Yesterday, July 3rd, was sunny and hot - today it is cloudy and cold. I shouldn’t let the weather change my feelings about such an important holiday, the holiday that celebrates the founding of our country, and our civil liberties.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal...
Substitute “people” for “men” and you have a perfect idea, an idea to build a life, or a country, on. The news is full of events that occur because people deny this idea, because one group of people hates another. When people act in accordance with this idea it seldom makes news. However, leaders who follow this idea are the ones who make history: Nelson Mandela, the Dalai Lama.
Recently it was disclosed just how much of our email, our phone calls, our lives, the government is monitoring. It may be necessary to protect us from terrorism, but I am unconvinced. Anyone who remembers The Pentagon Papers will have a hard time fully trusting our government. Most people seem to put their safety above their freedom. I think this is dangerous, and mistaken,
Last week my son Colin turned thirty. That day we ate salmon and drank sangria, and the next day we drove to the Olympic Peninsula and cooked clams, mussels, shrimp, sausage, potatoes, and corn over an open charcoal fire. It was ninety degrees in Seattle that day, but in our campground the wind was gusting and it was only sixty five degrees. We didn’t bring the right clothes and we were all cold. Only our grandson Oran seemed to be unaffected by the temperature - he ran everywhere, hunted for berries, jumped into any water he could find, and kept himself warm.
Thirty years ago I remember sitting at my desk in my office in Aruba when my dad called me from Portland to say that I had another son, that Nonnie had had a C-section and that she and Colin were doing well. Up to that moment I didn’t know if we would have a second son or a daughter. I was so excited and happy, and a little sad that I wasn’t there. Two weeks later I did fly to Portland and Nonnie and the boys met me at the airport. Derek came running down the concourse saying “Dad, dad - do you want to see my new brother?” So I held Colin for the first time outside the arrival gate in the airport while hundreds of approving passengers walked by.
Thirty years later much has changed - Colin has grown up and security at the airport makes it impossible to meet arriving passengers at the gate - Colin has his own son, and every young mother knows the gender of her baby after the first ultrasound.
I hope you had a good holiday!
Friday, July 5, 2013
Monday, June 24, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Books
As I have been unpacking books today I have been thinking of where I got each book, what I was doing at the time, why I bought it, what the book was about, and so on.
The Camera was the first book of the Life Library of Photography series, a series I started to buy and read while I was in Greenland in 1973. I had just bought my first camera, a Minolta SRT 101 single lens reflex camera, a simple workhorse camera which brought me so much enjoyment hiking and photographing the barren landscape.
The book describes a dated technology but an ageless aesthetic.
Soon after I finished my tour in Greenland and returned to the US I started buying the Hundred Greatest Books from the Franklin Library. Moby Dick was the first of the series, and each month a new leather bound book would arrive, and each month I would hold it, smell it, rub it - everything but read it. That’s not entirely true; I did read some of them, like Crime and Punishment, but others, such as Euripides Plays, I just couldn’t get into.
The fall before I went to Nigeria in 1977 I read Return to Laughter, an anthropological novel by Eleanor Smith Bowen, a fictional retelling of the author’s experiences living and working with the Tiv in Nigeria, the same tribe my wife and I would be working with a few months later. My copy of the book, a tape wrapped paperback that sold for $2.50, is well worn and earmarked, evidence of being read multiple times. More than anything else this book prepared me for the shock of moving into an entirely different culture.
Once I was living in Nigeria I started looking for books that would help me understand the people there. My copy of Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe is also held together by clear tape, but that old copy means a lot more to me than a brand new book would. Achebe was a great writer (he died recently) and this book started to open the door for me, to see the Nigerian culture from their side, to begin to start to comprehend the complexity of their society.
Another book that brings back memories is a cheap hard bound copy of The Life of Lenin by Maria Prilezhayeva, published in Moscow, and sold for 65 Kopeks. I obtained my copy while living in Almaty, Kazakhstan. The book is all propaganda, all about Lenin’s heroic struggles and the joys of communism, and as such is an interesting example of the way things were before the Soviet Union broke up.
I read my copy of The Plague by Albert Camus shortly after caring for a young man with bubonic and pneumonic plague in Gallup, NM, and the actions and emotions that he describes so well could still be seen at the Gallup Indian Medical Center - the panic, the denials, the pragmatism.
These book, and many more, tell the story of my life; much better than I could ever tell it.
The Camera was the first book of the Life Library of Photography series, a series I started to buy and read while I was in Greenland in 1973. I had just bought my first camera, a Minolta SRT 101 single lens reflex camera, a simple workhorse camera which brought me so much enjoyment hiking and photographing the barren landscape.
The book describes a dated technology but an ageless aesthetic.
Soon after I finished my tour in Greenland and returned to the US I started buying the Hundred Greatest Books from the Franklin Library. Moby Dick was the first of the series, and each month a new leather bound book would arrive, and each month I would hold it, smell it, rub it - everything but read it. That’s not entirely true; I did read some of them, like Crime and Punishment, but others, such as Euripides Plays, I just couldn’t get into.
The fall before I went to Nigeria in 1977 I read Return to Laughter, an anthropological novel by Eleanor Smith Bowen, a fictional retelling of the author’s experiences living and working with the Tiv in Nigeria, the same tribe my wife and I would be working with a few months later. My copy of the book, a tape wrapped paperback that sold for $2.50, is well worn and earmarked, evidence of being read multiple times. More than anything else this book prepared me for the shock of moving into an entirely different culture.
Once I was living in Nigeria I started looking for books that would help me understand the people there. My copy of Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe is also held together by clear tape, but that old copy means a lot more to me than a brand new book would. Achebe was a great writer (he died recently) and this book started to open the door for me, to see the Nigerian culture from their side, to begin to start to comprehend the complexity of their society.
Another book that brings back memories is a cheap hard bound copy of The Life of Lenin by Maria Prilezhayeva, published in Moscow, and sold for 65 Kopeks. I obtained my copy while living in Almaty, Kazakhstan. The book is all propaganda, all about Lenin’s heroic struggles and the joys of communism, and as such is an interesting example of the way things were before the Soviet Union broke up.
I read my copy of The Plague by Albert Camus shortly after caring for a young man with bubonic and pneumonic plague in Gallup, NM, and the actions and emotions that he describes so well could still be seen at the Gallup Indian Medical Center - the panic, the denials, the pragmatism.
These book, and many more, tell the story of my life; much better than I could ever tell it.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Moving In
“De ja vu all over again,” as Yogi said, that old familiar feeling of opening boxes, moving furniture, laying out rugs, placing lamps, hanging pictures, shelving books, putting dishes away, and looking for toothbrushes, extension cords, address books, and that little book with all our secret passwords - Nonnie and I have done all these things fourteen times before and I hope this is our last time. Fifteen moves since we were married, and before that I moved from Portland to New York, San Antonio, Greenland, Charleston SC, and back to Portland. With each move the amount of stuff we have seems to grow, although we did some serious downsizing a few years ago. Over the years I have lived poor and I have lived rich, and what people say is true: rich is better.
We live in a corner house in a neighborhood of small blue collar houses, although now the cars in the driveways - Lexus, Porsche, BMW - indicate that our neighbors are a bit more upscale. There is an alley behind the house and we have a large driveway off the alley, big enough for four cars, a luxury in a neighborhood of two hour street parking. The streets are narrow and crowded, while the trees are huge and beautiful. Across the street from us, lined by tall trees and a thick hedge, is a cemetery, so that when I look out our front windows I see trees, but no graves, which I hope is the also the case in the winter.
In Albuquerque we gave away eight bookcases, particle wood pieces from Walmart, so now we are looking for new bookcases. The difference between particle wood and real wood in price and quality is exponential, but we bit the bullet and bought two new unfinished seven foot high pine pieces - real wood. They delivered them today and I will finish them tomorrow, hopefully, and see how my office looks when they are in place and full of books, after which I will make plans for more shelves. The movers who loaded and unloaded our rental moving truck all complained - “so many books.”
Oran came and spent the day with us today, keeping us happy and entertained with his boundless enthusiasm and energy. We went for a nice walk in Ravenna Park, which is near to our house and has a wonderful path winding along a stream in deep woods lined with 100 foot trees. At the far end of the park we found a playground and Oran had a good time climbing and sliding. It’s a great park for daytime use, but would probably be dark and scary at night.
We met our neighbor today, a young woman with two young children. She said Oran was welcome to come over anytime, and that she and her husband love the neighborhood and never want to move away. That was nice to hear. In general people here in Seattle seem friendly - more so than in Albuquerque - but time will tell as to how deep the friendliness runs. Nonnie thinks the drivers here are impatient and honk too much but in general they seem more cooperative to me, more willing to let other cars change lanes.
It’s been an interesting week to say the least...
We live in a corner house in a neighborhood of small blue collar houses, although now the cars in the driveways - Lexus, Porsche, BMW - indicate that our neighbors are a bit more upscale. There is an alley behind the house and we have a large driveway off the alley, big enough for four cars, a luxury in a neighborhood of two hour street parking. The streets are narrow and crowded, while the trees are huge and beautiful. Across the street from us, lined by tall trees and a thick hedge, is a cemetery, so that when I look out our front windows I see trees, but no graves, which I hope is the also the case in the winter.
In Albuquerque we gave away eight bookcases, particle wood pieces from Walmart, so now we are looking for new bookcases. The difference between particle wood and real wood in price and quality is exponential, but we bit the bullet and bought two new unfinished seven foot high pine pieces - real wood. They delivered them today and I will finish them tomorrow, hopefully, and see how my office looks when they are in place and full of books, after which I will make plans for more shelves. The movers who loaded and unloaded our rental moving truck all complained - “so many books.”
Oran came and spent the day with us today, keeping us happy and entertained with his boundless enthusiasm and energy. We went for a nice walk in Ravenna Park, which is near to our house and has a wonderful path winding along a stream in deep woods lined with 100 foot trees. At the far end of the park we found a playground and Oran had a good time climbing and sliding. It’s a great park for daytime use, but would probably be dark and scary at night.
We met our neighbor today, a young woman with two young children. She said Oran was welcome to come over anytime, and that she and her husband love the neighborhood and never want to move away. That was nice to hear. In general people here in Seattle seem friendly - more so than in Albuquerque - but time will tell as to how deep the friendliness runs. Nonnie thinks the drivers here are impatient and honk too much but in general they seem more cooperative to me, more willing to let other cars change lanes.
It’s been an interesting week to say the least...
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
St Anthony's Monastery
Located in the Arizona desert between Phoenix and Tucson in the middle of nowhere, St Anthony’s Greek Orthodox Monastery sits in an oasis of quiet and beauty.
Nonna and I went there for three nights with some other people from the Orthodox church here in Albuquerque, a religious pilgrimage for them but more of an adventure for me. Three years ago in Scotland I took a course in monastic life, which covered the medieval period, but I was very curious about the life of a modern monk, so I jumped at the opportunity to go to a real monastery.
We left Albuquerque about 8:00 AM Friday morning and arrived at the monastery about 3:30PM, just in time to go to Vespers, the evening prayer service. After the service we ate dinner and then went back to church for another service. We finished up about 5:30PM and had some free time to walk around the grounds, but at 7:00PM we were supposed to go to bed.
There were five of us - all men - sleeping in an eighteen bed dormitory room - “like the shelter” said one of the Russian men from our church. I finally got to sleep around 11:00PM that night and at 12:30AM one of the young monks turned on the lights and announced “time for church!”
Church started at 1:00AM and ended about 4:00AM. The church was dark, lit only by small red oil lamps above each icon; the service was entirely in Greek, and the music was chanted by unseen monks, giving an overall mystical surreal impression, heightened by sleep deprivation.
Our meals were served in the large dining room with four tables running the length of the room, the monks sitting at one table, men at another, and the women at their own table. At one end the elders sat at a short table set at right angles to the long tables, while at the other end a monk sat in an elevated seat and read while we ate in silence. He read in Greek, but maybe it was the psalms. The food was mostly vegetarian and simple, but surprisingly good - we had bread, olives, shredded cabbage, and fruit with each meal, and the main entrees were bean soup, pasta with tomato sauce, and my favorite - roasted potatoes with tuna fish and olive oil.
In the little free time we had I would meet Nonnie and we would explore the grounds and the several chapels, all of it beautiful. The stonework and woodwork are exceptional, the gardens are lush, and outside the walls the olive orchards look successful.
Overall it was a great experience, one of those things that are difficult at the time but when it is over you are very glad you did it. And yes, I would do it again.
Inside the main chapel
Nonna and I went there for three nights with some other people from the Orthodox church here in Albuquerque, a religious pilgrimage for them but more of an adventure for me. Three years ago in Scotland I took a course in monastic life, which covered the medieval period, but I was very curious about the life of a modern monk, so I jumped at the opportunity to go to a real monastery.
We left Albuquerque about 8:00 AM Friday morning and arrived at the monastery about 3:30PM, just in time to go to Vespers, the evening prayer service. After the service we ate dinner and then went back to church for another service. We finished up about 5:30PM and had some free time to walk around the grounds, but at 7:00PM we were supposed to go to bed.
There were five of us - all men - sleeping in an eighteen bed dormitory room - “like the shelter” said one of the Russian men from our church. I finally got to sleep around 11:00PM that night and at 12:30AM one of the young monks turned on the lights and announced “time for church!”
Church started at 1:00AM and ended about 4:00AM. The church was dark, lit only by small red oil lamps above each icon; the service was entirely in Greek, and the music was chanted by unseen monks, giving an overall mystical surreal impression, heightened by sleep deprivation.
Our meals were served in the large dining room with four tables running the length of the room, the monks sitting at one table, men at another, and the women at their own table. At one end the elders sat at a short table set at right angles to the long tables, while at the other end a monk sat in an elevated seat and read while we ate in silence. He read in Greek, but maybe it was the psalms. The food was mostly vegetarian and simple, but surprisingly good - we had bread, olives, shredded cabbage, and fruit with each meal, and the main entrees were bean soup, pasta with tomato sauce, and my favorite - roasted potatoes with tuna fish and olive oil.
In the little free time we had I would meet Nonnie and we would explore the grounds and the several chapels, all of it beautiful. The stonework and woodwork are exceptional, the gardens are lush, and outside the walls the olive orchards look successful.
Overall it was a great experience, one of those things that are difficult at the time but when it is over you are very glad you did it. And yes, I would do it again.
Inside the main chapel
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Sunday, April 14, 2013
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