HE KNOWS WHO I AM

BEING THERE

    Joy in this season, or any other, is seeing parents or family members watching their kids in chorales, plays, skits, ballets, concerts and the other performances that make this season so merry.

       Love is modeled best whenever it happens and we get to absorb a large gift of it during the holidays. Seeing proud parents and those little communications from kid back to them is a heart-warming information loop. It's good for all of us.

DECEMBER FLIGHT AT MORRO BAY

CHRISTMAS GHOSTS

  Dickens demonstrated for us how Christmas ghosts play a role.  Don't you think memories morph into a kind of apparition?  I think of old stories as becoming a kind of ghost of times passed. 

THE GRIZZLED VET

     You may need a context for this.  

      

Bruce Taylor, a.k.a. CatalystDecember 10, 2012 5:22 PM

I would just like it recorded here that, in spite of my post recently, I have never known this man nor do I know him now.

A Story AS Response

        That goofy shot from the beach where swim suit and the beach chair matched the color of peppers on the grill prompted the above comment.  You would know this if you read the comments below the post.

        Despite the denunciation re-printed above, his recent post about our long friendship, renegade forays at political conventions and other carrying on is mostly true, as either of us remember those years of "pedal to the metal" television news.

         It started in radio.  My first day on the metro news staff of the 50 thousand watt "Voice of News" found me assigned to shadow the veteran Bruce Taylor.  It was the pre computer era and the old line station had truly been the Voice of News for the state capitol. Unimaginable today, our radio news staff was larger than one or two of the television stations in the city.  It competed with the  three, then two, daily newspapers to break stories.

         I had been hired to work 3PM to Midnight, starting my day by picking up city government and/or state house leads before sources left their office or the bars some retreated to. Then I moved into our cubicle at the "cop shop" to cover police, sheriff, fire and emergency news.  At some point in the evening I went back to the studio where I wrote and produced the 15 minute 10:00 PM news.  I was to learn that newscast had thousands of listeners, many of whom had listened for years.  Back then people would get what they needed from our cast and didn't need to wait up until the late local TV news.

        Taylor had been working that beat for a while. I'd heard him on the air.  He wrote great copy, used a lot sound in stories, had a very professional big market style. Here I was, the new kid from a smaller market getting my orientation from the old vet.

        He wore a pin stripped shirt, mint green as a I recall, and an orange patterned tie, loose at the neck, as he sauntered into the news room.  His jacket was on his finger over his shoulder, he carried a cup of coffee, a cigarette clamped in his teeth.  His face and eyes said this was a guy who you could not bull shit.

      Our boss, a legendary radio news man and ex sailor, who swore better than the best, said something about "glad he could make it!" 
      "It was one of those kind of nights,"  Taylor shot back. 
       He looked to me like a guy who probably was a veteran of those "kind of nights."   
      I was a year out of college and had worked radio news in a medium sized factory town.  I'd been around a little bit, but I knew this guy Taylor was from the major leagues in being around.  

      We'd been dispatched to a north side shopping mall where a works project had changed the flow of water and several shops had been flooded.  It's hard not to be impressed by a guy who smokes, drinks coffee, talks on the two way radio and drives like a bat out of hell simultaneously.  
       Heading to our first assignment I thought a couple of things; man, this new job is going to be a blast!  And what a cool dude Taylor is.  He even liked jazz. That was a start to a friendship that for many years existed in those famous letters he wrote of.

      So, let him deny knowing me now, but let me tell you this.  Lana and I showed up in Phoenix one year for our periodic visit.  I was surprised when Bruce met us at the airport.

        "I thought you had to work," I said.

        "I quit.  They didn't give me the weekend off, so screw em!"

         We had a wonderful weekend up in Zane Grey country and created another story or two, as we always seem to do.

        Some time we should tell you about the Democratic mid term convention in the Kansas City landmark Muehlebach Hotel.  Here's the teaser-Bruce, a friend who is now a respected broadcast executive, a woman who ran for congress and I find our way into the deep innards of the old hotel.  It was a portion of a floor that had been walled off and had not been remodeled as the rest of the hotel had been.  It was a kind of 1940's pastiche of old hotel in decline. We were in a Felliniesque scene. It looked like an old conference room, now a storage area of dated furniture and other discarded stuff on the way to being junk.  

         Cutting to the chase-Taylor is jamming away on an old piano, clunking out a version of Sentimental Journey. The lady is singing, someone is pounding on a chair bottom like a drum and someone is trying to modulate the blast of a fire extinguisher to ape a trumpet when we are suddenly interrupted in our dusty jam session, by a Secret Service contingent. The lead guy asks "Can you tell me what's going on here?"

         All of that was early in the evening. It gets more interesting when Hubert Humphrey and George Wallace work into our evening.

        Don't believe for a moment what he wrote above!

See you down the trail.

       

AS GOOD AS IT GETS & A LITTLE COLOR

EXTRAORDINARY

     An exquisite evening- Strings in the Chapel with the voices of Jude and Ra Johnstone, the writing of Judith Larmore and the traditional "T'was the night..." from Bruce Black. This California village was at its creative best.

       A deep star field wrapped around the candle lit Chapel on the crest of the hill presiding over the east village. A garland of sparkling luminescence cloaked the shrub in front of the white wood and the walk way. The  shimmery glow on the top of the hill beckoned Cambrians who made the steep pilgrimage. A mellow spirit filled the fresh air, rich with pine and hints of the sea.

      143 years of community mingled with those in place on this night; extraordinary players-violins, cello, viola, harp, guitar and the villagers, anticipating the magic of a special night, unique in a settlement of talent, authenticity and eccentricities.

     And powerful the music was.  Young Ra Johnstone's a capella opening of Amazing Grace prompted tears and lumps in the throat which only intensified when her accomplished mom, Jude, joined in.  The mood was set.  Virtuoso string performances of classic, traditional,  contemporary music and carols--poetry and the vivid time shifting story and message from Judith as the bow on the gift of this special night. This little village tucked beneath Monterey Pines between the Pacific and the Santa Lucia Mountains is accustomed to the best from California players. The candle lit second Saturday in December, in the acoustically charmed chapel, is something even more.

     I wish everyone could have sipped of this extraordinary night of flickering light, strings, voices and memories on a Christmas watch where 143 Advent seasons have been greeted.

Photo Courtesy of Santa Rosa Chapel -Cambria Ca.

   

MATCHING COLORS

Photo by Lana Cochrun. Taken a few seasons ago on Sanibel Island Florida.

     Sorry, I was just struck by the similarity of color.

     See you down the trail.

THE WEEKENDER- That time...

Merriement

     Merriment and good cheer are afoot. Smiles and greetings abound.

A Variation
My dad, a WWII vet and a big band dance era fan enjoyed Como and loved this...

       

hospitality night

   The Cambria American Legion post offers free hot dogs and hot chocolate and a warm fire.

  If you read this elsewhere-hospitality night is when locals graze their way through the east and west village merchants with stops along the way, most offering food and or drink.  It is a bazaar of tastes and mingling.  A social evening and high spirits.

     COMING SOON

Zebras at the Pacific

Next week.

You need to be a certain age to understand......

     Laughing at memories today with Paul, another media vet.  Crystal radios-those tiny little crystal rocks that we would run a hair like strip over until we found a frequency or signal, heard through uncomfortable old ear phones-nothing like the ear buds of this generation or ear phones of the boomer youth.  We recall hard, plastic and uncomfortable pieces to hold to the ear for a faint radio signal.  

     Tis the season for memories and mirth.  

     See you down the trail.

SOUND THINKING

WHAT'S A REPUBLICAN TO DO

      An advantage of a life in journalism is friends from every political persuasion.  My Republican friends have been singing the blues, but one fellow in particular says the party is likely to be locked out of the White House for many years.  I'm not so sure of that, but I agree that some of the self loathing is on target.

      Recent polls show most Americans blame Republicans for the self imposed flagellation called a fiscal cliff. Business people worry the Republicans will refuse to budge and will be the reason for another recession. The sequestration mean massive cuts to defense spending, some of which could have negative impact on national security. He says the party will be blamed for that.

      My friend believes the public impression is that Republicans are sore losers.  President Obama's re election validated his economic view of the future.  He notes that before the election the Fox News Analysts were predicting a Romney "landslide."  Ironically the numbers they cited were less than the Obama "mandate" in both popular and electoral college votes.  He also talks about the "Fox effect."

      The Fox News right of center tilt and punditry post, amplifies everything.  The Republican and Fox position was rejected by a majority of Americans, but they appear to be unable to bend to the will of the majority and accept defeat.  

      What about all of the Republicans returned to the house where they maintain a majority I asked?  First he said, the House is a "joke" populated by "dimwits" and "bull shit artists" of both parties.  As for the double message of an Obama win and a re-election of a Republican majority-  some of that is just the way districts are drawn but "even the biggest fool should understand that."  Or he adds, "it's like the voters say we like you and what you've done for us, but pay attention to the big picture."

      I've noticed that he and a handful of other long time-I call them centrist Republicans-are not against changes in our tax code.  

      We are at the lowest tax rate in decades. Back when the rate was higher "people were still making money, corporations were earning, investments were being made."

      I asked him about who the Republican constituency is or should be.

      "That's the trouble.  We don't have one. Being the lap dog for the richest percentage of Americans won't work any more.  We need a connection with real working Americans. And we need to quit watching Fox News."

      And I would add to that tell Grover Norquist to take a long walk off a short pier.

                                    DAY FILE

HINT OF IMPRESSIONISM

   See you down the trail.

IT'S A GUIDE TO HAPPY

THE TREE

    It's embarrassing to think how hard we worked on finding the perfect tree during our first seasons together. One year it took several days, it seems scouring the state. It became a point of contention each year, so I defaulted to letting Lana make the choice.

      Now we are more easily content. Maturity? Laziness? A desire to give an ugly tree a home? Probably, but it doesn't matter.

     Just having the green and the old ornaments together again is a gift until itself.  And choosing up here in the village is pure Cambria-friendly, easy, laid back and cheery.  

     Still there is that issue of the lights and the cosmic riddle of why they don't work-but a brilliant daughter and a driven Lana tackle that. My skill comes in placing the Dickens figures on just the right branch, and putting the angel atop the scene. And pouring the egg nog!

    The garden center provided many choices of tree. Being from Oregon you can probably smell the freshness.

  We found one quickly. It needs only a little rehabilitation. 

DRIFTING INTO THE MOOD

     Then into the twinkle house where you automatically

become a kid. Wonder lurks in this season.

    It probably helps to maintain a festive spirit when we know this is the only snow we'll need to navigate-unless we want to drive a half day to ski country.  Not going to happen though.
    See you down the trail.

MAKING TWEAKS

DIVERSIONS, WHILE WAITING FOR THE 

LEMMING EFFECT

     There ought to be a law that when ever some says

"fiscal cliff" they must automatically add "the self inflicted flagellation of an inept Congress shape shifting into lemmings." 

     Has a society ever executed politicians for stupidity?

Is that a conversation we should have?

SEASONAL COLOR ADJUSTMENTS

     It happened as rapidly as mushrooms pop up.  California's

Central Coast went from the colors of autumn to an early

    greening after the two or so inches of rain last week.

     While areas of the Napa Valley and Sonoma wine regions were flooded, the Paso Robles appellation got less rain and 

   and has begun the transition to what many dream of- a green Christmas!. 

  And so while some of my eastern and mid west friends prepare for blankets of snow and ice, the green season has come to California.

  See you down the trail.

THE WEEKENDER-INTO THE WAY BACK MACHINE

DIALING BACK

       Ever have a word or idea just leap into your head?  Not sure why or where it came from?  That's how Ish Kabibble got here.

Photo Courtesy of Wikipedia

       Kabibble was a radio and movie player in the 40's and 50's, part of Kay Kyser's Kollege of Musical Knowledge which my parents listened to.  In chasing down the origin of this odd and invading name, I come back to my mother and a great aunt who used to laugh at Kabibble, or at least the name.

     He started off to be a lawyer, Merwyn Bogue, but his comedic skills landed him in Kay Kyser cast.  Maybe the atmospheric storms raking the California Coast dislodged the funny man from deep in the brain.  BTW Ish Kabibble is said to be from a mock Yiddish expression meaning "I should worry?"  

    Here's a sample of the Kay Kyser comedy from a simpler time in America.

FURTER TIME TRAVELS

   It's the early 60's and this very white kid in middle America is searching the radio dial at night for music that had soul.  Some people in those days called it "race music."   I could dial in a station from Nashville, WLAC that filled the night with R&B, Rhythm and Blues. I heard music there unlike anything else on the airwaves.  

    Somehow, by a fluke of nature which radio engineers have told me was impossible I also heard the strains of something called Ska.  It was from Jamaica and was the progenitor of Reggae and Rock Steady.  

    There was an artist that my middle class, middle American, white friends could never imagine-Justin Hinds and the Dominoes.  This is the first step on the path to Reggae.

       Rock Steady and then Reggae were more up tempo, and a richer form of music that would have immense impact on Rock and jazz.  What may be curious to some is that Ska, like early Reggae was also equal parts politics and religion.

"Better to seek a home in Mount Zion High

Instead of keeping oppression upon an innocent man

But time will tell on you, you old jezebel

As the musical idiom grew and gave birth to Reggae

Justin Hinds and the Dominoes changed too

       So to both of my daughters, true Reggae fans, this has been a little footnote to your dad's history-how on dark midwestern nights a white teen searched the atmosphere for a sound that all of these years later thrills you.

    Ish Kabibble to Reggae?  All on the radio!

    Must be some powerful atmospheric currents bouncing between the Pacific and the mountains eh? What, I should worry?

     Happy listening.  Have a good weekend.

     See you down the trail.

    

POWER

MULTIPLICITY OF POWER

natural-phantom-shopping

A GOOD BLOW

    California's central coastline is roiling with strong surf

     driven by the first of three punches of wind and rain 

     coming in from the north.  Storm #1 left a half inch in our gauge and debris on the beach.

      15 to 20 foot waves are expected through the weekend.

    The power of the sea rakes the kelp beds.

     Writers, painters and nature lovers take inspiration from
the seasonal brooding.

PHANTOM POWER

     Appliances in our homes and offices that remain in stand by (televisions, chargers, microwaves, computer boxes) cost us hundreds of dollars a year.  David I. Levine at UC Berkeley's Haas School of Business wrote an eye opening piece for the LA Times. 

     Read and learn about "phantom power" by linking here.

OUR POWER TO SAVE LIVES

     Unraveling this string of circumstance may lead us to an uneasy truth.  Many clothing shoppers seek the lowest price, sometimes even over quality. Manufacturers seek to lower production costs. Clothes are made abroad, in nations with "cheaper" labor and without benefit of health and safety standards.  

     The 112 people killed by a fire in a Bangladesh garment factory were making clothing for Wal-Mart, Disney, Sears, Sean Combs, Teddy Smith and Edinburgh Woollen Mill as reported by the Associated Press. 

      When asked about these tragedies, and there have been several, retailers and even manufacturers often cite contract language and explain how they are sometimes duped by sub-contractors over which they have no control.  Some of that may be true, but it is also disingenuous and refuses to accept responsibility. 

      Retailers award contracts to those who can make their product most cheaply. That maximizes their profit while offering a product that we can buy less expensively. So we are back to our role in perpetuating sweat shops where humans are abused because of profits and low prices.  

      I've heard people explain how the poor of other nations are at least given work.  Yes, but under what conditions?  And at what cost to American workers, put out of work by out sourcing to cheap labor markets?  We really can't escape our blame in these tragedies.  Well, maybe my mom could have.  Before her passing, she made a habit of never buying any thing but Union and or American made goods.  She even returned gifts if they did not pass that test.  Wonder if that is even possible today?

      See you down the trail

       

THEY DON'T JUST GO AWAY

MEMORIES THAT HAUNT

     A documentary that aired recently stirred memories that I have been unable to put out of mind.

     The HBO series Witness, that chronicles the work of photo journalists in troubled spots, dredged up scraps of my past.  The piece on Eros Hoagland in the slums, "favelas," of Rio jarred me back to the time I too was there.

      My assignments took me to slums around the globe and I had conveniently pushed those realities to the back of my mind, until seeing how unchanged those bleak realities are.        I am particularly haunted by a slum in the south of Brazil.  It is an island in the Guaiba River, made mostly of trash, hauled out of Porto Alegre and the city of Guaiba.  

           Trash and refuse were scattered everywhere.  The homes were built with what ever the people could re-use.

       Pigs, dogs and chickens, roaming free, fed on the offal of the cities up river.  Each morning men and boys took carts up river to haul away the trash and garbage which they brought to their island favela where it became food, building material or where it rotted. The smell is unimaginable. 

    As bad as it was, there was less violence here than in the urban slums.  In that was a small blessing.

     It was just as the military dictatorship had given up decades of rule and turned the government back over to an elected civilian control.

     The currency was in crisis and sustained repeated devaluations during our assignment.

    What haunts me now are the kids. What has become of them? There were so many.  One of those is the boy in the frame below.  His name was Marcos and he trailed photographer Steve Starnes and me all day.

    Steve helped him look into the camera on play-back, to see himself and his family. The smile of fascination he wore

   moved me to tears.  We told him if he was a good boy, and studied at school, maybe he too could someday become a photo journalist.

     A Belgian nun who had worked with the people of those slums for more than 60 years, told us we have given Marcos a gift, that of hope.  She had devoted her life to doing that.

Teaching hygiene, training children of the favela to become teachers for their brothers and sisters, teaching men carpentry skills, instructing women how to weave.  I wonder  about Sister Marie Eve, Marcos and if anything ever gets better for the residents of the slums.  And I wonder why I could easily filter away that reality.  And though it seems there is little that I can do, I appreciate that HBO stirred these ghosts to life.  And I appreciate the generation of journalists who are in the slums, refugee camps and battle zones of the world today.  

     There is a cautionary note.  Hoagland wondered aloud about how he could fly away and return to a clean, safe world while those he caught on film stayed behind.  I remember that conversation with myself, many times. How easily I forgot.  Shame on me.

    See you down the trail.

LETTERMAN AND OPRAH & THE HIGH VALLEY

LOOKING  UP

     If you are not a "cat person" you may think those of us who are kept by cats are a bit silly. I was taken by the expression of our poly dactyl, Hemingway. (Ernest Hemingway's cats at Key West had six toes.  Our little guy has six toes on each paw.) 

     A feral kitten, dropped by his mother as she ferried her litter over a fence, he was rescued by a Paso Robles woman.  He's the first of his line to be "domesticated." He is a link between wild DNA and being a pet. He seems perpetually curious and maybe a little bewildered. He's got an easy going personality with his greatest interests being eating and napping. He's learning quickly isn't he?

NOT SO STUPID HUMAN TRICKS

    Our old college friend was back at our Alma Mater and making news.  David Letterman's interview with Oprah created lots of interest.

Link to a CBS video of the chat here.

    In so many important ways, Dave and Oprah are people

to look up to.  

GEOGRAPHY THAT BLOWS YOUR MIND

   An easy first impression of these frames is that the valley and lake are a low altitude flatness surrounded by the distant peaks which surround and frame the images.

   Partially correct. The valley and the lake are at 7,000 to 8,000 feet.  This is the northern edge of the Owen Valley and Mono Lake which nestle, if such a massive space can indeed nestle, in the Sierra Nevada high country, bounded by the Sierra and the Excelsior mountains in Nevada to the east.  

     The peaks of the Excelsior range between 7 and 13 thousand. The Sierra Nevada peaks are at 13 and 14 thousand.  

      As the settlers trekked west they climbed to reach the big valley, only to face the more rugged eastern slope of the Sierra. Beyond that lay the central valley. 

      What an extraordinary inner drive to lift and buoy the spirit to overcome the sheer struggle.  

      See you down the trail.