In the season of waiting....

 

        There was a time when it all seemed so right. Don't we hold dearly to some shred of those hopes, even now? It is the season.

      Jim, with the drum, gone at 27. John, with the camera, gone at 33. Even still they wait with me, through another season of anticipation and watching and the seemingly eternal passion of yearning. Those days on Muncie's South Ebright and Ft Wayne's Rose Lane, Colson Drive, or the cold drafty year in the old farmhouse in Cumberland and the "new" house on Lawnhaven visit again, Christmas ghosts, like snow around the foggy lamp post. 

     With so many of others we've learned to invite losses and disappointments to our hearth. It's a good thing, to remember, to reflect, better even, sometimes, with tears. I think it all gets framed up somehow in a hall of time. We deck the halls, with joys of the past. We sip melancholy, we wade into time, and smile at old dreams. 

    We get to an age when those missing from our table, or those who are slowly departing somehow fill us with feeling, a muted trumpet, crying. The young fill us with cheer and kindle our aging imaginations.

    Those who celebrate this as a holy season lean into the circular, recurring nature of it all. More than catharsis, it is like the birth we celebrate. This season is a cosmic in-breaking, a moment poignant, which scatters. Past, present, future fuse, and then go again to their own places in the unconditional, the unending, that beyond the names we give it.

    We wait, all of us, for a spark, that moment when everything truly is right. Out of it, we come away, again, with another shred of hope, held dearly. It gets us by. 

    I live on a ridge along the Santa Lucia mountains, a coastal range that nestles our village between the rocky bluffs of the Pacific. There's a lot of space and few people so it's easy to give over to my interest to see what's up with Mother Nature in this time of winter fallow. I went for a drive.

On grazing slopes, new members of herds. Rain season has just begun so green is still to come. Furrows are laid, so plans are underway. The vines await

    The tidal currents keep their solstice approaching rhythm.

    The week before Christmas and it seems even the land is waiting.

This is the western edge of the US. As I look east we face culture shift and political uncertainty. It is a time for vigilance. 

This season heralds a better way. Goodwill, Joy and Peace will benefit all. We wish those for you, all that your heart can hold. 

See you down the trail. 

   

A FEW JABS AT THE COMING DARKNESS

 

                            "The voice of sanity is getting hoarse,"

        Irish poet Seamus Haney said as he observed a war of soul, "the troubles."

                "Cut it loose or let it drag you down,"

        Bruce Springsteen wrote in Darkness at the Edge of Town, seeing the advance of nihilism. 

        Admonitions, across cultures, with divergent nexus points, but warnings, relevant still.

        Culture, soul, belief, enshrouded in a deepening darkness.

        Americans live with competing realities. It is a madness. There is no good in such a state.

            "Lives on the line-where dreams are found or lost."

                                                        Bruce Springsteen

            Who gains? Who loses?

        Many of us find pronouncements of "existential threats" wearing, but we must listen. We live with a serial "What If " pointed at our temple, loaded and cocked.

        What if the Supreme Court reverses Roe V. Wade?

        The court will be dangerously out sync with the American population, and even with policies of Catholic nations.

        What is the calculus of damage when the nation's highest court loses touch and behaves as an extremist moving against the beliefs and wishes of the majority?

        What other rights might then be targeted?

          Venality and deception were weaponized and turned against the republic and so it is true Democracy is under threat.

            The republican party is an agent of destruction of all the American experience has been. 

            Recent findings of the January 6th Investigation and independent journalists put it out there in black and white. The Trump regime tried to execute a coup. We knew that in our gut. We know that now by fact.

            The Kaiser foundation reports Republicans make up a majority of unvaccinated people. Unvaccinated people are those who are dying and who are spreading the virus and who are crowding hospitals to the breaking point.

            Too frequently we've heard about those about  to be put on a ventilator asking for a vaccination, only to be told it is too late. 

            Truth, fact and political sanity are under attack. 

               "...where tongues lie coiled, as under flames lie wicks"

                    Seamus Heaney  Whatever You Say Say Nothing

            What if?

         The "Troubles" of Northern Ireland were/are deep by generation, belief, politic and sense of identity. 

        Heaney observed it and withstood pressures so as to clarify, to seek rationality and to uphold humanity. 

        Bold honesty in the face of madness.

        

        Rationality, clarity and the advocacy of humanity are difficult to find in the US. The nation, tired from pandemic and the upending of all that is prized as normal, is angry, self- absorbed, and failing to think clearly. Broadcast and social media are contributing factors. Few people read. Fewer research, analyze and think. 

        Frenzied attention spans overlook a stability. Biden's approval rating does not give credit to the historic accomplishments of a first year. Historians, already hail the achievement and note it has been done without a real majority and while cleaning up after the debacle. 

        The pushback on the mask mandate is good for the system. I'm not convinced a President has the authority to insist companies do what he asked. I applaud his intention, but as an institutionalist,  I question that use of power. It is good to let the body politic argue about it.          

        Like junk yard rats, republicans feast on the flack, while their constituency dies of the virus. Sad and tragic facts and it should not be so.

         Economic and market strength, low unemployment, the recovery acts, the infrastructure programs, the massive vaccination totals, the steady hand at the tiller of the ship of state, the decency, the humanity, the display of traditional American values, and a genuine humility are all there.

        If we are to prevent the darkness from descending and snuffing the American beacon, America as hope, work is to be done. 

        The voice of sanity, hoarse or not, must make itself heard,  in the darkness. Reason, rationality and humane action radiate as powerful light. 

                                "History says, Don't hope

                    On this side of the grave,

                    But then, once in a lifetime

                    The longed-for tidal wave

                    Of justice can rise up,

                    And hope and history rhyme."

                                Seamus Haney from The Cure at Troy

        Dear readers, please accept this as this a Christmastide ghost story.  

        See you down the trail.

        

        

            

JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE...

   It's funny how a fragment of memory launches itself and then sends you down a lane of thought, maybe even a rabbit hole.

   I can't tell you why, but one of my great aunts singing Blue Birds Over The White Cliffs of Dover sprang full bloom into the day. My great aunts, Martha, Anna, and Sarah were, like my grandmother Mary, born in England and arrived in the US as young girls and teens. 

    The song was made popular by an English singer, Vera Lynn and it was one of the most popular tunes of WWII.

    I'm a post war boomer, but I remember hearing them sing that tune as I was toddler in their care when my parents were out or on a trip. It was soothing to them, an assurance that regardless of the present problem or crisis, it would all work out. And apparently it did the same for this former little tyke.

I think they sometimes sang it to me when I was having tyke travails. 

   Maybe it's the winter clouds decorating our Santa Lucia mountain range, or the full moon rise during the light of evening.

        Maybe it's my hopes and prayers for a friends who are struggling against serious health challenges. Perhaps my optimism fueled by my trust in our democratic republic's sense of justice and the power of tenacious investigation and judicious outcomes. Perhaps it was reading of the winter storms and seeing snow blanket Arizona like something from North Dakota in photos from my friend Bruce. (His blog link appears in the column to the right.)

    But there it is, Blue Birds Over The White Cliffs of Dover, in my head, evoking memories of assurance, certainly as it must have done for millions as a world war against great evil ensued.

     Funny, how time's jewels come back, often just in time.

       By the way, I think the drag net is tightening around the great fraud and stooge. His poison will come to an end, "just you wait and see"

       "...I remember well as the shadows fell

           the light of hope in their eyes..."

        "...there'll be love and laughter

          And peace ever after

          Tomorrow when the world is free..."

    

    

    Be as young of heart as you can.

    See you down the trail.

CORRECTIONS

 night work in Morro Bay

resembling the freeway

a light in the darkness

   The moment I saw this photo by Jim Wilson of the New York Times, I wanted to share it. Christmas season has come to even Santa Rosa California where normal is a word without relevance this season. 

twilight hopes

    There was a time when people were sure dreams could become real, that visions were visited upon souls and that spirits could roam. It was in the gloaming, in the twilight, that narrowing distance between day and night, thought to be a time of magic. Hope and fear nestling together, dependent on the other.

after the prelude

     Who could expect a tech dependent culture, a society risen on the muscle of science and fed on commerce would find itself stumbling into a wilderness, shredding itself by means of an inner, bipolar war, voluntarily blinding itself by a refusal to see, ignoring truths and exercising meanness while celebrating venality.

in the time before

    Those of old could never know what would come with the morning, nor how might they survive the mysteries in the dark. How weakened would they be by the fear that built in the night.

who shall we be?

      Women and men who deserve our respect tell us we are divided and in a cultural war-rural against urban, those with higher educations and those without, fractured by economic class, riven by ideologies, splintering into enclaves, separated by expectations.

      Indeed, we are like those ancient hopes and fears, nestled together on the fulcrum. 

      We watch as an executive branch and federal establishment implodes and disintegrates, departments being dissembled, with no skilled hand on the tiller and scores of important positions unfilled. The legislative branch is locked in an insular world though in a free fall decomposition. 
     Integrity and decorum are abandoned. It is dangerous and foolish to ignore the lessons of 240 years.
      Perhaps you read the remarks of General Michael Hayden, former director of the CIA

      "If this is who we are or who we are becoming, I have wasted 40 years of my life. Until now it was not possible for me to conceive of an American President capable of such an outrageous assault on truth, a free press or the first amendment."

      It is the fair axiom of politics to ask, are we better than we were? Are we better off, are we a more united United States after a year of trump than we were at the end of Obama? Is anything better than it was?
       Here's a link to good and brief assessment of the trump year from Foreign Policy Magazine.

       Are we living into Shakespeare's Richard III lament-

"Now is the winter of our discontent..."

      Who shall we be when the sun returns to its fullness? Who shall emerge in the primaries of the spring and who will lead the challenge or defense in the campaigns of fall? Who will have the power to turn the votes-rural or urban, the educated or those who are not, those who carry tiki torches and spew or those who invite diversity? 

       Some hope for candidates of vision, compassion, integrity, pragmatism and strength to clean, correct, make right and restore. Others see no fault nor sins nor madness in the regime. We are divided. We enter this winter on the throes of fear, discord and anger. 
       The older I get the more I am convinced it was ever such. We can destroy or we can heal. I am of the camp that looks for light, a peace out of the chaos. Be alert. Watch with hope and live that way.

        See you down the trail.



       

       
       

      

       

COULD IT LAST FOREVER?

HOPE NEVER DISAPPOINTS

Awaiting the Light

December Sunrise in Cambria

   Our good friend Jim asked the other night, "Can you imagine how our parents felt? The Depression happened, a world war was underway, millions were being killed, everything was affected and no one knew how it would turn out."

    Our world, with Isis, mass shootings, discord and division and changing nature falls into a perspective doesn't it? "Was ever such!" There has always been trouble, trials and tribulations. Isn't that why this season is so precious? One need not be a Christian to find a cause for cheer, merriment, hope and joy at Christmas time.That's part of the magic.

      That magic was at work as we sat in historic Santa Rosa Chapel. Listening to the rich strings and angelic voices I thought how wonderful it would be if the moment could go on forever.

      Frequent readers may recall this candle lit night in the 145 year old Chapel on a hill overlooking Cambria's east village is a definition of sublime. Enveloped by sound and the good cheer of those fortunate enough to crowd in, something is triggered. It is as though this night is a portal to all good Christmas memories and feelings.

      It happens now as Bruce Black begins with hilarious tales of his little grandmother and then launches into his annual recitation of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, I hear a second audio track, my fathers deep voice and inflection as he reads the story to my brothers and me. It is a memory cell in my brain. I love to hear it, again.

     The finest gift of the evening is Judith Larmore's Christmas Reflections. 

      She grew up in my mother's Indiana hometown and recounts places, things and feelings of home. This year's story, A Handsome Marine at the Door was exquisite and  again dampened my cheeks. Happy tears that added luster to the glow of candles. As Lana said her description of Christmas displays and the wooden floors in the Five and Dime take you back. She even made the glistening of snow and icy Indiana winters appealing. As Judith noted it's just not fair, the evening must end.

      So much of the transcendence of the evening is the music, simply world class.  Vocalists Molly Pasutti and Helen Robillard. 1st Violin Brynn Albanese, 2nd Violin Mario Ojedo, Viola Peter Jandula, Cello Grant Chase, Bass Ken Hustad, 1st Flute Suzanne Duffy, 2nd Flute Maria Apostoles,

Harp, Hammered Dulcimer, Button Accordion Jill Poulous. Guitar Justin Robillard, Banjo and Guitar Eric Williams, Bells Tim Novoa, Mandolin, Tenor Recorder Grand Chase. Cambria resident and composer John Neufeld provided a special arrangement of Pie Jesu. 

    I repeat myself, but I wish everyone could experience the unique magic that happens in this little chapel in the Santa Lucia mountain and sea side village of Cambria. It is an evening that should never end. I suspect that is the kind of thing Charles Dickens had in mind when he said we should keep Christmas in our heart all year.

    The madness of war, hate, the uncertainty of change, the suffering of loss will not abate, but neither will hope or chains of memories made on nights like this.

     "God rest ye merry folk, let nothing ye dismay."

     See you down the trail

    

WHEN YOU WALK THROUGH A STORM

IN A TENDER SEASON

   The Back Story

     Huddled together as a group of freshmen we thought it was an odd order. As new pledges we were told that in a few weeks we would be required to sing WHEN YOU WALK THROUGH A STORM. Really?  Rodgers and Hammerstein in 1965? The Beatles, Rolling Stones and 60's Rock was more our tune. But we learned it. We sang it and 50 years later those once reluctant college boys have repeatedly drawn strength from those lyrics.

When you walk through a storm

keep your chin up high

and don't be afraid of the dark.

At the end of a storm

is a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a Lark.

Walk on through the wind,

Walk on through the rain

Though your dreams be tossed and blown,

Walk on

With hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone,

You'll never walk alone.

THE APPLICATION

    This time of year is an emotional fountain. Difficult and taxing in the best of times and health, but crushing and bruising for those who struggle.

      Someone dear to us has suffered a horrible betrayal and a loss of dreams.  She hurts, so do we  and we know so do countless others for many reasons.  Loss, illness, change, devastation and fear also stalk this season of joy, merriment and memories.  

       As we usher in a season of light and hope, we offer these as an early gift and just maybe a guiding light.

  

 This year as we encounter realities we would not seek,

we find solace also in the continuum of life.

   One may draw from the quiet wisdom of age and stamina evident in nature.

   Moments of serenity and memory.

  Storms in nature and in human emotion pass, in time.

   On the other side are beginnings, buds of newness and often a renewal.

  Walk on, with hope in your heart.  You'll never walk alone.

  See you down the trail.

EARTH SMILES

E'lan Vital

    Spring is a magical season. Many see it as symbolic of hope and renewal. We've paid special notice since the ancients organized rituals to mark its impact. 
    Henri Bergson, the French Philosopher wrote of what he called E'lan Vital-the dynamic force of creativity and life. Spring seems full of that expanding and unstoppable newness and energy.
    For some of you who suffered a long winter, the celebration is probably more dear. Wherever you read this, happy spring!

    See you down the trail.

NEW YEAR

A GLIMMER

       This is the second cup of adrenaline laced hope in this great season.  A week after Christmas and the season of joy comes the New Year, the makeover of all makeovers, when all that is hoped for is possible, at least for this season and sometimes that is good enough to create momentum.

       Dream it now, and in the winter to come, do it.

FOR OLD TIMES

       Excuse me as my Scots blood turns me to sentimental recall of Robert Burns anthem

       "...and there's a trusty hand my friend 

       and give us a hand of thine!

       and we'll take a right good will draught,

       for auld lang syne."

       Linking here to last year's post with 6 versions of Auld Lang Syne

       Take your choice of style, just have a happy ending and joyous beginning.

       Thank you for your readership this year.

       Be safe and be well.

       See you down the trail.