Your friends say that I've not given you diamonds,
But they didn't see the fog freeze, delicate lace in the plain trees by the Rein.
Trees jeweled with lovely impermanence that disappeared with the sun.
Their house is so small, they say,
But we often set our tent in the Rockies, the Tetons, the high desert.
The stars shown in their millions, layer on layer, infinite.
Some mornings the sun painted the mountains red.
We drank our coffee in silence and beauty.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
First Assignment, Japan
We taught for a year on Misawa Airbase, northern Honshu, Japan. It was our first overseas assignment, and in many ways , our best. We lived in a very small house on a one lane dirt road, just outside of the base. We had no phone and an old salvaged drip oil stove for heat. The winter was bitter cold. Gale wore two sets of thermals and a robe to bed. Snow fell October through May. The "garrison under siege" attitude made for much partying and close friends.
The Japanese were wonderful. Misawa was rather isolated and relatively poor. Across our one lane road was a small nursery. When I shoveled snow from our walk I would also shovel their porch and walk. The teachers would line up those beautiful children, with their black eyes and hair, most dressed in vivid red coats, and they would bow and thank me. I would also bow and tell them they were welcome. Those days were special.
Our garbage man was intrigued by Gale. When he came by to collect his fee, he would wait in the mud room while Gale walked down the hall to get money. On more than one occasion we caught him length ways in the hall, but with his feet still in the mud room, watching Gale walk down the hall. I would shake my finger at him and he would grin.
On the evening of October 30, a Japanese boy, perhaps 13, came to our door in his school uniform. He kept repeating "gandy, gandy." Gale finally figured out that he was trying to say candy and that he had some way found out that Americans would give kids candy on Halloween. We brought him in and showed him the calendar, indicating for him to return the next night, which he did, and we bestowed him with much "gandy."
We left transferred to Okinawa the next year, where our daughter, London, was born. She was a blue eyed, blond baby who smiled at everyone. Older Japanese or Okinawan women would often ask if she was a boy, and when told that she was a girl, would tell us they were sorry, and maybe next time we would have a boy.
That always confused us, as we thought we had done quite well.
The Japanese were wonderful. Misawa was rather isolated and relatively poor. Across our one lane road was a small nursery. When I shoveled snow from our walk I would also shovel their porch and walk. The teachers would line up those beautiful children, with their black eyes and hair, most dressed in vivid red coats, and they would bow and thank me. I would also bow and tell them they were welcome. Those days were special.
Our garbage man was intrigued by Gale. When he came by to collect his fee, he would wait in the mud room while Gale walked down the hall to get money. On more than one occasion we caught him length ways in the hall, but with his feet still in the mud room, watching Gale walk down the hall. I would shake my finger at him and he would grin.
On the evening of October 30, a Japanese boy, perhaps 13, came to our door in his school uniform. He kept repeating "gandy, gandy." Gale finally figured out that he was trying to say candy and that he had some way found out that Americans would give kids candy on Halloween. We brought him in and showed him the calendar, indicating for him to return the next night, which he did, and we bestowed him with much "gandy."
We left transferred to Okinawa the next year, where our daughter, London, was born. She was a blue eyed, blond baby who smiled at everyone. Older Japanese or Okinawan women would often ask if she was a boy, and when told that she was a girl, would tell us they were sorry, and maybe next time we would have a boy.
That always confused us, as we thought we had done quite well.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Priorities
I was watching MSNBC as news of Mubarak's abdication reached the protesters. I find it incredible that those thousands could be on that square will relatively few problems, the only (reported) violence being from hired thugs. I alternately envied those people and feared for their future, knowing how noble ventures can be hijacked by fundamentalists, whether political, ideological, or religious. But, whatever happens, many of those people on the square will look back on this day as the most important of their lives.
Then, I noticed the matrix on the bottom of the screen, reporting on Lindsey Lohan and some proported romance between two other movie stars.
Are we to be the first nation to simply silly ourselves into obscurity?
Then, I noticed the matrix on the bottom of the screen, reporting on Lindsey Lohan and some proported romance between two other movie stars.
Are we to be the first nation to simply silly ourselves into obscurity?
Monday, February 7, 2011
Riding Shotgun With Daddy
When my brother and I were small, our Mom worked third shift at Goodyear Mill to avoid paying a sitter with money we didn't have. Mom would get home after her shift and try to get a few hours sleep. Gary is older and started to school two years before I did. I watched TV. Those were the days of Fuller Brush, Watkins Products, and other door to door salesmen, and when one of them knocked, I dutifully woke Mom. She instructed me to only wake her if it was important, so when a salesman came by, I would wake Mom and tell her it was important. This was not good.
Dad drove a truck, delivering fuel oil and kerosene, so he would often come by the house and I would ride with him. I think Mom must have threatened both of us with severe harm. I loved riding with him. My favorite destinations were the mines on the river. The miners were a bit rough and good natured. They cursed a good deal. I thought their language was very interesting. Mom did not approve when I tried out a few words at supper. A couple of the guys would give me unusual rocks and crystals. I wanted to be a miner.
Other destinations included isolated farms, usually small affairs that were in their last days. On one of these trips, Dad attempted to hand crank a tractor for an old farmer who had heart trouble. His hand slipped as he hit the down turn on the crank and it kicked back on him, breaking his jaw and several teeth. He drove all the way back to town, without a sound. He spent Christmas eating soup through wired up teeth. Never a complaint.
On occasion, Dad would give someone a ride. Once he picked up a crazy old evangelist, hitching to Alabama for a tent revival. He said the tent would be provided by God. Another time he gave an old woman a ride to a country store. She told us numerous times that she was from Laffingal, a community that had all but disappeared. I asked Dad why he gave folks rides and he replied that they were mostly lonely.
Once again, as I look back on my life, I see that my real education was informal and profound.
Dad drove a truck, delivering fuel oil and kerosene, so he would often come by the house and I would ride with him. I think Mom must have threatened both of us with severe harm. I loved riding with him. My favorite destinations were the mines on the river. The miners were a bit rough and good natured. They cursed a good deal. I thought their language was very interesting. Mom did not approve when I tried out a few words at supper. A couple of the guys would give me unusual rocks and crystals. I wanted to be a miner.
Other destinations included isolated farms, usually small affairs that were in their last days. On one of these trips, Dad attempted to hand crank a tractor for an old farmer who had heart trouble. His hand slipped as he hit the down turn on the crank and it kicked back on him, breaking his jaw and several teeth. He drove all the way back to town, without a sound. He spent Christmas eating soup through wired up teeth. Never a complaint.
On occasion, Dad would give someone a ride. Once he picked up a crazy old evangelist, hitching to Alabama for a tent revival. He said the tent would be provided by God. Another time he gave an old woman a ride to a country store. She told us numerous times that she was from Laffingal, a community that had all but disappeared. I asked Dad why he gave folks rides and he replied that they were mostly lonely.
Once again, as I look back on my life, I see that my real education was informal and profound.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
I'll be Your Server / Canyon / Yellowstone
So now I was a server at the Canyon grill in Yellowstone National Park. I came in at the very last part of the season, while my fellow workers had been there for most of the tourist season. There were three groups of workers, college age, retirees, and also a group of professionals of varying ages. Even though I am a retiree, I ended up hanging out with the folks with whom I worked, the kids. We all lived in a dormitory that smelled like a hiking boot. My room was 4 doors down from the bathroom. The laundry had a few questionable washers and dryers. One washer was the harvest gold color, popular in the '60's, making the machine significantly older than most of my colleagues. The work was hard. I am somewhat deaf, and that didn't help.I missed my Gale badly, and my cell would not work at Canyon. I was the new guy, so I kept my mouth shut for a while. And because of those "kids" I loved it. I think of those guys and their kindness every day.
One young guy said, "Dude, my roommate quit, so I got some uniform shirts you can have, but Dude, I'll wash them. Dude, he never did laundry." So three clean shirts were brought to my door.
Jess, the best thing to come from New Zealand since "Lord of the Rings" would attempt a Georgia accent. I told her that I would marry her if only she were my cousin. She would ask me to bring my guitar and sing some of my songs. I always tried to get Mike to laugh. He has an incredible laugh that carried throughout the building. I would identify the snapping of my latex gloves as the most frightening sound for a man of my years. The laugh would erupt making the day a better one for all of us.
One evening I rode with John and Rab, in the back seat of John's truck. Most of the room was taken by a large speaker system. Very stimulating. Anstee always asked me to join the younger set in their evening escapades. The highlight of one particular bonfire was an anti grilled cheese sandwich diatribe by Austin, one of the cooks.I once took a package to a nearby UPS store for Anstee, and had to identify it as merchandise from Victoria's Secret. The clerk got a laugh out of that.
I could go on and on like old men often do. I'd name so many others and tell so many tales.
I now am back in my home, with a bath close by. Our washer and dryer work well. The lady that I've loved for most of my life sleeps beside me, and that is worth a couple of worlds.
But, my Yellowstoners, I have your names in my FB account and your words and faces in my heart for as long as I live.
One young guy said, "Dude, my roommate quit, so I got some uniform shirts you can have, but Dude, I'll wash them. Dude, he never did laundry." So three clean shirts were brought to my door.
Jess, the best thing to come from New Zealand since "Lord of the Rings" would attempt a Georgia accent. I told her that I would marry her if only she were my cousin. She would ask me to bring my guitar and sing some of my songs. I always tried to get Mike to laugh. He has an incredible laugh that carried throughout the building. I would identify the snapping of my latex gloves as the most frightening sound for a man of my years. The laugh would erupt making the day a better one for all of us.
One evening I rode with John and Rab, in the back seat of John's truck. Most of the room was taken by a large speaker system. Very stimulating. Anstee always asked me to join the younger set in their evening escapades. The highlight of one particular bonfire was an anti grilled cheese sandwich diatribe by Austin, one of the cooks.I once took a package to a nearby UPS store for Anstee, and had to identify it as merchandise from Victoria's Secret. The clerk got a laugh out of that.
I could go on and on like old men often do. I'd name so many others and tell so many tales.
I now am back in my home, with a bath close by. Our washer and dryer work well. The lady that I've loved for most of my life sleeps beside me, and that is worth a couple of worlds.
But, my Yellowstoners, I have your names in my FB account and your words and faces in my heart for as long as I live.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Changes in Attitude
I just reread " She Smiled at Me," and it reminded me of another smile, though it was in a totally different context.
This is another Vietnam story, so if you have overdosed on the war, quit reading now.
Towards the end of my tour, we were on convoy. Most of my friends had gone home. Others had been medivaced for one reason or another. My mood was increasingly negative. I had just informed the first sergeant the he had been in the army so long that he didn't know what the truth was, or some words to that effect. I'm pretty sure that cost me a promotion, but at the time it was worth it. Hell! it's still worth it!
It was hot, as usual and dry season, when the red dust was like cocoa powder. Everything near the roads, including me, had a coating of the stuff.
I was in the back of a truck, looking forward to the truck ahead of us, when that truck slowed to let a civilian jump up on the tail gate. He carried a staff and wore the saffron robe of a Buddhist monk. His head was shaved and his skin was nearly ebony. Perhaps he was of Indian descent or a child of an African legionnaire from the French colonial era. His face was so serene. And he smiled such a smile of peace that it changed my attitude. No, I was not filled with love for all of God's creation, particularly the first sergeant, and most particularly, Lyndon Johnson, but for that day and some days after, I no longer felt a need to be angry.
This is another Vietnam story, so if you have overdosed on the war, quit reading now.
Towards the end of my tour, we were on convoy. Most of my friends had gone home. Others had been medivaced for one reason or another. My mood was increasingly negative. I had just informed the first sergeant the he had been in the army so long that he didn't know what the truth was, or some words to that effect. I'm pretty sure that cost me a promotion, but at the time it was worth it. Hell! it's still worth it!
It was hot, as usual and dry season, when the red dust was like cocoa powder. Everything near the roads, including me, had a coating of the stuff.
I was in the back of a truck, looking forward to the truck ahead of us, when that truck slowed to let a civilian jump up on the tail gate. He carried a staff and wore the saffron robe of a Buddhist monk. His head was shaved and his skin was nearly ebony. Perhaps he was of Indian descent or a child of an African legionnaire from the French colonial era. His face was so serene. And he smiled such a smile of peace that it changed my attitude. No, I was not filled with love for all of God's creation, particularly the first sergeant, and most particularly, Lyndon Johnson, but for that day and some days after, I no longer felt a need to be angry.
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