YIELD TO NEITHER GOD NOR GOOD SENSE

Well, now that S. is back from Ireland, the stupid argument as a form of recreation is once again resonant within the cold stone walls of the Bastion on the (Puget) Sound.

We have been following the emerald popularity explosion of environmentalism that appears to be sweeping the nation and much of the planet. Like millions of our species, we are appraising its applications to our lives personally.

S. is already a vegetarian who, at 4’10” and 100 lbs., does not take up much space on the planet. She has, however, an appetite that would do justice to a Dublin soccer team; in total.

Our neighborhood association offers garden plots for the cultivation and harvesting of table vegetables. Now that it is spring, we will probably work our own and sharecrop three others.

We are also dining at home more now because we feel guilty that even before the Economic Downturn; S. put two local restaurants out of business simply by dropping in during All You Can Eat For $7.00 Hour.

S. is not a glutton nor particularly hyper. She is simply multi-dimensional. In the other reality she occupies, she is about the size of a Dublin soccer team, all of them standing on the shoulders of one another.

She walks Godzilla on a leash and swings through the jungle with King Kong. She also swims with the great whales and dances with Greyhound buses. That’s a lot of exercise, which requires a lot of fuel. Our annual grocery bill exceeds the gross national product of several small industrial nations. Combined.

To lighten the load on the power grid, we have decided to open up the fireplace and install a carbon burning stove. We both grew up with these so the selection of one was a matter of quick consensus rather than historical debate.

Now, we are ‘discussing’ the virtues of two fuel sources in terms of their aromatic merits. She favors peat and I am an advocate of Douglas fir.

She grew up cutting her choice out of bogs with her family and that’s an ancestral thing that goes all the way back to when the Gallaghers wore animal skins and painted their faces. She knows people in the peat business and the cost is do-able.

I’m Irish too but the McGuires were Vikings and we had tall evergreen trees where my forebearers came from. The concept of burning squares of sod is not a constituent ingredient of my genetic soup. I am not a big fan of dirt. I joined the Navy because the idea of a foxhole held absolutely no allure. Dirt is for growing things or paving over for shopping malls. It is not for dying in or lighting on fire.

No, I have never smelled peat. I have never even seen it up close. I cannot even remember having been shown pictures of it. I am totally peat challenged. S., on the other hand, has never hugged a Douglas fir (Washington’s unofficial favorite past-time), much less toasted marshmallows over a crackling blaze fueled by this source.

Despite not having experienced each other’s choice, each of us is unimpeachably convinced of the rightness of our own. When one believes as devoutly and as passionately as we do, one need not fear being tempted by the heresy of an open mind. There is simply no room in the universe for two absolute and opposing truths.

It is likely that we will eventually resolve this issue. But we will spend a lot more time discussing it. We will talk to those friends who agree with us; put forth that research which supports our conclusions; probably even commission a couple of ‘independent’ studies whose results can be predicted beforehand.

We will probably form a special interest group to lobby for government subsidies for our choice. And we will certainly seek Constitutional insurance, lest our mettle be tested and our favored fuel source be challenged in the high courts of the land.

By the time it has been taken as far as it possibly can be, we will probably have discovered a more appropriate alternative which combines the virtues of both peat and Douglas fir.

In the meantime, we will dress in layers and wrap ourselves in long cloaks of righteous green, secure and proud that in our finest hour, we yielded to neither God nor good sense.

WHY ST. PATRICK’S DAY TRULY DOES BELONG TO US ALL

The Easter 1916 Uprising Which Gave Rebirth To A Nation

Hi again, folks, and Happy St. Patrick’s Day. The man had an interesting life for a Welsh born citizen of the Roman Empire, who, at the age of 16, got kidnapped by Irish raiders, sold into slavery, escaped after six years and then returned of his own free will to eventually drive the snakes out of a land where people worked in the dirt a lot.

By birth, I’m half McGuire and of a rebellious line. My screen name, minstrel312, comes from a song entitled “The Minstrel Boy”. In the long and rather interesting 500 year history of fighting for independence, Irish “armies” marched with a warrior among their number who also sang to inspire them. Considering the odds these farmers faced against a military might which defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, how bravely and horrifically they died and the damage they did, pikes against cannons, I’m figuring these minstrel boys had to be fair at their job.

Apparently so did the English because they caught one of them after a battle and promised to spare him if he would sing to them. His response comprises the lyrics of that song. He told his captors that he would not sing for them because his songs were meant for freedom, not for slavery.

The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;
"Land of Song!" cried the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy right shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"
The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free
They shall never sound in slavery!"

I’ve heard a lot of versions of that song down the years, by Irish and others. The best, in my half-shamrock opinion, was by Paul Robeson, who was a black concert singer and film actor circa the Depression era. I expect Mr. Robeson identified some with the history of a people struggling to be free.

I’ve some personal experience with the Old Sod, as well. A woman I loved as passionately as I’ve ever loved any other was born in Ireland and raised during “The Troubles”. She lost two brothers and a stellar love to that sectarian violence. She was and is a strong woman who, some nights, is terrified of sleeping for the dreams awaiting.

Ireland has come a long way, even in her lifetime, but the news of three deaths in Ulster at the hands of those who claim to be splinter groups of the Irish Republican Army mitigates my celebration this year. I pray Almighty God for steady hands in Belfast and Dublin.

I am reminded, as well, that Irish blood is as thick as the Guinness of which some of us are rather fond. Like the Jews after the Diaspora and again after the Holocaust, we were scattered some after the Famine. We did not always travel first class and sometimes, like Paul Robeson’s people and the tribes of Moses, we were transported in chains and sold when we got to our respective destinations. Those of us who survived the trip.

In the melting pot that is America and Canada, there is not one of us who cannot claim a portion of that same heritage. Despite these rather labored beginnings, two strong nations were forged and continue to be strengthened by the contributions of those who come here from other lands and sometimes under less than comfortable circumstances.

To me, then, St. Patrick’s Day is far more than a celebration of the Irish. It is a reminder that freedom, the desire for it, and the incredible sacrifices paid for it are something each and every one of us who values these shares in common.

I know for certain it has made two countries I love passionately the intrinsically great nations they are and I believe will continue to be.

Until next time, then, take care, stay well and God Bless.

Rusty

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JACK, LIZA AND JAMES

American writer Jack Kerouac

Hi again and happy March 12. According to my astrologer, today was an interesting one to be born on. Some really famous people came into the world on that date; including Sir John Abbott, third prime minister of Canada; the writer Jack Kerouac; singers Marlon Jackson, Al Jarreau, Liza Minelli and James Taylor; American gangster Sammy "The Bull" Gravano, actor Ron Jeremy; actress Barbara Feldon; me.

So thank you for all the emails and e-birthday cards. And to the several of you who wanted to know how old I am, sorry, but I’m a holdover from the administration of President Bill Clinton. I don’t ask and I don’t tell.

According to my health care provider, there are two ages; the one on the birth certificate and the one at the doctor’s office. The first, of course, is based on when your parents did their part. The second is your health age and that’s determined, all other factors being equal, on how healthy a lifestyle you lead.

My life expectancy is about 98 or so and I’m pushing for the century mark, if nothing else but to totally piss off all those folks who were hoping I’d crossed over at one of the several points in my life when that was more a likelihood than surviving long enough to elevate sarcasm to high art.

Happiness is the best revenge but longevity is right up there with dying in bed with a beautiful woman a third my age and finally figuring out what one hand clapping sounds like.

If attitude is all, I’m well motivated toward longevity. There are a lot of things I want to accomplish in this life, most of it centered around providing for my family and community.

I want to live long enough to see a black single gay woman in the White House; the Hamas get into the bar mitzvah catering business; both American political parties to find symbols which don’t slander the animal kingdom; my home, native land and beloved Canada to stop clubbing baby harp seals; and the human colonization of Mars.

I want to be around long enough to drive an electric car from Vancouver, British Columbia to Halifax, Nova Scotia without needing a 15,400,000 foot extension cord. BC Hydro is moving on putting the whole province on that kind of power grid and what’s also cool is that they’re subcontracting some of the work to an American outfit in Arizona.

I’d like to see the day when one in 50 American children does NOT experience homelessness. To me, in a nation as rich as this, that is absolutely unconscionable and the only excuse for it is the kind of greed that mocks compassion and totally trashes any concept of human decency.

I also want to see just how high the tides of the oceans of the world will rise before we get global warming under control. I’ve been having these weird (pizza before bedtime inspired) dreams of being in Denver and seeing a woody full of blond beach people driving by yelling, "Surf’s up."

And I’m curious about how many more Washington State public servants President Obama is going to recruit for duty along the Potomac. The latest is Seattle Police Chief Gil Kerlikowske, who has been tapped to be the new Drug Czar. So far, we’ve sent a former governor and a King County executive "east of the mountains".

And as far as this old aging thing? American humorist Mark Twain suggested that if a person couldn’t reach old age by their own road, they shouldn’t go. I’ve observed that some of us get older, some of us get better; and some of us get better as we get older. The choice seems pretty much up to us.

Until next time, then, take care, stay well and God Bless.

Rusty

SOMETIMES POLITICAL FACTIONS ACT LIKE OUTLAW MOTORCYCLE GANGS

Hi again and welcome to The Northstar Journal Theatre of the Absurd. Despite my pledge to swear off stupid news until at least after the Easter/Passover holidays, I had a relapse or, as several of my not-too-quaint “associates” put it, a brain fart.

After watching the Wall Street Journal slide into the “Defeat Obama At All Costs Camp” that Rush Limbaugh started earlier this month, I’m convinced that sometimes political factions act a lot like outlaw motorcycle gangs.

Outfits like the Hells Angels comprise about thirteen percent of those clubs who share a common love of two-wheeled motorized transportation. Though small in numbers, they’re a boisterous and vocal lot who also tend to generate press that gives every other Harley Davidson, Honda, Kawasaki, Suzuki, Triumph or BMW, et al aficionado a bad name.

I can relate. I’ve taken a 350 cc Honda round trip three times from Los Angeles to Sacramento, including one memorable trip over the Grapevine Pass in December on the same bike that almost made me a double amputee below the knees several months before.

If there had been a club for idiots like me, I might possibly have joined. Had I, I imagine that to this day, I’d be making annual runs to such well-publicized tourist destinations as Placerville, Grants Pass or Puyallup to drink wine coolers and pine for the days when motorcycles kick started and had suicide switches.

I wonder, though, if I’d have joined an outlaw Honda gang dedicated to Americanizing the import motorcycle industry and fiercely opposed to the notion that without Yankee engineering and parts, no other country could build a better bike. And probably at half the cost. I wonder if I’d have remembered transistor radios and pocket calculators.

Well, possibly but not probably on the joining part. Plain fact is, I’m not much for membership cards. In the sixth grade, I got involved in the Cub Scouts for the same reason I volunteered to be a school crossing guard. Yep, to impress chicks.

A couple of real rainy weeks in front of Hollywood Park Elementary shepherding kids so bundled up that gender was difficult at best to determine dampened my ardor some. And a snowy dead-of-winter weekend in the High Sierras wrapped up in a soggy sleeping bag on a pine bough mattress in this Boy Scout instruction manual built igloo with an adult and six other guys as wet and cold as I was, on top of a granite mountain, with nary a skirt in sight sort’ve put a permanent kibosh on the whole Fraternal Order of Anything trip. It also explains why I don’t go camping in the winter. You couldn’t pay me enough. Trust me. Not for all the snow bunnies in… Nevermind.

I had the same kind of experiences with several religious denominations I’ve tried. The pastor of one of them was my best friend for quite awhile. We got together at my place on Sunday afternoons for some pretty good theological discussions.

He got to take his collar off, drink beer on Sunday in an 8-1/2’ x 10’ travel trailer parked by a beautiful lake, and have the forbidden pleasure of associating with someone his congregation would have considered a heathen at best and a heretic, most likely. He also got to spend time with a friend who respected his priorities and didn’t take it personally that the congregation was not as hospitable.

Larry was softspoken but tough and in his life had been a mountain climber, an anti-war/human rights activist and a Christian minister in South America. He also authored three books which critically examined the viability of the faith he served to serve the larger humanity in return.

Sophisticated, articulate and incredibly perceptive, he was an essentially humble man devoted passionately to his wife and family, to his small community and to the members of a simple church in a rural community in the Pacific Northwest. He needed someone to talk to and I’m glad I was there for him. And even though I was never invited to his home, he was always welcome in mine and I’m proud that we were friends.

I suspect that I have been a profound disappointment to a lot of good and well-intentioned people who tried to dissuade me from my dissolute ways and set me on the path of righteousness.

Funny, though. For all of that, I do not feel eagle/eagle scout, elk, kiwani (somebody knows what a kiwani is, right?), lion, moose or son of anything I haven’t already been called -- impaired.

I’m a member of a lot of stuff, including a species I mostly share with you yahoos.
I’m one ten trillionth of the population of planet earth. I’m what, one five-billionth of the human part of that. I’m an American, so there’s 330-million or so. Take it on down to the region, state, city and neighborhood I live in and into the house I share with 17 other people.

So no, I don’t think I’d have joined an outlaw Honda motorcycle gang to lobby against free trade. I’d have been more likely to push for a better bike and hope that Harley and Honda got together behind it.

Until next time, then, folks, and thanks for the ear. Take care, stay well and God Bless.

Rusty

HE’S NOT BIG BROTHER, BUT HE IS LISTENING

The Masada

Well, I guess I should have said this blog will be out at least once a week. So hi again, this week, and thanks again as well, for the ear.

I want to take a moment to express my sincere gratitude to those of you who responded so positively to my last blog. As my good friends here in Seattle, Ed and Sallie (also NSJ readers), remind me ~ it feels good when you pass it along and even better when it comes back to you.

Ed’s from the Bronx and played six years with the New York Yankees. Sallie’s a former Hollywood dancer whose credentials include the original Music Man. They’ve been married to one another 30 years or so and have been around some, so when they speak, I shut my shamrock Yiddish yap and listen. Mostly. When the stars are in appropriate alignment and my bio-rhythms are in harmony. And after the cat’s been fed.

However, I digress…(NOT front page news)…

I liked what President Obama had to say the other day about not paying too close attention to what’s going on with the stock market. He described it as a rollercoaster ride and even though nobody I know has much invested, I could see where it sure could be to somebody whose wealth is mostly on certificates.

I don’t imagine what he said is having much impact on Wall Street but it’s made me and mine rest some easier. He’s reminding us that even though we might not have a lot to spend, especially these days, how we spend it still matters.

He’s also doing his job in another way. He’s got a website which shows just how this economic stimulus is being distributed. My state, Washington, has a link to how what we receive is being spent here.

A few years back, in a small rural county in Oregon, on a snowy winter night, a very independent grandmother who ran a big timber family died when the homestead cabin she lived in alone as a widow, burned down because the fire department arrived too late.

By the time, a year or so later, that all the investigations of this were finished, it was determined that bad county roads were responsible.

I was working as the county’s public relations person at the time but I know the story I’ve just told you about because I covered it as a newspaper reporter. I was the first media on the scene and the last to leave the funeral. When I went to my new bosses and proposed a road improvement levy, I was told that several had been tried in the last 75 years and none had passed.

I did some historical research, got an idea of what else was also going on when these past levees were proposed and how they were promoted. I talked to the commissioners about what I’d learned and suggested a real direct approach.

They got to make a spreadsheet and pie chart breakdown of it. I got to drive out and take pictures of some of the worst of those roads. In all kinds of weather and in that part of the Willamette Valley, it changes just as fast and as often as it does in meteorologically schizoid Seattle and the Greater Puget Sound.

We put together a media kit with photos, graphics and a narrative explanation. We also created a display for the lobby of the courthouse. The levee was also an open agenda item at county council meetings. We kept it simple and informational. We let folks know how much we figured it was going to cost and how it was to be spent.

Yep, it passed. Our elected officials decided to talk to their constituency about this the same way they talked to them about life in general as neighbors and friends they met on Main Street, in the Yamhill Café, over pool at the Evergreen Tavern or at the park after church on Sunday. It was a bad thing that happened to Mrs. Swenson. We need to make sure it doesn’t happen to someone else.

I was not real pleased to learn that apparently, now, the Republican Party only speaks for 26% of Americans. I do applaud and support the Party of Abraham Lincoln’s acceptance of that and the need to re-examine and restructure.

Few things in this world disgust and anger me more than political gloating and/or bashing. As President Obama is also saying and as Secretary of State Hillary Clinton has affirmed with regards to China, this is not about competition but about cooperation.

To contend that the Republican Party is solely and totally responsible for this present situation is not only dangerous thinking but, to me, stone stupid and historically insupportable. To further infer that they do not have valid concerns and positive options is also to me an extremely toxic and incredibly self-destructive perspective, especially right now.

No single entity, individual, political party, etc. et al got us into this seemingly monumental mess. We’re all, in however small or large a way, responsible. Since it took all of us to get here, it’s going to take all of us to get out of here. That’s not rocket science and that’s a good thing because I’m not a rocket scientist.

President Obama seems to understand the differences between Athens and America. In this country, we’re not a privileged democracy. And in America, anyone eligible to vote is expected to participate in the process.

We have public meetings. We have access to the media and their polls. We have emails to our elected officials. We certainly have blogs, homepages, chatrooms and every other form of expression, including the arts, that a reasonable specifies could ask for. And now we have a president who is essentially saying,

"Okay, the channels are open. Talk to me."

If anything else, this President has a strong stomach and chutzpah probably unparalleled since the Masada. He’s asking us to behave like the Americans he’s been elected to serve.

We’re a wild bunch at best, Mr. President, so good luck with that. And let me know if there’s anything I can do to lend a hand.

Until next time then, folks, take care, stay well and God Bless.

Rusty

TEMPERING BAD NEWS WITH GOOD

June 1979

Leaving Southern Oregon after a federal judge closed old growth logging to protect the spotted owl.

Hi, again, folks, from the Bastion on the (Puget) Sound. As I’m writing this, it’s about an hour before sunrise. The house is quiet, as it usually is, and there’s a light rain falling through the evergreens in the front yard. I’ve been sitting here with a cup of coffee and contemplation. It’s a kind of Zen way to start the week; raveled before things start becoming a little unraveled. And it works great as long as I don’t have a stupid attack.

The news media in Seattle is the mellowest on the West Coast. They reflect their audience/listenership/readership. Nobody shouts here. We’re not an angry community, mostly. A fair portion of us come from regions considerably less civilized than ours and we’re not much into reminding one another of what we came here to escape. We’re extremely interactive and we have a reputation for looking after our own and helping those of our neighbors beyond our region, we can.

Some mornings, though, it’s just not a good idea for me to start the day by watching the morning news. I’m starting to get real tired of the vitriolic criticism of a president who has been in office just over one month and who inherited a legacy of some 96 months.

To me, this kind of whining just reflects the same "quick fix/immediate gratification" attitude that got us into this monumental mess in the first place. And when people like Rush Limbaugh initiate a campaign designed to make this economic stimulus package fail, I find myself wondering just how in touch with the rest of us individuals like him really are. It makes me angry and at a time when a cool head is really needed, Rush baby is NOT helping.

And who are "the rest of us"? Well, I’m one of them, so are a lot of you and everyone knows someone like "us". I’ve been out of work for several months now and I spend 12 hours a day, six days a week looking for it. My unemployment is running out soon and I’m hoping that the relief that will extend it and provide more jobs comes in time to keep me and thousands like me from going homeless.

I hope this relief effort is better orchestrated than Katrina and that rather than waiting until all the funds are available, the respective government entities start phasing it in immediately.

I’ll be 60 this month and like so many here in the Puget Sound and across the nation, I’m a seasoned professional with a good secondary employment battery of data entry, word processing and office administration skills. In a healthy economy, employment would not be an issue.

In a transitional one, it should not be either. As these funds commence to flow and projects start up, there’s going to be a real need for people who can step into managerial/ admin and clerical positions quickly, confidently, and with very low maintenance.

They’re going need to be problem-solvers, capable of working both within the system and outside the box; who believe, as JFK did, that any human problem ~ since it was created by human beings ~ is capable of being solved by same. Since I believe attitude is all, perhaps most importantly, they’re going to need to be those who approach a "problem" as a challenge, a growth opportunity, or simply something which needs to get taken care of and off the To Do List.

To me that would also create at least three job options and variations thereof; onsite, part time onsite, and totally telecommuting. I would also hope that it would produce part-time employment, as well. It might just be that as new companies get going and older ones adapt, it would be easier for them to parcel work out in smaller packages.

If enough of those kinds of jobs show up, it will be possible for a lot of us to survive and make a reasonable living. Even with controlled spending in the retail sector, that segment would benefit, as well.

Our media here in Seattle is responding to the concerns of people like me by keeping us informed of who is hiring; where to look for jobs; how best to present; how to enjoyably reduce the cost of living and best utilize both the resources at hand and those evolving. They also keep us abreast of how federal and state funds are progressing through the system.

They also let us know where we can go for the basics, if, God forbid and the relief doesn’t arrive in time, we need them. Seattle is not without its homeless and the community’s never been proud of that. It’s a lesson we’re learning now, though, and with some chagrin. We were a little slow on the uptake with this one and that’s going to stay with us for awhile.

As things roll along, we’re going to see a lot of creative options coming to or originating from the Puget Sound. You’ll be reading about them here and hopefully sharing with the rest of us what your community, region or state is doing to insure that we come out of this all much better than we went into it.

Until next week, then, take care, stay well and God Bless.

Rusty