Beans for Dinner

Wettest March in recorded history

2011-03-28T18:54:00.000-07:00

Sewing Rakasu

2011-02-20T03:41:00.000-08:00

For the past six weeks or so I have been working on a project called "Rakasu". In Buddhism, when your teacher has witnessed your commitment to study and practice, you are asked (or, in some schools, you may have to request) to take part in a ceremony called "Jukai". The jukai ceremony is considered a lay ordination, and is similar to Christian confirmation. During Jukai, you publicly vow to uphold the Boddhisatva Precepts. There are 16 precepts and they are simply a guideline for ethical behavior:

The first three are Taking refuge in the Three Treasures- the Buddha, the Dharma (the Buddha's teachings) and the Sangha (the community in which you practice).

The 3 Pure Precepts:

Not to do evil

To cultivate good

To work for the liberation of all beings

The 10 Grave Precepts:

1. Not killing

2. Not stealing

3. Not misusing sex

4. Not lying

5. Not abusing intoxicants

6. Not discussing faults of othhers

7. Not praising yourself while abusing others

8. Not sparing the Dharma assets

9. Not indulging in anger

10. Not defaming the Three treasures

The ceremony concludes with the student being given a copy of the lineage of their school, and being given a new Buddhist name.

So, the rakasu. We are told that our small rakasu (about the size of a laptop computer, and worn with straps around the neck) is a small version of an "okesa", a robe which is worn by Buddhist preists. Originally, in when a person became a follower of the Buddha, she or he gave away all their clothes and went to a "junk yard" to collect scraps of fabric. These scraps were sewn into a patchwork cloak, the basis of which is our patchwork robe. The Buddha tells us that this robe is protection from the weather, from insects and viscous animals, that it can deflect even a fire-breathing dragon. In reality, it is a way to be mindful of our vows, to remember that no matter what we are doing, we are part of the Dharma.

During the 4 months leading up to the jukai ceremony, we are to be sewing rakasu as well as reading a selection of books recommended by our teacher, writing a paper on the practice of the precepts and generally preparing ourselves for taking the precepts.

When I was asked to sew rakasu, my teacher gave me a large peice of blue cloth. and a set of very ambiguous directions. First, you cut your piece of cloth into smaller pieces:

Then you arrange them in the proper order:

Then you pin them together:

Then you sew them together to form the basis of your rakasu.

It's hard to see in this picture, but the robe is sewn with very tiny (1/8" stitches). Each time you make one of these stiches, you say "Namu kie Butsu", "I take refuge in the Buddha". Thousands of times. The entire process is meant to be a meditation.

Here is the back side, upon which my teacher will write my new Buddhist name:

And, the final product, with straps:

This feels like a very ambitions undertaking, especially for someone with no aptitude for sewing. And, indeed, the process has included (for me) the pulling out of nearly as many stitches as went in. The taking of the vows is somewhat intimidating, but the Buddha assures us that keeping the precepts is much less important that taking them at all. It is the process that is important- the daily practice of striving to maintain the precepts just like the daily process of sewing a robe. I look forward to my jukai ceremony in April and will post pictures then.

Senate Repeals DADT!!

2010-12-18T13:05:00.000-08:00

It's about time.

New York Times article

October

2010-10-19T11:26:00.000-07:00

Summer is slowly winding to a close, although it is still lovely and mostly sunny these days in the first half of Autumn. Got some bike rides in (including a flat tire)

went to the October Art Walk,

canoed a bit.

Mostly we're doing yard chores and buttoning the place up for winter.

BOOK ALERT!

2010-09-10T15:21:00.000-07:00

My friend Boo Davis is publishing a rockin' new book about quilting today. Yay Boo! Check it out here. Boo was interviewed by the New York Freaking Times!! Check it.

Prop 8 overturned

2010-08-05T04:06:00.001-07:00

"[I]t would demean a married couple were it to be said marriage is simply about the right to have sexual intercourse," ... "'[M]oral disapproval, without any other asserted state interest,' has never been a rational basis for legislation," ... "Animus towards gays and lesbians or simply a belief that a relationship between a man and a woman is inherently better than a relationship between two men or two women, this belief is not a proper basis on which to legislate,"

From Judge Vaugn Walker's ruling striking down California's Prop 8.

Check out this very excellent distillation of a dense legal argument at slate. I don't have much else to add.

Good for you, Judge Walker. Good for California. Good for America. We're one baby step closer to treating all American's as equal citizens under the law. Now, doesn't that feel good?

Last one

2010-07-28T07:47:00.000-07:00

Hopefully, this'll be my last post from Iraq. I walked around today with a camera, to try and document some of the daily sights I've been living with for the past year. I haven't taken many pictures, but there just doesn't seem to be much that I want to preserve for the future. Still, these give a decent idea of what it's like.

The alley where I live. Everything here is surrounded by concrete T-walls, so pictures of buildings are pretty boring. I live on the left there, just past the garbage can.

Once you turn past the T-wall, here's my row of Containerized Housing Units. One trailer, three rooms, six people. (Well, actually 5 people, since I don't have a roommate. One of the few perks to being the only female in a unit of 400 guys.) Those things surrounding the trailer are HESCO barriers, filled with sand for extra blast protection.
The door to my own CHU.
Inside.

Saturday afternoon, must be time to clean the weapon.

The shower trailer. Not like I'm complaining. I'm happy to have a shower.

The building where I work

Inside the aid station

On my walk up to the dining hall, I pass by Strykers.

And more Strykers

Yup. More Strykers.

Can you see the writing on the left rear panel of this vehicle?

Yes, it's true. The Coasties are here. There are about 5 guys from Jacksonville, LA. I see them at lunch sometimes. I think it's funny that everyone else is driving around in uparmored Humvees, MRAPs, Strykers and Abram Tanks. The Coasties have this.

Anyway. That's it. My life for the last 11 months. I can't think of much that I'll miss. Except the moon. I see a lot of the moon, walking out the port-a-john every single night at 1am; walking to the gym at 4. I've tried taking pictures, but nothing does it justice. Oh, and the sunrises/sunsets. Those are impressive too. I won't miss them much, though. Not enough to want to stay.

2010-07-23T06:41:00.000-07:00

We did our final medical outreach event yesterday. These things are incredibly depressing. Women show up with children who have severe, severe illnesses- congenital defects, disease, genetic disorders- that we never see in the U. S. Children in America who are born with club feet have surgery and physical therapy, and are usually walking at a normal age. Children who have liver failure get a liver transplant. Mothers get prenatal education and care (usually). 30 years ago, Iraq had nearly first-world class health care. Now, not so much. Yesterday we gave out a couple of wheelchairs, which was pretty great, but unfortunately, the only thing we could offer to many of these families was sympathy. And tylenol. We brought plenty of tylenol.

Hey, how 'bout that climate bill? Seems like only a few weeks ago that I was reading that it was a sure thing. Now it's dead. Thanks Dems. Way to make a difference. Thanks GOP.

In Time

W.S. Merwin

The night the world was going to end

when we heard those explosions not far away

and the loudspeakers telling us

about the vast fires on the backwater

consuming undisclosed remnants

and warning us over and over

to stay indoors and make no signals

you stood at the open window

the light of one candle back in the room

we put on high boots to be ready

for wherever we might have to go

and we got out the oysters and sat

at the small table feeding them

to each other first with the fork

then from our mouths to each other

until there were none and we stood up

and started to dance without music

slowly we danced around and around

in circles and after a while we hummed

when the world was about to end

all those years all those nights ago

1 July

2010-07-01T21:42:00.000-07:00

Ooh, ooh! Big news on the home front. The US has named a new Poet Laureate. W.S. Merwin will follow in the footsteps of the Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Robert Penn Warren and Conrad Aiken. The 82 year old Hawaii resident writes some tough stuff. This is no Billy Collins (who I love), whose poems are made for browsing and reading aloud to your sweetie while snuggling on the couch on a rainy afternoon. Merwin requires some real effort, but it is worth it. Anyway, Congrats to Merwin and to America for continuing a tradition of excellence in poetry.

Good People

BY W. S. MERWIN

From the kindness of my parents

I suppose it was that I held

that belief about suffering

imagining that if only

it could come to the attention

of any person with normal

feelings certainly anyone

literate who might have gone

to college they would comprehend

pain when it went on before them

and would do something about it

whenever they saw it happen

in the time of pain the present

they would try to stop the bleeding

for example with their own hands

but it escapes their attention

or there may be reasons for it

the victims under the blankets

the meat counters the maimed children

the animals the animals

staring from the end of the world

Source: Poetry (December 1999).

For A Coming Extinction

From "Lice", 1967

Grey Whale

Now that we are sinding you to The End
That great god
Tell him
That we who follow you invented forgiveness
And forgive nothing

I write as though you could understand
And I could say it
One must always pretend something
Among the dying
When you have left the seas nodding on their stalks
Empty of you
Tell him that we were made
On another day

The bewilderment will diminish like an echo
Winding along your inner mountains
Unheard by us
And find its way out
Leaving behind it the future
Dead
And ours

When you will not see again
The whale calves trying the light
Consider what you will find in the black garden
And its court
The sea cows the Great Auks the gorillas
The irreplaceable hosts ranged countless
And fore-ordaining as stars
Our sacrifices
Join your work to theirs
Tell him
That it is we who are important

Bagdad

2010-06-12T08:21:00.001-07:00

Not much longer now! Might be home in time to pick blueberries.

I heard someone compare Baghdad with Miami. Flat, lots of brown, palm trees. Lots of interstate overpasses and highways. The main difference is that everywhere in Baghdad is surrounded by 12' high concrete blast walls. Some very poor quality photos, taken using an iPhone from the back of a Blackhawk at 500', or through the window of an MRAP while driving at 30mph. Still, I suppose it's better than posting nothing.

al Muthana

2010-04-11T20:04:00.000-07:00

Can you find the kitty in this picture?

al Muthana

The roof of my aid station leaks.
Mangy, limping cats huddle under the hummvees.
Cockroaches and lizards emerge
From the cracks in my walls at dusk.
The air smells of burning trash,
My eyes water and my
Throat burns.

Next door, the Iraqi general breeds beautiful
White long-tailed chickens.
They murmur and cluck to each other as they
Pace along the high concrete walls.
I run in the morning, I listen to the
Call To Prayer and the soft coo of
Morning Doves.
At night, bats twirl and dive under
The sodium light.

Dog tags

2010-04-01T01:00:00.000-07:00

You were named after a fish.
Flashing silver in the ocean,
Slipping up rivers to
Sun dappled mountain streams.

Your birthday, just shy of twenty.
A teenager.
A boy.

Your blood type, which we
Pumped into your broken body for an hour.
Praying for a helicopter
That never came.

Your religion.
One tag said "Buddhist",
The other, "Surfer".

I imagine you as you were- white teeth
In a young, tan face. A seashell necklace.
Two good legs.
A dog. A girlfriend. A fire on the beach.

I wonder what your parents thought,
The ones who named you for a fish,
When you came to them,

Sun bleached hair shaved off,
And told them what you'd done.
That you were coming here, to this dry land.
A land without fish or surfboards.

R and R

2010-03-23T20:27:00.000-07:00

Just got back from 2 weeks of R&R. Had an amazing, relaxing time. The birds were at the feeders all day long; the frogs and coyotes sang all night. I spent time with family and friends, but did not do too much socializing. I ran and walked the dog on our trail, worked in the garden, drank coffee on the couch and enjoyed the wonder of indoor plumbing. It felt good to just rest, eat good food, and walk around without a weapon.

We repainted and took out our "new" canoe- a '63 Chestnut Deer. It's beautiful. I'm in love.

Please take a moment to notice the dearth of bicycles in the above picture.

My sister Emily came up, and we spent St Patty's day at an Irish pub. It was great to see her.

It took 4 days travelling to get back to Taji. I'm moving to my new unit in less than a week so will try to spend the next few days catching up on sleep and packing.

Taji

2010-02-14T04:55:00.000-08:00

I was going to take a bunch of pictures of the post here in Taji, thinking that I would be here through September. Turns out, I'm being transferred out of my medical support unit within the next week or two. I'm being sent to an artillery unit to replace their PA, who is being punitively removed. It should be an interesting experience, especially since I'll be the only woman in the entire 300 person battalion. The Army just recently started experimenting with assigning female PAs to artillery units. The theory is that, historically, artillery units have stayed well behind the lines, making it "safer" than infantry units. The reality is, though, that this war does not set itself up with battle lines and there is not much use for weapons that can fire 10 miles. The FA (field artillery) guys are mostly being used as infantry- clearing roads and kicking down doors- something they hate since they tend to look down at the grunts in infantry.

I've been with my current medical unit for a little over a year, and have gotten pretty comfortable with my co-workers and will miss the mentorship that I receive here. I'll also miss the medics, who are well trained and talented. I have made some friends and enjoy the camaraderie of working with a variety of medical providers (we've got a dentist, physical therapist, psychologist, nurse, 2 doctors and 2 PAs in this unit). I'll be the sole medical provider over there, which will be a challenge, but I think it will also be exciting in that way.

Anyway, before the new marching orders came through, I did take a couple pictures of the outside of our clinic. This is where we park our "ambulances". These vehicles are called M-RAPs (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected) and they're about as comfortable as they look:

Anyway, for those of you who keep in touch with me via snail-mail, please hold your letters and packages until I get settled in to my new digs. If you want my new address, please email and I'll send it to you as soon as I know it.

Gratitude

2010-02-06T04:06:00.000-08:00

I am so lucky. In the last 2 weeks I have received so many care packages, I don't have enough space in my room to store everything. I've gotten boxes from family, from friends, and from old co-workers. I have bags full of homemade cookies and my desk drawers at work are filled with chocolates. How can it be that I know so many good and generous people? Certainly nothing that I have done can deserve this.

To all my friends: From care packages to post cards to simple e-mails; all your outreaching makes a huge difference in my life. I treasure each and everything I get from you. You make all this bearable. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

We've been busy lately. Lots of sick people including a guy who went off to Africa for R&R and came back with malaria. Didn't see a lot of malaria during my rotations in Alaska. Other than that, I'm enjoying having my room to myself for a couple weeks while my bipolar roomate is away. I'm too old to share a small living space with someone totally lacking in social skills. I suppose there is some lesson in this experience- some life skill I should be gaining from this personal trial. I'm trying to learn it. I'm trying to become a better, more patient and understanding person. I guess I've got 7 more months to work at it. Thanks, universe. Not everyone gets such a unique chance to improve themself.

3 more weeks until I go home for R&R.

1/27

2010-01-27T07:21:00.001-08:00

We've moved to a smaller camp, about 25 miles outside of Baghdad. We're busier here because we're farther away from the main hospital. There aren't as many mortar attacks, but the surrounding roads are more dangerous so we see more victims of IEDs (Improvised Explosive Device- roadside bombs that target vehicles). I work 12 hrs a day, 7 days a week. In my spare time I read paperback mystery novels and work out at the dingy little gym. People have been sending me letters and packages, which have been awesome. Mainly I sleep. If I could sleep through the next seven months, I would.

The weather is chilly- it was 30 degrees this morning when I walked to breakfast- but I'm not complaining. It'll be hot enough soon enough. People are starting to take their mid-tour leave and it's pretty much the topic of most conversations. I go in 4 1/2 weeks and I cannot wait. I can't wait to eat something besides wilted salad and soggy vegetables. I can't wait to wear something besides a uniform and to walk around without a rifle.

The connectivity here isn't as good as it was in Baghdad, so pictures take forever to load up. Not that there's much to take pictures of. Sand and 15' high concrete T-walls. Sand and metal reinforced buildings. Sand. But, because of the smoke (something here is always burning and it usually stinks) we do have some nice sunrises/sunsets. I'll try to take pictures and post them when I'm home in March.

Love to everyone and thanks for the letters, packages and just good thoughts. It means a lot.

11/11

2009-11-04T07:17:00.001-08:00

My two month anniversary of leaving home. I did some yoga, straightened my room, and now I'm enjoying a cup of tea and listening to a Corelli concerto while doing a crossword puzzle.

Mortar attacks have slowed down to once a week or so. Work is busier than ever with routine urgent care stuff (migraines, stomach flu, sprained ankles, fingers slammed in doors...). It makes the days go by quickly, but the months are dragging along- I feel like I've been here for two years and not just two months.

I'm missing Thanksgiving, a holiday I've always loved. I love it that there are no expectations or cartoon characters bringing presents. You just spend an afternoon with people who you love while eating good food. Two of my favorite things. I have lovely Thanksgiving memories, I am very lucky. I will take the opportunity to remind myself of all the things I am thankful for- my incredibly supportive family and friends, my health, my home. All the things we should be thankful for every day but that we so often forget about. This year I will be thinking of everyone I've ever spent a Thanksgiving with and wishing you all the very best.

Boo

2009-10-29T07:58:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween

Books

2009-10-20T04:16:00.000-07:00

I started reading The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, by T.E. Lawrence on my flight to Kuwait. This autobiography by the infamous Lawrence of Arabia was an excellent introduction to the world I was entering. He perfectly captures the dusty dry scenery, the vastness of the land. I was impressed with his insights to the politics of the region (rebellion against Turkey and independence for Arab peoples) and his support for their cause. While he was a British soldier, and his support of independence had ulterior motives (Turkey was a German ally during WWI) ,he also clearly cared about the locals on a personal level. He was not too proud to write about his weakness during initial camel rides, which were often days long with little food or water. On his first major trip, he described explicitly his suffering of dysentery. His appreciation for the culture as a whole and his deep love of his Arab bretheren are clear on every page.

That said. This book is very long. There is a lot of military and political minutia that caused my eyes to glaze over and my brain to turn off as I gave up keeping track of who or what or where the story was taking us. I finished, but only because I had so much free time in Kuwait that I could buckle down and put in the long hours required for this book. I'll have to rent the movie.

Next up was the New York Times war corespondent Dexter Filkin's The Forever War. Filkins book begins with an prologue that takes place during the battle of Falluja, when he was embedded with a marine company. Running across the street amid flying bullets, watching marines die in front of him, you are immediately caugt up. The first chapter of the book takes place on a soccer field in Afghanistan in the 90's. The author and a crowd of locals are watching an exhibition of Sharia law. The Taliban chop the hands off thieves and finally they execute a convicted murderer. The story never really slows down, it takes you through 15 years of middle east correspondance from Afghanistan to Iraq. His writing is excellent- exciting and thought provoking and at times heart-wrenchingly beautiful. Depressing though. When a member of the Taliban laments that they just want to be taken seriously and treated as equals by the world leaders, you realize that we are truly living in different worlds.

Finally, The Great War For Civilisation, by Robert Fisk. While Filkins has been a war reporter in Iraq and Afghanistan for over a decade, Fisk has been living in and reporting from the Middle East for over 30 years, and this book shows it. He covers the first and second Afghan wars, the two Iraq wars, the Algerian civil war, the Iran-Iraq conflict, the Armenian genocide, and of course, the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. He carefully details the history of each conflict not shying away from politically unpopular views or his own errors of judgement. This author met Osama bin Laden no less than three times.

While Lawrence's book was interesting from an historical perspective, the writing is rather dated, and the picayune details of political squabbling were at times sleep inducing. Fisk's writing is detailed enough to be educational but exciting enough to be a quick read. Not an easy read- unless you think reading about the horror of war first hand is easy- but a quick one. Fisk is the book I should have read first. It has everything I wanted when I came here, looking for a historical yet contemperary perspective on the conflicts of the middle east. Unfortunately, because I left it for last, I burnt out before I was halfway through. I've set it aside for now and am knee deep in The Wilderness Warrior- a wonderful book about my favorite president (T.R) and his campaign to save America's wilderness.

A couple more photos from Al Faw Palace

2009-10-18T02:15:00.000-07:00

Pictures taken by a co-worker and forwarded on to me.

Practicing some sort of shoulder adjustment with the physical therapists.

My daily routine of gym-breakfast-work-dinner-read-bed-repeat changes a little on weekends. Saturday afternoon we have training and Sundays we don't have to be in to work until 1 pm. So, I had a leisurely morning, slept in until 6:30 before hitting the gym, walked through the local bazaar (passed up a beautiful, hand made silk rug for $3500), enjoyed a morning to myself before going to the aid station. It was almost pleasant.

Bagdad

2009-10-12T08:42:00.000-07:00

I have been in Iraq for 2 weeks and I definitely prefer it to Kuwait. There's trees here and a variety of birds. The temperature is cooler than Kuwait by a good 10 degrees.

We went to Al Faw palace for a medical conference. Al Faw was one of Saddam's 99 palaces, and it was not exactly what I imagined a palace would look like, but it was nicer than the trailer that I live in. It's got a man made lake around it, stocked with specially bred bass.

myself and a fellow PA, CPT Reba Schmidt in a throne that was a gift from Yassar Arafat to Saddam

The conference was good. It was nice to get away for a little while and associate with other medical providers; to talk about tennis elbows and frozen shoulders; to eat typical conference fare (fruit plates and donuts and coffee) and make connections. It almost felt like any conference I've ever been to. Except everyone was dressed the same and carried a weapon.

Kuwait

2009-09-28T23:07:00.001-07:00

It took about 20 hours to get from Washington to Kuwait, and I totally lost a day in the process. After arriving at Camp Buehring, KWT at 10:30 at night, we woke up at 3am for an early morning range, the idea being that we’d be done before it got too hot. In actuality, we didn’t finish zeroing our weapons until noon.

I ended up spending over 2 weeks in Kuwait, which is about 2 weeks too long. We had some trainings scheduled and I did sick call every morning, but mainly the days were pretty dull. We got acclimatized to the heat, caught up on some sleep, went to the gym and drove eachother crazy in our 30 person tents.

So, all units pass through Kuwait on their way in or out of Iraq and Afghanistan. Many units take the time and effort to decorate the concrete barriers that are up everywhere. Some of the art is pretty bad, but some is rather interesting:
Pictures

It took another 12 hours to travel from Kuwait to Iraq, but I arrived this morning at 4am. I get to skip morning sickcall, but will start work at 1pm this afternoon.

The internet in Kuwait was expensive and unreliable, I would go every morning after sickcall to the USO tent, where you could wait in line for 2 hours in order to use internet for 20minutes. I checked my email and that was about it. Here in Iraq, the wireless is much better and I hope to be able to update this on a semi-regular basis as well as stay in touch with folks via email. Please email me if you want my snail mail address as well.
More later
Peace

Driving

2009-09-08T05:17:00.000-07:00

2009-08-22T04:29:00.000-07:00

Don't Do That
Stephen Dunn
Published in the New Yorker Jun 8 2009

It was bring-your-own if you wanted anything
hard, so I brought Johnnie Walker Red
along with some resentment I’d held in
for a few weeks, which was not helped
by the sight of little nameless things
pierced with toothpicks on the tables,
or by talk that promised to be nothing
if not small. But I’d consented to come,
and I knew what part of the house
their animals would be sequestered,
whose company I loved. What else can I say,

except that old retainer of slights and wrongs,
that bad boy I hadn’t quite outgrown—
I’d brought him along, too. I was out
to cultivate a mood. My hosts greeted me,
but did not ask about my soul, which was when
I was invited by Johnnie Walker Red
to find the right kind of glass, and pour.
I toasted the air. I said hello to the wall,
then walked past a group of women
dressed to be seen, undressing them
one by one, and went up the stairs to where

the Rottweilers were, Rosie and Tom,
and got down with them on all fours.
They licked the face I offered them,
and I proceeded to slick back my hair
with their saliva, and before long
I felt like a wild thing, ready to mess up
the party, scarf the hors d’oeuvres.
But the dogs said, No, don’t do that,
calm down, after a while they open the door
and let you out, they pet your head, and everything
you might have held against them is gone,
and you’re good friends again. Stay, they said.

Sherman Alexie
Survivorman
New Yorker June 8 2009

Here’s a fact: Some people want to live more
Than others do. Some can withstand any horror

While others will easily surrender
To thirst, hunger, and extremes of weather.

In Utah, one man carried another
Man on his back like a conjoined brother

And crossed twenty-five miles of desert
To safety. Can you imagine the hurt?

Do you think you could be that good and strong?
Yes, yes, you think, but you’re probably wrong.

2009-08-17T16:06:00.000-07:00

The bikes in our garage. You can't seen the 8 bikes that are still in boxes. Is it just me, or does this seem excessive?

June

2009-06-04T12:00:00.001-07:00

Summer is here, with asperagus, rhubarb and the annuals in the garden fighting the eternal battle with the slugs. Goldfinches are at the feeder and the canoe is in the lake. It's all good.

Spring

2009-04-19T14:44:00.001-07:00

Finally, Spring appears to have arrived.

This asperagus is like 3 feet tall

March pictures

2009-03-26T18:07:00.000-07:00

Um. March is supposed to be springtime here.

Moving in

2009-03-21T16:04:00.003-07:00

I know, but really, I've been crazy busy. Here's pictures of the new house, if you're interested.

Front of the house from the street

Garden from the front door

Living room from the front door

Kitchen from front foyer

Dining room from the living room and kitchen from the dining room

Master bedroom. There's two more bedrooms, but they aren't much to look at, especially since they're full of boxes, mainly

Backyard from dining room. This feeder brings TONS of birds

Lake out the back door on a foggy morning.

There's more, but it's too clutter with boxes to show off.

The Pacific Science Center

2009-02-02T15:16:00.000-08:00

I hadn't been here since probably Junior High. I'd forgotten how cool it is. We saw the Lucy exhibit, which was excellent. Unfortunately, Lucy's been loosing the Center money, what with the economy and all. It was supposed to travel around the country, educating people and raising money for Ethiopia. Unfortunately, two other cities that were slated to host have pulled out and no others have stepped up. So, Lovely Lucy will probably return to Ethiopia and never leave again. Also, butterflies.

quick upload

2009-01-12T13:53:00.000-08:00

Thing's've been busy lately, but nothing particularly interesting. I'm behind, though, so thought I'd just post some pictures of the last month.

Christmas at Dad and Dorothy's.

Christmas dinner: MREs cooked on the kitchen floor

Gingerbread houses and reading by the Christmas tree:

Christian, Dennis and Tarn playing Jenga. Tarn rocked and Christian lost:

Viewing public art on a drizzly day in Seattle:

Beaches in Olympia:

My soapbox

2008-12-07T06:41:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I sometimes feel like a broken record.

I've got TV while I'm here in TX and have been watching CNN for the first time in my life. This is the Real News? I've seen 15 minute stories on the new pre-teen vampire flick, in depth reports on OJ Simpson's trial and whole shows about Brad Pitt/Anjelena Jolie. In the meantime? In the meantime... Last week Venezuela had a voter turnout of more than 60% (in a non-presidential election year!) utilizing sane and reliable electronic voting booths. Nigeria held elections which were followed by riots that killed over 400 people. The U.S. again refused to sign a cluster bomb treaty, endangering the lives of hundreds of thousands of civilians (cluster bombs victims are 98% civilian, most often children).

How did I get this news? From the Christian Science Monitor, the BBC and Al Jazeera. How does the American public get this news? Mostly, they don't. How can we expect citizens to be involved in their world and their community when they don't even know what's going on?

December, Texas

2008-12-06T11:44:00.000-08:00

It was cold this morning, when I went out for a run. Not just Texas cold, but actually cold- 33 degrees at 7 am. It was hard to go out in that, especially since I didn't pack for near-freezing runs and had to wear shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt. It made me wonder why I keep doing this. After 20 years of running, I'm still slow but have logged a lot of miles. I've run in all seasons, in all weather); I've spooked moose and seen Northern Lights, I've run with a succession of dogs and with various friends. It's who I am now and I don't know what I'd do if I had to give it up. So, I put on my shorts and went out this morning, just like I always do.

It warmed up by the afternoon, and I went to see an outdoor show. The Ft Sam ceremonial horse drill team was there. I didn't get any good pictures of them performing (I was too far for the camera to get a good shot) but I watched them practice. I got cool video, but can't post it.

Some old cars. Yes, it's December and it's almost 70 at this point.

Logistics

2008-11-09T10:39:00.000-08:00

I've been listening to history lessons on my iPod while I run in the mornings (yes, I'm a bit of a dork, but you should all know that by now). They started in Ancient Greece and we're up to the 1800's. I heard a good one on Washington the other day and I've been thinking a lot about him since. His ragtag group of paid militia were getting ready to head home on the 31st. He had one week. It was dark and snowing and he had to ferry 2,400 troops across the river, which took about 12 hours- until 3am. How do you keep 2400 people in place for 12 hours on a cold, dark Christmas eve? Especially ones who were low on morale (1,700 of their comrades were sick or injured and they'd suffered a series of defeats) and wanting to go home to their families?

For some reason, Washington has fallen out of vogue these days as Lincoln's star is (deservedly) rising. Still, Washington was a great man with a strong moral compass. He had little formal schooling, but had a wisdom and intellect that made up for time in a classroom. The little story about the cherry tree may or may not be true, but it illustrates his lifelong integrity well. He did not want to lead the war against the British (he had been a soldier in the British army himself), and later on he did not want to be president. All he wanted was to live in Mt Vernon with his beloved wife and farm his land. However, he recognized his duty and simply did it.

Washington's public farewell address warned against foreign influence in domestic affairs and American meddling in foreign affairs. He counseled friendship and commerce with all nations, but warned against involvement in foreign wars and entering into long-term "entangling" alliances. We could do worse than to revisit his ideals of freedom, personal integrity and diplomacy.

But, mainly, this post is just an excuse to put up that picture. It made me chuckle.

A long time coming

2008-11-08T09:04:00.000-08:00

Wow. I don't know who wrote this speech, but it actually made tears come to my eyes.

The Alamo

2008-11-02T11:44:00.000-08:00

They've got a rifle and a leather vest that belonged to Davey Crockett. Not much else.

Beautiful San Antonio Riverwalk.

A duck with no head!

San Antonio, week 2

2008-10-25T13:53:00.000-07:00

Today, My roommate and I went to the San Antonio Botanical gardens, which made everything better.

A Japanese Garden

Squirrels

Jeff Bickart

2008-10-23T04:19:00.000-07:00

Jeff taught geology, ecology, ornitholigy, botany, fiber arts, organic crop production and traditional outdoor living skills. He taught us how to make fire with two sticks (harder than you think), to make rope with reeds, and to tan hides. Jeff's intense curiosity and his wide and deep knowledge, as well as his sense of humor, made the subjects he taught come alive to his students. An avid reader, he was also a published poet and essayist. He made clothing from local plant and animal materials, spinning and dyeing his own yarns and weaving, knitting and felting fabrics, as well as tanning hides. He built his own wood and canvas canoe, as well as paddles, snow-shoes, bows, arrows and atlatls (he tried to teach me to throw the atlatl, but it was not meant to be). With his family, he created a homestead farm, with extensive vegetable gardens and a large orchard. He had a particularly strong interest in the preservaton of heirloom varieties of vegetables and fruits and was for 10 years an active member of Seed Savers Exchange. A competitive long distance runner in high school, college, and later, Jeff continued to enjoy running until his illness prevented it. Jeff left behind his sweet and beautiful wife of 14 years, Jenn (Brown); and their two beloved children, Alex-ander (age 9) and Laura (age 7).

Weekend, FT Sam Houston

2008-10-19T06:01:00.000-07:00

My first week in TX. It's been warm, in the mid-70's to upper-80's during the days. But, the area is greener than I'd expected, with lots of live oak and blooming flowers. People are nice here, and class is laid back, boring even. It's a big post- I decided to walk to dinner the other night instead of hitching a ride with my roommate and ended up getting lost. Both ways.

We went (as a class) to the museum here at Ft Sam. This is the training center for all Army medics and they've got a very nice medical museum. I couldn't take pictures of most of the exhibits because they were behind glass, but they had some cool old medical tools- bloodletting knives and old apothacary herbs. Lots of old ambulance equipment and some medivac helicopters.
xxx

Here I am by a Korea-era Sioux.

A Vietnam-era Iroquois (Huey).

Some cool art- I like the medic in this picture with a cigarette in his mouth.

Saturday evening, we went to downtown San Antonio to the River Walk, a 2 mile long network of bridges and shops located a story below the street. We got there in the late afternoon, walked a bit and ate some mexican food (I ordered a veggie quesadilla with no cheese and the waiter thought I was a crazy gringo).

We turned down the mariachi band, but the table right next to us got a song, so I stole some pictures. I'd never seen a real live mariachi band before.

By then it was getting dark and we took a river cruise and learned about the history and architecture of the area. Unfortunately, the pictures I took at night didn't turn out well, but it was very beautiful, with the cyprus trees lit up with colored lights and egrets fishing in the shallow water.

Late morning, autumn sunshine

2008-10-06T11:50:00.000-07:00

Truly, my dog is unbearably cute.

Bailout bill

2008-10-06T08:49:00.000-07:00

Have you seen this thing? Probably not. There's 303 sections on the bailout itself. Not easy reading. Still, it's what the bill is about and, like it or not, we're stuck with it now.

The other disturbing part is that they've stuck all kinds of legislation on the bottom of the bill- knowing that it was sure to pass. Let's look at some of the pork on this bill:

A huge, multipart section on improving our energy sources. Now, I'm totally in favor of spending money on researching renewable energy, but this thing is embarrassing. " Energy credit for small wind property". "Energy credit for electricity produced from marine renewables". "Energy credit for geothermal heat pump systems". "Credit for steel industry fuel"!?! Or, how 'bout these two: "Temporary increase in coal excise tax; funding of Black Lung Disability Trust fund". Followed immediately by "Special rules for refund of the coal excise tax". It goes on and on. " Exclusion from heavy truck tax for idling reduction". How is that energy improvement?. My favorite is, of course, "Transportation fringe benefit to bicycle commuters".

After the energy enhancement section, they just shoveled in whatever they could think of: "Seven-year cost recovery period for motorsports racing track facility". "Exemption from excise tax for certain wooden arrows designed for use by children". "Provisions related to film and television productions". "Extension of economic development credit for American Samoa".

What a boondoggle. It's shameful. America has spent the last 50 years spending money like it grows on trees. Both private citizens and the government have lost any idea of living within our means. I think we're going to pay the price for it now. I don't think we're going to pass a $850 Billion dollar bailout bill and have everything magically return to the way it was. We have to re-set our standards. Scary, but probably not a bad thing in the long run.

A curse and a myth

2008-10-02T07:34:00.000-07:00

We're living in interesting times. Economic upheaval. Ongoing wars in the middle east. Elections that embarrass and insult the public's intelligence. Global warming, torture, breed specific legislation.

Now, a little fable from Ambrose Bierce called "Philosophers Three:"

A Bear, a Fox, and an Opossum were attacked by an inundation.
“Death loves a coward,” said the Bear, and went forward to fight the flood.
“What a fool!” said the Fox. “I know a trick worth two of that.” And he slipped into a hollow stump.
“There are malevolent forces,” said the Opossum, ”which the wise will neither confront nor avoid. The thing is to know the nature of your antagonist.”
So saying the Opossum lay down and pretended to be dead.

It doesn't matter what we do. We'll be swept away in the flood regardless.

Cool Hand

2008-09-27T14:04:00.000-07:00

83 is a good long life, and he led a full one.

Bread

2008-09-19T17:18:00.000-07:00

If only I could post the smell. Mom baked bread every week and I remember walking in the door after school and smelling the fresh bread. After school snacks of bread and butter and jam.

Of course, it's cool now, and at the time I enjoyed sitting at the table, slathering warm bread with butter. If I'm going to be honest, though, I recall being embarrassed of my home-made bread and peanut butter sandwiches at school lunch. I remember hiding them and gazing wistfully (no- lustfully) at the Wonder Bread bologne sandwiches of my classmates. I remember begging for bread at the grocery store, "PLEASE, PLEASE, could we have bread this week", we would cry. What must people have thought?

Beaver Lake

2008-09-19T07:09:00.000-07:00

OK, I've got to get something else up here. My last two posts in a row are about dead friends. That is such a downer.

Yesterday, we did my favorite hike in Sitka- Beaver Lake. It's not a particularly difficult hike, but it's so gorgeous. Yesterday wasn't perfect- it was rather overcast- but not rainy and not too cold. Plus, the hike started out with this:

Someone's been hitting the berries pretty hard. I always feel concerned when they take a crap right in the middle of the trail. Pretty clear message, I'd think. We probably should've turned around (especially since Dennis and Lucy have had a Close Encounter with a bear on this hike), but stuck with it and were rewarded with this:

Big tree:

Chuck

2008-09-08T13:22:00.000-07:00

Fuck. I'm tired of writing these kind of blogs. Chuck, my friend, I miss you already.

Buh-bye Alaska

2008-09-06T14:26:00.001-07:00

I'm back home, in Sitka, for a few weeks while I study up for my board exams. Probably the last time I'll spend here, perhaps the last time I'll be in Alaska at all. There are things I truly hate about this place. I hate the Alaskan (well, to be fair- it's the American) mentality that everything is here for us to exploit. That Alaska is full of resources for us to use, and damn the consequences. We want to dam, drill, fish, log, dredge and mine every last ounce of natural resources that we can get our grubby little hands on. Then, when we've extracted all the assets from the land, we'll go ahead and build 5,000 square foot McMansions and sell them off as vacation properties to wealthy businessmen who come here for the rapidly disappearing halibut fishing.

I hate that we ship everything (everything we eat, everything we wear, everything we use to clean our carpets or fix our vehicle) a thousand miles or more. I hate that after we've used it, we ship it back a thousand miles to a landfill in Washington.

But then. I lay in bed, where there are no sounds of traffic and I listen to the lap of the waves on the beach. I walk the dog along the river and watch the eagles pick their supper out of the salmon-clogged, shade-dappled pools. I won't find this anywhere else. Yeah, the weather is shitty and Alaskans are annoying. Still, I'm proud to have been here. To have seen as much of Alaska as I have (from Barrow to Nome to Bethel to Metlakatla). I had my Alaska adventure, seen caribou and moose and polar bears and grizzly bears. I've been lowered out of helicopters to mountainsides and sinking ships. I've attended potlatches and Native dances. I've been out with subsistence hunters and fishermen, camping in the mountains and lost the ocean. But, now it's time to move on. Thanks, Alaska.

George Gardner

2008-07-25T06:52:00.000-07:00

"You're so great". When you first hear someone say that to you in the middle of a normal conversation, you don't really know how to react. You give a little laugh, you look away, maybe change the subject. As a catchphrase, it seems silly at first. It's hard to take such words seriously. But, as time goes on, you start to believe it a little bit. You start to use those three little words in your own interactions with people, and you start to mean them a little bit. Maybe he's right, you think to yourself, maybe I am great. Maybe everyone really is great.

George, with his huge smile and his belief that we are all great changed everyone at Sterling College, a small school in northern Vermont. You couldn't talk to him for 2 minutes without making him just glow with pleasure and assure you that you are, indeed, great. We'd tell eachother that we were great, and we'd mean it, but the words would also bring George's presence into the conversation and with it would come his peace, his joy, his appreciation for life.

I spent many nights camping with George in a small 2-person tent. We seldom slept- we talked about religion, about love, about the mountains. He taught me to ice climb and he improved my rock climbing with his insightful instruction. But more importantly, he taught me to appreciate the people who I meet every day. When you're open to people showing you their greatness, it's not hard to find.

George died in the Teton mountains this week. It's easy to say that, "well, at least he died doing what he loved", and that is certainly true. But, the world is a sadder place without him. My thoughts of peace go to his dear wife and two children (with whom I shared memorable a Thansgkiving dinner, many years ago) at this difficult time.

Moving on

2008-07-13T08:22:00.000-07:00

My last hike in Haines. The doc I work with and I went scouting for goat in the mountains. There was a little trail for the first part of the hike, up to a cabin, but the final 1500' was mainly bushwacking. It was quite steep- goat country- but so gorgeous and peaceful. Peaceful until I sat on an anthill, that is. Two days later, my legs are so sore I can hardly walk.

4th of July, Haines AK

2008-07-13T08:18:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't love a parade?

6/30

2008-06-30T07:44:00.000-07:00

Saturday was grey and dark, with 20+ knot winds and hard, spitting wind. I've lived in SE AK for too long, though, and decided that wasn't going to stop me from getting out. So, I went for a hike.

I went up Mt Ripinsky, which is about 3500 feet. It felt good to be out, and most of the hike was in the trees, so the wind wasn't as bad. Not a lot of photo opportunities, due to the nasty weather, but it was a nice way to spend a couple of hours.

Sunday, I woke up pleasantly sore to a bright blue sky and almost 60 degrees. The day just got more beautiful, and my legs just got more sore. I did eventually walk into town to get groceries, where I shot some hoops and played on the swings, but another hike was beyond my poor quadraceps.

Such is life.

Old school Environmenalism

2008-06-18T07:36:00.000-07:00

I've been re-re (and in some cases re-re-re-) reading some of my favorite environmental authors. Authors who I first read 15, 20 years ago and who instilled in me my initial concepts of ecology, sustainability and conservation. Edward Abbey, Annie Dillard, Aldo Leopold, John Muir. People who nudged the movement a little more towards the mainstream, a direction it continues to move today.

As with so many "classic" writings (Jane Austin, Emerson, Shakespeare), it's easy to read them once in school, put them on a shelf and avoid them for the rest of your life. Then, years later you pull them down again, on a whim or when you've read everything else in your library. You discover to your shock that the sick and twisted Lady Macbeth actually gives you nightmares. That the love affair between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy is strikingly similar to how you behaved when you were in love at 20. These books are classics not because teachers force them on their literature class, but because they speak to people, they address emotions and circumstances that have not changed in 500 years and will not change for 5000 more.

Annie Dillard changed the face of the environmental movement. Edward Abbey, John Muir and Aldo Leopold founded or inspired the formation of environmental organizations that are still active and influential today (EarthFirst, The Sierra Club and The Wilderness Society, respectively). What is easy to forget, what I am thrilled to discover again, is that they were also gifted writers. Their clear-eyed vision of the natural world is inspiring. After reading A Pilgrim At Tinker's Creek in the evenings before bed, I walk around the next morning in a daze, looking at flowers by the side of the road or birds on telephone wires as if I had never seen them before. I read Abbey's travels through the Four Corners and my eyes water and my throat becomes dry with the red dust of the dessert.

It seems environmental writers today are so serious, so overwhelmed with the significance of The Crisis that they have forgotten what it was that they loved about Nature to begin with. They overwhelm the reader with statistics and numbers and policies and they leave out the wonder that can be found in a school of fingerlings or the sight of a clump of bear fur stuck on a broken branch.

I know there's a crisis. I know we have to make change happen or we will loose the fingerling, the bears and the trees. I just don't want to loose my own sense of wonder along the way.

Soda Vs Pop

2008-06-16T05:31:00.000-07:00

Fascinating map from a science blog

With a mother from Ohio and a father from Washington state, I grew up saying "pop", but for some reason (hanging out with too many New Englander's, I suspect) I find myself saying "soda" often these days.

Father's Day

2008-06-15T09:26:00.000-07:00

My dad is celebrating his 35th Father's Day. I called him this morning, early, while he was starting the day with his lovely wife, attending a neice's high school graduation party. Mornings were Dad's time of the day- the best time of the day, he always told us. Weekends when we were growing up, he would make breakfast and knock on our bedroom doors. While our school friends slept in until noon, we would wake up by 7am. The three of us kids and our bleary-eyed mom around the table while he made pancakes that looked like Mickey Mouse, poured hot coffee or flipped crepes. To this day, neither I or my siblings will sleep in on a Saturday or Sunday morning, and I shake my head and pity people who miss out on the best part of the day.

I could sit and write memories of growing up with Dad. I could reflect on the lessons he taught me and the care he took (still takes) in raising his children to be strong and gentle and wise and generous and hard-working. But that is a project that would take all day, or more- I would still be writing come next Father's Day. I see children all the time who are abused or neglected, or just not particularly valued by their fathers, and I am continually reminded of how lucky I am. I grew up in the bosom of a loving family, and, even when times were very difficult, that love could always be counted on. Unfortunately, that is not typical, and not a day doesn't go by that I am not thankful for it, and for my dad's hard work to build and maintain it.

June 1st

2008-06-01T05:44:00.000-07:00

So, the last week (Memorial Day Weekend) was one for the books. Dennis came up from Sitka on Tuesday and the weather suddenly turned from 40's and slashing rain to 70's and sunshine. On Thursday we took a Jeep-ful of tools and parts 20 miles up the road to the small village of Klukwan (pop: 130) to hold a bike clinic. We met a bunch of kids and bike riding adults, fixed a bunch of bikes and enjoyed the sunshine. Lucy laid around and played with the kids.

On the way home we found a bunch of morel mushrooms, growing by the side of the road. Dinner that night was morels and fiddleheads, sauted with garlic and olive oil, and a bottle of champagne, eaten on the beach in the back yard.

The rest of the weekend was spent picnicking on beaches,

hiking trails, cookouts with friends, and the 16th Annual Haines Brewfest.

Every day was sunny and gorgeous.

Plenty of whales

and loons and, of course, eagles.

I'm over halfway done with this four month long rotation, and it's going to be hard to leave.

Haines update

2008-05-07T14:04:00.000-07:00

I've moved into my house sitting arrangement, which should see me through the end of this rotation in July. The house is gorgeous- right on the water so I look over Chilkat inlet into 4000' peaks. Every evening there are sea lions, whales, eagles and a variety of ducks in my back yard. I've got a wood stove for heat and cooking, and running water that is piped in from the stream out running through the property. It is incredibly peaceful and I love it. Unfortunately, no internet. No blog updates. I can check my e-mail infrequently during the day at work.

It's a small price to pay for this, though:

Turtle

2008-04-25T07:35:00.001-07:00

Kay Ryan

Who would be a turtle who could help it?
A barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared helmet,
She can ill afford the chances she must take
In rowing toward the grasses that she eats.
Her track is graceless, like dragging
A packing-case places, and almost any slope
Defeats her modest hopes. Even being practical,
She’s often stuck up to the axle on her way
To something edible. With everything optimal,
She skirts the ditch which would convert
Her shell into a serving dish. She lives
Below luck-level, never imagining some lottery
Will change her load of pottery to wings.
Her only levity is patience,
The sport of truly chastened things.

Agony

2008-04-23T05:42:00.000-07:00

I wrote this poem.

The girl at the bike
shop's hair is very short, and her nails
are always dirty; even
first thing in the morning.
By evening, some of that grease will
be on her face as well.

Her dog glares at me from under
the workbench. I think he knows
what I'm doing there, although
the girl seems oblivious.
Seems to see only
the bicycles.

Today she's wearing a skirt
under her shop apron
and I'm telling her about
the agony
I felt on the last hill
in the last race.
"Perhaps that new Orbea"... I try,
hoping to impress her.

She laughs, unimpressed. "You don't
need a lighter bike to get
up that hill," and pats her flat belly
suggestively.

My own has
grown lately, developed during long
nights spent not
on the bike
but on a bar stool,
thinking of her.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

2008-04-22T05:05:00.000-07:00

XXX
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

3920'

2008-04-21T20:34:00.001-07:00

We went for a hike today. Hit two peaks, one 3920', the other 3650. 10 miles in just under 10 hours. Awesome day. Awesome. It's so quiet, and walking like that for 10 hours creates a meditative state as you just put one foot in front of the other. Of course, when you're totally at peace, you step on your own snowshoe and take a face plant into the snow. Which is also zen.

Jabberwocky

2008-04-21T06:20:00.000-07:00

I memorized this poem in high school. Don't worry too much about what the words mean- Carroll made up most of them and couldn't give definitions himself. He just liked the sound of the flow of the words.

Lewis Carroll

(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Carl Sandburg

2008-04-19T05:05:00.000-07:00

By Carl Sandburg

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

A SPHINX

Close-mouthed, you sat five thousand years and never
let out a whisper.
Processions came by, marchers, asking questions you
answered with grey eyes never blinking, shut lips
never talking.
Not one croak of anything you know has come from your
cat crouch of ages.
I am one of those who know all you know and I keep my
questions: I know the answers you hold.

In Memoriam

2008-04-17T05:49:00.000-07:00

We first met Michael and Cynthia Harper at a fund-raising dinner. We were new to Sitka and didn't know anyone, so we sat at a large round table next to them simply because there were empty chairs there. Cynthia was wonderful. Smart as a whip, funny and strong and generous. I liked her immediately- it was impossible not to. But Michael. Michael, who I was sitting next to that night. MIchael was my soul friend. We talked all night, and it was like we were in the room alone together. I wish I could say I remember every word he said that night, but I can't (we shared a bottle of wine). I remember his laugh and the sparkle in his dark eyes. When we left the dinner- biking home in the crisp, cold night- I told Dennis that I think I met my new best friend. "I know", he agreed, smiling.

We didn't spend enough time with Michael and Cynthia. They travelled a lot, and neither of us were party-goers. We did see them regularly at various fund raisers and occassionally at the grocery store or coffee shop. Michael changed my life. Every moment with him made me a better person. He was so peaceful, so wise. He had acheived that wisdom and peace not just through books and theory, but through war and illness and long dark nights on the deck of a sailboat. I was so in awe of him and so amazingly honored that he seemed to enjoy my presence.

The last time I saw Michael, he looked tired. Thinner even than usual and weak. He disappeared in his wooly cap and his warm coat like a child. Cynthia looked tired and worn. We drank champagne and we talked. Michael told me he was ready. But he had always been ready. Like my mom, he fought his disease not because he was in denial or because he feared death, but because he loved life. He fought his disease because he was strong and brave and wanted to be open for something wonderful to happen tomorrow, even if that wonderful thing was just to be touched on the face by his wife, or feel rain in his hair.

Japanese Death Poems:

Kozan Ichikyo, died February 12, 1360, at 77

Empty-handed I entered the world
Barefoot I leave it.
My coming, my going --
Two simple happenings
That got entangled.

Sunao, died in 1926 at 39

Spitting blood
clears up reality
and dream alike.

Senryu, died September 23, 1790, at 73

Bitter winds of winter --
but later, river willow,
open up your buds.

Shoro, died April 1894, at age 80

Pampas grass, now dry,
once bent this way
and that.

Shinsui, died September 9, 1769, at 49
O

During his last moment, Shisui's followers requested that he write a death poem. He grasped his brush, painted a circle, cast the brush aside, and died.

The circle is one of the most important symbols of Zen Buddhism. It indicates void -- the essence of all things -- and enlightenment.

Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems Of The Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire The Length And Clarity Of Their Titles

2008-04-16T06:47:00.000-07:00

By Billy Collins

It seems these poets have nothing
up their ample sleeves
they turn over so many cards so early,
telling us before the first line
whether it is wet or dry,
night or day, the season the man is standing in,
even how much he has had to drink.

Maybe it is autumn and he is looking at a sparrow.
Maybe it is snowing on a town with a beautiful name.

"Viewing Peonies at the Temple of Good Fortune
on a Cloudy Afternoon" is one of Sun Tung Po's.
"Dipping Water from the River and Simmering Tea"
is another one, or just
"On a Boat, Awake at Night."

And Lu Yu takes the simple rice cake with
"In a Boat on a Summer Evening
I Heard the Cry of a Waterbird.
It Was Very Sad and Seemed To Be Saying
My Woman Is Cruel--Moved, I Wrote This Poem."

There is no iron turnstile to push against here
as with headings like "Vortex on a String,"
"The Horn of Neurosis," or whatever.
No confusingly inscribed welcome mat to puzzle over.

Instead, "I Walk Out on a Summer Morning
to the Sound of Birds and a Waterfall"
is a beaded curtain brushing over my shoulders.

And "Ten Days of Spring Rain Have Kept Me Indoors"
is a servant who shows me into the room
where a poet with a thin beard
is sitting on a mat with a jug of wine
whispering something about clouds and cold wind,
about sickness and the loss of friends.

How easy he has made it for me to enter here,
to sit down in a corner,
cross my legs like his, and listen.

Billy Collins

My Affair with Rumplestizkin

2008-04-15T05:16:00.000-07:00

By Ina Loewnberg
He wasn't really bad to look at
if you don't mind your men so short.
His head was disproportionate
but forceful, and his neck was taut,
his eyebrows were pointed and curly
and of course his black eyes burned
with mad glee, his arms were fully
muscled, his booted feet neatly turned.

He made his offer, good as gold,
so confident I would accept his special skill
to save my skin, but I, surprisingly bold,
countered with the skin itself, the heart, the will.
The straw was scratchy but the man was smooth,
he brought down pillows to cushion our elation;
I slept then while he labored to produce
the glitter that insured my royal station.

It was a bargain that was fair to each
of us, he mellowed, I grew wild,
and he knew games that he was glad to teach
and in our playfulness we made the child.
When I resumed the throne, all validated,
we knew we could no longer carry on;
he took his pleasure in what we had created—
the king would have a surprisingly short son.

The Tyger

2008-04-14T06:16:00.000-07:00

A century ago, it is estimated there were over 100,000 tigers in the world but the population has dwindled to between 7,000 and 5,000 tigers. Some estimates suggest the population is even lower, with some at less than 2,500 mature breeding individuals, with no subpopulation containing more than 250 mature breeding individuals.

by William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Haines pictures

2008-04-13T14:58:00.001-07:00

Finally got some pictures downloaded from HNS. This place is really beautiful.

From last weekend's hike.

The view from the back porch in the morning, after a run

A walk to the beach this afternoon.

Stephen Crane

2008-04-13T06:22:00.000-07:00

A selection of short poems by Stephen Crane. Best enjoyed between the ages of 15 and 17.

There was a man with tongue of wood
Who essayed to sing,
And in truth it was lamentable.
But there was one who heard
The clip-clapper of this tongue of wood
And knew what the man
Wished to sing,
And with that the singer was content.

*********

A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
"A sense of obligation."

*******

When the prophet, a complacent fat
man,
Arrived at the mountain-top,
He cried: "Woe to my knowledge!
"I intended to see good white lands
"And bad black lands,
"But the scene is grey."

********

"Have you ever made a just man?"
"Oh, I have made three," answered God,
"But two of them are dead,
And the third --
Listen! Listen!
And you will hear the thud of his defeat."

***********

The wayfarer,
Perceiving the pathway to truth,
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha," he said,
"I see that none has passed here
In a long time."
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
"Well," he mumbled at last,
"Doubtless there are other roads."

names of horses

2008-04-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

I worked with horses for years. Their stoic work ethic combined with individual personalities and quirks. Bonnie, Doc, Pete (who is pictured at the beginning of this poem), Jasper. They taught me much about who I was and what the Buddha meant when he talked about work.

Names of Horses

All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding
and steerhide over the ash hames, to haul
sledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer,
for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range.

In April you pulled cartloads of manure to spread on the fields,
dark manure of Holsteins, and knobs of your own clustered with
oats.
All summer you mowed the grass in meadow and hayfield, the
mowing machine
clacketing beside you, while the sun walked high in the morning;

and after noon's heat, you pulled a clawed rake through the same
acres,
gathering stacks, and dragged the wagon from stack to stack,
and the built hayrack back, uphill to the chaffy barn,
three loads of hay a day from standing grass in the morning.

Sundays you trotted the two miles to church with the light load
a leather quartertop buggy, and grazed in the sound of hymns.
Generation on generation, your neck rubbed the windowsill
of the stall, smoothing the wood as the sea smooths glass.

When you were old and lame, when your shoulders hurt bending
to graze,
one October the man, who fed you and kept you, and harnessed
you every morning,
led you through corn stubble to sandy ground above Eagle Pond,
and dug a hole beside you where you stood shuddering in your
skin,

and lay the shotgun's muzzle in the boneless hollow behind your
ear,
and fired the slug into your brain, and felled you into your grave,
shoveling sand to cover you, setting goldenrod upright above you,
where by next summer a dent in the ground made your monument.

For a hundred and fifty years, in the Pasture of dead horses,
roots of pine trees pushed through the pale curves of your ribs,
yellow blossoms flourished above you in autumn, and in winter
frost heaved your bones in the ground - old toilers, soil makers:

O Roger, Mackerel, Riley, Ned, Nellie, Chester, Lady Ghost.

Donald Hall from Kicking the Leaves (1978)

Two short poems by Ogden Nash

2008-04-11T06:06:00.000-07:00

The Dog

The truth I do not stretch or shove
When I state that the dog is full of love.
I've also found, by actual test,
A wet dog is the lovingest.

The Abominable Snowman

I've never seen an abominable snowman,
I'm hoping not to see one,
I'm also hoping, if I do,
That it will be a wee one.

Theory of Imcompletion

2008-04-10T06:10:00.000-07:00

This is how I feel when I listen to baroque music- like water running upstream.

By Mark Doty

I'm painting the apartment, elaborate project,
edging doorways and bookcases,

two coats at least, and on the radio
—the cable opera station—something
I don't know, Handel's Semele,

and either it's the latex fumes or the music itself
but I seem never to have heard anything so radiant,

gorgeous rising tiers of it
ceasing briefly then cascading again,
as if baroque music were a series of waterfalls

pouring in the wrong direction, perpetually up
and up, twisting toward the empyrean.

When a tenor—playing the role of a god,
perhaps the god of art?—calls for unbridled joy
the golden form of his outburst

matches the solar confidence of its content,
and I involuntarily say, ah,

I am so swept up by the splendor,
on my ladder, edging the trim
along the crown molding, up where

the fumes concentrate. I am stroking
the paint onto every formerly white inch,
and of course I know Semele will end,

but it doesn't seem it ever has to:
this seemingly endless chain of glorious conclusions,

writhing stacked superb filigree
—let it open out endlessly,
let door after door be slid back

to reveal the next cadence,
the new phrasing, onward and on.

I am stilled now, atop my ladder,
leaning back onto the rungs, am the rapture
of denied closure, no need to go anywhere,

entirety forming and reasserting itself, an endless
—self-enfolding, self-devouring—

of which Handel constructs a model
in music's intricate apportionment
of minutes. And then there's barely a beat

of a pause before we move on to Haydn,
and I am nowhere near the end of my work.

Cat's Dream

2008-04-09T06:10:00.000-07:00

I love Neruda.

Cat's Dream

How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture,
sleeps with its wicked claws,
and with its unfeeling blood,
sleeps with all the rings--
a series of burnt circles--
which have formed the odd geology
of its sand-colored tail.

I should like to sleep like a cat,
with all the fur of time,
with a tongue rough as flint,
with the dry sex of fire;
and after speaking to no one,
stretch myself over the world,
over roofs and landscapes,
with a passionate desire
to hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep
would undulate, how the night
flowed through it like dark water;
and at times, it was going to fall
or possibly plunge into
the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
like a tiger's great-grandfather,
and would leap in the darkness over
rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

Sleep, sleep cat of the night,
with episcopal ceremony
and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams;
control the obscurity
of our slumbering prowess
with your relentless heart
and the great ruff of your tail.

Translated by Alastair Reid

Pablo Neruda

Dharma

2008-04-08T06:19:00.000-07:00

Dharma
Billy collins

The way the dog trots out the front door
every morning
without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money
or the keys to her doghouse
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance—
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off she goes into the material world
with nothing but her brown coat
and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose,
the twin portals of her steady breathing,
followed only by the plume of her tail.

If only she did not shove the cat aside
every morning
and eat all his food
what a model of self-containment she
would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager
for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes,
if only I were not her god.

Conscientious Objector

2008-04-07T10:52:00.000-07:00

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall; I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba, business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by hinmself: I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip, I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much, I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living, that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city are safe with me; never through me
Shall you be overcome.

Snow Poem

2008-04-06T06:58:00.000-07:00

The snow is melting here in Haines, but they're predicting snow showers for the next couple of days. Where I grew up, April was definitely spring, but in a lot of the country, it's still undeniably winter. Anyway, there's still time to get this poem in.

Snow

David Berman

Walking through a field with my little brother Seth

I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.

He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.

Then we were on the roof of the lake.
The ice looked like a photograph of water.

Why he asked. Why did he shoot them.

I didn't know where I was going with this.

They were on his property, I said.

When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.

Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.
Our voices hung close in the new acoustics.
A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.

We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.

But why were they on his property, he asked.

from Actual Air, 1999
Open City Books, New YorkSnow

Haines

2008-04-05T16:57:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Haines, AK last Sunday. Haines is a small town, even compared to Sitka, and more rugged climatalogically than the rest of Southeast Alaska. Less rain but more snow. It's right on the water and surrounded three-sixty by mountains. Drop-dead, take-your-breath away gorgeous.

The clinic where I'm working has two of the most talented and devoted doctors I have ever met. The docs here are the first I've met in my training who are willing to discuss the philosophy of medicine, something that intrigues me. One doc told me "I don't really do anything here. I listen and usually the patient heals themself". Memorizing the appropriate antibiotic is easy (even easier to just look it up) but having the humility and generosity of spirit to invest in your patient is harder to learn. Perhaps it can't be taught at all. Perhaps you have to teach yourself, if you're willing.

I went to a talent show last night and the auditorium was standing room only. We watched two little kids singing "Bill Grogan's Goat" and a girl played "Old McDonald Had a Farm" on her violin. Children danced or played the piano, a boy played the drums, and one chubby little girl in a white dress sang "A few Of My Favorite Things". The high school kids in the audience went crazy for every performer, screaming out children's names and whistling. After the show, I saw three or four people who I already knew and was able to compliment their children by name. I went to bed feeling warm and content.

This morning (Saturday) I walked 20 minutes down the road to a trailhead where I gained 3000 feet in 3 miles. The view took in two rivers, a bay, and mountains upon mountains. It had been raining when I woke up, but the weather had cleared by the time I hit the trail. On the summit, above the trees, I listened to Bach on my ipod and laid in the snow in the sun and watched the thin clouds race and tumble across the sapphire sky.

It's no Mayberry, though; no Northern Exposure. I've seen patients who are dealing with meth or coke addictions, teenagers pregnant and girls with eating disorders. A strong community and beautiful mountains can't protect you from rape and incest and domestic abuse. It makes me look hard at what I want from this profession, where I want to be in 10 years. There's money to be made in medicine, certainly, but I already know that isn't my priority. I want to be a good person; I want to be happy; I want to live in the bosom of a happy and healthy family in whatever form that takes. A good provider here could make a real difference in people's lives if she knows when to shut up and listen.

2 by William Carlos Williams

2008-04-05T06:24:00.000-07:00

This is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
******
The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white chickens

When Death Comes

2008-04-04T08:36:00.000-07:00

This one seems like its going to be depressing, but it turns out to be life-affirming and gorgeous.

When Death Comes

Mary Oliver
From New and Selected Poems by Mary Oliver (Beacon Press, 25 Beacon St, Boston, MA 02108-2892, ISBN 0 870 6819 5).

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

cummings

2008-04-03T08:34:00.000-07:00

I love e e cummings. This poem is one of his lesser known ones, but I love it for its beautiful imagery.

if a cheerfulest Elephantangelchild

if a cheerfulest Elephantangelchild should sit
(holding a red candle over his head
by a finger of trunk, and singing out of a red

book) on a proud round cloud in a white high night

where his heartlike ears have flown adorable him
self tail and all (and his tail's red christmas bow)
--and if, when we meet again, little he (having flown
even higher) is sunning his penguinsoul in the glow

of a joy which wasn't and isn't and won't be words

while possibly not (at a guess) quite half way down
to the earth are leapandswooping tinily birds
whose magical gaiety makes your beautiful name---

i feel that (false and true are merely to know)
Love only has ever been, is, and will ever be, So

-e.e. cummings

An Ill Wind

2008-04-01T18:26:00.000-07:00

A selection from my brother over at Heron House. I think he's got some poems of his own going this month.

"An Ill Wind" by Louis Jenkins, from Sea Smoke © Holy Cow! Press, 2004. Reprinted with permission.

An Ill Wind

Today there's a cold northeast wind blowing, piling up ice all
along the water's edge. The Point is deserted, no one for five
miles down the beach. Just the way I like it. The sand is frozen
mostly, so the walking is easy as I pick my way through the
wrack and drift. Today I don't even leave footprints. Wind,
sand, sun and water. A simplicity that defies comprehension.
The barest essentials for the imagination's work. This shore has
been pretty much the same for ten thousand years. Countless
others have been here before me, musing and pondering, as
they walked down the beach and disappeared forever. So here's
what I'm thinking: wouldn't it be great if one of them dropped
a big roll of hundred dollar bills and I found it?

April

2008-04-01T08:13:00.000-07:00

April is National Poetry Month. I love poetry. I remember Mom writing poems on big sheets of butcher paper and hanging them around the house. I'm hoping to post a new poem every day this month.

An orange ruled the world. By Benjamin Rosenbaum

It was an unexpected thing, the temporary abdication of Heavenly Providence, entrusting the whole matter to a simple orange.

The orange, in a grove in Florida, humbly accepted the honor. The other oranges, the birds, and the men in their tractors wept with joy; the tractors' motors rumbled hymns of praise.

Airplane pilots passing over would circle the grove and tell their passengers, "Below us is the grove where the orange who rules the world grows on a simple branch." And the passengers would be silent with awe.

The governor of Florida declared every day a holiday. On summer afternoons the Dalai Lama would come to the grove and sit with the orange, and talk about life.

When the time came for the orange to be picked, none of the migrant workers would do it: they went on strike. The foremen wept. The other oranges swore they would turn sour. But the orange who ruled the world said, "No, my friends; it is time."

Finally a man from Chicago, with a heart as windy and cold as Lake Michigan in wintertime, was brought in. He put down his briefcase, climbed up on a ladder, and picked the orange. The birds were silent and the clouds had gone away. The orange thanked the man from Chicago.

They say that when the orange went through the national produce processing and distribution system, certain machines turned to gold, truck drivers had epiphanies, aging rural store managers called their estranged lesbian daughters on Wall Street and all was forgiven.

I bought the orange who ruled the world for 39 cents at Safeway three days ago, and for three days he sat in my fruit basket and was my teacher. Today, he told me, "it is time," and I ate him.

Now we are on our own again.

Why the Public is Ignorant

2008-03-26T07:37:00.000-07:00

My local paper has a about a quarter of a million subscribers and has received 7 Pulizer Prizes in its 100+ year history. It is the major newspaper for at least 4 surrounding states from Alaska to Northern California. Yesterday's front page? On a day when major bombings occured in Iraq, when national and international election campaigns are ongoing, when the economy is tumbling into crisis? The front page, above the fold headline was about a 17 year old girl who was trying to break the World Record for the Mile Crawl. That's right, she was pictured wrapped in bubble wrap and duct tape, and crawling around a track.

How can we expect the citizenry to be informed about issues when the paper that they read over breakfast refuses to provide important stories? Yes, there is good information out there. Blogs and online newspapers are recognizing the need for quality journalism and are filling the gaps left by the "old media". Unfortunately, finding reliable sources of news and staying updated takes time and effort and besides, why should the newspapers be so willing to turn over their duties as public servants? Our nation was based on the idea that the people have the ability to understand important issues but that understanding requires a media that is willing to provide the facts.

Change or Die

2008-03-26T06:30:00.000-07:00

Why is it so hard to change? The Buddha tells us that change is inevitable, that everything is always changing. We are always changing whether we like it or not, so why do we resist change for the better? Why do we allow entropy (laziness) to change us instead of changing ourselves?

Dr. Raphael Levey, founder of the Global Medical Forum, an annual summit of leaders in the health care, told a recent audience, "A relatively small percentage of the population consumes the vast majority of the health-care budget for diseases that are very well known and by and large behavioral." That is, they're sick because of how they choose to live their lives, not because of environmental or genetic factors beyond their control. Levey didn't bother to name them, but you don't need an MD to guess what he was talking about: too much smoking, drinking, eating, and stress, and not enough exercise

Dr. Edward Miller, the dean of the medical school and CEO of the hospital at Johns Hopkins University was more explicit He turned the discussion to patients whose heart disease is so severe that they undergo bypass surgery, a traumatic and expensive procedure that can cost more than $100,000 if complications arise. About 600,000 people have bypasses every year in the United States, and 1.3 million heart patients have angioplasties -- all at a total cost of around $30 billion. The procedures temporarily relieve chest pains but rarely prevent heart attacks or prolong lives. Around half of the time, the bypass grafts clog up in a few years; the angioplasties, in a few months. The causes of this so-called restenosis are complex. It's sometimes a reaction to the trauma of the surgery itself. But many patients could avoid the return of pain and the need to repeat the surgery -- not to mention arrest the course of their disease before it kills them -- by switching to healthier lifestyles. Yet very few do. "If you look at people after coronary-artery bypass grafting two years later, 90% of them have not changed their lifestyle," Miller said. "And that's been studied over and over and over again. And so we're missing some link in there. Even though they know they have a very bad disease and they know they should change their lifestyle, for whatever reason, they can't."

For the last two weeks, I've been shadowing a nutrition counselor. She sees patients who have been referred by their doc and most of her patients are overweight often with diabetes, heart disease and other related conditions. She is giving them advice for change that is cheap, simple, and has no negative side effects. She wants her patients to cut down on sugary treats and high fat foods; eat more fruits and vegetables; and get a little exercise. I'm shocked by the number of patients who refuse to use skim milk in their 20 oz Mocha Latte, or who can't give up their third dessert in the evening. These same patients are the ones who will insist that their doctor give them every last test, medication or procedure up until their last breath, but they won't put in a little effort to loose 10 pounds.

On a similar note, I was listening to a podcaster who I really enjoy (but don't always agree with) and he was discussing an article in his local paper. This article was written by a grad student who was studying climate change. This student's theory was that if we didn't cut our carbon emmisions by 96% in the next 20 years, climate change would become inevitable. Ninety six percent! The podcaster claimed that we couldn't change by that much if we were threatened with a nuclear bomb. He's probably right, but why not? Could you cut your emmisions by 96% if it was a choice between change or die? Could I?

Juneau

2008-02-07T06:58:00.000-08:00

I'm in the state capital for a month, doing a rotation at the local emergency room. It's good to be back in Southeast Alaska, with the rain and the eagles, the evergreens and the water. I am living in a converted garage. It's warm and cozy, but has only intermittent internet. ER is interesting and busy, days go by quickly. I think I'll leave this rotation with some insight on the use/misuse of the ER. For instance- first thing yesterday we saw a very sick baby having seizures with a high fever. This was followed by a string of people looking for Vicodin for their backs, and a couple schizophrenic patients waiting for admission to the mental health unit. The docs I work with are very knowledgeable and patient, but I'll be interested to hear their thoughts on working in the department and access to care for people.

2008-01-28T07:08:00.000-08:00

One more week in Anchorage. It's bitter cold (-8F) and beautiful with crisp, clear days and just enough snow to make everything bright in the early afternoon sun. I am fortunate to work close enough to where I live that I can walk my commute. It's about 40 minutes each way (longer if there's lots of fresh snow). I walk through a park, around a lake. I see beaver and moose on my way in at times. A long walk twice a day is a great way to center my mind, to relax and focus.

My Nan died yesterday after 5 days in a coma. She, like many others of her generation, was a fighter. She fought to keep her home and family running. When the last of six children were finally out of the house and settled, she battled with Granddad's Alzheimer's disease. After he passed on, she has struggled for the last decade with cancer. Up until the end, she did not know how to let go, how to stop fighting. I hope that she finally knew peace and that, if there is an afterlife, she is with my mom, and her family and loved ones. I will always remember her in the kitchen (how trite), flour up to her elbows, kneading bread; or lying on the couch, covered with dogs and cats, reading a book; her love of the winter and learning to ski at a time in life when most women were settling down. A strong woman and a good one, I hope that I take after her.

Before She Died

by Karen Chase

When I look at the sky now, I look at it for you.
As if with enough attention, I could take it in for you.

With all the leaves gone almost from
the trees, I did not walk briskly through the field.

Late today with my dog Wool, I lay down in the upper field,
he panting and aged, me looking at the blue. Leaning

on him, I wondered how finite these lustered days seem
to you, A stand of hemlock across the lake catches

my eye. It will take a long time to know how it is
for you. Like a dog's lifetime -- long -- multiplied by sevens.

Veteran's Day

2007-11-12T14:21:00.000-08:00

In Flander's Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flander's Fields.

I've never liked the last stanza of this poem, so I'm going to leave it off, although it seems to hang akwardly without a conclusion. I don't believe that we owe more war to the dead. I don't believe that the young men and women coming home maimed in body and soul from war today are holding high the torch that burned at Ypres in 1915. That torch should not be tended.

Wage peace with your breath.

Breath in firemen and rubble
Breath out whole buildings and flocks of
redwing blackbirds.

Breath in terror.
Breath out sleeping children and
freshly mown fields.

Breath in confusion and breath out
maple trees.

Breath in the fallen and breath out
lifelong friendships intact.

Think of chaos as dancing raspberries.
Imagine grief as
The outbreath of beauty or the gesture of
a fish.

I celebrated veteran's day with a hike in the mountains. The snow was fresh and not deep. The sky was overcast but from the ridgeline you could see for miles over crystal limbs of heavy-hanging branches. I spent three hours with an aquaintance who I've known for years but never really spoken to. I came home to a mug of hot tea and the Brandenburg concertos. A good day.

What I Eat and Why I Eat It

2007-11-03T06:48:00.000-07:00

"In relation to [animals], all people are Nazis; for the animals, it is an eternal Treblinka"- Isaac Bashevis Singer

I've been a strict vegetarian for so long now that I rarely talk about it any more. Most folks who know me at all probably don't think about it unless I'm coming over for dinner and they have to decide what to cook. However, just because I don't
talk about it and I'm not in people's face all the time doesn't mean it isn't important to me. In fact, precicely because it comes up for me three times every day (at least) it remains a huge issue for me. I thought I'd take some time to lay out what I see as the most important parts of this decision. I'll write a some thoughts, but I'll include lots of links (if I can figure out how to paste links on here) that have tons of good information. The links I'm posting are just the tip of the internet iceberg. There are tons of great recipe sites, sites on animal rights and farm animal rescue, and lots and lots of sites on environment and health as they relate to vegetarianism.

First, to straighten out some facts which probably don't mean much to the general public. I rarely call myself a vegan because my animal-free lifestyle is limited to my diet. I do not eat milk, eggs, fish, chicken or whatever people call "vegetarian" when in fact they just don't like beef. However, I wear leather shoes and wool sweaters, which true vegans do not. I do this only after examining the alternatives (clothes made from oil-based products) and deciding that animal products are the lesser evil in the big picture. I wish there was a better choice, but until then I just try to minimize my purchases.

Second, and I want to say this right out, being a vegetarian is not that hard. There are an incredible number of excellent quality meat, egg, and dairy subsitutes out there. Making the change is easy. People always say "Man, I really respect you, but I could never do that". This is part of the problem- I'm not some kind of vegetarian monk in it for the benefits of self-deprivation. Anybody can do this. Health care orginazations agree that it is healthy for all ages and activity levels, including pregnant and nursing women or children. There are soy ice creams out there that are better than regular ice cream.

OK, I originally became a vegetarian because of animal rights. I worked in college on a small farm and personally slaughtered chickens and turkeys (although even at the time I was a vegetarian). We also raised pigs, lambs and a few cows for slaughter. Our animals were raised sustainably and kindly and their meat went to the college cafeteria. Still, the idea of raising an animal for the purpose of killing it seemed wrong to me. In reality, most animals are raised in horrific conditions. Don't fool yourself that buying organic, range free eggs makes it better. Those labels literally mean nothing. Animals are sentient beings and they feel pain when their beaks are cut off or when they are made to stand all day on concrete floors or when they are ravaged by their neighbors in crowded conditions. These atrocities happen in "humane" farmyards just as they do in factory farms.
Check out Gary Francione's website. He's a law professor at Rutgers who specializes in animal rights. His big issue is the idea of "animal welfare"- the mistaken idea that it's better to eat free range/range free meat and eggs.
Also Compassion Over Killing, which has informational ads suitable for all ages
The Meatrix an award-winning series of short films a la the Matrix
Finally, Earthlings, which is the most powerful animal rights film I've ever seen. Check out the link, and then buy the DVD.

The second reason I am a vegetarian is environmental. The agriculture indusry has a major impact on water and land use as well as pollution especially in the form of runoff into groundwater and streams. Fishing, a major industry where I live, is raping the oceans. By switching from a meat-based diet to a vegetarian diet, you'll make more impact on the environment that if you swapped your Hummer for a Prius.
Six Arguments for a Greener Diet has bite sized information including fun things like calculating the environmental impact from your weekly diet and a mini-tour of a farm
Less cute, and more dense is the UN report on the environmental impact of livestock. You can download the whole report there
Another dense report from the UN is on fisheries and can be found here

The third and final reason I don't eat meat is for health reasons. As a health care professional, I see the results of our typical American diet every day in diagnoses of obesity, diabetes, colon cancer, high blood pressure, heart disease and stroke, gall bladder disease, osteoporosis... A vegetarian diet can't cure every disease, but I feel strongly that every person would benefit from a vegetarian diet. Often people try going veg and quit because they felt tired or weak. These people never hesitate to share this experience whenever I mention that I am a vegetarian. I stand by my earlier statement that it's easy to be a vegetarian, but you do have to put a little thought into it, especially when you're beginning. You can't just cut animal products out of your diet and replace them with potato chips and apple juice.
About dot com has a decent introduction to this subject, with some good links including the vegetarian food pyramid put out by the USDA

One quick final note on nutrition. Protein is the big buzz word these days, especially thanks to Dr Atkins (don't get me started on the Atkin's diet). The second most common response I get after people express their misplaced admiration is to ask where I get my protein. In fact, the US RDA for an average man is 52g and 44g for a woman (international recomendations are 37g for a man and 29g for a woman. I wonder why Americans need more protein than Italians). Anyway, that amount of protein is easily obtained- I get 12-15g just by eating cereal with soy milk for breakfast. A PB&J on whole wheat bread for lunch bumps you up over 20. Plant based protein is high quality and digestable and adequate even for elite atheletes. On the other hand, excess protein is directly related to osteoporosis, liver disfunction, immune problems and kidney disease.

If you're interested in any or all of these issues, consider switching to a vegetarian diet. If you're nervous about how to start, the best way is to choose one day a week or one meal a day and make the change. This is much more productive than switching to organic, range free products. Just making your lunch vegetarian can be a huge impact on the enviroment, as the PB&J campaign advocates.

"When a human kills an animal for food, he is neglecting his own hunger for justice. Man prays for mercy, but is unwilling to extend it to others. Why should man then expect mercy from God? It's unfair to expect something that you are not willing to give. It is inconsistent. I can never accept inconsistency or injustice. Even if it comes from God. If there would come a voice from God saying, "I'm against vegetarianism!" I would say, "Well, I am for it!" This is how strongly I feel in this regard."- Singer again

A Time To Read

2007-10-28T11:48:00.001-07:00

My schedule has changed and I find myself with more free time than I've had in recent memory. Having spent the last 15 years of my life without a television, I cannot seem to work up an interest in my new roommate's favorite programs so I tried turning my attention to books. I can't remember the last time I was able to keep up with contemporary fiction and I was excited to settle in to some stories that I've heard so much about lately.

At the airport bookstore I picked up two recent Pulitzer Prize winners- The Road and Middlesex- and the bestseller The Lovely Bones (the store had a buy 2, get 1 free sale going on at the time). I was utterly mystified. While Middlesex was at least entertaining, the other two were so bad that I could hardly get through them, I found myself skimming over long sections of prose, just to get the pain of reading over more quickly.

The Road was a typical dystopian post-apocalypse scenario with the catch here being- wait for it-- they don't specifically say that the conditions were caused by a nuclear explosion. Thus, we don't know for certain what caused the current situation- WWIII? A virulent disease? Space aliens? Do we care? Not really. Oh, and also, he doesn't use quotation marks. If you've seen Mad Max, you can guess not only the major plot elements but also probably a few of the more important scenes.

The Lovely Bones, while marketed as adult literature, is actually a novel written for teenaged girls. Complete with boys and acne and a parental divorce. Yes, the main character is dead, but once you get over that conceit the book is full of mawkish characters and tedious episodes of suburban life.

Is this the kind of tripe people want to read? At least Middlesex contains complicated characters and intricate plot twists. Personally, I thought the book dragged a bit in the last third, but perhaps I was just still reeling from the two previous episodes of literary bludgeoning that I'd just experienced.

Thankfully, I also came upon The Solitudes, by John Crowley. This is a re-release of a novel that was originally published in 1987 as the first of a four part cycle called Aegypt. This is not the first work by Crowley that I've read- his novel Little, Big is one of my favorites, and his collection of short novels called Otherwise has some real gems- but it does not disappoint. Crowley is a sci-fi fantasy writer- Little, Big won the prestigious World Fantasy Award for best novel- which is not a genre that I usually enjoy. Still, it's not the fantastic that draws me to him, but the purity of his writing. His novels are dense with history and I seem to spend an equal amount of time with Wikipedia as I do with the book itself. Little, Big takes place in present day upstate New York, but the 12th century German King Barbarossa plays a major role. Here in the solitudes we follow the young professor Pierce Moffet through the tumultuous 70's. Woven throughout this modern tale is the story of the 15th century featuring mathematician/astrologer John Dee, Italian monk and martyr Geordano Bruno, and a young struggling actor named Will Shakespeare.

Check out this exerpt. The character was unexpectedly waylaid (due to a mechanical failure on a greyhound bus) on a trip from NYC to a small college in upstate New York. He ended up spending the night in a small town, missing an interview but starting something more important:

"He would think of it often, in different ways and in different contexts; he had already begun to think of it in the frigid airless bus passing away. And- on city streets, still violent with summer, foul with loathsome summer; in his tower apartment, grown too large now as the suit of a wasted strveling; or when steeling himself for the task he now knew lay ahead- he would sometimes feel those scenes he had visted lying just behind him, a pool of golden light, so close that he was uncertain just how he had traveled from there to here: to here where he supposed he must now be for good, or as nearly for good as made no difference.

Unfortunately, The Solitudes is not really a stand-alone novel but truly the introduction of the series. Fortunately, the following three books are available, the final fourth novel having only been published in 2007. Unfortunately, I hear the rest of the story does not maintain the high standards set by this one. I'm betting they're better than The Lovely Bones, though.

Ode to Corvidae

2007-10-28T07:07:00.000-07:00

Where I am currently (temorporarily) living, they've got Magpies, Steller's Jays and Crows. I grew up with Steller's Jays- a pair of them nested outside my bedroom window all through high school and they acted as my 5 o'clock alarm. Here, they come right down to the back porch and scold the cat through the glass door. She ate their hatchlings this summer, and I'm convinced that, while they probably don't understand the details, they remember a greivous offense. Steller's Jays are named after one of my favorite naturlists, Georg Wilhelm Steller, who lived in the first half of the 18th century and left his name on a long list of animals in Eastern Russia and Western North America. His namesakes include the Steller Sea Cow (a now extinct 25' long 10 ton manatee-like creature that lived in the Behring Sea), the Steller Sea Lion (weighing in at 3 tons, they are the largest eared seal, found from Russia along Alaska to central California), the Steller Sea Eagle (the world's heaviest bird at 15-20lbs, found in Russia and Japan), Steller's Eider (a sea duck found in Russia and Alaska), Cryptochiton stelleri, the Gumboot Chiton (a giant- 13"- lumpy looking mullosc found along the shores of the Northern Pacific), and Artemisia stelleriana, a species of wormwood.

Anyway, back to the corvids. We had American Crows where I grew up as well, and they were a common sight by the side of the road or in parks and beaches. One time my dog caught a crow in the back yard. We were sitting in the living room and suddenly realized the sky was black with hundreds of crows (a "murder" of crows). There was the dog, crouched in the middle of the yard with an uninjured bird in her paws. She was frozen in fear. We called her in the house and eventually the birds dispersed. I have never seen so many birds at one time and I have no doubt they they would have soon begun to attack her and the results would not have been pretty.

They've got magpies here too- a crow sized bird and the prettiest corvid I've seen with their iridescent green tails and flashing wings. I've got no other experience with magpies, but they share the corvid wit and bravery, strutting along the street, throwing sidelong glances at cars and pedestrians.

My favorite of the corvids is the Common Raven. People often don't understand the difference between ravens and crows, and certainly from a distance they both simply look like a black bird. However up close or in comparison, the differences are striking. A mature Common Raven is between 22 to 27" in length, with a wingspan of 45 to 51"! Compare this to the crow which is 16-21" with a wingspan of 33-39". This is like mistaking a hawk with a pigeon. The raven's beak is much heavier and thicker than a crows as well. Ravens nest in groups (an "unkindness" or a "terror" of ravens) of up to 800 birds and are monogamous, sometimes for life. They have over 50 distinct vocalizations, sounding at various times like a gurgling toilet or a purring cat.

To the Native Americans where I live, Raven is a a trickster who brought fire to man and hung the sun and moon in the sky, he created lakes and rivers and taught man many tricks and skills for surviving in an unforgiving environment. However, in other cultures, raven is unmistakebly associated with evil. During the military invasions and plagues throughout Europe in earlier centuries, the raven dined on human corpses, and they apparently loitered near the sites designated for human executions. The word “ravenstone” means a place of execution in old English. The Germans have a word, “rabenaas,” meaning raven's carrion, denoting a person who should be hanged.

Mythology aside, corvids are certainly one of the most intelligent animals on the planet. Based on a brain-to-body ration, corvid brains are equal in size to a chimp or a dolphin and only slightly smaller than a human's. While observers have often seen crows using tools to accomplish tasks, a recent study found that crows can use multiple tools for complex jobs. Their ability to imagine possibilities and draw conclusions is apparently more highly developed than apes.

Like so many things in life, our familiarity with corvids has bred comtempt. We are so used to seeing crows at the dump or jays raiding the birdfeeder that we rarely even notice them anymore. Then, when you're least expecting it, a raven will fly right over your head, the beat of his wings heavy in your ears. You will be drinking your morning coffee and glance out the kitchen window to find the bright black eye of a magpie, fascinated with your ritual. Don't forget that we share this life with other creatures and we do not know what goes on behind their gaze. Don't fall into the trap of believing that there is nothing going on outside our walls.

Walking home

2007-10-27T09:29:00.000-07:00

Alces alces gigas, the Alaskan race of moose is the largest of all moose types- he stands 6.5' at the shoulder and can have antlers that span 6' across. Saw this fellow on the way home one day.

From Wikipedia:
A moose's body structure, with a large heavy body suspended on long spindly legs, makes these animals particularly dangerous when hit by motor vehicles. Such collisions are often fatal for both the moose and motorist. This has led to the development of a vehicle test in Scandinavia referred to as the "moose test" (Älgtest in Swedish, Elch Test in German). The term was invented by the Swedish motor magazine "Teknikens värld" for a test where the tested car needs to make a sharp S-turn at high speed. The term "moose test" came to common knowledge when Mercedes A-klasse badly failed the test and turned over. German reporters didn't see the relevance of the test, and the testers replied that that kind of maneuver was important when trying to avoid collisions with moose. The test was not referred to as moose test in Sweden prior to this incident, but simply as an evasion manoeuver test, intended to test the car's ability to perform an evasive manoeuver to avoid colliding with any obstacle suddenly occurring on the road. However, since the Swedish journalist talking to the German press didn't know what "evasive manoeuver test" would be called in German, he simply called it "Elch test" - which quickly spread in German media and then stuck. Generally, upon impact the bumper of the car will break the moose's legs. The main body of the moose will then collide with the windshield, often with disastrous effect to both motorist and animal. In a collision of this nature, a car's airbags may not deploy or be of much use if they do