I can’t remember how I learned to read. I don’t recall the teacher’s patience to help me sound out vowels and consonants. Nor the prompts to form these sounds into words. Was I encouraged at home by my parents? If so, there’s no memory. That process disappeared with time. Yet, the gradual step by step … More In the Oregon Hills
I dislike flying: the herding, the depressing bag of pretzels, and the claustrophobic cabin. It’s a perfect environment for disease transmission and my immune system can’t protect me. Yet, the opportunity to spend the holidays with our oldest son, my brother, and nieces and nephews compelled my wife and I to fly to the San … More Stanyan Street
Three of the last five years, my wife and I have Christmased in the San Francisco Bay Area. We visit our son, my brother, and a niece. Our routine is similar: movies every night and dinners at an eclectic collection of restaurants. We choose to stay in Oakland near the Bay Area Rapid Transit, or … More Oakland Noir
Early in the winter, successive storms sailed into Oregon. Frigid air stalled their advance and they dropped anchor in the Columbia River Gorge. Walking became difficult. Deep powder clogged the sidewalks and pedestrians were forced to use the street. There, danger lurked as traffic packed the snow and hid slicks of ice. As with most Northwest … More Family Matters …
Recently, my wife and I visited a U-pick blueberry farm in the upper Hood River Valley. Our son and granddaughter joined us to help with the harvest. Upon arrival, mourning doves crooned in the surrounding forest. A smear of clouds waltzed across the summer sky. An acre of mature bushes, loaded with ripe fruit, beckoned. … More Picking Blueberries
As usual, up at 4 AM on Mondays. I like to take my weekly steroids early. The plan is to avoid the first night’s insomnia. I re-supplied the wood stove, then napped on the couch. I awoke an hour later from an exquisite dreamless sleep and felt hot flashes from the drug. So it goes … More Hot Flashes And Cold Realities
We were late before we started. The pecking of my wife’s hiking poles on gravel tick-tocked away the time in Silver Falls State Park. We’d chosen to rent a cabin there for a mid-summer’s getaway. Our creaky bodies appreciate day hikes as opposed to backpacking, an activity for which our future is behind us. So, … More Silver Falls
I ran when I was younger the county roads of Hood River. From Trout Creek Ridge to Cooper Spur and Lost Lake to Lolo Pass, I crisscrossed the valley, high on endorphins, at 140 heart beats a minute. I ran loops around the rectangular blocks of apple, pear, and cherry orchards. I noted the seasons as … More Heat Wave
In December of 2002, an uninsured driver caused an accident that left my oldest son, Noah, paralyzed. He was 22. In the immediate aftermath, our grief knew no bounds. We searched for answers. But none existed. Our resolve hardened against the injury’s tyranny. We imagined fictitious recoveries. But these were just pantomimes of wishful thinking. … More Tender Mercies
The summer has been busy with family visits to Hood River. First, my wife’s youngest sister, Linda, arrived. She and her husband have government jobs overseas. They hope to eventually retire here, close to us. Their latest posting, however, is in Pakistan and a farewell peek at our new home seemed appropriate before departing. Then, … More A Busy Summer
