Saturday, June 28, 2008
Ricky spends a day on the farm
From our neighbor:
"Ricky joined our family bucking hay yesterday. He was awesome. It is very hard work and not once did he shy away from the challenge or pull the new kids card. His parents should be very proud of him."
Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I will say it again
What we need is a law banning them -- or at least a law that says, you have to ask for one rather than having it tossed on your porch.
Yes, I know it's messing with a business that prints advertising. But billboard companies print advertising and no one lets them pile a poster on my front porch.
How much gas, oil, paper is wasted because others do what I do -- take it straight to the recycling bin.
Where oh where will we find a champion?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Summer 2008
The strawberries are finally coming on.Cate shows a handful.
Blueberries are almost ready.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Thursday, June 05, 2008
40 years ago today
Fourty one years ago, John Parks and I were headed to our paper routes. Leaving our junior high school, we walked six of the nine blocks to the newspaper office. As we prepared to cross the main street of Everett, several cars passed in front of us. One was a convertable with two men in the back seat. The cars stopped in front of the high school, two blocks from where we were standing.
A group of students gathered around.
We ran down and saw Bobby Kennedy and our local congressman talking to high school students.
As they drove off, one of the students mentioned that Kennedy was on his way to speak at the community college, where John's dad was a marine biology teacher.
By chance, a city transit bus was stopped in front of the school. John knew the bus route would take us to the college so he yelled to hop on.
We got to the campus and pushed our way to the front. Kennedy was talking about how we had to end the war in Vietnam. About caring for the poor, the elderly. The crowd roared. When he finished, the crowd surged. Everyone wanted to reach and touch him. To touch...a new hope.
Fourty years ago today,
I was getting ready for school. Mom and I were talking. Dad came into the room breathing hard. He looked angry.
"They got another one. Another Kennedy's been killed."
I looked to my mom for an emotional response. I could see she was upset but trying not to overreact, probably on my behalf.
We turned on the TV. Video was playing from the night before as Bobby Kennedy won the California election. Moments later, I watched as he was shot and lay mortally wounded. Time and again the video would play. I watched him die many times. My heart and hopes fell to a place deeper than I had ever felt before.
Earlier that year, I watched as Martin Luther King was laid to rest -- dead from an assassin's bullett. Five years earlier, I had seen a nation cast into mourning as its youthful president was killed.
For members of my generation, three promising leaders were dead in their prime.
It was as if hope no longer had a place in America.
It was as if we were learning that any chance of hope would be stopped with violence.
For many of my generation, hope no longer became an external thing. It was not to be sought outside where it could be killed.
Rather, it was something one kept alive inside. It was a time to turn, turn, turn inside. A time to pause, go inside onself. It was the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. It was time to seek a newer world -- one that began with a journey within.
In his book, To Seek a Newer World, Bobby took the title from Tennyson's epic poem, Ulysses.
It was a poem I memorized in Bobby's memory.
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes:
the slow moon climbs:
the deep Moans round with many voices.
Come, my friends,'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows;
for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
A group of students gathered around.
We ran down and saw Bobby Kennedy and our local congressman talking to high school students.
As they drove off, one of the students mentioned that Kennedy was on his way to speak at the community college, where John's dad was a marine biology teacher.
By chance, a city transit bus was stopped in front of the school. John knew the bus route would take us to the college so he yelled to hop on.
We got to the campus and pushed our way to the front. Kennedy was talking about how we had to end the war in Vietnam. About caring for the poor, the elderly. The crowd roared. When he finished, the crowd surged. Everyone wanted to reach and touch him. To touch...a new hope.
Fourty years ago today,
I was getting ready for school. Mom and I were talking. Dad came into the room breathing hard. He looked angry."They got another one. Another Kennedy's been killed."
I looked to my mom for an emotional response. I could see she was upset but trying not to overreact, probably on my behalf.
We turned on the TV. Video was playing from the night before as Bobby Kennedy won the California election. Moments later, I watched as he was shot and lay mortally wounded. Time and again the video would play. I watched him die many times. My heart and hopes fell to a place deeper than I had ever felt before.
Earlier that year, I watched as Martin Luther King was laid to rest -- dead from an assassin's bullett. Five years earlier, I had seen a nation cast into mourning as its youthful president was killed.
For members of my generation, three promising leaders were dead in their prime.
It was as if hope no longer had a place in America.
It was as if we were learning that any chance of hope would be stopped with violence.
For many of my generation, hope no longer became an external thing. It was not to be sought outside where it could be killed.
Rather, it was something one kept alive inside. It was a time to turn, turn, turn inside. A time to pause, go inside onself. It was the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. It was time to seek a newer world -- one that began with a journey within.
In his book, To Seek a Newer World, Bobby took the title from Tennyson's epic poem, Ulysses.
It was a poem I memorized in Bobby's memory.
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes:
the slow moon climbs:
the deep Moans round with many voices.
Come, my friends,'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows;
for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
I now understand Michelle Obama's comment
It's been many, many years since I've cried out of joy for my country. More often, they were tears of sadness or disappointment.
We never have TV on during dinner. It is a family time of sharing. Last night was a different time of sharing. TV was on.
Last night, watching TV with my family, I was emotionally transported back to my childhood. My childhood was a time when we always watched TV -- together.
Last night I felt an old, odd sense of hope, of joy, of pride.
I said quietly, "the world is looking at the new face of America."
Somewhere, on the other side of the world, a teenager in a third world country is being recruited as a terriorist. He opens his local paper. He looks at this face. I am guessing today -- unlike any other day in history -- there is a question that was never asked before, "this is the face of my enemy?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
