Light/Breezes

Light/Breezes
SUNRISE AT DEATH VALLEY-Photo by Tom Cochrun
Showing posts with label Charles Dickens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Charles Dickens. Show all posts

Monday, June 29, 2020

Monumental Times

   Lin Manuel Miranda told interviewer Lulu Garcia-Navarro we are "living in revolutionary times."
    The creator of Hamilton was on NPR reflecting on the film release of his award winning, historically successful Broadway smash.
     He hit upon a truth. 
     Our American upheaval and reckoning on race is more deeply nuanced than black and white. If I may suggest, a California accent in these days of change bears witness to deep complexity and leads us into a journey of discovery that should bring clarifying discovery to almost every point of view. 
LA Times Photo
         A sunglass wearing work crew removed this statue of an 18th Century Franciscan friar who led the building of the California mission system while the Spanish colonized this part of the US. Junipero Serra founded the San Luis Obispo mission in 1772.
       Three of the giant Sequoia trees in the eastern slope of the Sierras have become nameless. In the Sequoia, King's Canyon and Yosemite National parks, trees named for Robert E. Lee will no longer be identified as such in the parks, in tree census data, records or in publicity.
      I've made repeated visits to the spectacular groves and forests and have wondered how and why the trees were named.
      In unpacking that process we get a tighter view of the history of institutional or systemic racism.
      In 1875 Richard Field, a confederate lieutenant, named a tree after Lee in the Kings Canyon area before the breathtaking land along the King's River was a park.
      It wasn't until 1901 that a tree in Sequoia National Park got tagged the General Lee. John Broder, then the park concessionaire, gave it the name. Broder had confederate leanings and in 1937 formally dedicated the tree in a ceremony sponsored by the Daughters of the Confederacy.

       There was no good reason to name California trees for confederate rebels. There were no Civil War battles in California and the state provided gold to support the Union. California troops battled the confederacy in the New Mexico territory, built forts and military compounds to stop the rebels, and many California men went east to join the Union army.
       Like all things in history, it gets more complicated.

California was anti confederacy, anti slavery and anti-secessionist. 

        Here is where the notion of good guys and bad guys gets educated by fact. California Volunteers, regiments of infantry and cavalry, massacred native peoples in California, Oregon, New Mexico and other western regions to "secure" the land for the Union.
        This brings us back to a reality, that though it is a companion to Black Lives Matter, the genocide of native citizens is the United States' original and continuing sin. 
       The treatment of the sovereign residents is a story of genocide more than 500 years long. It was first practiced by Europeans colonizing the new world. As the American nation rose up, it too engaged in genocide. Millions of native citizens were murdered, killed in battles, slaughtered, poisoned, shoved off their lands, lied to by the government and abused since the age of discovery.
        As slavers stole human beings from Africa and the Caribbean, and forced them into labor, western expansionists, settlers, land developers, and then later, the US Army, railroad developers, and the full federal government continued to deny life, citizenship, and human dignity to first citizens of this land.

        So we circle back the grievance of other skin hues who see this moment in US history to tell the full backstory, and to seek validation and support. 
      The Mission at San Luis Obispo sent the men in orange shirts and sunglasses to move Junipero Serra to the basement. At a time when monuments, statues, memorials and public icons are under attack, the Catholic Church moved the Serra statue for safekeeping because his record and that of the church provides fuel for ire.
     Serra led the 18th century effort of the Catholic Church to build Missions and "convert" Native Americans to Catholicism. The Natives were abused, their own faith systems were banned, customs they had practiced for centuries were stopped, and many died. It was the practice of the Catholic Church where ever they "Missonized."
     
    The first grievance this nation should address is our atrocious, criminal and barbaric treatment of those who resided here first.
     I suspect most US citizens today are as ignorant as were our ancestors who participated in the murder and abuse of natives centuries ago, that we owe our form of government to the Iroquois. In 1754 Benjamin Franklin, depicted above, began suggesting that the Colonies adopt principles of the Iroquois Confederacy. At the time Iroquois nations came together to form a government based on peace, equity and the power of the "good minds."  Franklin persisted over the years and the Constitution we have owes its birth to the oldest North American system-the Iroquois Confederacy.
     The Cherokee could also have taught us a lesson. They were a matrilineal society and their men were equal. They governed by use of Council Houses, where men and women had equal voice.
      It is hard not to be outraged when one considers the brute force that devastated the first citizens was fueled by the spawn of European Court Society, Trading Companies, and the arrogance of wealth seeking more wealth, usually practiced by white men, insensitive to all views but their own and most certainly ignorant to the value of the cultures they maliciously and deceitfully destroyed.

   The anger being released now is simple to understand but some of the destruction and vandalism we witness is reminiscent of the Taliban or Isis.
    And there is this-Lana's perspective. She is an artist and when she sees a statue tumble, no matter how nefarious or political was the motive of the creation, she sees a work of art, the effort and creativity of an artisan being destroyed. Rage destroying creativity.
     I see no reason for a statue to a confederate anywhere on public display, but I think those that have been built can be brought down and used as tools of education. They can be retitled, new messaged, repurposed. Perhaps they belong in a museum where the truth is told and where they are not "celebrated."  I like to think how the curators of the National Museum of African American history might be able to repurpose them.

    There is value in memorials, even if we elevate and 
 celebrate other mere mortals, men and women who, as the saying goes, have "feet of clay." No one is without fault, but some have lived lives of historic value.
     There is a point at which we need to think. Before we become like the Taliban, we need reason and rationality of how to proceed. 
   Some are now trying to get the John Wayne Airport renamed! Really. Aren't there real battles to fight?

     
   What if some unimaginable disruptive change delivers society to the point where violence and war is so disparaged that it was tantamount to being outlawed and banned? Would we-could we, then begin to target other memorials.




    All decent and thinking people need to yell STOP when the legitimate movement of protest and outrage turns from being an assembly for the redress of grievances to mindless and mob driven, hysteric acts of violence or destruction. Good causes can be excessive. 
    We depart from the light when passion overtakes reason. Charles Dickens in A Tale of Two Cities wove a warning when the cries of "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity" became a dreadful cheer of bloodlust and beheadings. 

   
    There can be no untouchable, PC protected, hands off, "sacred" aspect of our history, or person, group, movement or   politics in this time of reckoning. No one has privilege. All voices should be heard. Grievances need be protested.
     We will not change our history, but we need to know it honestly, all of it, so we can make a future more honest, fair and equitable than our past.

      When Lin Manuel Miranda spoke with Lulu Garcia-Navarro it was a snap shot of the best of who we can be; young American citizens, children of immigrants, bright, creative, exploring the realm of ideas and embracing the American dream.
      "...in this moment right now, what I'm seeing is the language of revolution everywhere. And so the language of revolution present in this show from 244 years ago is being felt again in this different way by the Black and Brown future of this country reckoning with what we want the future of this country to be going forward."  
        Lin Manuel Miranda to Lulu Garcia-Navarro on NPR June 28, 2020

       Stay safe, take care of each other.

       See you down the trail.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Bastille -Throwback Revolution and...

Madame Defarge is not here
   Olea Farms a major olive grower and producer celebrates the owner's French heritage and Bastille Day, July 14, with a gentle gathering amidst the olive trees and an oleander grove.
     A specialty is pomme frites done in their olive oil. They are the center piece of buffet that features locally produced nibbles and snacks, local being the Templeton and Paso Robles area.



    A lovely day and without the zeal and excess that followed original Bastille Day in 1789.
     Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, as was the chant of the French revolution remain noble objectives, but if you recall history things got a bit out of hand.
     Soon after the storming of the Bastille a revengeful blood lust led to the over use of "the national razor which shaves close," the guillotine. 
the incite ap
     Let me incite for a moment. If you recall Charles Dicken's A Tale of Two Cities think of Madame Defarge as a surrogate for Donald Trump. She was full of resentment and enmity toward the royals and the aristocracy and fueled an anger that grew uncontrollable. The symbolism of "the spilling of the wine" for the blood that was to flow. She led and became the symbol of an unlimited hatred and evil. It was the psychology of the "mob rule" personified. 
     Trump may or may not be a racist, bigot and xenophobe. One can make a case either way, but it is clear that his language and "thoughts" fuel racism, bigotry and xenophobia. There is much about him that earns the label of mob leader.
      As noted previously, Trump has rallied a federation of angry people. Not all, but some of that number are racists, losers, many with no appreciation or knowledge of history, nor a respect for diversity. And there are the mouthbreathers, perfect kindling for a mob fire. 
    It would be illuminating to read a Dicken's description of Trump and his followers. Short of that there is Defarge and the mobs of Saint Antoine, and those echoes and footsteps of lurking evil and the night of the shadows.
     We can hope the Dickens classic is not a foreshadowing.  No, we choose to go with the self applied filter and simply enjoy a gentle afternoon in the groves. We forget, selectively, even the struggles of a divided nation at the birth of our own revolution. But we will cast a wary eye on Cleveland, and we will listen to and watch the foot steps from there to November.
     But for now, Cheers !

     See you down the trail.

Thursday, December 25, 2014

The Best of the Season and The Best Turkey Sandwich

…AND ALL THE BEST TO YOU
Sunrise on Pineridge-Cambria Ca.
    The light has broken into our dark world and for a few hours at least there is a greater sense of peace, joy and hope.
    Tiny Tim, of the Dickens Christmas Carol is my most enduringly favorite character of this season. Of all the secular players, it is the innocence, hope and purity of the little lad that best aggregates this season of Advent.
    The season is full of touchstones that connect with memories. These old village houses were already well used when Lana was born in 1946. There are newer village scenes, but few with this much soul. Krisin, our eldest and spending her first Christmas with us in almost a decade, requested that her mom "set up the village."
THE TURKEY SANDWICH
    Christmas 1967 is a particularly nice memory.  I drove home to Indianapolis from my college job in a snow storm on Christmas eve. I needed to make the 60 mile return trip before sunrise so I could be back at work to sign on a radio station. Before I ventured out into the pitch black of 4AM Christmas morning, Mom gave me a sack and told me to have it for my Christmas dinner.  It was a turkey sandwich with a side of her unique potato dressing and a piece of pecan pie.  
    The snow of the night before continued in the pre-dawn and by the time I arrived those 60 miles away, the roads were deep and so were driveways.  I was supposed to work from 7am to noon. However as the morning continued other staff members called to say they were "snowed in" and I'd need to cover for them.  Being the junior member of the staff, a college kid who needed the hours and work I restrained myself from reminding them I had just driven an uncleared state highway and then county roads to get to the rural radio studio. We were a daylight only station, meaning at sunset, I signed it off and headed home.
    Home was a pretty typical college apartment. A bedroom, small living room and tiny kitchen over a garage. A television was not in my budget. Entertainment, other than studying, was a hi fi turntable with those detachable speakers and a nice table top radio.
     It took a while to get into town, across the campus and to my apartment, dark and cold.  I called my parents and spoke with them and family members who were getting ready for a second round of Christmas dinner. I wished them all the best and they all wished that I could be there.  I turned on the radio and found a Christmas special being aired on WCFL out of Chicago.  It was a creative blend of music, and hijinks of a very talented air staff, lead by Ron Britain, a master of voices and put ons. It was essentially the sort of thing that would air only on a holiday when it was assumed the only people listening to the radio where those who were shut in or who were without family or friends around. I was the perfect audience and the program was the perfect Christmas night gift.  As I listened, I opened a beer, put a paper towel on the table as my table cloth, arrayed the dressing on a paper plate, added the sandwich and pie. The wind whipped around the drafty windows, but I was warmed from the heart out.  Mom's care package was all I needed and that Turkey Sandwich may have been the best ever!
THROWBACK CHRISTMAS
     1956, Muncie Indiana and my dad's three sons show off our favorite gifts.  Little Jim liked that Drum. John is showing a view master and I couldn't wait to give that new basketball a go. This was a time when the hand me down jeans, from older cousins, had plenty of "growth room."  
Sweet memories.
NATURE'S ORNAMENT

MERRY CHRISTMAS 
AND/OR
THE VERY BEST OF THE SEASON TO YOU!

  See you down the trail.

Monday, July 14, 2014

AND WE AVOIDED THE GUILLOTINE

 MADAME DEFARGE WOULD NOT BE PLEASED
   Oh how the queen of revenge would spin if she knew how so many of us choose to celebrate Bastille Day.
    The celebrants above, Larry, Mary Margret, Tom and Lana, cases in point, have reveled in the delights of France and by some force of nature have been drawn to the American Provence'. But there are limits and so in form from which Madame DeFarge and the Jacques' would recoil as decadent, we civilized the process.  After all who wants to toast the Great Terror which followed the storming of the Bastille?  If you are lost I refer you to either Dicken's Tale of Two Cities, or a precursory read of the French Revolution.  
     Being an artful and adventurous crowd we worked our way into the Paso Robles appellation to take up residence at an Olive Farm with true French management.  Loyal they are to their history, Bastille Day was celebrated with a light feast beneath the spreading Oleander blooms and gracious shade of Olive and Mulberry trees. Wine? Yes. And a never ending supply of Pommes Frites, done in olive oil of course.
      Sun kissed, blessed by breeze, beauty and American oenology, Bastille day was recorded as probably Thomas Jefferson would have appreciated.
     And just to show good form, the merry party meandered to a nearby vintner of Cal-Italia wines.  Salute! A votre sante! Cheers.
       After such international merriment a bit of the breeze along the Cambria coast was a sweet tonic. 
       Liberte', Ã©galité, fraternité!  Noble still, though easier in notion than nation. 
       To history, then….
    
      See you down the trail.

Monday, May 26, 2014

THE REMEMBERING TIME-AS GOOD AS DICKENS-DO YOU HAVE THE PATIENCE?

DECORATE AND THEN PLAY
     Summer slips in on us, behind a time of remembering and there is a reassurance in that somehow. 
     While we are bout Memorials, paying respect and remembering, we find ourselves smack in the middle of summer diversions.  Picnics, parties, pool or lake time, firing up the grill, breaking out summer gear and wardrobe all seem to get started over this stretch when May morphs into June. As a kid we seemed to slide from what we called "Decoration Day" into full tilt summer. I wonder how many modern families visit a cemetery, or pay homage to ancestors in some formal way. For those of a certain age it was as though we transitioned by reflecting in a manner that linked finality and perpetuity with the full scale pleasure of life, captured in that special zest that is a kid's summer vacation. It was a nice rhythm.
                                          
A PIECE OF DICKENS
A MOMENT OF PERSPECTIVE
   Chateau and hut, stone face and dangling future, the red stain on the stone floor, and the pure water in the village well-thousands of acres of land-a whole province of France-all France itself-lay under the night sky, concentrated into a faint hair-breadth line.  So does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star.  And as mere human knowledge can split and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue of every responsible creature on it."
                From A TALE OF TWO CITIES-Charles Dickens
    

THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF PIECES
  No, nothing wrong with your eyes or the photograph.  The 
pixalated look is a product of the the way it is, Legos.
   We harvested these images during a recent trip to the Naples Bontanical garden.  As many as 40-50 thousand pieces are used in the creations.




  See you down the trail.

Saturday, January 4, 2014

CATS IN BOX, PENTATONIX, ARTS BUILDING MEMORIES & A BEACH WARM UP-THE WEEKENDER

THIS IS MORE THAN CURIOSITY
    Hemingway and Joy love boxes. A container from a trip to our "big box" store was temporarily put in the garage, pending it's filling with Christmas lights.  We didn't move quickly enough.These two rascals decided to encamp there, together! Put a box in the garage and immediately a curious cat is inspecting it from the inside.
DAYS OF MEMORY
    Our friend Lew sent along a summer scene of the Arts Building Terrace at Ball State University. It's a place of special significance to Lana and me.  Her art classes were in this hall as were my political science courses. I addressed a
throng of students who filled the lawn at an early Earth Day celebration and spoke to another crowd while running as a class officer candidate.  
    This was also a green that filled with sun and nap takers, lunch breakers, and romance makers.  It is also a gorgeous building and sits as a boundary to what was once the center of the campus. Could it really have been that long ago?!
                             A PARTING MELODY
   Charles Dickens was right.  Regardless of faith or belief, we should keep Christmas in our heart all year.  Here's a unique take on a seasonal classic.  Enjoy
Cheers!
A TRIP TO SHAMEL BEACH
    As many of you suffer through winter's icy blast, we offer
a few moments of light and sea from California's central coast at Cambria's Shamel Park beach.


























   Hope this warmed you a bit and perhaps evoked memories of land without snow and ice.

    See you down the trail.