you.


Thursday, November 13, 2014

My favorite bookstore, and my favorite restaurant






It was founded by this guy. Some might recognize him.





The bookstore is catty-corner across the wide street from my favorite restaurant. I first went there with Cary in '71, they had abelone the size of salad plates, gently sauteed, and sand dabs to die for. The co-owner, Lorenzo Petroni recently passed on. He saw my daughter grow up on our frequent visits for 15 years.


Anybody been to either?

Friday, November 7, 2014

Ok, here's what we need.

You, all 37 of you under the best circumstances. Nearly 0.0000000007 percent of the US population, so I have an audience. So listen up.  Yeah, I might have left a couple zero's out, nevermind that.

Writer pauses here, hoping people will pay more attention than his kids did, Realizes this is a futile hope, wonders how much beer is in the fridge

Here it is: We need someone to comment on the news, in the blogs we frequent, daily. Or at least every couple days. Ok, once a week would work. But someone. You, yeah you out there! I'm talking to you. Do it. Feature the top stuff, put your spin on it. The small stuff too. We'll not criticize, or at least not much. Ok, there might be a few 'suggestions', or possible 'alterations' to the piece you might have made, but it's all made in a helpful way. "You fucking idiot' can be spun several ways, eh?

So one of you, step up. Don't think of yourself as a sacrificial lamb, please. I'm assured the readers will whisper kind things in your ear as they draw the razor across your throat.

Some suggestions for you, as that guy in black and white said, Rod what's his name... "For your consideration"....things to offer your opinion on:

From the NY Times
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/08/opinion/pregnant-and-no-civil-rights.html?hp&action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=c-column-top-span-region&region=c-column-top-span-region&WT.nav=c-column-top-span-region

Or here, from a blogger I found through another, a good outdoor blog. It's interesting to wonder about her, and the blog. It's just one of many posts, she has time to write a lot.
http://mausersandmuffins.blogspot.com/2014/10/posts-from-road-danger-real-and.html

What I'm interested in is your opinions, what you think.

Abortion?

Racial differences, real or imagined? If so, what does that mean?

Can I just quit trying, or is this something that has some legs, if short ones?

It's starting winter here, nothing else to do. Give me some slack.



Thursday, November 6, 2014

River: The Birds


There are birds here.
I hold in my heart an absolute sorrow for birds, a sorrow so deep that at the first light of day when I shiver like reeds fluttering in a cold fall wind I do not know whether it is from the cold or from the sorrow. Whether I am even capable of feeling such kindness. Perhaps I am. The herons have taught me that.

One rainy winter dawn I stood beneath gray clouds with my arms up stretched, dripping in my cotton shirt (it was clear earlier, I did not heed the wind), staring at the sand at my feet, when I felt the birds alight. I first felt the flutter of golden plovers against my head, then black turnstones landing softly on my arms. The red phalarope with their wild artic visions, fighting the wind to land, prickling my shoulders with their needling grip. Their delicate bones denying the weight of anguish I felt from the journeys these birds had come.

Beneath the weight I recalled the birds of my childhood. I had killed a robin with a new BB gun. I thought the name of the kittiwake funny. Later, much later in life when my father died I wondered if the remaining uncles would want his fly rods. I coveted then in cold contradiction to my grief. Feeling watched I turned from his bed in the ICU and saw ravens watching me, perched on the bare branches of a cottonwood. They waited.

I became tired beyond the limits of what was capable, and lay on the sand, damp but warm.

When I awoke the sky had cleared. In the damp sea air I could smell cedar smoke, a cabin just up the mouth of the river. I felt from here I could see far, up to the headwaters. The plovers had told me what the herons do at night, what the tears they shed added to the mingled memories and guilt's of the people living along the river equaled.

The herons have tried to teach me, but I am still incapable of absorbing what they have to offer. I watch one across the river, just before the reeds on the other bank. Perhaps you know it is raining. The intensity of your stare is then not oblivion, only an effort to spot between the rain drops in the river, past your feet, the movement of small trout.

I know, your way is to be inscrutable. When pressed you leave, the dark grey of your wings fading into the mist. I wonder about the way you seem to brood about the water. Is it more than fish? Do you wonder what your tears have become, have transformed as they flowed downstream?

A dream, like all of my dreams, reveal something but not all. The dream told me that someday we will dance together. Before then I will have to become a trout, and bear scars from your stabbing, rare, misses.

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Late Thursday errata

Just some things I have hanging around.

When I worked in Germany my secretary was a young woman, just completed university, looking for an opening in their version of graduate school. I talk to her a couple times a year, her english is good though she denies it. She was demanding, unusual in a secretary, precise, abrasive to those she considered less than competent, and just a hoot to observe.

Here she is with her current boyfriend, vacationing. She's just graduated from their medical school, easily as rigorous as ours.Meet Brigit.


I talked to my youngest, Emily tonight. She's going to a Halloween party tomorrow with her boyfriend Jeremy, said she'd send me a pic of her costume. Very unclear that I'll put it here, after the incident with her costume in the role in Cabaret, wherin I spoke sharply to two teen boys who were commenting on it...

Got our second Winter Warm Storm warning here of the year, it's damn near November and we've had one measurable snow. One. This may seem odd to some in warmer climes, but more often than not I have snow in my yard, not to leave till May, by this time. Tomorrow is halloween, and the kids panhandling for treats will be wearing light coats, if any.  Here's the article in today's local rag:




No need to create a Halloween costume that incorporates snow boots this year. Temperatures will approach record highs on Friday.
Butte is projected to hit a high of 63 degrees, just short of the all-time record of 66 degrees set in 2008. The entire month of October has been warmer than usual; so far the month’s average high temperature is 60.3 degrees.
In past years, a polar bear costume might have been a good choice. A record low of 11 degrees below zero was set in 2002, and a storm in 1973 dumped 12.8 inches of snow.

As I said, it's fall here. I was out to the Big Hole last week, fished for a bit but it was nippy, and my fingers got numb.






So, fight the good fight, vote correctly, and shrug off defeats.


Monday, October 27, 2014

And the beat goes on.....






Another school shooting in Seattle, the third in the last two years. Since 2010, these type of shootings, killings, have increased threefold in the US.

I read an article in the Seattle Times this morning, the most recent update at the time. Then I went to the comments, at that point there were 714. The first, last and 90% of those between were variations on 'it isn't guns' , 'it's our morals', etc. Most were laced with 'this is just another example of the liberals trying to disarm us.'

The current rate, nationally, is one like this every three weeks. So, 18 days and counting.

I read a column in the NY Times today, the writer made the point that even if we instituted much more stringent gun control laws little would change for 5 years, and it would take decades to match the statistics of deaths per populations of Europe. Yet, they did it. We're saying that this is acceptable, the deaths of our children, it's an acceptable loss.

What I'm saying here is nothing less than a Canadian/UK/Germany/Japan style of gun control will actually work. Handguns need to be under such strict control as to be almost impossible to possess. It will take decades, decades. But if not us, who? If not now, when? (I feel I can use RFK's words, I was 15 feet from him listening to his words 6 hours before he was killed).

Yet, here we are, unable to have banned assault weapons that have no purpose except to kill lots of people quickly. Two years since Sandy Hook, and here we are. So just wait, less than three weeks.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Movies and taking my meds.

Ok, I'm back. Taking my meds again, and aside from a minor face twitch I'm fine.

The subject today is movies. Odd movies you like that no one else does. I'll list a few, then you do the same.

1. Two Lane Blacktop.  Most have never heard of it. The characters have no names, and there are only a few of them. We got James Taylor as the Driver, Dennis Wilson as the Mechanic, Warren Oates as GTO, Laurie Piper as the Girl, but the real scene stealer is a '55 Chevy. The movie has no discernible plot line, and simply ends by the film catching on fire.


2. What's New Pussycat.  It has not aged well, made in '65. Peter Sellers, Peter O'Toole, and the first movie Woody Allen was in, along with several actors and actresses from that period. I saw it at least 5 times in 1965. A friend of mine and I rented it, she'd heard me say what a good movie it was. She snickered all the way through, and not in a good way.


3. Once Upon a Time in the West. How many times have you seen Henry Fonda as a really evil bad guy? And Jason Roberts has a great role. Charles Bronson plays pretty much himself.


4. Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me.  It's directed by David Lynch, says it all. Get a damn good cup of coffee and watch it.


5. The President's Analyst. Released in 1967, James Coburn as a shrink to the president of the US. First movie I ever saw that forecast the privacy concerns of our era, with the phone company as the bad guy.


Ok, you're turn.

Friday, October 24, 2014

To the new people reading, let's be clear.....

I've noticed some new readers, some from a blog that I read occasionally, commenting seldom. I don't comment on this blog often because most of the time I'm 180 degrees away in opinion.

So....I'm a liberal, capital L. I'd like to amend the 2nd amendment considerably. I oppose all laws limiting abortion. I like government....I like my roads, my water system, I pay my taxes happily.....and I'd wager that before I retired my taxes were more than your entire block. Or row of trailers, if the case.

I think the nra (not in caps on purpose) has perverted their mission from decades ago, and should be taxed like any company representing the gun manufacturers.

I'm a gun owner who would gladly give them up. I think the 'open carry' movement is sponsored by the nra at the manufacturers behest, and the people who support it are at best misguided. I don't think there is a 'bad guy' around every corner, and I don't think I'm going to meet one in K-Mart. Unless it's an open-carry nut.

I'm not religious, not one little bit. I think most of them are perversions of what we should aspire to.

I believe in a good curve ball, the line going out in a tight loop, the fly landing lightly on the water. I believe in the CT scan, the feeling of walking into a rural bar at night, the bartender nodding in recognition. I don't think all the GOP are bat-shit looney, just the ones since Eisenhower.

Just so we know.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

River, the beginning

This was intended to be the first installment, but it got sidetracked. Think of it as an introduction, not a guide, but perhaps it will explain some. The story, which had kept popping up in my mind for some time, was prompted by stories....my older relatives, dad, the uncles and aunts. Life on the Oregon coast in the 30's, 40's and 50's, and my knowledge of the coast since then. In these stories, my wife appears in the upriver section, and like the upriver, she's never vanished. My friend Quinn, died in a boating accident on the Rogue in '63, chatted with me in a dream once and approved of a description of the river.  You may have to go back to the stories to understand. Anyway, here 'tis:

River, the beginning

I began each day like this, as though it were the last. I know the last days will be here, where the sun runs into the ocean, that I will see in a movement of sea birds and hear in the sound of water beating against the earth what I now only imagine, that the ocean has a sadness beyond even the sadness of herons, that in the running into it of rivers is the weeping of the earth for what is lost.

By evening, when confirmation of those thoughts seems again withheld, I think of going back upriver, up to the log jam, past where the stump is jammed, or even beyond, to the headwaters, to begin again.

I will tell you something. It is to the thought of the river's banks that I most frequently return, their wordless emergence at a headwaters, the control they urge on the direction of the river, mile after mile, and their disappearance here on the beach as the river enters the ocean. It occurs to me that at the very end the river is suddenly abandoned, that just before it's finished the edges disappear completely, that in this moment a whole life is revealed.

It is possible I am wrong. It is impossible to speak with certainty about very much.

It will not rain for the rest of the day. Lie down here beside me and sleep. When you awake you will feel the pull of warm winds and wish to be gone. I will stand somewhere on the beach staring at the breakers, the scampering of sanderlings, thinking I can hear the distant murmuring of whales. But I can as easily turn inland, and go upriver.

When you awake, if you follow the river into the trees up the valley I will be somewhere ahead or beyond, like the herons.

When you are overwhelmed with feeling,  when your fingers brush the soft skin of a deer-head orchid , or you see a house ahead, near the river bank beyond the falls, you will know a loss of guile, and the beginning of the journey.

Come find me. We have much to see.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Autumn lingers

Yesterday a good sized storm blew in, winds, thunder, and a day of rain and 38f. Today it's bright sun, blue sky, and 22f on the back porch. This has been the nicest October I remember, shirt sleeve weather much of the time (here that means over 50f). Four years ago around this time it dropped to -20 for a week, day before yesterday it was 60. It'll end soon, the forecast is for snow in a few days, but right now it's lovely.






As you see, the mountains surrounding us got a light coating of snow.

On another note, a good friend sent me an column by David Brooks, from the NY Times. It's a piece he wrote about fear in the US, and it's link to Ebola, giving a larger context to the reaction here. It's well worth reading.

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/10/21/opinion/david-brooks-what-the-ebola-crisis-reveals-about-culture.html?partner=rssnyt&emc=rss

Sunday, October 19, 2014

A Post in Two Parts

Why watching a Anthony Bourdain show on Rome isn't a good idea before having dinner. 

Last evening was a football evening, I was going to watch my Ducks in their yearly dismantling of the Huskies, so I needed a easy-to-cook dinner. Some linguini from a package, a jar of marinara sauce with garlic and peppers added. Perfectly adequate. Then, while waiting for the game to start I played a episode of "No Reservations", it was on Rome. As you're aware, it's mostly about eating. The pasta and various Rome specialties. When I got my dinner and looked at it, I could only sigh at the ordinary looking plate of pasta.

Rome

So I got out the folder of pictures taken when my daughter and I were there last, just to re-capture the feeling.




















Friday, October 17, 2014

"Joy is converted, to bittersweet tears"


If I could spend a day and evening anywhere in the world, this might just be it.Play it full screen size.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Ebola and the vectors of transmission






There has been a lot of news and opinions the last couple days about the nurse in Dallas who has been infected with the Ebola virus.

The outbreak in West Africa where her patient contracted his virus is currently the largest by a huge margin since Ebola was first identified in 1976. Prior to this the deaths were limited to smaller villages, and the total deaths would be around 10. This time it's above 4,400, and increasing. Current thoughts are that the number of infected is at or above 10,000, and rising at a current rate of 1,000 per week.

Consider that the mortality rate in those who are diagnosed is around 70%. We're talking 700 deaths per week, and it could increase through November. These are all stats from the CDC and Doctors Without Borders.

There is one major train of thought in the current outbreak as to the contagion, and another that has few numbers supporting it, but has not been ruled out by the majority.

The predominant theory as to why this one is exponentially larger is it's origins in cities, rather than the small villages, which were largely isolated. This coupled with their inability to handle the isolation requirements to protect workers at the hospital. This is supported by the fact that the alpha case, Patient Zero, was treated at a small hospital in a city, undiagnosed for a day. Of the 4 doctors that initially treated him, 3 died of the disease. All the phlebotomists also died who drew blood from him.

The alternate thought is that is found a way to mutate, to develop other vectors of transmission. An example given is that it has a respiratory/ventalitory means of transmitting the disease.

In understand the issue, and assessing the potential for threat, one needs to know the virus.

In order for a virus to transmit to others by their breathing, it is necessary for the virus to be present in the infected person's throat, large and small bronchi, or the lungs. Currently the Ebola virus have not been found in that area on those infected. The protein coating each virus has been identified as having the ability to adapt in blood, to disguise it's self and fool immune systems, allowing it to multiply.

So how did this nurse, in full contamination regalia, become infected?  I can think of a hundred ways, everything from a near-microscopic hole in her gloves, to a small tear in her sleeves, on and on.

Here's where Ebola is scary:  the concentration of virus per unit of blood. HIV, smallpox, the viral load in the blood. The higher, the worse in any virus. Comparing HIV, Smallpox and Ebola, the first two shrink to microscopic images, compared to Ebola. Over a million times greater concentration of virus per unit.

This means, if I can speculate, back in the day I and many, many other had direct exposure to HIV. Treated a lot of them, at some point I'm sure I got blood on my skin, saliva, etc. I never got it. Were it Ebola, I'd not be here.

The really scary part is scientists are hedging their bets on how fast it is mutating. The fact is, we don't know where this current outbreak is going, and how many it will kill. Or if it can successfully spread to a northern climate.

I guess we'll find out. Just an evening's thoughts.

Oh, and Ebola and The Vectors of Transmission might be a good name for a rock band.....

Monday, October 13, 2014

Cars, Cranes, Ducks and Bears

I took a drive yesterday, out along a nearby back road. A cloudy, blustery day, occasional rain in town, snow on the surrounding mountains.






I got out eventually to the Big Hole valley, and saw these two, probably on a layover on their way to wherever they winter.





And this guy, hope he check his anti-freeze, winter is coming.





The Ducks and Bears? This weekend my ducks flew south to visit their buddy in LA, the UCLA bruins. They were going to go out and toss a football around, but instead went to the beach to watch the sunset.


Thursday, October 9, 2014

A few hours early: Friday Flashbacks

Karen (taken down by request, should have asked her first.)






Me, to the right





1968. I guarantee everyone there would have rather been somewhere else. 

"The Sub-Genius Needs Slack!"

Anybody remember this guy?






The Church of the Sub-Genius founder, J.R. "Bob" Dobbs.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Rainy night, the prelude to the last story

It was 2000, November I think I was in Portland, staying at a friends house, there on business. Evening, maybe around eight, I took a walk from her house around the neighborhood in SE Portland. Raining, like much of the winter in the Northwest, a light rain, but constant.






A half hour later, walking along in my gortex hood I was lost in thought. Work, the project ahead up on the hill, the kids, life. Dim light, the streetlights on the corners near gone by the middle of the block. Walking, looking down.

The next happens in time measured by milliseconds, or in a lifetime. Depends. As I walked, looking down a branch across the sidewalk appeared. Four or so inches off the concrete, straight across. My foot moved toward it, 6 inches away, swinging forward in a stride.

The sidewalk wasn't concrete, it wasn't a sidewalk. It was a path through the jungle. The branch wasn't a branch, it was a wire.

As my shoe continued on it's journey to the branch, time changed. It was no longer 2000, and I wasn't planning on how to exploit the upcoming worry about what would happen to medical computers. It was 1967, and my foot was about to hit a wire that would trigger a mine.

A quarter-second passed, my foot nearing the wire, and I went over in my mind what would happen next: The mine would go off, my lower legs would be gone if I was lucky.

The thing was, I couldn't stop my leg from moving, my foot from completing the journey.

As it hit the wire I knew I was gone. All was lost. Despair I'd never felt before, all the things I thought I'd do (knew I did do) were gone.

I walked on, the rain still falling.

Then I remembered the boy, losing his legs, then his life. The nurse who helped him with the process, made his passage easier.

The next morning I was in my best Nordstrom's suit up on the hill, shaking hands with a primary investigator of a study. In my mind, tucked away, was the memory of Karen, and all she did.

Saturday, October 4, 2014

Last day until June

Last day of the Farmer's Market, I should say. It runs during the summer, featuring local produce and the other things one sees at these things.....handcrafts, etc. It's our only opportunity to get really fresh produce and fruit. Odd that city-dwellers like Seattle can get quality vegs year round, while country bumpkins like us have basically 2-3 months.

In the later months, August, this guy brings the melons he grows, Dixon melons. Sort of like a cantaloupe, but much, much better.






The best produce is at the Hmong farmers from over by Missoula. They came here in the 70's, during the turbulence post VN war era.





So I was up at 6 this morning for the mandatory 2 cups of coffee and read the newspapers about my miserable ducks of Oregon's football team. It's 31 outside, a nice fall day.

This is looking east from town, up at the aspens on the hillside.





Have a good weekend.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

It's Root for Fiona Day

I've mentioned before that my youngest granddaughter was born with what could have been a critical medical problem. A portion of her liver was outside her abdomen, and it took a year for it to gradually ease back inside. Omitting a lot of procedures and care here. For around 3 years she got her nutrition via a port in her abdomen, a complicated procedure requiring many hours each day. For the last year she's been getting all her food orally, and doing very well.

Today she's getting the port taken out. My daughter assures me that it's a very minor procedure. Personally I want to pull DeBakey and Al Starr out of retirement and have them do it.


Saturday, September 27, 2014

Memorial Day, when it just isn't enough.



The boy, he was really a boy after all, looked up from the gurney. "Where am I?" he asked, rasping voice. "Back at Da Nang, marine." the corpsman said, pushing the gurney toward the makeshift ICU. It had served as a holding unit for incoming for the last 12 hours. It was New Year's eve, noon.

He had 4 hours before been in a bunker when the first wave of infiltrators had swept across the first perimeters of Da Nang airbase. He'd been manning a section facing north, towards the gate. A young man his age had tossed into his bunker a satchel charge, landing at his feet, removing most of his legs from the knees down.

The corpsman in a bunker across the street had seen the hat less black clad young man go by, toss a parcel into the narrow space in the sandbags and run on. He tracked him with the open front sights, then put the M-16 down, running across the road to the smoke pouring out of the slots.

Inside,  both legs were shredded above the knee caps, remnants of the patella, fibula in shards. Blood was spurting out from the artery just above the knee. He tied his belt around one leg, the marine's around another, and sat back. The kid's legs above the tourniquets looked larger, the vessels were damaged above the wraps.    He remembered a  package the station hospital had gotten from  Bethesda shortly before. 

In the office of the station hospital a block away was the package. MAST trousers, compression pants that would cut off circulation below the waist.

He got them on the kid, one of the legs buckled at the knee, the kid passed out, but he got them on and inflated them. Slowly the young man regained color. Two IV's were in, ringers lactate and the equivalent of today's packed cells. He regained consciousness. The corpsman watched other stretchers go by out the window, looked at his patient, measured the chances, decided he'd stay. After all, he'd seen it all go down. He started pulling the litter across the pockmarked roads to the station hospital.

Karen was there by then, a nurse, a lieutenant in the Navy nurse corps. He'd gotten the marine over to the pre-op, a long canvas tent with sandbags around.

"Hell happened, Mike?"

"Parcel I think, dunno. He's lost a quart or more, got these on him, it stopped it."

Stepping back he watches two surgeons move in, look, shake their heads and leave. He sits down on a folding chair. He'd been up 20 hours since the first blaring alarm had gone off. Most of that time he'd been in an emplacement firing over sandbags at vague shapes, not knowing who he was anymore. Who was he anyway, the guy doing the damage, or the one on the other end?

He sees the young marine regain awareness, look around, craning his neck. He asks where he is, how he is. Karen smiles down at him. "You're fine, marine. We've got you." His neck lifts up, he looks down. "My legs are gone?" Karen looks at him, the corpsman sees this from across the room. "Yes, they are gone. But you can do this, you can." His head slowly goes back, then comes up again. He sees the MAST trousers. "What are those?" he asks. Karen puts a hand on his shoulder. "Those are stopping the bleeding." she says.

Surgeons come in, look, examine. Words in huddle are exchanged. They move away. He sits there, watching. He felt like he had a year before when  he'd sat with Cary in a theater in DC, watching a Bergman film festival. He felt like that, watching. Cary had explained some of it to him afterward.

"I'm getting cold." the marine whispers. Karen goes over to him. "I know." she says, "We'll have to operate soon the doctors say."

The marine looks off, staring up. "It's weird, I've never been a man, you know?" His head turns and looks at the Navy nurse. "I've never been with, um, a woman. I'm not a man, like the other guys in my squad."

His eyes, from the side, 10 feet away, look pleading to the corpsman, sitting like there like silent Greek chorus. He's looking up at her. Then the corpsman sees that she smiles down at him.

Karen, the stocky 30-ish blonde nurse from San Diego looks down, her hand on his head, smoothing his hair back nods. "Yes, yes you are. A man." She leans down and kisses him on the forehead. He smiles. "Wow, can we have dinner?" Karen nods. "Yes."

Two surgeons come in, followed by a tech with a tray of instruments. The anesthesiologist puts a mask on the marines face, they deflate the trousers.

He walks back to his bunker, wondering if that nurse that gave him so much comfort, will remember in years to come, the boy she'd reassured, that she'd put together before he finally came apart.

In later years and decades, the boy watching became the man who took the nurses place. Sometimes he could do more, and that made him happy. He always remembered her though, the person who with nothing real to offer than herself, and the truth, eased someones way.

What else can we do, really, than ease someone's way?  


Friday, September 19, 2014

Bucket List(s)

Apparently after the movie starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, this became quite the thing. I tend to not notice social phenomena, so it wasn't until a year or so ago I discovered this. So I looked at it a bit, and was surprised at some things.

The premise, as I understand it, is that one has X number of weeks/months to live. Were it years, we'd all be in the same boat. One then list what one would like to see/do before they leave this world.

Common things on the list are wishes to do things: ride an elephant, visit Bora Bora, flyboard (?). Others are visiting places not seen, going back to places, etc. The surprising thing to me is I can't find one that says "I'd like them to cure this cancer", or "I'd like to see my family get along better"...things like that.

So with that in mind, here's my 'bucket list".

1.  See a woman, leftist, feminist even perhaps but not mandatory, socialist President of the United States.

2.  See a really irritated 600 lb grizzly wander into my town on a Monday morning, around 9am.

3. Bring back from the dead Wm. Buckley and Gore Vidal and make them debate again. On Fox. Frost as moderator.

4. Have the guy who whacked my arm in the Redmond vs Bend basketball game in 1963 admit to it. I would have made that shot. It was a foul.

5. Simultaneously , across the world, whatever peas people had in their house would be in a blender. We would have 'world peace'.

6. One of my kids would have an epiphany in the middle of the night, or anytime really. They would realize what was needed in their life was....fly fishing. They would pick up the phone, call dad, pleasantries exchanged, bargains made, etc. Arrangements made. They would get a case of fly rods, fly tying materials and equipment, a check for lessons. Months later a blog would be started, showing large steelhead caught and released, plans for a trip to Alaska, etc.

Last one is stretching it, I realize. The rest, I'm still waiting.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Dinner and one other thing....

Uninterested in shopping today I ventured into the kitchen wondering what was for dinner. Around 5:30pm. Idle I was, not trying to put stress on the cupboards or fridge. But with certain expectations, that they, my cupboard, would be there for me, I opened the fridge.
 
Top shelf, little of interest. At the back there is a large cup I got 4 years ago, with aluminum foil partially covering it. I remember seeing it some years before, I ignored it.
Second shelf, a bit more promise. There's this wrapped pork chop I'd taken out of the freezer a day or so ago (don't press me for exact dates). The next three shelves showed nothing of promise.

Cupboard....I see one of those packages of oriental noodles, the microwave ones, you know what I'm talking about.

Over on the table I see some basil a neighbor had given me maybe last week...it had dried! Great. Then I see the braid of Hmong garlic I'd gotten a week ago hanging on the wall. Then I looked down and saw the Thai chili's I got from them. Red, pencil-thin, 3-4" long, menacing looking. I'm there. I remember that in the fridge was an onion and a couple peppers, red and green. I've got a plan now.

But what to serve the sliced-thin slices of pork, 30 seconds in the cast iron "14 pan, the onions, peppers, etc
with?The examination of the cupboard had revealed the revealed thatcarton of one of those 'oriental' noodle soup....microwave 3 minutes, etc.Fine.

The noodle thingy went in the microwave, the sliced pork went in the heavy pan, and 5 minutes later.....






Anyway, to the real point of the post:

To those readers who noticed, I have two daughters, grown daughters. They live in Seattle, both living their lives. I have no idea how often the fathers of daughters talk to theirs after they are grown. I feel extraordinarily lucky in that both talk to me. It's a very rare, very, that I don't talk to them at least 2 times a week. Now, this may be because they are both checking to see if I'm still compos mentis, dunno.

Anyway, I called the eldest this afternoon, I don't remember what it was that I wanted to say, but that's unimportant. When she answered I heard laughter, hilarity actually, and the sound of two voices. Both of them, in a car, going someplace.

The rest of the 3 minute conversation was listening to them cackling at everything I said.

What a joy it is, to hear your two daughters together, outside yourself, together, living their lives. I did something right maybe. These two women are friends, sisters and more. Without me, they are still there, together.

That is a great feeling. When I'm not here, they still will be....together.

Quite grand, really.

Monday, September 15, 2014

What happens when you leave your car in a parking lot

Of a yet-unopened cross-country, telemark ski hostel in Alaska, circa 1975. Had a bit of a blizzard one night, this was what greeted us the next morning.






Hatcher pass. Tom Murphy, then a hippy ski bum, now a nationally-renound avalanche expert. He plays with cannons.

Friday, September 12, 2014

The Adorable One starts school right

First day of pre-school she apparently believes in the adage "start as you intend to continue". From the first, TAO has shown an active mind that want's to be in control of whatever situation she's in. She's never been one to sit back and watch, she wants to lead. Add to that a certain craftiness and guile, an ability to plan several moves ahead of time and a methodological approach.

Evidence of that came yesterday in the form of an email from her teacher to my daughter and son-in-law.  (S&S is modernspeak for show and tell)

From: Rachel
Sent: Thu, 11/09/2014 06:56 PM
To: Kate  (Fiona) ; Drew  (Fiona)
CC:
Subject: Fiona's delightful Show and Share

I just have to share with you how Fiona's S&S went today. I wish, more than anything, I had had somebody filming it because it was PRICELESS! She completely commanded the class. Had lovely, interesting things to say, AND (I about died) kept pausing and asking the class to say together, whatever interesting fact she'd just shared... "Everybody say 'pteranodon'." AND THEY DID! and way better than they ever repeat anything for me! It was awesome.
Thank you for sharing your sweet girl with our class. I enjoy her enthusiasm so much!
-Rachel 
 
I foresee interesting times ahead for her mom and dad. 
 
Here's a pic from her first day. 
 
 
You can just hear her thinking "All this is mine. Mine."

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Insert Ezra Pound quote here....

The weather forecast from the local rag:

...WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY IN EFFECT FROM 6 PM WEDNESDAY TO NOON
MDT THURSDAY ABOVE 5000 FEET...

THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN MISSOULA HAS ISSUED A WINTER
WEATHER ADVISORY FOR SNOW ABOVE 5000 FEET... WHICH IS IN EFFECT
FROM 6 PM WEDNESDAY TO NOON MDT THURSDAY.

* IMPACTS/TIMING: A STRONG AND MOIST FRONT WILL IMPACT THE AREA ON
  WEDNESDAY NIGHT THROUGH THURSDAY MORNING. THIS FRONT WILL CAUSE
  SNOW LEVELS TO DROP SIGNIFICANTLY AND BRING ACCUMULATING SNOW TO
  MACDONALD AND HOMESTAKE PASSES AND ALSO HIGH ELEVATION VALLEYS BY
  MID THURSDAY MORNING.

* SNOW ACCUMULATIONS: UP TO AN INCH OF SNOW IS EXPECTED FOR
  ANACONDA, BUTTE AND GEORGETOWN LAKE. 1 TO 3 INCHES IS EXPECTED
  FOR MACDONALD AND HOMESTAKE PASSES. AREAS BETWEEN 4000 TO 5000
  FEET COULD RECEIVE SOME LIGHT ACCUMULATIONS.
 
 

Monday, September 8, 2014

Which way do you flow?

Recently I went for a drive just west of here on a secondary road that goes from near Anaconda over a pass in the Anaconda-Pintlar mountain range to the Big Hole river. The same area that I did a post about catching brookies for breakfast.

At the top of the pass a series of small springs in the mountainside form a series of beaver dams.






At this point the road above and these ponds is pointed north and south. At both ends of the series of beaver dams the ponds drain, forming small creeks. The one that flows north goes perhaps 15 miles becoming Warm Springs creek along the way.





It empties into the Clark Fork of the Columbia, then flows west and north.





Perhaps 300 miles later it joins the main stem of the Columbia.





Along the way it goes through a series of dams, mostly hydro-electric. The dams are the source of most electricity in this part of the country. If I were more poetic I'd say the water from those beaver dams are powering my laptop. Eventually the Columbia joins the Pacific at Astoria



Back to the beaver dams.....the water flowing south goes through a lovely valley, becoming larger along the way thanks to other springs and small creeks.





It joins the Big Hole river and flows generally east and south.





The Big Hole is joined by other rivers and creeks, the Beaverhead and others. These flow into the Jefferson, continuing it's journey east.





The Jefferson after many miles eventually joins the Missouri.





The Missouri at this point is crystal-clear most of the time, with some very large trout. The river wends it's way across the nation, going east and south. Along it's hundreds and hundreds of miles water is taken out for agri-business large farms, and receives water from many other rivers. Eventually it reaches St. Louis.




As you know the Missouri joins the Mississippi, and eventually the water, or at least a few drops of it, hears the music of New Orleans before it goes out into the Gulf, past the oil rigs.



All from here, east and west: