"...we thought we'd bring peace to the world..."

off-shore Cambria, CA

        It was buried in an Associated Press report from Colleville-Sur-Mer, France, an account of several dozen veterans in their 90's observing D-Day. About 4 paragraphs down it jumped off the page, one of those universal truths we recognize with a flash.

    The speaker is a 98 year old Penobscot Native American from Indian Island Maine who was participating in a sage-burning ceremony near the beach. Charles Shay was a 19 year old US Army Medic at Omaha Beach.

    "In 1944 I landed on these beaches and we thought we'd bring peace to the world. But it's not possible."

    It is not possible! Peace?

    Sage burning is a native ritual of cleansing and release and on this day in honor of fallen comrades. 

    "I have never forgotten them and know their spirits are here."

    The AP reports "He said he is especially sad to see war in Europe again. 

    'Ukraine is sad. I feel sorry for the people there and I don't know why this war had to come, but I think human beings like to, I think they like to fight, I don't know...'"

    98, a survivor of an historically bloody invasion tending to the fallen as a healer, a spiritual man who has seen the ways of the world for almost a century, and he cannot understand human beings. 

    It is no wonder then that I cannot. 

    Peace, the diadem of human faith, the elusive goal of religions and diplomacy, the thing that humankind values above all, even trying to find it in places, things, and states of mind. Peace, a state of no conflict, of no hostility, of no more war. It is not possible.

    Not possible. You can't get peace out violence. 

    Quickly I attempted to deconstruct the truth that Charles Shay spoke 78 years after he was part of massive effort to "bring peace." My mind ran to my father and his generation who fought in that war, to "win the peace." And then to my friends who "did their patriotic duty" in Viet Nam and then to all of the other conflicts, all over the globe. Why is it that we ask so much for a peace that is impossible. 

    It was ever such.

    The only good thing to be said of a war is when it ends. Though, does it ever? It only changes shape and decades. Peace, an idealistic aspiration is shredded by a read of history. 

    We stumble through life grazing for something that will resonate deeply as significant, a clarifying knowledge, an insight. We search, even as we're never sure what it is we're after. Until it smacks us. 

    Peace is impossible, because?

    As Mr. Shay said, "human beings like to, I think they like to fight."

    Despite the wisdom of this special man, and even in these later years of my life, I'm not giving up on peace, either as a diplomatic and geo political quest, and certainly not as a spiritual reality. 

    As a global status it may not be possible, no indeed, but the absence of trying for it is even more disturbing. 

    Some humans choose to live in peace, engaging our better likes. 

    Lana creates beauty. Here is evidence, a corner of our deck, benefiting from her affirmation of life by means of a green thumb.

    Even through the millennia of human history, from clubs and stones to assault weapons, killer drones and nuclear missiles, the force of life resurrects itself, nature shows us the path. For as long as we have told our histories particular humans have lifted our vision to what can be. Like Mr. Shay humans have knelt over the injured and dying and have comforted parents, friends and the grieving. Humans have told us there is a better way. It need not be our destiny "... to like to fight. 

    I think it is that which enables our survival.

    Peace.

    See you down the trail.

    

    

 

Clearing the mind in the trees. Saying Goodbye.

 

There are times when we need to be with the trees, and away from some of the human madness.

Time after time I wonder why we can't learn. Why are we be as barbaric as the human ancestors who threw rocks and carried clubs.
 The little plaques in the frame above denote historic moments in the course of the 2000 years of this tree's life. We've been killing our best for at least that long. There have been marvelous discoveries and advances. But the beast in us is still on the prowl.

Why can't we learn? Notice below how four trees grew together, a family, increasing their common strength and well being. 

 

For at least a couple thousand years these citizens of planet earth have endured.

By comparison humankind is short sighted, destructive and transitory.

 Just being in the presence of these old giants is good for the soul.

A couple of side notes now-

Look at this forest color scheme starring a banana slug.

And is this how you spend your time at the beach?

Thinking of fitness, please allow me a couple of farewells to tennis pals...one is a see you later, the other is good bye.

I estimate that at least 90% of the hours I've spent on the tennis court since I began playing the game about 14 years ago have been in the company of Roy Evans.

Roy is a quiet and thoughtful Welshman. We competed in doubles at least two days a week for most of those years and there were years when we were on the court together 3 times a week.

We called him the Welsh gazelle because his speed and quickness got him to some impossible gets.

There was never a cross word between us. We loved the game and the complete focus it requires. Whether we were on the same side of the net or trying to beat each other, we loved the joy of simply being able to play.

Roy has moved north to be closer to family. The courts seem strange without him and his brightly colored shoes.

Thanks for all the great fun.

We say good by to Jess Bathke.

Jess was an active player when I first started learning the game. He'd been the Club president and seemed to be a friend to everyone. Over the years I improved enough to play at his level and we became friends. He was a community giver and led organizations that  provided community services.

A couple of years ago when I faced surgery, Jess, who had been through it, was an assuring friend letting me know that soon enough I'd get back to normal and be able to return to the courts. We were coffee group conversationalists and usually on the same side of issues. We had lunch with other tennis pals and always Jess was the class act of the group. He was a man with a deep faith, the kind of person who uplifts and is a joy to be around. 

On the court he was a tough competitor. We discovered that before tennis, we had been basketball players, our favorite game. But age made tennis our new game and we threw ourselves into it.

Jess had to give up the game during the early days of Covid and it was tough, but age had taken it's toll.

A week ago Jess had a full and busy day with his beloved Pat. That evening he had a steak dinner, a couple of glasses of wine. He watched some TV, played solitaire on his computer and went to sleep. And he was gone from this world.

If anyone deserves the peace and mercy of such a passing, it is Jess.

Jess was 88 and had been active, competitive and skilled player until 86. His age and his movement on the court was incongruous to most.

I learned when I began playing in his doubles groups, that he always sat on the bench between end changes and breaks. 

Just a brief rest and recharge. 

When I got back to the courts after my surgery I started doing the same thing. I continue to do that and now it will be a way of remembering a good player, a good friend and a really good man!  

Milky Way "cloud" and star field in Cambria 6/1/22.

See you down the trail. 

The faces-the loss....in America

 

        We cry. We rage. Again our hearts are broken. It is an aberration. It is an American act.

      As we look at photos of each of the victims we are crushed by the loss of innocence, the sweet childhood, the promise, the hope of young lives, the murdered love of family. We are killing America. 

    We destroy our truth, we bury our aspirational promise of the Constitution to be a more perfect union, to establish justice, to insure domestic tranquility. We do not secure the blessings of liberty for ourselves and posterity. We kill them. We put money and political power over the sweet faces and the future of our children in America.

    Here a teen boy can not buy a beer, but he can buy assault weapons. Why shouldn't 21 years be the mandatory minimum for a gun purchase? Why? Because Republicans are owned by and work for the gun makers. Because Republicans are now afraid to cross the gun crazy nation they and the NRA created during decades of clever deception about the 2nd Amendment.  Because Republicans, not even 10 of them, will vote to make that a law. They are American cowards.

    President Biden is limited in what he can. Politics is why. Were it his to act unilaterally, gun safety laws would change. Democrats, who have been pushing gun laws since the murder of innocents in Newtown, are now doubling down on efforts to find ways to bring 10 Republicans into support of the change that 76% of the American people want. 

    Now parents, grand parents, and caregivers worry about their loved ones. They and teachers and counselors have the  task of explaining to their children or wards that American children, just like them, may be killed in their school, or at the super market, or movie theatre, or church by an assault weapon because there are so many guns and they are so easy to buy, in America. 

    Gun manufactures bought the NRA and turned it into the money pipeline for Senators and Representatives who have worked for decades to loosen gun laws. Fewer regulations mean more sales. Now that right wing looney authoritarians control the Republican party there is a population of gun owning folks, confused about the 2nd Amendment, who are willing to fight to keep their assault weapons. They are also Americans.

    Background checks, age requirements, tighter security on sales and transactions does not mean the Federal government is "coming after your weapon(s)." But a lot of people have been misled and manipulated by the NRA and Republicans into thinking that, in America.

    No one can deny there is an epidemic of mass killings in one nation on this planet. There have been many moments like the pain, grief, shock, loss and hurt we now endure. It is an American ritual.

    Can enough Republicans find a sense of virtue, decency, and goodness, to honor at least 10 of the dead children? Can the two Democrat problem weasels stay with their party for once and can the Senate finally give the American people what they want in gun laws? Now, that would be an American victory.

    Love the children. Keep them safe.

    See you down the trail.

     

This option is joy...

In the season of life there is a lot on all of our minds.

Today, we give it a rest. Instead we celebrate.

Here's the latest report from Lana's back hill garden.

     Color and vibrance of another sort as we visit the garden patios of Casa Munch, the home built by Paso Robles wine legend John Munch of Le Cuvier.

    John is a creative giant, he writes as magically as he makes wine and builds houses. 

    He's a great force in a writers group as well.    

One of his mentees, Clay Selkirk, is a budding legend of a winemaker as well.

Cheers!

See you down the trail. 

TWISTED & SINKING

 

        It's called the Twisted Grove, one of the many Redwood families in the Forest of Nisene Marks State Park in the Santa Cruz Mountains near Aptos, California. 

    I see it as a metaphor of now.

        The trees live on the San Andreas fault and changing land in their hundreds of years have caused them to twist to reach to for the light.

         Consider the great palaver about the leaked Supreme Court opinion; That a radical right wing clique appears to be on the verge of banning individual liberty has the majority of Americans dutifully concerned....that the Republican party who packed the court with zealots is more concerned about the leak than a regressive decision, unwanted by a majority of citizens. 

        The Supreme Court we were taught to vaunt and hallow is exposed as being more horse shit offal of our broken political system. Almost holy respect for the Supremes? The mystique is gone.  

       Please recall three of the supremes were nominated by Donald Trump, after one nomination was stolen from President Obama. Two were nominated by George W. Bush. What do Bush and Trump have in common? Both lost the popular vote. 

      The majority of Americans voted against their judgements and character, but they put 5 on the court. At least 3 of those five lied on camera about Roe V. Wade when questioned during their testimony. And on this high court is a man married to a person of questionable character who supported the January 6 insurrection. 

   

        Sinking is another matter.

        The SS Palo Alto began as a concrete ship, a tanker built for WW I in 1918. The end of war left the Palo Alto without a mission. In time it became an oil storage barge. Later it was purchased to be an amusement center and opened in 1930 at Sea Clift Beach in Santa Cruz County.

        It thrived, only briefly. After two years of dances, dinners and the social life, the depression changed the course of the Palo Alto.

      Over the years it languished, interrupted by periods of attempted revival and then more trouble. Storms cracked the hull, there was renewed effort, a hamburger stand, bait shops, more storms and broken masts, more storms and the original crack in the hull worsened, more rehabilitation and repairs, and it was used as a fishing platform. So it was until 2000 when the ship deck was closed permanently.

        The concrete tanker is now a home for sea birds and a flourishing sea life. It has become a kind of reef, as it continues  sinking, slowly into the sea.

        I think this too is a metaphor; 

    the once important Republican party, broken and infested now with extremists, non traditionalists, anti American authoritarians and fans of autocracy. Republicans I covered are repulsed. Generations passed would abhor the party.

    the American ship of state, divided and the constituency not particularly intelligent anymore.

    Tragic comedy-an irony;

    Right wingers have always worried about subversion and infiltration, by the Soviets and then the Russians. There's a great case to be made how that infiltration target was and is the republican party and their nation breaking, hate your neighbor culture wars, and grievances gaggle. Now they attempt to "game" the system, trying to rule as a minority party.

    

    Twisted and sinking.  We have been before. 

    Begrudgingly or with belief, we've course corrected, cleaned up the act, busted monopolies, jailed bosses, chased off demagogues, created government compassion, reformed courts, improved, established liberties and continue to evaluate and struggle.

    Struggle. That is our history. Forces of enlightenment and liberty pitched against ignorance, greed, self interest and control.  

    We've endured, almost as long as the youngest of these big trees, that live on a fault line.

        We were at dinner party and in the rambling conversation conviviality I heard myself say I'm ascribing more dignity and favor to trees than I am to a whole lot of humanity. Trees last. By comparison we are on a short timeline.  

        There are good people. Lots of them. Though we may be old and tired or weary, it's time to go another round for human dignity. There is work to do, truth to be told, challenges to make, courts and government to reform, laws to pass and elections to be won. We can model for and work along side like minded youth. For those of us active in the 60's and 70's, there are lessons to teach and to remember. 

        Trees reach for the light. It's what they do to live for hundreds and thousands of years.  Democratic republics could take note. 

        Find the light.  See you down the trail. 

    

              

Around here...and as always....

Cambria court wash

        April rain is rare on the California central coast, not being an"April showers brings May flowers" kind of place. 

    Blooms begin in February, during the fall and winter rain season. The .7 from this storm put our rain for the year at a little over 16 inches. That's a decent total during a drought year. 

    During our time on Pineridge we've swung from 42 inches to as little as 8. The coastal weather is vulnerable to ocean influence, mountains, and a high atmosphere intrigue called a Pacific Decadal Oscillation. 

          A spring moon on Pineridge may have helped turn on a cactus. Its bloom was dazzling. 

        An Oyster mushroom is back for a third harvest. A kit, given as a Christmas gift produced a batch of mushrooms and a surprising second batch. Even more suprisingly number three volunteered itself.

        Lana's magic in the saute' pan was a fitting, even if a less beautiful disposition of the artful fungus. Delicious! 

         

        As we've begun to return to the more robust style of pre pandemic life, a lot of folks have begun to say they feel aged, or unsettled by the last 2 years. A piece of life was held hostage, and now we attempt to come again to what was before, but we and life itself have been changed by it. 

        The simple rhythm of life has the assurance of normal, while absurdities of the human fall menace from our screens.

     World leaders must task themselves to find a better way to prevent barbarism and aggression and to punish those who perpetrate it.

        American voters certainly are wise to the soulless and ripping attack to the constitutional heart of the American system by the gang of cowards, liars, low-life, hustlers and haters who have stolen or who remain as condonation in the republican party.

        Savoring the quiet life has distracted from the brutality of  war crimes and the attack on our democratic republic.

    

        In volunteer work this week I was fortunate to see lights of human decency. Our capacity to care, to serve and to be about common good is hopeful.

        I'm coming to understand a constant. 

        As we probe more deeply into our majority years, we come upon truths of life in personal and cosmic ways. It is ever so. 

        We see now our good old days were myopic. As old girls and boys we tread in times of war, regressive ideas, uncertainty and threat. They were never far away in our middle years, nor have they ever been in the rise of humanity.

        We are where those before us have been, wondering what is to become of humanity. 

       Life is always on a razor's edge. 

                   

             Always spring comes and hope is alive.

            And there is always dinner....

        Peace

        See you down the trail.