I went to a poetry workshop
once.
Taught by the ones who
pursue their demons - at grad school, for
The MFAs granted, so they can teach.

I shared a personal spiritual story -
A story that the instructor didn’t understand.
And I was left feeling sorry for the expert,
Who didn’t learn what the world is all about. 

The poor lost soul could not empathize
with my feelings, and could not understand. 
And, somehow,

I was wrong. 

Late Early Morning Walk

 Late early morning walk.  I am late this morning.  My early morning walk started at 9:30AM.  I walked from my house down the street to the railroad trestle.  The trestle goes across the local creek.  The salmon are about to start running and I wanted to see if there are any fish in the stream.  Three weeks ago my son and his girlfriend and I walked out there and saw what looked like a steelhead resting in a pool. (Upper right hand quadrant of this photo.)

 

 

The stream opens for fishing in the fall.  Oregon regulations are hard to decipher.  For me anyway.  Guided fishing trips are expensive.  Oh well.  I will do my research.  

But another reason I made this little trek this morning was to walk along the railroad tracks. 

On the trestle is marked the date 1910.  And as I was looking at it a train came by.  One of the ten or fifteen trains that come by our town each day.  Then I did the math.  112 years.  Let's say 10 trains a day. I'll say an average of 40 boxcars carrying anything from grain to lumber. 440 cars a day times 365 = 160,600 boxcars a year times 112 years = 17,987,200 boxcars.  That is a lot of boxcars.  

take the time

These days we all have a cell phone with a camera at the ready to capture those beautiful sights. Moments of glory, captured. Sometimes you just have to drink it in. This happened a few years ago.

One trip from Oregon to Tahoe,
going down old Hwy 89,
the wife and I drove around a bend descending into a small gorge,
where on the other side of the river was a train,
with two locomotives exiting a tunnel,
steam and smoke blowing,
truly a picturesque sight burned in my memory,
but I was driving, could not take a picture,
probably would have lost it anyway,
but after 5 or 6 years,
I can still see it in my mind's eye.

Lunch with Bambi, and The Joke Was On Me.

I met "Bambi" once.  It must have been sometime in 1980.  After living in New Orleans for ten years my family decided to move back to California. My dad had just gotten a new job in California and my family moved from New Orleans. My parents and younger sisters settled in La Mesa, CA (a San Diego 'burb).  I had my own apartment but was looking for other things to do in my life. 

In the San Diego Newspaper there was an ad for a hotel in the high Sierras.  The hotel was looking for kitchen help.  I applied.  I had always wanted to move to the mountains.  I wanted to get back to the hills.  So I applied.  I had four years experience as a fry cook and I was hired.  

I loaded all of my belongings into the back of my new old pickup truck and moved to Lake Tahoe.  People asked me if I was afraid to make such a move.  I think I was just to young and stupid to know there should be fear involved.  I had no problem.  I thought this is what people do all the time.  

I started work in late August 1979 at the big coffee shop in the hotel.  A few months later I was transferred to the New York Deli.  In the New York Deli I met Bob.  Bob was the lead cook and we became fast friends.  He was from Montana and I told him I had always wanted to go there.  I loved mountains and wanted to hike and fish.  

Bob became a mentor to me.  He became my best friend.  He was later to be the best man at my wedding.  But Bob was always a jokester.  We would play practical jokes on each other all the time. 

One day he told me that he had a good friend named "Bambi" and we should go see Bambi in Sacramento.  Bob was a relatively new friend and when he heard I was from the San Diego area I think he just really had to introduce me to his friend, Bambi.  At the time Bob did not know that I had only lived in the San Diego area for six months prior to moving to Lake Tahoe. 

 

So, he arranged a trip to Sacramento to meet his friend Bambi.  We drove the hour and a half to Sacramento to have lunch at Bambi's house.  I remember Bambi fixed us sandwiches.  Bob and Bambi talked about stuff.  I was a shy kid and really didn't ask too much and didn't get involved in their conversation.  

It was only years later that I found out that Bambi was Lance Alworth, the great receiver for the San Diego Chargers.  I still have no idea how Bob knew him.  

I wish I had known.  It turned out that my mother-in-law was a huge fan of Lance Alworth.  Sadly, she passed away before I could talk to her about him.  I wish I had known.  So many lost chances at conversations.

Yes, I met Lance Alworth in 1980. My friend thought it would be a cool thing to surprise me.  I had no idea.  I guess the  joke was on me.  I still kick myself.  

 File clean-up:

Memories.

Sitting at the computer looking for something new to write about.  Looking for something to get the creative juices flowing.  I found this gem from about 28 years ago.  I think my son was about 4 years old.  

My wife and I were both working and to help our daycare situation we worked staggered hours.  I went to work early and picked up the kids in the afternoon while my wife works late.  I usually had dinner ready when she got home from work and we then sat down for a family meal.   

One particular Friday evening, my wife and I and the kids were watching TV when we thought that popcorn would be a good idea.  My wife went into the kitchen and pulled out the air popper from the cupboard.  She was plugging it in and adding the popcorn when my three-year-old son pulled up a chair to watch.   My son was so amazed, that he had to remark, "Gee, Mom, I didn't know you could cook."

 Ah, from the mouths of babes.  My wife is a great cook.  It just worked out that at that time in our life I took on those duties. 

Our son is an amazing kid.  He was a happy, smiling kid.  His nickname on one team was "Smiley".  

March Forth, that is an order (to myself, anyway)

 March first.  Then write.  

A little play on the date.  A friend once told me that the date, March Fourth, is the only day of the year that is an order.  I remember that as we start March First.  Today.  And so, I shall make ready to March forth. 

Advice taken

 

Stephen Sondheim died this weekend. I remember I bought a vinyl record just because Judy Collins recorded his “Send in the Clowns”. I admired his talent. I admired his career.

Just this weekend CBS Sunday Morning did a couple of segments on Sondheim. In one segment he is quoted as saying to “…let the content dictate the form”. This to me is profound. I shall take that to heart. 

I retired from my career in January. And for the past year I have been considering compiling all the essays that I have written for my blog into one complete memoir of sorts. Of course, “let the content dictate the form”, so I have been trying to format this document, these stories, these essays about my life into a memoir.

I hope to have these little vignettes structured to a cohesive memoir in the next few months. That is my new retirement task.