The 4th of July

Part 1

Kim set this up several years ago, a neighborhood parade for the kids.

It’s an unconventional parade. The kids (and adults) line up on their bikes and take a lap, riding down one side of the street, around a post and back. Because Kennedy absolutely has to win, (it’s not a race), he lines ready to roll on the front left under a powder blue helmet and a patriotic red shirt, determined to give his all.

And they’re off!!

Kennedy “wins” the race that isn’t a race.

Most had a good time.

I said “most.”

Isla on a one armed scooter, protecting her cast.

Another patriotic bike

Lilly on her bike.

Marie’s doughnuts donated twelve dozen doughnuts, and a box of doughnut holes. A neighbor brought a cooler filled with popsicles. Coffee was provided in two very large carafes, both caffeinated and decaffeinated. Someone volunteered to pay for the parade permit.

Parents pushed strollers, walked with kids on bikes with training wheels, Some walked. Some were on scooters. They all went round and round for more than an hour, pausing to pick up another doughnut hole, a popsicle, or head down to play Gaga ball, a version of dodge ball, suitable for all.

We returned to John and Kim’s, waited for the “parade” to end, dined on some leftover Chinese, then, as more and more people showed up, took our leave. It’ll go on until after the hundreds of fireworks have illuminated the night sky in Land Park, at a time when we’ll be sawing Z’s.

Part II

All this without sparklers and firecrackers. I remember the fourth of Julys of my childhood, the excitement, the huge fireworks displays, parades, traditional American summertime foods—hot dogs, hamburgers, the smell of the smoke curling from neighbors’ barbecues. It was a joyful time, one in which we could all participate. We Americans celebrated the promise of America, grateful for freedom, democracy, and the many rewards we all felt were ours because of where we lived, grateful to the people who had the foresight two hundred and fifty years ago to create a country where anything was possible, nothing was denied to the poor, the immigrants, the minorities. All people were created with equal opportunities and rights, and women held the same status as men.

Only, as things have worked out, that America was only a dream, and unfortunately, too many Americans don’t subscribe to those ideals. The dream has gone “poof.”

Celebrating the America that is today means addressing right wing groups that want America to dismiss immigrants, Jews, and minorities. “You Will Not Replace Us!, their battle cry. It means celebrating a Supreme Court that has taken rights away from American women, that is an enemy of the clear threat of global warming. It means shooting a fleeing black man in Akron, Ohio, hitting him with over sixty bullets. It means attending a 4th of July parade in Chicago and dodging bullets from a young white man intent on shooting and killing as many as he can. (Six, at least).

It gives a former President who tried to destroy the country, who tried to lead an army of pathetic, gullible, faux patriots in an attempt to overthrow the government, an opportunity to take comfort in his heartwarming words on the Fourth of July, inspiring us all to work for the good of the country.

“Warmongering and despicable human being Liz Cheney, who is hated by the great people of Wyoming (down 35!), keeps saying, over and over again, that HER Fake Unselect Committee may recommend CRIMINAL CHARGES against a President of the United States who got more votes than any sitting President in history. Even the Dems didn’t know what she was talking about! Why doesn’t she press charges instead against those that cheated on the Election, or those that didn’t properly protect the Capitol?…..

"I know it's not looking good for our Country right now, with a major War raging out of control in Europe, the Highest Inflation in memory, the worst 6 month Stock Market start in History, the highest Energy Prices EVER, and that is the Good News. Happy Fourth of July!!!" Trump said. "((Don't worry, We will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN, and remember, none of these terrible events would have happened if I were President!!!))."

So this American Fourth of July is soiled. The Supreme Court is a politically motivated arm of the Republican Party, taking rights away and bringing Christian Evangelism into the law. The Republican Party has set out to squelch minority voting, steal the next election, and swell its ranks with evil ignorant people like Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lauren Boebert, Herschel Walker, and dozens more.

So, please forgive me if I don’t feel like celebrating tonight, lighting a sparkler. The America that I love clings to its existence only in the ideals and words that were written a long time ago, words I wholeheartedly accept and believe, words that have so little in common with what I see this July 4th, 2022. I am not a pessimist. I also believe that those words, those ideals, are stronger than the phonies who’ve broken their oaths to uphold them. I also believe that there are many more like me, who won’t give in to this collective lunacy.

P.S. Loved the parade. May you children grow up to be the Americans that America needs.


Outreach

The Dorothy Day Center in Berkeley is ministering to several homeless encampments around the East Bay. Here’s the truck and trailer. I drive the truck. Jadyne and I park, climb into the trailer and hand out socks, cookies, pastries, tampons, canned ravioli, sliced peaches, beef stew, tunafish, pre-made sandwiches, peanut butter, razors, toothbrushes, toiletries, soap, water, fruit juice, toilet paper, lentils, milk, cereal, brown rice, whatever is available.

Our guests are both polite and grateful.

What We Drive

Where They Live

Who They Are

More donuts. Castro Street encampment. 7/12/22

A garden.

Downtown. We brought donuts to these folks today. Met a girl with a badge on her dress. Left in the BMW for work. It’s not all that people think it is.

Not so appropriate for “polite society.”Yes, it’s a contrast. People unashamed of who they are, friendly, welcoming, grateful.

8th and Harrison. At the corner next to the Tesla Service Center.

The homes

A resident.

Grilling sweet potatoes. He’s Tone.

“Can I have a box for my baby? I have a four year old and an eight month old baby. I paid $4000 for my car, and it was stolen, so I have to live here. I’m 24. I’ll be okay.”

Saturday was clean-up day. A caterer came to the Castro Street Encampment

Nurses arrived, providing vaccines and flu shots.

Residents were given big yellow bags and paid to remove garbage

Homes and grounds were swept, and residents were given incentives to keep their places clean.

A local resident. We brought dog chews and bones a day earlier. Many residents own dogs.

Tow trucks were lined up to remove the immovable.

Residents were enlisted to help with the cleanup.

Christmas at Castro Street

Cooking in the Rain

If At First You Don't Secede

The Texas Republican Party concluded its holy mission yesterday. By voice vote the party adopted the following as integral to its official platform:

(1) "We believe that the 2020 election violated Article 1 and 2 of the US Constitution," the Texas Republicans said in their new platform. They accuse several secretaries of state of illegal actions, alleging that "substantial election fraud in key metropolitan areas" distorted the results in Biden's favor.

"We reject the certified results of the 2020 presidential election, and we hold that acting President Joseph Robinette Biden Jr. was not legitimately elected by the people of the United States," the GOP platform stated.

(2) "All gun control is a violation of the Second Amendment and our God given rights."

(3) The need to repeal the 1965 Voting Rights Act, the most successful piece civil rights legislation ever adopted by Congress.

(4) Declares that “homosexuality is an abnormal lifetime choice” and would define marriage as a “covenant only between one biological man and one biological woman.”

(5) It would aboliish abortions.

(6) It would fill schools with “prayer, the Bible, and the Ten Commandments.”

(7) Saying the U.S. government has impaired Texas' right of self-government, the platform calls for rejecting any legislation that conflicts with the state's rights — and it suggests leaving the union might be the answer.

"Texas retains the right to secede from the United States, and the Texas Legislature should be called upon to pass a referendum consistent thereto," the platform stated.

Deeper in the document, the GOP delegates urge state lawmakers to put a referendum on the agenda for the 2023 election, "for the people of Texas to determine whether or not the State of Texas should reassert its status as an independent nation."

And of course that’s unimaginable. Much as I lament what’s happened in Texas lately—banning abortions, Uvalde shooting, open carry, etc, I know that the GOP in Texas represents only a part of the state, that there are Democrats who live there, that there are pockets of sanity, that the official line of the GOP fails to take into account members who disagree with such a platform, and that following through with such a plan—secession—would bring countless problems to a state that can’t survive the myriad crises it faces without federal assistance.

Besides, I like the chili.

McCartney

Paul McCartney turned 80 years old yesterday. I was a high school senior, 17 years of age, when I first heard “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” the breakthrough song that an unknown English band brought to America, a song that turned this aspiring guitar player’s world upside down. It was the first on a 12 song tracklist of the album that went into my collection the day it appeared.

“I Want to Hold Your Hand” reached #1 i America in early 1964, and the Beatles made their first appearance on the Ed Sullivan show, playing before more than 700 in the audience and over 73,000,000 watching at home.

Some years ago a gallery in Petaluma hosted a traveling show of images taken by Curt Gunther, the lone photographer accompanying the Beatles on their first US tour. Curt’s son is in charge of the negatives and is printing his father’s photographs. About the following image, which I purchased from the gallery at the close of the show, a writer had this to say: “Taken on their first US tour in 1964 by Curt Gunther, this shot of The Beatles' performance in a packed venue in Indianapolis is simply amazing. The angle, the position of the band and the details are perfect. You can see the state troopers lined up around the stage, the crowd high up in the bleachers, the stage lights in the upper left. I just love looking at this photograph. The beautiful Estate Stamped prints are made by Curt Gunther’s son, Steve, a wonderful printer. This is my favorite Curt Gunther image, and one of my favorite performance shots.”

Steve is still printing from his father’s negatives. This image at 11 x14 sells for $900. Mine is framed and is probably five times larger. It’s a testament to the most culturally significant event in my lifetime, the songs of the Beatles. Paul’s genius as a singer and songwriter continues to grow, even now, as he is on tour once again, playing three hour sets as he crosses the US.

But the fact is Paul is now eighty years old. And musical idols, however great they are, tend to lose favor in the generations that follow. Frank Sinatra preceded Elvis Presley who preceded the Beatles who preceded music I despise. And how do future generations view our idols?

Let’s look at these posts from Kanye West dévotees.

The country couldn’t be more divided than it is right now between Trumpers and the sane. And if political differences weren’t enough, musical differences and musical ignorance add the exclamation mark.

I never saw the Beatles in person. Six years ago my three kids gifted Jadyne and me with tickets to see Paul in Sacramento. I was 70. Paul was 75.

I can die happy now.

Happy Birthday, Paul. Lennon would have been 80 this year. Dylan turned 80. Brian Wilson is 80. Never Trust Anyone Over Ninety.

Kindness

Amor Towles, the author of A Gentleman in Moscow, has written a new book called Lincoln Highway. This is one of the passages from the book:

“For what is kindness but the performance of an act that is both beneficial to another and unrequired? There is no kindness in paying a bill. There is no kindness in getting up at dawn to slop the pigs, or milk the cows, or gather the eggs from the henhouse. For that matter, there is no kindness in making dinner, or in cleaning the kitchen after your father heads upstairs without so much as a word of thanks.

There is no kindness in latching the doors and turning out the lights, or in picking upo the clothes from the bathroom floor in order to put them in the hamper. There is no kindness in taking care of a household because your only sister had the good sense to get herself married and move to Pensacola.

Nope, I said to myself while climbing into bed and switching off the light, there is no kindness in any of that.

For kindness begins when necessity ends.”

The Ayes Have It

Abraham Lincoln listened to his cabinet. He invited them to vote. In one instance he responded, “Seven nos and one aye. The ayes have it.” That they disagreed with his decision was inconsequential. His power superceded theirs.

When it comes to truth (the ayes) and the lies (the nays), will the ayes will have it? One such lie (oddly enough, perpetrated by the current version of the Republican Party), deals with Replacement Theory—that illegal immigrants, Jews, blacks, and ne’er do wells are being hijacked by the pedos in the Democratic Party to replace the divinely ordained white people.

Five years ago in Charlotte the right gave voice to this lie. “You Will Not Replace Us”

Unhappy white boys recognizing that they’re being replaced. And well they should.

The Republican congresswoman Elise Stefanik, a Trump sycophant, has tried to distance herself from her earlier replacement theory rhetoric after an 18 year old hate-filled POS murdered ten black people in a Buffalo grocery store. Although most Republicans are sneaky enough to cover up this embarrassing train of thought, Congresswoman Lauren Boebert (of course) gave voice to it:

Boebert, 2021

And speaking of our girl Elise, a South Park writer was able to steal this away from her.

But wait! There’s more. In so many state houses around ‘Merica.

FOX NEWS is just one source. The patient has to be vulnerable, say, as whites who discover that they are no longer in charge.

White people are so terrified of “others” that governors and school boards have banned what is called “critical race theory.” Many of the people who are against it have no idea what it is, but hot damn! they’re against it. But what is it? According to Britannica, it's “based on the premise that race is not a natural, biologically grounded feature of physically distinct subgroups of human beings but a socially constructed (culturally invented) category that is used to oppress and exploit people of color.” Those against CRT aren’t engaged in a traditional lie. They pretend that something that happened didn’t. Like Biden’s election.

Perhaps a simple explanation can be seen in Senator Tom Cotton’s tweet “honoring” Jackie Robinson.

What should be added is that in honoring Robinson for “breaking the color barrier”, he and like-minded racists don’t want students to learn WHY Robinson was banned. That’s critical race theory, friends, and terrified whites don’t want white students to know that Robinson wasn’t able to play because whites were terrified of blacks in any and all ways. And that would terrify those white students just as they would have been in Biloxi, Mississippi when terrified parents banned To Kill a Mockingbird. Shield them crackers. But then again, Biloxi? Puhleeze.

And more lies…In the G.O.P. primaries Tuesday, lies were rewarded. As Reid Epstein wrote in The Times, Republican voters in Pennsylvania anointed right-wing gubernatorial candidate Doug Mastriano, “who helped lead the brazen effort to overturn the state’s 2020 election and chartered buses to the rally before the Capitol riot, and who has since promoted a constitutionally impossible effort to decertify President Biden’s victory in his state.” He also appeared at a far-right Christian conference organized by QAnon prophets that started with a video about “ritual child sacrifice” and a “global satanic blood cult.”

The lies aren’t confined to the good ol’ USA. According to NY Times columnist Maureen Dowd, “Putin has pulled the wool over the eyes of a nation, deceiving Russians about the Ukraine war the same way he deceived himself. When a retired colonel blurted out the truth Monday on Russian state television, saying “the situation for us will clearly get worse,” it was another uncommon confessional moment.”

How does this all add up? Republicans cling to the lie that Trump won the 2020 election,. Whites, scared shitless by immigrants and other minorities more competent than they are, cling to authoritarianism and deny any culpability for the systemic racism that they have created. That’s how. Will the “ayes” ultimately have it? How full is that glass?

The Not Even Close To Being Supreme Court

The draft opinion of Roe V. Wade has been released. If the draft holds up, all good little Americans will kowtow to opinions crafted by five of the accomplished jurists who know stuff we don’t. Except they don’t.

Flawed opinions are part of the stock and trade of the Supreme Court. As Charles Blow in the New York Times wrote, the “we the people” part was written at the time that white women weren’t equal and blacks weren’t even considered citizens. So who are the “people?” Mostly white men who crafted these opinions:

Ruling: Dred Scott. Believed blacks to be “beings of an inferior order.”

Ruling: Plessy vs. Ferguson. “Separate but Equal.”

Ruling: Heller. 2nd Amendment. Interpreted the amendment to ignore the connection between gun ownership and being part of a militia.

Ruling: Upheld the internment of Japanese Americans.

Ruling: Upheld sodomy laws in Georgia.

Ruling: Forced sterilization of the disabled.

Blow: “The court is a permanent council that answers to no one. It can behave as it chooses. The robes can go rogue. This is the power Republicans want — the power to overrule the will of the majority — and the courts are one of the only areas where that power can be guaranteed.

Republicans don’t hide their agenda. They denied Obama his right to appoint a justice, then jumped at the chance to enshrine Amy, exposing themselves for the hypocrites they are. No matter. The President is inconsequential except insofar as he/she can appoint judges to a lifetime of politically skewed decisions.

So what’s next for the Unsupremes? What other precedents are at risk?


Memes

From a college freshman discussion. I asked my clergyman father about abortion. As I remember, his reply, “The more important right is the right to be loved”

And SCOTUS. Not interested in precedent or the public weal, effectively damning women, especially poor women, to fit their misaligned. mistaken, and misogynistic screed.

Since the Supreme Court’s leaked draft of their decision to overturn Roe Vs. Wade is pubic information, cartoonists and other political pundits have been busy.

The “pro-life” movement isn’t. Many of these rabid foaming-at-the-mouth conservatives support the death penalty and deny much of what is listed in the first meme. Pro-life means taking care of babies AFTER they’re born. In the words of a nun: “I do not believe that just because you’re opposed to abortion, that that makes you pro-life. In fact, I think in many cases, your morality is deeply lacking if all you want is a child born but not a child fed, not a child educated, not a child housed. And why would I think that you don’t? Because you don’t want any tax money to go there. That’s not pro-life. That’s pro-birth. We need a much broader conversation on what the morality of pro-life is.”

Metamorphosis

I fell and broke my ankle. I’m wearing a boot. Dr. Ford said to walk as little as possible. I spend my days sitting, either reading, playing guitar, or when the Giants are playing, combining the latter with watching TV.

We’ve rented a folding wheelchair. Every day Jadyne and I are planning “trips.” (Not to be confused with the trip that caused my ankle to break). It’s $85 for one month. I intend to get $3 a day worth out of it.

I”m going to use this space in my blog to keep track of my days, what I do, see, and what I learn. The metamorphosis, I hope, will be more than just stronger abs.

April 15th. Oakland Hospital. Jadyne was the photographer.

Dr. Ford said I had to sleep in this thing. I can. Teeny used to say, “Don’t burn daylight.” Metaphorically, I will look for it wherever I can find it.

April 16th. Saturday. Twenty-four hours later. We went to Johnson Hospital supplies in the morning and picked up the wheelchair. The store is in Emeryville.

So is Guitar Center. I revisited my childhood, buying a Fender Stratocaster, that on the surface looks just like the one I bought from Howard Early’s Music Store in Kennedy Heights in 1961. It may look like that, but it isn’t. We also bought a two-neck guitar stand. You can never have too many guitars.

So that took a good part of Saturday. In the afternoon Jadyne wheeled me to Isla’s soccer game, and I managed to squeeze off a few shots of the little striker, as the Spurs unhappily faced a stronger and bigger team.

I would have made this smaller if I knew how.

Isla always wears a mask. I think it keeps her warm.

Sunday, April 17th. Back to the Guitar Center to trade in the single neck guitar stand for a double. Lunch at Minnie Bell’s in the Public Market, then a ride around Emeryville in the wheelchair. Home to watch the Giants defeat the Cleveland Guardians 8-1, then off to Delhi Diner. Jennifer had taken both Susanto and Isla to Palisades Ski Area (formerly known as Squaw Valley) for the day, then returned in time to celebrate Easter with the Indians. Krishna, the hostess of Delhi Diner, is a legitimate Indian, even if the Cleveland Guardians (formerly known as the Cleveland Indians) aren’t.

Monday, April 18th. Ab crunches in the morning, then a trip to R.E.I. for rubber tips for my hiking poles, giving me more stability when walking. A pound of fresh salmon for dinner, then a wheelchair ride down San Pablo Avenue where we met this gentleman.

“Can I take your photo? I asked. “Yes,” he replied, peeking out from beneath the plastic tarp. I give money to people who need it, but I didn’t want him to think that I was buying his permission to take his photo. Since he agreed first, it was easy for me to say, “I want you to have this,” as I handed him the bill. “Are you sure"?, he responded, “Can you afford this?” I thought about the irony of it all, that he was lying between the sidewalk and the street under a blue tarp, and seeing me in a wheelchair, what it was in him that moved him to ask. We turned around, went back to R.E.I. climbed in the car, and headed back to a warm house, a new guitar, Loch Duarte salmon, a glass of Chardonnay, a loving wife, you know, everyday stuff like that.

April 19th, Tuesday. .3” of rain last night. More expected Thursday. And that should wrap up the “rainy season” which wasn’t rainy at all. All of this leads into the “fire season”, which we’ll enter with fingers crossed. No Princess Summerfall Winterspring in California. Only “Rainy”and “Fire.”

This morning we did the doughnut run. Every Tuesday we pick up 70 lbs. of day old donuts and distribute them to three places—the men’s shelter in Berkeley, the student store at UCB, and the line of RV’s parked alongside Costco.

Homes for so many.

Jadyne, after picking up 70 lbs. of donuts

Jogger on the Bay Trail.

Passing out the goodies

Jadyne, the chauffeur, and my limo.

We got our $3 a day worth, walking along the Bay Trail north of Cesar Chavez Park on a cool, cloudy day.

San Francisco from the Bay Trail.

April 20th, Wednesday. There are worse places to convalesce. Spring on Rugby Avenue.

Japanese maple. I think it’s carnivorous. By 2023 it will be in our bedroom. In the back are redwoods, including two rare deciduous dawn redwoods, The closer tree is a cedar.

Down the path. Japanese maples in front and at back. Hellebores and flamingos to the bottom left. Behind the fence is a creek that divides Contra Costa County from Alameda County, or Kensington from Berkeley.

The backyard. Jerusalem sage flowering.

Backyard from the deck. The landscapers predicted that we would spend a lot time on the chaise lounges in front of the fountain. Maybe once in fourteen years.

Vegetable garden. Tomatoes, lettuce, pole bean, squash, basil, strawberries.

An afternoon visitor

23rd st, Richmond. “Little Mexico”. This gentleman sells Tejuino. A cup of tejuino with shaved ice in it. Tejuíno is a cold beverage made from fermented corn and popularly consumed in the Mexican states of Jalisco and Chihuahua.

Used cars of all shapes and sizes..

The taco trucks are a permanent fixture, hosting tables, chairs, umbrellas, and of course, music.

April 21, Thursday. Woke up to .3” of rain, perhaps the last of the season. Afternoon walk down 4th Street in Berkeley, a tony shopping area not longer than a block and a half. Met Rick Auerbach, a photographer who has leased space to sell his framed images.

Rick shoots mostly landscapes with a 35mm camera, has them printed at Bay Color Labs on aluminum, then hangs them in this space. We chatted for about twenty minutes, the usual boring stuff that photographers talk about.

An almost deserted parking lot,

Some said the land where the parking lot is now should be purchased by the city and turned into a park to honor the history and culture of the Ohlone. The property at 1900 Fourth is a city landmark, dating back to 2000, within the potential boundaries of the West Berkeley shellmound. The exact location of the shellmound is unknown and has been a matter of much debate. It’s slated for a mixed-use development, which when it’s completed, will surely require Michala Downs, the owner of the pink Porsche to move her car. Her name was plastered on several door panels, so Jadyne went to Facebook and discovered that she is quite the fashionista.

Oh, that I had waited until she returned to her pink Porsche Cayenne. To quote G. B. Shaw, “Youth is the most precious thing in life; it is too bad it has to be wasted on young folks.”

April 22, Friday. Watched MTG under cross-examination. She is hoping to keep her name on the ballot. Supporters of the 14th Amendment want to remove it. They will be right, but they will lose.

Errands this morning, first to the Apple Store, for the geniuses to reset my phone. Waited with a happy customer there, too. A Rivian pickup truck was parked out front, the first of what I suspect will be many.

Happy customer

Geniuses at work

Rivian. Starts at around 70k. Good luck in getting one.

I’m 25% of the way to my next appointment, an x-ray that will reveal how much I’ve healed. In a best case scenario the boot will be gone. I’ve been in a good state of mind, accepting that this is what is, that negative thoughts and impatience will produce negative results. A lot of reading, time on the guitar, and more hummingbirds to focus on.

April 23rd, Saturday. A ninety mile trip to watch Kennedy, my eight year old grandson, a member of the Tin Cups, play baseball.

He pitches. A Southpaw

He catches

An RBI with a mighty blast to right field, as the catcher winces in disappointment.

His six-year old teammate has struck out. He will remain name and numberless.

Granddaughter Lillian Jadyne, age 10

Broken humerus and fibula. Both adorned with plumerias. Two broken bones.

April 24th, Sunday. Another day with kid sports. An 8:15 am game of “footie” with twelve year old grandson, Susanto.

A happy couple along the path.

The tree grabber thingy.

At the end of the road leading to the Marina. The threesome in front of us were holding on to their hats while a local Marina denizen looks for whatever food they might be willing to give him.

My new Fender Stratocaster had a buzzing in the top strings. John Livingston, the Guitar C Center technician, also thought that the tenth fret might be a little too high, so I was able to exchange it for another. Thanks to the EXPERT Elvis, pictured on the left.

April 25th, Monday. Sports are over. The Tin Caps fought to a tie on Saturday; the Spurs won on Sunday.

Jadyne took me to the Berkeley Marina on a one mile plus walk (ride) in a transport wheelchair (plastic wheels) on a path that circumnavigates the Marina hills in a roaring wind off the Bay. We were both cold, but she was energized by the efforts she made just keeping the wheelchair upright.

Before we started we watched a crew cutting down dead trees by the Marina in a way that would make arborists jealous. While one man cut through the base of the tree, another directed a robot controlled arm to grab the entire tree, lift it, then drop it in a pile in the parking lot.

April 26th, Tuesday.

A Costco run. How could life be any better? I’m going to make a point of using this sucker after my boot is off!

So much to love in Costco.

Rosie the Riveter Monument.

Rosie the Riveter is an allegorical cultural icon of World War II, representing the women who worked in factories and shipyards during World War II, many of whom produced munitions and war supplies.[1][2] These women sometimes took entirely new jobs replacing the male workers who joined the military. Rosie the Riveter is used as a symbol of American feminism and women's economic advantage.[3] Wikipedia

The four Richmond Kaiser Shipyards built 747 ships during World War II, a rate never equaled. Compared to the average ship built elsewhere, Richmond ships were completed in two-thirds the time and at a quarter of the cost. The Liberty ship SS Robert E. Peary was assembled in less than five days as a part of a competition among shipyards.

The monument itself stretches the length of a typical ship. In the sidewalk are engravings indicating the progress of the war itself. At the stern is the statement below.

“You must tell your children, putting all modesty aside, without women there would be no Spring in 1945”

April 27th, Wednesday

bún thịt nướng at Houng Tra. When I was a boy a Frisch’s Big Boy hamburger, french fries, and a Coke was the greatest meal I could ever imagine. Now, it’s Bun. You can look up the recipe, but really, nothing beats bun.

So my day began at lunch. We followed it up with a trip to replace the ratty Patagonia fleece that I’m wearing right now, then to Tokyo Fish Market for more Loch Duarte salmon.

The epicenter of wonderful fish in Berkeley.

I said “salmon!” not “octopus!”

April 28th, Thursday. Two weeks. After a $525 morning plumbing miscue, I piled into the wheelchair and Jadyne pushed me down Shattuck Avenue through central Berkeley. As is the nature of adventures, “unexpected” becomes the word of choice. Here, for your pleasure is my encounter with “Ralph Luuren.”

I’m trying to jump out of my wheelchair. I asked her to sit on my lap, but she was afraid she’d break it. My leg. Or the wheelchair.

And here she is again. "You worked for Tesla?” we asked. “I’m between jobs right now,” Ralph answered, “I’m now at Target.”

The Street Spirit. We bought a copy. The headline reads, “Housing is a Human Right.”

“Looking for human kindness.”

A mailman older than I am. Maybe.

April 29th, Friday. Morning two and a half mile trek on a recently completed extension of the Bay Trail. A trek for Jadyne, that is, and a ride for me.

Jadyne removes the wheelchair from the trunk and brings it over for the Infirm.

This kind lady saw how Jadyne was struggling on the incline. She turned around and helped push me.

The maximum water temperature of SF Bay is 53.7 degrees in April.

Golden Gate Bridge with an unusual foreground.

San Francisco shortly after sunrise.

Ted

Lunch with Ted.

When we first moved to Kensington I went to a local community meeting that Ted chaired. “How do you get on the committee?” I asked him. “Come to the next meeting,” he replied, “and you’ll be a member.” That was my last meeting.

A year or two later we saw each other an an orientation for the Writers Workshop, an organization whose members volunteer in schools and work with students struggling with their writing. For several years we both worked in Albany Middle School, helping eighth graders. Ted stayed with the program during Covid. I couldn’t imagine trying to help via Zoom, so I withdrew and began working at the Men’s Shelter in downtown Berkeley.

At the time Ted was working for AmNav, a tugboat company. He secured contracts with the huge Japanese and Chinese shipping companies who brought over goods from overseas, docking in the East Bay. We took several rides on the tugs, and it provided me with limitless photographic opportunities, including the America’s Cup Race, the Blue Angels, and the fireworks celebrating the anniversary of the building of the Golden Gate Bridge.

More than that. We’ve been friends for years. He visited me in the hospital when I had hip replacement surgery; it was our turn when he and his wife Caroline lost their daughter. Ted got a new hip a month or so ago; I broke my ankle. We are two old men, lusting after young women, neither of us able to walk without difficulty, sharing stories over a bowl of egg flower soup at Little Hong Kong, a luncheon date we make every Friday because neither one of us can do much else.

Finished off the day with a Rugby Avenue party,

5:00 Happy Hour for the whole street.

When we moved to Rugby Avenue there were only two or three kids. Now they outnumber us fogies.

Inez, who lives behind us, the only adult (among five) in her house who isn’t sick.

April 30th, Saturday. My brother Bill’s 79th birthday. I’ve reached the halfway point between the breaking of the ankle and the next x-ray. It’s healing. I’m still patient. Wednesday on the Mickey Mouse Club: “Today is the day that is filled with surprises. You never know what’s going to happen.” And so it was to be..

Loved watching Isla play soccer. She’s gained so much in both confidence in herself and skill as a player.

Just finished a burger at Al’s. “I feel funny in my arms,” I said to Jadyne, and I’m not sure if I can lift them.” I felt hot, flushed, pale, sweaty. Al called 9-1-1, and I was off to Kaiser’s Oakland Hospital. Ten blood tests. All good. Heart perfect. No explanation from the doctor. I made it just in time to Gilman to see Susanto’s soccer game at 3:45.

“You never know what’s going to happen.”

Room C-6. My friend and neighbor Chris Anderson, who years ago introduced me to the term “new normal,” now calls it “check engine light.” We checked it. It’s off now.

The diagnosis? I was treated for Near Syncope. “No worrisome findings on esxamination/evaluation that would suggest heart attack or acute cardiac condition. Fainting syncope) is a temporary loss of consciousness (passing out). It happens when blood flow to the brain is reduc e. Near-fainting is like fainting, but you don’t fully pass out. OInstead, uyou feel like you are going to pass out, but don’t actually lose consciousness.”

May 1, 2022. A Sunday stroll (ride) through Berkeley, then over the pedestrian bridge from west to east, where I met Carrie, this gracious lady who, after consenting to let me take her photo, asked for my card. I actually carry one. Only one.

Over the bridge we met the unvaccinated, hanging signs advocating that children don’t need it either. I stopped to talk, or rather to listen to one of them. I thanked them. We moved on

Last on the list was this one man drummer and sax player. Love Berkeley diversity.

May 2, 2022. Monday. Morning on the Bay Trail.

Got a Honda? This is how it came from Japan to you. These car carriers arrive daily in Richmond. The cars are driven to waiting train cars, then shipped hither and yon, wherever that is.

Tom and Cindy. Cindy had knee replacement three days after I fell. They live in a beautiful Victorian home in Petaluma with the most magnificent yellow roses that line their front sidewalk.

Lunch with Henry and Kathleen. We’ve known both of them for forty years or more. Like Cindy, Henry had knee replacement surgery, which morphed into much more than that. In fact, recovering from his knee surgery was the least of the issues. A list of subsequent misfortunes would exhaust the space that Squarespace has allotted me for my blog.

I first met Henry when I began my career as a photographer. He framed art. He was single at the time, and Jadyne and I invited him for dinner. “I can’t,” Henry said, “I have to practice carrier landings off Morro Bay.” Jaw drop. Kathleen was a friend of Teeny’s, a kindergarten teacher. We were unaware that they knew each other, much less that they were engaged to be married. Two old white guys with loving supportive Chinese wives.

May 3, 2022. Spent a half hour in Richmond at the dog park. This was the product of twenty minutes in a wheelchair and the new friends we made, all without leashes, all excited to explore freely in a mostly urban environment.

May 4, Wednesday. Taking my brother Jack along 23rd Street in Richmond, our second venture into the businesses largely owned and supported by the immense Latino population in the Bay Area.

Hunting for a murderer, taco trucks, a wheel from a 1970 Thunderbird, a hair salon, lottery buyers hoping for bonus money, brooms, markets, restaurants, and mannequins. Then errands around town, another day.

May 5 and May 6. Thursday and Friday. A walk/push around the Berkeley Marina. First on the list are the Berkeley Marina ground squirrels.

From a 2001 article.

Rodents Romeos / Berkeley Marina's fecund ground squirrels have a date with the birth-control man

Needless to say. the birth-control man was stood up. Twenty-one years later, They’re everywhere.

Another of the Marina regulars. A red-wing blackbird. They have their own area.

An unusually cool and foggy Friday.

Sickly pink dogwood

José removing stump

New pink dogwood

May 7, Saturday. A cold walk along the Bay beginning at Chevy’s in Emeryville.

When Jadyne wheeled me too close to him and his four siblings, his mother took exception to my presence. Got away just in time.

Drama: vulture

Undrama: pigeon

The Red Baron, one of the remaining sculptures that formerly graced the Emeryville shoreline.

Night heron, waiting for Chevy’s Tex-Mex to open.

At Isla’s soccer game…

May 8, Sunday. Mother’s Day. “Mother” is outside digging up grasses that were planted fourteen years ago and have given up the ghost. We’re expecting a visit from Jason this afternoon, but it’s an unusually cool May morning. Even a shower or two could show up.

In reading about my boot I saw this article.

Ankle Fractures Can Be Death Sentences For Seniors

I had to read that!. Second reading discussed compound ankle fractures generated from low impact activities, not mine. 27% of those who suffered that kind of fracture died within two months. Beating the odds, just like Rich Strike, the horse that won the Kentucky Derby at 80-1 odds.

Enough of that. Off to Oakland’s Jack London Square, where the trains come down the middle of the street.

Freight car graffiti

Jack London Square, the main port for the container ships that sail from China and Japan. The white structures in the back unload the containers.

The Potomac. FDR’s presidential yacht. While relaxing on board, the president fished, read detective stories, and worked on his stamp collection. On Sundays, a sea plane would often land alongside the ship to deliver newspapers, mail and anything requiring the president's signature.

As we left this young man wished Jadyne a Happy Mother’s Day. He was calling his mother to wish her the same in New Orleans.

May 9, 10th. Monday Tuesday. Mostly “walks” along the Bay, downtown Berkeley. On Monday we bought a new wheelchair in Novato that was advertised on Craigslist. It has bigger wheels and is designed for the outside. My next x-ray is in five days. Hoping to rid myself of the dreaded boot. Meanwhile, we’ve seen our share of Berkeley and Emeryville.

Berkeley resident #1

Berkeley resident #2

Silhouetted driver doing what everyone else is doing all the time.

Golden Gate Fields. A $250,000 race was held here last weekend. It’s fenced in. No photographers allowed.

Abstract. Construction on a pedestrian freeway overpass.

May 11, 2022. Wednesday. Visit to Annie’s Annuals today for succulents to replace dead grasses in the back yard.

A belated Mother’s Day dinner at the Dead Fish. It isn’t often that the original five are together. Treasured time.

May 15, Sunday. I ran out of gas. Greg and Sean, Jadyne’s brother and sister-in-law arrived for a week’s visit, having driven a thousand miles from No Name. Colorado, their first visit since Greg’s near fatal illness two years ago.

On Friday I went to Kaiser for the x-ray that will be interpreted to me tomorrow when I see Dr. Ford, thirty-two days after my mishap. It’s a beautiful sunny May Sunday morning, and Sean and Jadyne are out for a three mile walk/hike, and I’m sitting at my computer, trying—and I’m not succeeding—not to feel bad, knowing that the boot will be staying on for some time to come.

Musician at the Pirate Barbecue in Point Molate. Had a wonderful dinner with Sean and Greg.

May 16th and 17th, Monday and Tuesday. No amazing photos, but some very good news. Saw DPM Dr. Ford, who examined my x-rays and was pleased in the healing that had taken place over the previous 32 days. He added, “no need to sleep with it anymore”, and “in two weeks you can take it off and begin walking.” It will be months before I’m healed, but next Friday, May 27th, I’ll be boot free and can begin reclaiming the old me.

We’ve been entertaining company for the past week, Sean and Greg, who I photographed in Emeryville last night, after having consumed ten dim sum dishes.

Greg is ten years younger than Jadyne. Sean is two or three years older than Greg. They were married twenty-eight years ago. No two people love each other more than they do.

The Tuesday doughnut run

BART train along the Ohlone Greenway

Graffiti and painted fences along the greenway.

May 18th, Wednesday. Jadyne is building her strength, wheeling me along the bay on these beautiful, warm, and sunny spring days.

Typical summer pattern

We are not alone. He drives a semi-truck. And that’s his right foot!

It’s a job.

May 19th, 20th. Thursday, Friday. The big doin’ on Thursday was a trip to Kaiser for the second booster shot, a decision based on the rising numbers of the current outbreak. No walk today, no photos, no nothing.

Friday was a different story. A Costco run. We bought flowers. Our friends John and Mary discovered that their middle child, Erica, has stage four cancer. She’s forty-two. She began feeling bad in March, checked into the hospital in April, has had two chemotherapy sessions. A third was scheduled for today. Almost thirty-four years ago we lost Teeny. John and Mary drove to Santa Rosa to provide comfort. That’s what we do.

Erica’s dog. She knows something’s not right..

May 21, Saturday. Another trip to Sacramento. Kennedy’s last baseball game.

The end is near. No new wheelchair trips these last two days. Jadyne’s arm is still sore from booster #2. The CDC, in light of the latest Covid outbreak, has now strongly recommended the second booster. I’m fine, that is, except for a careless finger cut last night.

I spend more of the day bootless, doing ab crunches with the boots off, stretching my ankle and rotating it to strengthen it. It’s a Saturday. By Thursday I’m planning on removing it altogether, returning to the Shelter for breakfast, and beginning a walking program that will eventually return me to the physical shape I was in before April 15th.

In the last five weeks the Russians have continued their relentless attacks against Ukraine, the Supreme Court’s leaked opinion has revealed its intention to overturn Roe vs. Wade, the wife of a Supreme Court justice is a traitor, Madison Cawthorn’ ws fired, the Jan 6th Committee has set dates for its hearings in June which promise to be “agonizing and riveting.” Jamie Raskin, a prominent Democrat on the committee had this to say: “This was a coup organized by the president against the vice-president and against the Congress in order to overturn the 2020 presidential election.

Roger Angell died, Sean and Greg visited for a week, Jack, for three days, the garden flourishes, I read several books, including Maximum Harm, the story of the Boston Marathon bombers.

It’s grandchild sports day. Kennedy’s last game with the Tin Caps, and Susanto’s effort in soccer. It’s what we do.

The Southpaw delivers a strike.

The coach, the catcher, the son, the grandson.

Susanto’s last game, too….until tomorrow, maybe.

May 22, Sunday. Beautiful morning. A wheelchair along the bay.

A proud American!

Sunday afternoon. Susanto’s piano recital. I met his teacher today. He was wonderful with all the kids.

Susanto’s piano teacher with a very young student.

We heard Eloise play the sax. We didn’t stay for the piano.

And with the Padres’ sweep of the Giants, the last game 10-1 and Susanto’s piano recital coming to an end, this wheelchair boy is signing off on Sunday.

May 23rd, Monday. After showering this morning I put the dreaded boot back on. Yes, I know I can take it off for good on Thursday, but it’s still an albatross. I discovered that yesterday when I walked up the hill to Susanto’s recital. Up is hard. But thoughts have turned away from the boot. Larry Johnson has begun new chemotherapy treatments; the Kemps are still dealing with a daughter with stage four cancer. Whatever comes my way comes.

An afternoon stroll though downtown Berkeley

Not Paul Butterfield, but hey, he'‘s doing what he can.

People passing by my wheelchair.

May 24, Tuesday, It was another doughnut delivery day, this time to Richmond and Oakland. Along a several blocks long homeless encampment in Oakland signs read, “100% Affordable Housing.”

An afternoon stroll along the bay trail by the Emeryville Marina. A place to paint.

Would the cranes have made a more photogenic background

Worse places to ride a bike and set up a hammock.

Little footnote. I have dreamt twice of being in a wheelchair, once with a broken ankle. Our real lives include our dreams.

May 25th, Wednesday. No celebration in taking the boot off. Nineteen children and three adults were shot to death in Texas yesterday. The title of this little post is “Metamorphosis”, which implies change. Nothing is changing in America.

Good luck with that “thoughts and prayers” bullshit.

Herein lies the problem. Shit-for-brains congressmen, senators, governors , and other elected officials have put those of us who value lives on notice. We’re the problem. We choose life over guns. How un-American.

Governor Abbot’s press conference today. Solemnity and caring were the mots de jour, and “mental health:, (or course). Beto O-Rourke interrupted and protested the press conference, claiming that the responsibility for the childrens’ deaths is on Abbot. Beto was vilified by the “speakers”, but I suspect that non gun-loving Americans are firmly in his corner. The speakers? Blah blah blah.

This is the new America.

May 26, Thursday. The end of this blog entry. The boot is off.

42 days later. Yes, I still have toenail fungus

My first day being somewhat useful. I returned to the Dorothy Day Center and helped prepare breakfast for the homeless.

When I started this blog entry I wanted to measure the changes that I anticipated might take place in the six weeks of my convalescence.

  1. I have a greater appreciation for the challenges that face the disabled, especially those in wheelchairs.

  2. I hated being so dependent on others, especially Jadyne, who pushed me everywhere in my wheelchair and who did all the housework.

  3. I hated not driving.

  4. I lamented the loss of some of the meaning in my day, the absence of volunteer activities especially.

  5. I sorely missed walking.

  6. I have gained weight, eating as much as I did before my accident, though without the exercise.

  7. “I’ve been hard to live with, haven’t I” I asked Jadyne. “Yes,” she answered quickly. Maybe that’s not such a change.

  8. My abs are stronger.

But as far as real changes go, here’s one that’s missing. From The Onion…

‘No Way To Prevent This,’ Says Only Nation Where This Regularly Happens

Yesterday 9:00AM

Alerts

UVALDE, TX—In the hours following a violent rampage in Texas in which a lone attacker killed at least 21 individuals and injured several others, citizens living in the only country where this kind of mass killing routinely occurs reportedly concluded Tuesday that there was no way to prevent the massacre from taking place. “This was a terrible tragedy, but sometimes these things just happen and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop them,” said Idaho resident Kathy Miller, echoing sentiments expressed by tens of millions of individuals who reside in a nation where over half of the world’s deadliest mass shootings have occurred in the past 50 years and whose citizens are 20 times more likely to die of gun violence than those of other developed nations. “It’s a shame, but what can we do? There really wasn’t anything that was going to keep this individual from snapping and killing a lot of people if that’s what they really wanted.” At press time, residents of the only economically advanced nation in the world where roughly two mass shootings have occurred every month for the past eight years were referring to themselves and their situation as “helpless.”

Saturday, June 11th. Eight weeks and a day. I’ve been averaging 10,000 steps a day, gaining my endurance back, working in the yard. Eight weeks ago I knew that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and as days turned into weeks the light grew brighter. For two friends, though, Larry Johnson and Henry Crigler, the light may or may not be there. They’re faced with the uncertainty of knowing whether their physical issues are metastasizing.

Negative thoughts

What I believe…

 A friend of mine was volunteering to caddy for a golfer in a minor league tournament.  He knew the Windsor course.  His pro didn’t.  When my friend told the pro where the trouble was (trees, sand bunkers, water) , the pro responded, “Don’t tell me where the trouble is.  I only want to know where I should hit it.” I was impressed with that, and not just for my golf game.

Later I was playing golf with friends. I was teasing one of them by telling him about that conversation.   To illustrate I saw a lake by the tee that only the worst shot in the world would find a ball.  I said, “For example, it wouldn’t be possible for you to hit your ball into that water, would it?  It’s not even close to the tee.”  And of course he did.  And everyone laughed.  He teed up another ball and said, “David, your thought about thinking where you want to hit it didn’t work.”  I asked him, “How so?”.  He said, “I wanted to drive this ball up your ass!”  Again, more laughter.

When I left Cardinal Newman teachers asked me, “Why don’t you take a leave of absence?  That way you’ll have something to fall back on.”  I replied, “If I did I would introduce the possibility that I might fail.  I can’t allow that.” Just introducing the thought that things won’t work out the way I would have wanted would have diluted and sapped the energy I needed to succeed.. 

When I left Cardinal Newman, Bob Moratto, the father of one of my students, a man who liked and respected me, offered to buy David Buchholz Photography and subsidize Jadyne and me by paying our salaries for five years, at which time the business would be evaluated and we would be able to buy his 50% share for whatever the business was worth then.  My family was relieved. My attorney friend John drew up a very long partnership agreement that I had planned to sign.  I took it over to Bob and said, “I have both good and bad news.  I have the agreement, but I can’t sign it.  I need to know that I can succeed on my own.”  My parents believed I had made a mistake. 

Failure is always a possibility.  However, the less time, energy, or thought you give to it the more likely you will succeed.  The “what ifs”, the accommodation of its presence in your thinking, weakens you.  Don’t let it in..  And like computer malware, once in it will infect you.  You’ve diminished your chances of succeeding. “What would we do if things don’t work out” means that you have introduced that possibility into your thinking. 

The golfer can put the ball into the lake.  Then what would he do?  He’d drop another ball and move on.  He needs to think of only one thing—hitting the ball where he wants to hit it.  You must think that you will succeed.   And if you don’t, well, that’s the only time to consider what you would do next, when you have to and not a second before then.  Not a second.

 I needed to know that I absolutely had to succeed in my photography and not imagine that I might fail or plan for an alternative. I had a wife and three kids to support.  Failure wasn’t an option.  Success requires that kind of thinking. Absolutely requires it. 

Did I know all this when I was younger?  No.  When I look back on whatever challenges I’ve had, I’ve discovered that fully believing and embracing that I would succeed is the common thread that ran through them all, just as it does this morning, the third week of my booted convalescence. After I broke my ankle I began to think of all the activities I could do while recovering. Creating the blog entry “Metamorphosis” was one, photographing visiting birds was another, adding to my hours of reading was a third. I asked my doc, “What can I do?” He responded, “Ab crunches.” That’s a fourth. Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t on the list.

Five days later. Some of what I wrote was easier written than done. After twenty-two days of almost complete inactivity I’m finding it a bit harder to generate positive thoughts as easily as I did when I first wrote this. Maybe I am feeling a bit sorry for myself. My blood pressure is off the charts. Yesterday Jadyne and Gail went on a glorious hike in Alvarado Park while I, of course, remained home. Last night i dreamt that I was delivering food from a wheelchair. Our real lives become our dreams.

 

The Mind Is Its Own Place

I didn’t really enjoy my college course in Milton, but these lines from “Paradise Lost” stuck.

“The mind is its own place and in itself can create a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

Larry Johnson lives three houses up the street. We discovered that he had esophogeal cancer five months ago and was on chemotherapy. He had a feeding tube because he was unable to eat. He went into remission, then discovered that he had developed pneumonia. Back to the hospital, then to a care facility. I called him. He said he was looking forward to the time he could get out of bed and go to the bathroom, that he had to rely on nurses to clean him in bed. He made that step, then he came home and was able to do much more, including walking around his garage, take short steps, circling it a couple of times, before climbing back to bed. I visited him, and we talked about the feeding tube. He said, “I look at it this way, David. I haven’t had to floss since November!”

Brilliant.

Infirmities are inevitable. How we respond to them is a choice. Here’s one way.

Who we are is partly defined by how we respond. Putin was surprised to find that Ukrainians would lay down their lives to fight him, grandmothers with AR-15s, young women celebrating a recent wedding. Many who fled came back to fight, knowing that they would likely be killed.

It is so in lesser ways, too, as it was with me yesterday morning at 8:00 at Tilden Park, where a misstep caused me to fracture my distal fibula (break my left ankle) and sent me hurtling headfirst into the gravel alongside Canon Drive. Fortunately, there was a ranger nearby who was able to take me home. After that, an x-ray, a confirmed fracture. and this, the boot.

Warning: Graphic Image. Not suitable for children.

Did it hurt? Yes. Does it still hurt? Yes. How long will I have to wear it? Perhaps six weeks or so. Do I have to wear it to bed? Yes. Can I take it off to shower? Yes. Can I walk with it on? Yes, to a limited degree. Because it’s about two inches higher than my bare right foot I have a strap-on lift that I can put on my right shoe to make them equal.

The old right shoe. Hey, I’m saving on laundry by only wearing one sock at a time.

How should I treat it? R.I.C.E. rest, ice, compression, and elevation. So how am I dealing with it? So far, okay. I slept last night. I’m enjoying the rain this early Saturday morning. I’ll have to change my life for a while, and I won’t be able to hike, walk distances, work in the yard, volunteer at the shelter. A lot of reading, guitar-playing, Rummikub with Jadyne. I asked the doc, “What can I do?” He replied, “Work on your abs.” Stay tuned. This is, in so many ways, a work in progress.

To echo Larry Johnson, though, this 5’6” man is now 5’8”. I’m tall!

P.S. Jadyne noted that Larry, my neighbor, has his wife Janet taking care of him. Henry has Kathleen. Anthony (across the street) has his wife, Farrah, watching out for him. Guillermo, another neighbor, fell and has a huge lump on his head. His wife, Davi, is in LA. He texts Jadyne three times a day to confirm that he’s okay. Two years ago Greg was in a near fatal medical situation. Sean was there. What is it with all these men and their infirmities? And what is it with these women who, unlike the Russian battleship, keep the boat from sinking?

Fail Army (The Dove Nest)

“A graceful, slender-tailed, small-headed dove that’s common across the continent. Mourning Doves perch on telephone wires and forage for seeds on the ground; their flight is fast and bullet straight. Their soft, drawn-out calls sound like laments. When taking off, their wings make a sharp whistling or whinnying. Mourning Doves are the most frequently hunted species in North America.

Unbothered by nesting around humans, Mourning Doves may even nest on gutters, eaves, or abandoned equipment.*”

*Birds of America”

And so did these two. I noticed that when I opened our front door two mourning doves often took flight, but I paid little attention to them. I asked Jadyne if she noticed, too. They were there later that morning. Then we noticed this.

And this!

The male liked to hang out on the bench on the front deck and revel in his beauty.

Grooming himself…

It’s a public place. This jay was eying the nest, wondering if she might be a better fit.

When not preening, the male went to work, bringing her all that she needed to make a home for their children.

We put up a sign on our front gate, reminding visitors to tread softly, to use the slider, not the front door. We watched anxiously as he brought her stick after stick. We had read that they typically take two to four days to build a nest. We were ready.

Then last night they left. Dinner out? A date? A menage a trois? Two days ago they spent the night away, then returned the next morning. She lay on the light. He brought sticks. it was a match made in heaven.

Then this morning, nothing. No nest. No sticks. No eggs, no mourning doves, just a collection of his gifts to her, scattered on our front porch. We’ll wait one more day, then take the sign down. I miss them already.

Overcoming The Awful

“I can’t even do this right,” Susie complained, after failing once again to end her life. She had hired an Uber driver to take her to San Francisco and leave her and her wheelchair by the bay. She’d had a lot to drink, and she thought that the alcohol would prevent her from suffering too much in the cold waters off Fisherman’s Wharf. The alcohol also made her so unsteady that she fell out of her wheelchair before she could reach the edge of the bay, and she suffered through the cold, inebriated night before she was found, hospitalized, and returned home.

On Friday she did it right . Once again an Uber driver took her to San Pablo Reservoir, a half hour drive over the East Bay hills. She waited until the park closed, the fishermen left, and she was alone. She found the kayak launch ramp and headed down into the water. She was found the next morning.

“It’s the sixth time since August,” her mother said, “and the sixteenth time overall,” she added. Susie was still in high school when she hopped on a bike and rode into nearby Tilden Park, intending to end her life by riding over a cliff. She was found the next day, paralyzed from the waist down.

But this isn’t about Susie. Although her parents ministered to her for the years between her first attempt and now successful effort, they still have to overcome the awful of losing a daughter, having spent so many years watching out for her, checking her medicines, fixing her wheelchair, taking care of her in so many ways, and hiding the resentment that these burdens were put upon them by a conscious, avoidable decision of a young girl whose brain was not fully formed and would have paid dearly to change the impulsive decision she made so many years ago. “This is what she wanted to do,” said her mother last night, “but it’s still a punch in the gut.”

Susie is dead, but her life and death will linger in their lives forever. Perhaps they will reassure each other that they did everything they could to prevent her first failed attempt, then again in the years they cared for her. It’s still a gut punch, leaving nothing to overcome, because overcoming this awful isn’t possible.

I had lunch with Susie’s father last Friday. “We picked up her ashes this morning,” he said. “I don’t know where we’ll spread them.” I knew he was doing well, but Susie’s mother’s life changed when Susie’s first attempt went awry. “How long was she in the hospital?” I asked. “Two million dollars worth,” he replied. First to John Muir Medical Center, then to a place where there were spinal experts somewhere down the Peninsula,” he responded. In speaking about his wife he responded, “Now I don’t know what she’s going to do. Her whole life these last fifteen years revolved around caring for Rosie.”

(The expression “overcoming the awful” were words from a friend, inquiring about my well-being. I can’t let go of them.. That same friend, after reading my post, reminded me that I had misremembered what she had said. “Don’t let the awful overwhelm you,” were her words.)

Overcoming the Awful Part II

We’re surrounded by awful.

The bodies of civilians murdered by Russian soldiers in Ukraine. Russia claims it’s a “hoax.” It isn’t.

The war continues, now in its seventh week. The senseless war and the senseless brutality have stunned the world. Oh, not the whole world. China says it won’t turn its back on Russia. It, too, blames the West. India remains inexplicably neutral, a stance that with each passing day reveals a cultural ugliness. This is a failed culture.

I thought about writing this in my blog yesterday morning when I read this in the SF Chronicle:

Sacramento mass shooting: Suspect arrested as search continues for gunmen in the killings

A fight broke out in downtown Sacramento Sunday morning. Shots were fired. At least eighteen people were wounded by the gunfire; six died. Multiple gunmen are suspected. One has been arrested. We’re accustomed to such headlines, In the first three months of the year 136 mass shootings have taken place, with many killed and scores wounded. Awful gun violence surrounds us arm in arm with the NRA.

And here we go again…

Jesus, Nazis, The Confederacy, a Hitler salute.

Right wing extremists, anti-Americans, these “patriots”—white supremicists, misogynists, racists, so-called “conservatives”, are marching in lockstep with what was formerly known as the Republican party that is so broken, so immoral, so depressingly large, and so hopelessly stupid, that they’re once again happily putting up Sarah Palin in a run for Congress. A party with Palin, Boebert, Greene, Gosar, and Gaetz, is a party opposed to everything that I believe, candidates with a collective IQ in single figures. They are awful. The aforementioned Greene tweeted yesterday, accusing three of her intellectually superior legislators as being “pro-pedophile” because they’ve voiced support for the eminently qualified Ketanji Jackson, the first black woman to be nominated for the Supreme Court. How unimaginable it is to be that stupid.

From the NY Times, “California’s snowpack is now at 39 percent of its average, or 23 percent lower than at the same point last year. This signals a deepening of the drought — already the worst in the western United States in 1,200 years — and another potentially catastrophic fire season for much of the West.” It isn’t just California.

The UN released a report today.

Climate Change 2022

This is a global issue, not limited to a political party, a city rife with shooters or butchers in Ukraine, We’re talking about civilization, the planet, what we’re leaving to our children.

How we overcome the awful is an individual choice, one rooted in fundamental beliefs in honesty, integrity, religious values, self-awareness, an understanding and practice of the Golden Rule, good judgment, charity, compassion, patience, in recognizing the truth in “No Man Is an Island,” that what happens to others happens to us, too. Whatever we can do to support a besieged country, to fight against a corrupt politics, and to conserve our natural resources, overcoming the awful is not only being aware of the goodness in our lives, but celebrating that goodness—the people we love and who love us, the joy of a glorious sunset, the welcome sound of raindrops on the roof, and in the recognition that we need each other in ways we may never have recognized.

Stress

War

My friend Susan posted this on Facebook. “If only I could share this glass of water with thousands of Ukrainians…oh how I wish I could.” And this: “My heart breaks every day for the Ukrainians.” When I wake up my first thought is the bathroom, then Zelenskyy, then coffee. After the first sip I think about killing Putin. Then, like Susan, I feel helpless, unable to do anything more than send money to the Red Cross for aid to Ukraine. Not a good way to start the day. The war is suffocating, and we’re not even in it, unless you count the extra dollar or two we’re paying at the pump, one of many stresses that have infected our lives over the past two years.

Pandemic

Yesterday, March 11, marked the second year since WHO announced that we were at the beginning of a pandemic. By then thirty-one Americans had died. On March 11, 2020 this conversation took place in DC: "Is the worst yet to come, Dr. Fauci?" asked Rep. Carolyn Maloney, the committee chairwoman. "Yes, it is," Fauci replied. He explained that the U.S. was seeing more cases from both community spread and international travel.

"I can say we will see more cases, and things will get worse than they are right now," Fauci said. "How much worse we'll get will depend on our ability to do two things: to contain the influx of people who are infected coming from the outside, and the ability to contain and mitigate within our own country."

The virus had by then infected more than 1,000 people in 40 states. At least 31 people in the U.S. had died from COVID-19, most of them in Washington state.

"Bottom line," Fauci said, "it's going to get worse."

Schools closed. Professional sports unceremoniously ended their seasons. Restaurants shuttered. No one went to work. Public transportation stopped. We hosted a one-day-a-week class for our granddaughter Isla and her friend Ella who were trying to learn through Zoom, a software classroom that allowed teachers to see and talk to students while trying to mimic electronically what they did in the classroom.

The Diamond Princess, a cruise ship, was held at sea for nine days while Trump tried to figure out what to do with it and several of its infected passengers. He didn’t want them to come ashore because he rejected adding the passengers to America’s Covid sick list. (Two years later. Almost a million have died; eighty million reported cases.)

Covid is still with us and may be for years to come. New cases and deaths are dropping, but the US still experiences over a thousand deaths a day. My friend Frank Guillen was one of those. Changing laws regarding masking, disinformation from the government, discomfort and inconvenience in our daily lives, especially for those with young children became part of an uncomfortable routine, a stress that in worst cases led to violence.

Inflation

We’re going through the highest rate of inflation in forty years. With the oil and gas embargo from Russia, gas prices have risen to levels never seen before. People who were living on a financial shoestring now find themselves in even choppier straits. The following is a post from Next Door, a community messaging forum. It isn’t about gas. It’s about behavior, the reaction to stress.

The Legacy of Donald Trump

January 6, 2021. Trump’s minions stage a coup. The worst attack against the United States Government since the Civil War, a criminal enterprise authored by TFG. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the lies that it never happened or that it was, as the Republican Party believes, “normal political discourse”, has taken root in Washington, in red states, becoming a centerpiece of the new Republican party, now referred to in liberal circles as the GQP”, as conspiracy theories from Q-Anon believers have taken center stage, removing any vestiges of the thoughtful intelligent fragments of what were once believed to be part of the Republican Party.

And walking side by side with the new Republican party are the right wing extremists, who are embraced by such walking minerals as the hopelessly stupid Marjorie Taylor Greene, Paul Gosar, Lauren Boebert, and so many more who believe that they reflect true America rather than the fringe morons that embrace both their lies and stupidity. They conveniently blame immigrants for the very issues that they cause. Imagine this. Greene accuses Democrats as “communists” as she speaks at a forum where participants give hearty cheers to Putin. You can’t make this stuff up, folks. No moral bottom has been reached yet, only because we never believed that the Trumpies would go so far down…and continue…and continue…

BTW. Here’s a chart illustrating extremist events in the US over the last eighteen years. Trump’s desecration of the office of the Presidency begins at the same time the chart reaches for the sky.

Simply put, that so many of our fellow countrymen believe that a man who ridicules the disabled, speaks ill of deceased war heroes, has sexual escapades with porn stars while his wife is giving birth, and authors thousands and thousands of lies is a “great leader.” And those of us who don’t find that attractive are “haters” and “libtards” Stressed is what and who we are.

A Modest Proposal

So we’re all under stress. Lots of it. How we manage it is up to us. For Trump, a local psychologist scheduled classes for citizens who found his stewardship intolerable. So, one solution is therapy.

Another is to limit exposure. One half hour of news a day, whether TV, internet, whatever. Don’t cheat.

Another is a more proactive approach—doing something unrelated to the external stimuli that bring us stress. I volunteer twice a week at the Men’s Shelter in Berkeley, delivering doughnuts or serving breakfast to the homeless. On another day I deliver groceries for the Berkeley Food Pantry. I’m not looking for kudos. Doing this gives me pleasure. It’s a selfish enterprise. I do it for myself.

At least three days a week I hike/walk five miles in the East Bay hills. I feel better when I come back than I did when I left. I’m busy on the days I don’t hike—reading, playing guitar, gardening, working on images from my photo library. I dust, clean toilets, vacuum carpets, wash windows. I’m grateful for all the physical activity I’m able to do, not just because at the age of 75 I can still do it, but because cleaning, gardening, making my home look better makes me feel better, too.

I’m an optimist. I believe that things will get better. “Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well,” Czech dissident, writer and statesman Václav Havel said, “but the certainty that something is worth doing no matter how it turns out.” --Vaclav Havel.