“We are always here and always leaving. We are water, like the river, just passing through.” David Budbill I walk the waterfront. A damp wind batters me. The normal crowd is absent. Too cold. An armada of scoters dive near the shore, oblivious to the temperature and rain. Above me, convoys of geese traverse the … More Under the Dying Stars
While away, I worried about my cat. Would his neurotic personality unravel during our 37 day absence? Five families took turns feeding him. The grandkids brushed his shaggy coat. He made new friends. It took a village, but he thrived. I fretted, too, about the yard birds. Who would feed them? Not to worry. They … More Organized Chaos
We bought umbrellas. We enjoyed the rain. Mist glazed our cheeks. She wore gloves. I didn’t. We walked. There’s purpose to my wife’s gait; the caregiver. I mosey without focus; the patient. I strive to keep pace. I do, barely. Her will pulls me forward. Along the Willamette, on Waterfront Park, we marvel at the … More How I Spent My Winter Vacation
I’ve been off treatment from my cancer, multiple myeloma, since June. I needed a break. I took the risk. I was walking a tight rope, but I felt good. Subsequent blood labs show a steady progression of the cancer markers. I figured that sometime, around right now, I would have to get back on the … More Back on the Juice
“Sometimes, you don’t know where you are going until you get there.” Anonymous In August my wife and I drove to Manzanita on the Oregon coast. We were accompanied by her sister and brother-in-law. Our mutual objective was to escape the inland heat. Each morning we walked Neahkanie Beach. A haiku of fog shrouded Cape … More Just Coasting Along
“The earth is not just the environment we live in. We are the earth and we are always carrying her within us.” Thich Nhat Hahn In the early 1970s, I lived alone in a one bedroom cottage in a pocket of private land within the confines of Yosemite National Park. I worked at the Wawona … More Jimbo, A Reminiscence
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 …
Good Blood, Bad Blood 