The Joy of Family

Supportive families are key to happy children with a chance of success in life. In turn, good kids are a joy to their parents and other loved ones in their circles, whether families by blood or by choice. 

We had a wonderful time visiting Michigan in June, 2024. B and M were great with each other and with adults. We had fun playing with them at home, the pool, and at the beach. 

Mom and Dad deserve all the credit. They prioritized life goals and worked very hard toward achieving them.   

But, moms and dads are solid because their own moms and dads were responsible and giving, too. 

Lucky are the children who get a great start and then build on it with their own efforts.  

Not much is happening, and there’s a lot going on.

 

Not much is happening, and there’s a lot going on. 

This summer, we’ve set records (well, if we kept records) for time at home, meals cooked, dishes washed, hours of exercise, fewest airline flights.  On the surface, we live a simple and pleasant life.  Allyson goes to the home office and works full days.  We try to distinguish workdays by doing things on weekends.   

Weekends have found us at the Oregon Coast a couple of times, in the forest a couple of times, wildlife refuges, and on country drives in wine country, (non-grape) fruit country, and elsewhere.  And now, we even have Blazer playoff basketball, at least for this weekend. 

Despite COVID-19, we are in good shape and would be pretty happy.  We even have a new great niece to celebrate! However, our spirits suffer from that heavy blanket of Trump working to destroy that which had separated the United States from the rabble for a century or two.  With trepidation, I scan the news for the outrage du jour.

This weekend, for the purpose of suppressing mail-in voting, he is removing mailboxes in violation of the law plus stoking race-baiting fires with attacks on Kamala Harris.  Polarizing people, whether a jury or the electorate, is a strategy.  Force people to choose sides.  Republicans have done it for years.  For a time, it was ballot measures against gays to bring out right-wing voters.  But that tide turned. 

So, Trump and his allies return to racism, a tried and true appeal for centuries.  I only hope that, like the anti-gay message, it will backfire this time around.  In the meantime, it is not surprising that people who do not have the bully pulpit of the Presidency do what they can to get attention to fight against racism, which, in turn Trump used as an excuse to deploy unidentified federal employees or mercenaries in full military gear to suppress protests.  Still other times, Trump offends and hurts us by directing millions to friends and supporters either in direct cash payments or by destroying our natural environmental heritage, and other ways too many to enumerate. 

I expect a constitutional crises this year. The question will be, are we modeling 1933 Germany or will enough people do what is necessary, will the judiciary do what is necessary, and will the military do what is necessary to maintain rule of law short of armed conflict. 

“Go Blazers!” seems a bit small with all that’s going on. 

Summer 2020.

Dinner guests feel seditious and perilous, despite the outdoor air, six feet of separation, assigned bathrooms, and individual, Cloroxed carafes.  Did I lean in too far?  I know I touched something he touched.  I hope they were not diseased.  If they were healthy, then all the precautions seem silly and superstitious.  Will today’s discussions and techniques go down in history alongside animal dung ointments, bloodletting, and trepanation?

Welcome to Summer 2020:  

BLM Protests continue

Race and revolution.  Economic uncertainty.  How will college footballers pursue their dreams?  Will sports steal eyeballs and momentum from the push to acknowledge and address racism?  Or do sports advance the cause of equality? Even after recent murders, why are white cops drawing guns on Black teenagers because teenagers act like teenagers?  I no longer want to make constructive use of lockdown time, which, for me, began in January when I returned home from surgery. The silver linings of the first couple months of pandemic lockdown now feel like lead. While I enjoy isolation in wilderness settings, I dislike thinking of people as disease vectors to avoid.  I’d rather slip into crowded restaurants and concerts and breathe the air of people living life.  But, I won’t. I'll keep trying to see this as an opportunity for society and myself. 

We live our altered lives.  The pleasures are more simple.  We grow and learn with the rest of our cohorts. Thankfully, we remain in the “doing well” category, with no loved ones stricken by Corona Virus Disease - 2019.

Almost Solstice - 6-19-2020

Wedding Smiles

Smiles make me happy, especially the smiles expressing emotions too complex for words

A gift of attending an intimate wedding is feeling the glow of such smiles, unique to the moment, the place and the billions of moments before that crafted the hearts and souls of the bride and groom.

Thank you, Zara and Jack, for offering us that gift of joy, love, hope, anticipation, and who the heck knows what else radiated from your young faces on August 8, 2019. 

And then there were those other smiles from another August 8. 

The blessing of a best friend.

Tom Alexander, who was among the greatest blessings in my life, passed away on August 4.

Not sure when we met.  But I remember a triple date in 1973.  Six of us packed into his dad’s 1969 Camaro.  Lucky me, a 15-year-old with a 16-year-old friend so I could date Mary Lou.  We saw Papillon and returned to my basement for ping pong.

A true friend throughout high school, Tom remembered my birthdays and organized parties, including the one he took a picture of in 1975 and sent me last year. 

Off to different colleges we went.  Still, we met a couple of times in Southern California at Thanksgiving.  I remember the night at some disco drinking Southern Comfort (to great discomfort the next day) and bumping to “I don’t bump no more with no big fat woman.” 

Distance and life made it difficult for us to be face to face.  Yet, we got together in Arizona, Illinois, Oregon and Missouri, and we kept in touch by phone.

Just knowing Tom was out there made me feel good – supported and loved.  I knew if I were down, I could call.  If things were great, I could share the news. 

Tom was an unselfish, honest, considerate, responsible man with integrity.  Everyone trusted Tom.  He was a good man.  

We last got together shortly after his diagnosis two years ago.  It was a good visit with meaningful conversation.  Even then, unselfish Tom was more concerned about the impact of his brain cancer on his loved ones, especially Stacy and his mom.

Better than a friend, Tom felt like a big brother, whom I miss terribly. 

And he taught his dogs commands in English and Greek!

Forest at dawn.

First on forest paths
I clear them with my face
Spider webs


-Jeffreysan

Jet boats in wilderness? Does a bear shit in the woods?

Oregon’s Rogue River promises the beauty and romance of wilderness.  I’ve been meaning to get down here for years.  Finally, we made it to Tu Tu Tun Lodge near Gold Beach.

Looking out our window this morning, marine clouds top the forested ridge across the river which is a short walk past the swimming pool, the green lawn, and the river rock at water’s edge.  At times, the river is 10 or 20 feet higher.  Today, it is a very peaceful.  A few birds paddle now, and the kayaks await our paddles later. 

Ecosystems amaze me, and scientists learn more each year.  Nutrients from the forests wash down toward the ocean, forming estuaries rich with diverse plant and animal life.  Sea nutrients go upriver, too.  Salmon nutrients upstream fed not only bears, who then distributed the nutrients in the forest soil, but also bugs and other invertebrates that fed off the dead salmon that completed their life’s journey.  The birds eat the bugs, and scientists have identified salmon nutrients in them, too.   (Typically, I get my salmon nutrients from Trader Joe’s and restaurants.)

Unlike within other wilderness areas, the government permits lodging along the Rogue up to a point, when there are only grandfathered houses.  Motorboats may continue upstream.  We took Jerry’s Jet Boats upriver 32 miles to the little town of Agnes, population about 75 people.  Agnes used to have a little school for K – 6, but no more.  When they got down to 5 students about a decade ago, it closed. 

Dinner in Agnes

At Gold Beach, tourists stop along Highway 101 where river meets ocean.  Not much there other than Jerry’s, gas stations, and a couple of places for food.  A general hospital and the county seat provide for other employment, too.

Jerry’s Jet Boats is not a wilderness experience.  It’s more like splash mountain.  However, it provides tourists a quick look at the contours of the lower 32 miles of the Rogue River.  We saw recreational vehicles, osprey, eagles, tents, blue heron, egrets, geese, mergansers, river otters, and other critters. 

Jerry’s can load about 50 people per boat.  Using three car engines to power us past depth as shallow as 10 inches, Jerry’s’s multiple boats roar up and down the river several times per day.  The boats bring tourist dollars upstream where we deposit them with the two restaurants and servers, who distribute them further in the woods.

The pages turn.

Life transitions forward as we begin the tenth year of CarpeSummer and the first summer of my 7^th decade. 

Kent, Kate and Ben moved away; Zara and Jack visit nearby; Allyson and I moved across town; and my spiritual home no longer includes my vacation home.  The overall feeling is both disorientation and excitement, like wandering the warrens of a market in a third-world country.  It’s eager anticipation of the new school year while grieving the loss of summer friends and freedom. 

K, K and B needed relief from oppressive job demands and inadequate living space.  Their perseverance through a couple of tough years should lay the foundation for a fulfilling life.  Their presence in my life has been rewarding in too many aspects to count.  Just one example: walking with Kent in October 2017 was the genesis for moving out of The Pearl District.  I enjoyed our relaxing, peaceful walk where we engaged in thoughtful conversation, which is difficult to do in Downtown, The Pearl District, or ChinaTown / Entertainment District (a.k.a. Drug Acquisition District).

From June 2018 through June 2019, I’ve moved out three times:  Condo to Apartment, Apartment to new home, and moved out of Trout Lake.  Each time, I have culled and culled and culled again.  Little things, like donating the otherwise terrific shirt that almost fits.  Big things, including comfortable chairs.  And bigger things, like an extra home in which I nested comfortably after 14 years of making things just so.

Many of the items disowned were attached to memories.  While another will enjoy a painting, she will not see its shadow of us happily visiting the art fair on that sunny, July afternoon.  Other items preserved capabilities.  Now lacking a table saw, I’ve lost the freedom to make certain things myself. 

The moves encouraged me to analyze what I need, what I want, and what I do not want.  It forced me to consider who I was and who I am (especially the boxes of photos and trove of letters) and what I want for the future. 

Today, I pair the old saying, “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone” with you don’t know what’s beyond the horizon until you get to the horizon.  I have a deeper appreciation for family, long-time friends and special places now more than ever.  I can hardly wait to engage new people and new places. 

2018 before it's too late.

12/22/2018

Before sunset, the burnt orange leaves of the vineyards stretch toward the Santa Ynez Mountains under the “cold moon.”   As Winter begins, a Carpe Summer note seems long overdue.  

2018 has been a year of transition, consternation, joy, acceptance and gratitude. 

Cayman Sunrise

The 2017 hurricane changed the destination of our February 2018 vacation from St. John to Grand Cayman.  Our house sat on an unpopulated beach and the water was beautiful blues and greens. But many beaches on Cayman were loaded with junk – random sandals, shoes, plastic bottles and pieces – lotsa junk.  One local blamed it on Haiti.  Certainly, Cayman is well-kept, so I would be surprised if the junk came from here.  So, we had to take the good with the bad:  beautiful water, decent snorkeling, but it is hard not to be sad over the state of the environment.  The recent 60 Minutes report on junk in the Pacific Ocean, even on Midway Island, reinforced the knowledge of uncontained waste killing birds and the environment, generally.  Photographers can crop the crap.  In real life, we cannot.  Life is good, but not perfect.

In a similar vein, we decided to leave Portland’s Pearl District after 5 years.  There are days when I LOVE living there.  I can walk to everything.  I have friends in other condos, making the District feel like a college campus, with friends in dorms.  I run into acquaintances from the neighborhood association. I relax at a favorite restaurant.  There is a much to love about the Pearl District. 

In February, we contracted to purchase a new condo under construction in The Vista, right on a park with a big view and 24/7 person to keep an eye on the front door.  We sold our condo and moved into Couch 9 apartments to wait four months for move in. 

Living in the tiny apartment on the  side south of The Pearl focused us on the “cons” of The Pearl.  The smaller place reminded us how efficient we must be with our belongings.  The one-car space reminded us how much we prefer a parking for two cars.  But mostly, living and walking to work through the humanitarian crises we call “homelessness” reminded me how much I need a break from that. 

Luckiamute: Ken, Scout and Ranger

It hit me one morning when my brother picked me up early to join him and his bird dogs for a day at the Luckiamute Ranch.  He asked me how things are going, and I launched into my frustration with the city’s approach to the issues.  I discussed my research on the difference between Oregon, which ranks about 49 out of 51 (states plus District of Columbia) on homelessness, and other states or cities that have made progress.  I hated the way the Joint Office of Homeless Services wastes money and excludes people with good ideas from meaningful input as they do more of the same, which has not worked.  (Hey, why don’t you sharpen the saw?  Shut up, can’t you see we are sawing as fast as we can?!”) I ranted about being accosted a block from my abode and the crime and the litter and the sadness of walking past 20 people sleeping on sidewalks or benches, or doorways on my way to work and the broken windows of cars and pick ups parked overnight or in the garage under our apartment.  Then, there’s the young man, maybe 30, who has lived in the doorway near my office for over three years.  There’s my guilt when I shake my head “no” to multiple people in need every day.  After ranting for 20 minutes, it hit me:  living in the city is eating me alive and making me unpleasant to be around.  So, I shut up and changed the topic. 
Not long after that morning, we reneged on our contract to buy The Vista so we could move out of downtown.  You can’t have the pros of downtown living without the cons.  You can’t have a beach vacation on Cayman without the plastic. 

Pearl District Sunset

We found a townhouse under construction in the Sellwood neighborhood and hope to move in January 2.

I returned to practicing law in 2018 after my two-year "retirement."  I prefer helping people as a lawyer to other pursuits.  I'm not an artist; I'm a lawyer.  I enjoy the law, mostly.  

Yet, 2018 has been a good year in so many ways for which I am grateful.  My relatives continue good health and mostly happiness; same with my families of choice. One exception is a long-time friend who struggles with cancer.  My most important relationships feel secure and happy.  I’ve enjoyed many wonderful moments from quiet walks in nature to a happy wedding; visits my great-nephew and his parents, get togethers in town and fun weekends away.  I rate myself happier today than I was one-year ago.  

I write this on an airplane to Mexico, a country I love to visit.  I like Mexicans, their spirit, food, culture, forests, coastlines, art.  I hate US politicians who  try to drive a wedge between us and them.  The politics and world events and intrigues of 2018 concern me.  In some ways 2018 has been a nightmare from which I cannot awaken.  Politicians seem to make so many wrong public policy choices on matters that should be no-brainers.  I understand that power and money drive these intentional mistakes.  My understanding only increases my sense of injustice and feelings of powerlessness. 

I eagerly anticipate moving and my next chapter in life, despite the dark clouds of: international trade wars and actual wars, the growing power of Putin and weakening of Western Democracies and their/our institutions, insufficient action against environmental degradation and, as noted earlier, inept leadership at local and national levels. 

As new condo and office towers gleam in Portland while people sleep on the streets, 2018 can be described as, “It was the best of time, and it was the worst of times.”

Mountain Goat in Washington

Indian Heaven

September  Red Rocks, Colorado

Deschutes River

Trout Lake

Wind River in Washington

December Sunrise, Cape Kiwanda, Pacific Ocean

December Sunset, Playa del Tamarindo, Mexico

Miyajima

Forested hills

Pure rivers flow to the sea

Otorii welcomes.

       - Jeffreysan

Itsukushima Shrine

Otorii

Shrine Tourist seeking strength

When in Hiroshima . . .

Okonomiyaki in every stage of cooking.

Greater Hiroshima is the home to 1.2 million people and 2,000 okonomiyaki restaurants.  We found the one run by a Guatemalan and his Japanese wife for 17 years. 

Okonomiyaki means grilled (yaki) what you want (okonomi).  Hiroshima style starts with batter on a grill that becomes crepe-like.  Then, they pile toppings: cabbage, seasonings, pork belly, fried egg, soba or udon noodles, and other things.  Squid (fried or not) and green onions were among the option available at Okonomiyaki Lopez.  The master chef must flip the materials over and back at the right time.

Although okonomiyaki had been around since the 1900s as an afternoon snack, after the A-Bomb, it became a survival food.  People used scattered metal as makeshift teppan griddles.  People scrounged whatever food they could and grilled it all together.  These days, the griddles are designed with precision so that the heat is evenly disbursed so the chefs can produce consistent products. 

In some cities, okonomiyaki still mixes everything together.  In Hiroshima, the layers remain distinguishable with a cut-able crispness to the cabbage (important to us for sharing). 

Fernando Lopez and Makiko (raised in Hiroshima) have an interesting story, which has been told elsewhere.  (Rice, Noodle, Fish by Matt Goulding).  One of their three sons is in Seattle.  We offered to show them around Portland if they make it our way. 

Onomiyaki is among the things to do in Hiroshima. 

Carp Fans

Another thing is professional baseball, the Hiroshima Carp. 

Reserved tickets were sold out, and the unreserved section filled up on the lovely night we attended (part of) the game.  Fans were fanatical.  Probably 90% of the crowd wore red and / or white team gear.  They chant together and enjoy ballpark food, which looks like the other food around town.  Noodle bowls, rice bowls, yakitori . . . .  Remember, “taco” means squid here.