PonderingDave

Oh, the places I have gone.

2026-05-29T11:28:02.123-07:00

Some people never stray far from their place of birth. Some people travel the world. In my life, I am somewhere in between.

Some people work for the same company for 50 to 60 years. On my desk, I had taped a newspaper clipping from probably 30 years ago. This was a short paragraph announcing the death of a waitress, a woman who had worked at the same lunch buffet for 50 years. This lady's life has stuck with me for all these years. I know no details, just that she worked and stayed at the same place for over 50 years. I am impressed by her perseverance.

I have worked for at least 20 different companies in my career. I am not content to stay in one place. I think I looked for good management and perfection in my work. I discovered that perfection is hard to find when you work for humans. We are imperfect. We all make mistakes. I would roam from job to job, never really knowing what I was looking for. Am I unstable?

From an early age, I had wanderlust. I love to travel. I have been to all four corners of this great country. Well, I have touched all four corners. Oh, the places I have gone.

I have been to New England, in Buffalo, New York. We traveled to Toronto, Canada, to see the CN Tower. I have traveled to Utica and Rochester, New York. I have been to Assateague Island National Park in Maryland, driven into Delaware, and touched the cold Atlantic Ocean. I have been to Philadelphia and toured the historical Independence Hall.

I have been to Florida (Panama City) and touched the warm waters of the Gulf. I lived in New Orleans for ten years while growing up.

I was born in California, left for twelve years, and went back before I turned twenty. In San Diego, where I lived off and on for 30+ years, we ventured across the border to Mexico. I ventured downtown in Tijuana.

I dipped my toes in the Pacific Ocean. I hiked in the forest mountains of the High Sierra. I seem to have found my purpose, my raison d'etre. I am a poet, a writer, an observer of life. I try to find purpose. I refer back to the poem I posted on this site. Grounded (https://ponderingdave.blogspot.com/2025/05/grounded.html), and it kind of explains my current mental state. I am looking for meaning. I think this blog is that pursuit.

I am looking for something to leave behind for my kids and grandkids. Something that says, "I was here. I meant something. I did something."

2026-05-27T10:05:41.296-07:00

Someone asked me over this past weekend how my retirement was going. I mumbled something vague that things were going well, but truth be told, after all these days, I really have only accomplished a fraction of what I wanted to accomplish.

Sure, I have been relaxing, reading a stack of books that I have collected over the years, and some new ones, too. I worked a part-time job at the local historical museum, which was a great opportunity to learn a lot about local history. The area has had a human presence for 12,000 years. This is important to me. I want to belong to the human race. I want to matter in some small way.

When I was pursuing my post-baccalaureate studies in history, our professors explained that history must be studied from the perspective of its era. We should NOT place modern sensibilities on the actions of the past. But while working at the museum, I became aware of the modern concept of "radical empathy". It bothers me that the word empathy -a very good feeling to have- needed to have a modifier. The idea of understanding the feelings and motivations of a culture or historical time within their own frame of reference is an important way to understand the history. Adding a modifier to empathy taints understanding of history and distorts knowledge of those events.

I enjoyed my time at the museum. I thought the administrators were very passionate about the preservation of the history of the area. I was struck by the fact that there were very few noted historical buildings in the area. Current recorded history goes back to 1805 when Lewis and Clark first rowed to the Columbia Cascades. White settlement started in the 1840s and flourished in the 1850s and 60s. There are very few structures left from those days, for a variety of reasons.

One main reason is that in the early 20th century there were forest fires that came through and burned some of the existing structures. There was also a flood around the turn of the century (20th). Also, there was a desire, or thought to upgrade all that was old. There was so much that has been lost.

2026-01-07T10:48:00.000-08:00

New Year's Resolution to clean my desk and tidy up my office papers

Notes from my desk:

Something I wrote in 2014.

On December 5th, 2014, I took my wife and kids out for dinner and a movie. It was her birthday, and she decided that all she wanted was dinner with her kids. Then we would go see a family movie.

After dinner, we went to see "Big Hiro 6". My kids have become, like many other kids their age, into gaming and superhero movies based on comic books.

We stayed after the credits to watch an animated short video starring an animated Stan Lee and one of the characters from the movie. My daughter was happy that she got something extra from the movie (langnaipe, if you will). I was disappointed, not with the entertainment, but by the fact that my kids look to superheroes in this world.

All I have ever wanted for them was that they be the heroes of their own lives. Why can't we all just be the heroes of our own lives?

2026-01-05T10:16:00.000-08:00

I wrote this last year, but forgot to hit "Publish".

The Seventeenth of August

This song was going through my mind all day yesterday. That one line, 'the seventeenth of August' is very significant to me. That day is my mother's birthday. (1934)

I have written about her before on this blog. But last August 17th would have been her 91st birthday. She died too young (2011, at 77). And I have so much regret and guilt. I should have taken better care of her.

"And as I rode out through Galway Town
To seek for recreation
On the seventeenth of August
Me mind being elevated
There were multitudes assembled
With their tickets at the station
And me eyes began to dazzle
And they're going to see the races"

Grounded

2025-05-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

Where else to go? We are grounded on this 4 billion-year-old ball of dust and water.
Wander aimlessly through the abyss.
We are of the earth. Grounded?
Life from the primordial ooze.
Molecule to molecule we grew.
Til we become human, and we die.

Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust.

How many of us humans have ever lived on this ground?
Population Reference Bureau postulates 117 billion. Who am I?
They say I am one of 117 billion. When I was born, according to my becoming date,
I was the 2,946,752,787 person alive on Earth.
Surely, nothing was expected of me.

Grounded. With this knowledge, we seek meaning.
We seek the truth of our existence.
Who are we? What are these thoughts? What is a thought?
What are these words? Is poetry just a fancy, fleeting thought?

And yet, I still toil. Each day the words of my culture come to my mind,
over coffee, over breakfast, over the sound of my love.
This token-chosen language. I choose to communicate.
Successful or not, the words flow. Truth, or gibberish?
Does it matter? To whom? To what? To Toil?

G r o u n d e d. Until the last breath of this life.
Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust.
To soil.

NOTES:
How many humans have ever lived?

Population Reference Bureau
117 billion members

No demographic data exist for more than 99% of the span of human existence. Still, with some assumptions about population size throughout human history, we can get a rough idea of this number: About 117 billion members of our species have ever been born on Earth.

On my birthday, at 1:08PM, I was the 2,946,752,787^th person alive on earth.

Day 13 ,
Prompt: Write a poem that is grounded in the body (earth). How you interpret that is up to you!

So, interpret, I did. I write in the dark of night's peace.

You and Me

2025-02-12T09:52:00.000-08:00

They were both awkward when it came to the opposite sex. Yet, shyly they met. And then waited in each others thoughts and dreams.

A year later, he wondered. A query. She moved back east wanting a change. He wrote to her. She wrote back. A love story created on paper turned real when they met.

Thirty-eight years later their hearts are inseparable.

My Wife, My Friend

2025-02-02T10:22:00.000-08:00

My wife's friend came to visit.
She stayed a couple of days,
And as she said goodbye,
I saw my wife had some teary eyes.

Longingly, I said to myself,
I wish I had a friend like that,
And it occurred to me that I did...
My wife.

Something in the Sound of Rain

2025-01-27T10:19:00.000-08:00

Something in the sound of rain
Something in its patter
Isolates a lonely man
Amidst the wildest chatter;
Surrounds a man under shelter
Keeps him in his place.
Something in the sound of rain
Makes you hide your face.

Everywhere you turn, it's there
There's no way to escape it
Yet with all its inconveniences
Who would want to forsake it?
It drives your soul within yourself
To look within your mind
And those who dislike the rain
Fear what they might find.

UPDATE: June 9, 2026

On Sat, May 9, 2026, I found this quote from Carl Jung. (I am sorry, I can't remember where.)

I wrote "Something in the Sound of Rain" when I was in high school, well before I ever heard the name Jung. I guess it might be a universal truth:

Quote of the day by Carl Jung: “Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible."

Carl Jung, the founder of analytical psychology, is known for his profound observations on the human mind and self-awareness. A famous Carl Jung quote to reflect on is: "Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes."

Christmas Errand Sidetracked

2024-12-26T10:23:00.000-08:00

Dec 24, 2024

Early this morning I had to go run a Christmas errand. I had to pick up my prescriptions before the pharmacy closed. It was raining steadily outside but it was only 7 miles, and I'd be in the car the whole time. I grabbed my jacket, the car keys, and left my wife to bake cookies while I was gone.

Down the road I go, heater on, wipers wiping. I stopped to get the mail. Christmas cards. Drive down to the 4-way stop just as a small truck is making a left turn in front of me.

On the left road, a small sedan is approaching the intersection faster than it should be. He brakes hard to let the truck turn.

I look at the sedan. He is stopped so I continue on my journey through the intersection. The sedan comes in the road behind me and as I am coming down the hill, I sense that he may be in a hurry. He is not tailgating, just there.

There is no place for me to pull over so at the bottom of the hill but just past the roundabout, I see a spot on the shoulder to stop and let him pass. As soon as I do we are both back on our way. He drives on ahead.

Around a slight bend, not a second later, the driver leaves the road and goes 10 feet up a short embankment and goes airborne over a small ravine. The rise up the embankment causes the vehicle to a slight roll to the left side. As I am driving by I lose sight of them. But immediately pull over, turn on my hazard lights, and run the 10 yards back to the ravine railing. The car is lying right side up, the driver's hands on the wheel. The passenger has opened her door and is on her phone dialing 911, as am I. Mountain roads, no service. We were the only two cars in sight, well mine was on the road, theirs was out of sight in a ravine. I see other cars coming. I flag them down. No one stops. Both ways. Nothing.

I yell down to see if there are any injuries. The passenger says the driver is having a seizure but she is fine. I try to flag other cars. No one stops except one lady. She was able to call 911. The sheriff and ambulance were on their way.

It’s still raining hard. My jacket is getting rain-heavy. I climbed over the railing to see if I could get down to help. I was in sneakers, with bad hips, and bad ankles. I am 66 years old. If I go down that slope, I'll be stuck too, with no one to guide for help.

The passenger, the driver’s girlfriend, is trying to help. We are communicating. I told her help was on the way.

After 5 minutes help arrives. Sheriff, highway road crewman, and then paramedics. I give my statement as others arrive. Sheriff's officers, EMS, and road crew. Lane blocked off. Road safe. Paramedics at the vehicle. Help has arrived.

There are many emotions. The occupants appear to be safe. The officers had my information, so rather than be in the way, I left to go about my business, worried that I did not do enough.

Later, at home, the state police called asking for more information. The occupants were taken to the hospital about 20 miles up the road — no serious injuries.

Two days later the image still haunts me. A vehicle right in front of going flying over a ravine. I am constantly asking myself. Did I do enough? I am going to be more prepared in the future. Ropes, raincoats, and anything else that might be needed in an emergency. We have an emergency kit in the car, but it was little things like band-aids and such.

I think back on this and wonder. If I had not let him pass, would I have seen him go over the ravine? Would he be stuck in the ravine for longer than the 30-minutes he was? What more could I have done? I am glad it all worked out like it did? No serious life-threatening injuries. And yes, I have been praying for a good outcome.

DN.

Running Drills, December, 2007

2024-11-18T16:55:00.002-08:00

From December, 2007:

Middle school little leaguers growing up. A new season, a new December. High school baseball tryouts. Pint-sized gladiators in a new arena. Running Drills across the outfield, right to left.

My son, Smiley, my hero, the last runner, enjoying being there, coming up short.

He comes home and puts his running shoes away. Different challenges await.

Nineteen years later, May 2026:

After a move to a new state, town, jobs, careers, my son landed on his feet. He found a girl, they settled down and gave my wife and I a new granddaughter. She is now six months old.

Different challenges indeed.

Lost in the Universe – A Family Portrait on a Wall

2024-11-17T22:26:00.004-08:00

Author's Note: This article originally appeared in our local newspaper, River Talk Weekly, in April, 2024.

There are many chapters and passages in life. My wife and I are in our Autumn years, reaping the harvest of years of work and family life. The fruits of our labors have allowed us to live mortgage-free with no desperate claims on our time.

Ah, retirement. After half a century of work, my wife and I are both looking forward to enjoying life as we get to discover new things. We are finding that with our newfound free time, we want to explore as much of this world as possible.

We live in a semi-rural setting. We are away from metropolitan areas. We had been talking about getting out to explore the night sky, and the beautiful natural areas around us. Alas, we hadn’t always found the right “time”.

We were watching the local news a few months ago and we heard about a meteor shower coming up. So, this weekend my wife and I drove out into rural Washington State, hoping to see some meteors. Yes, we were watching the weather. Rain, overcast, and above those clouds there was a full moon. We didn’t think this through, but we hit the road anyway.

We drove out to Goldendale, WA, a small farming town of about three thousand five hundred people. The town has been around for over hundred and fifty years. Fifty years ago, this town built an observatory (https://www.goldendaleobservatory.com). They were far removed from the light pollution of the big metropolitan areas, and it seemed like a good place to put a telescope. We signed up for the 9:00 p.m. to midnight visitor’s slot for the observatory program.

We arrived at the observatory at our chosen time, along with maybe 20 other diehards. The observatory is now a state park and we wanted to go and visit anyway. The Ranger on duty that night, Troy Carpenter, Observatory Administrator, gave an excellent tour of the telescope and facilities. After an introduction to the nighttime telescope alignment and operation, we were escorted into a classroom where we were taught the history of the universe. All learned because of the interpretation of light from a telescope. It was raining and cloudy outside so all of our learning was virtual, and we did not get to look through the telescope. Very poor planning on our part.

We learned about the light emission spectra, the light absorption spectra, and the history of stars. 13.7 billion years ago was the Big Bang. The most common elements were hydrogen and helium. Over the next 13.7 billion years the rest of the elements were developed when the fundamental particles, neutrons, electrons, and protons, collided with each other and formed the various nuclei of the different elements we see today. I was fascinated. Here we had the explanation to all of the universe. The how and why of what is going on with life. It put my little 65+ years in perspective and brought forth a great many questions. How much can one man’s action change the world? Or the course of history? And even, what is this world? What is life?

Normally, the insignificance of the human animal and, indeed the earth, would have sent me into a weird conundrum of despair and depression. (I mean, in the vastness of space, what is the point of it all?) I have spent my entire adult life wondering what this life is all about. I haven’t yet figured it out. But I am on the cusp of something. I think this weekend trip may have helped.

My upbringing in the Christian faith told me that God created the earth in six days and on the seventh day he rested. 13.7 billion years divided by six equals 2.283 billion years. I am now convinced that God works on a different schedule than you or me. I understand more now.

On our way out of town the next morning, my wife and I stumbled across the local Goldendale history museum that had been made from a local lawyer’s house in the 1920s. We decided to take the tour. The house was a large, spacious, three-story house with an attic. Each floor had about one thousand square feet.

We were lucky enough to have a guided tour by the museum director. Every room was period decorated and, on each wall, hung several portraits of former residents. These portraits were in black and white and showed separate images of the man of the house, or the lady of the house all dressed up elegantly in their Sunday Best go-to-meeting clothes. We started talking about these. The director said that the museum had a room in the basement with “loads” of these portraits lined up like books on the floor. Many local families, 3rd, 4th, or 5th generations, inherit these heirlooms and have no personal link to the family members who passed away twenty, thirty, forty, or fifty years before their birth. There is no repository for these histories. No repository but the local museum. The history docents at the museums love to research old photos. I got into a discussion with the old docent this weekend. Families these days do not know what to do with the photos. I, myself have often wondered. We live in a small house and have limited wall space. But this house had numerous walls all adorned with many photographic portraits of former residents of the town, the only place for a family’s old heirlooms and stories.

I have done a lot of thinking about my life and work legacies over the past few years. I have two beautiful children to carry on my name and character. My siblings all have kids, and we all share a general character and values that I believe we are passing on. I hope someday my kids will fully understand the gifts I have given them. I do not know what they will do with our portraits after our days on this planet are done. They may be digitized, stored on some computer drive or in the cloud somewhere, or stuffed in an old trunk relegated to someone’s attic or basement.

Where will that trunk be forty years from now? Will my children go through my belongings when I am dead and gone and look at the old photos for a few minutes to reminisce about their aunts, uncles, and grandparents? Will the photo ever be taken out and re-hung on a wall? No, I doubt that. The pictures, the lives, the memories, shared and forgotten do not have a life beyond the realm of family. They just become portraits of no historical value other than the life stories of my children and nieces and nephews.

A hundred years from now, our photo will just be a portrait of a family long forgotten. Such is life. Life is transitory. Families move. People live and die. Memories fade. The true value is in the spirit. The values and character that we pass on. We provide comfort and warmth, and we try to leave values and character. That is our true gift, our true legacy.

Late Early Morning Walk

2024-04-22T22:35:00.000-07:00

Late early morning walk. I am late this morning. My early morning walk started at 9:30AM. I walked from my house down the street to the railroad trestle. The trestle goes across the local creek. The salmon are about to start running and I wanted to see if there are any fish in the stream. Three weeks ago my son and his girlfriend and I walked out there and saw what looked like a steelhead resting in a pool. (Upper right hand quadrant of this photo.)

The stream opens for fishing in the fall. Oregon regulations are hard to decipher. For me anyway. Guided fishing trips are expensive. Oh well. I will do my research.

But another reason I made this little trek this morning was to walk along the railroad tracks.

On the trestle is marked the date 1910. And as I was looking at it a train came by. One of the ten or fifteen trains that come by our town each day. Then I did the math. 112 years. Let's say 10 trains a day. I'll say an average of 40 boxcars carrying anything from grain to lumber. 440 cars a day times 365 = 160,600 boxcars a year times 112 years = 17,987,200 boxcars. That is a lot of boxcars.

take the time

2023-10-27T10:05:00.001-07:00

These days we all have a cell phone with a camera at the ready to capture those beautiful sights. Moments of glory, captured. Sometimes you just have to drink it in. This happened a few years ago.

One trip from Oregon to Tahoe,
through evergreens and mountains
going down old Hwy 89,
the wife and I drove around a bend
descending into a small gorge,
where on the other side of the river was a train,
with two locomotives exiting a tunnel,
steam and smoke billowing,
truly a picturesque sight burned in my memory,
but I was driving, could not take a picture,
probably would have lost it anyway,
but after 5 or 6 years,
I can still see it in my mind's eye.

Lunch with Bambi, and The Joke Was On Me.

2022-07-11T22:55:00.004-07:00

I met "Bambi" once. It must have been sometime in 1980. After living in New Orleans for ten years my family decided to move back to California. My dad had just gotten a new job in California and my family moved from New Orleans. My parents and younger sisters settled in La Mesa, CA (a San Diego 'burb). I had my own apartment but was looking for other things to do in my life.

In the San Diego Newspaper there was an ad for a hotel in the high Sierras. The hotel was looking for kitchen help. I applied. I had always wanted to move to the mountains. I wanted to get back to the hills. So I applied. I had four years experience as a fry cook and I was hired.

I loaded all of my belongings into the back of my new old pickup truck and moved to Lake Tahoe. People asked me if I was afraid to make such a move. I think I was just to young and stupid to know there should be fear involved. I had no problem. I thought this is what people do all the time.

I started work in late August 1979 at the big coffee shop in the hotel. A few months later I was transferred to the New York Deli. In the New York Deli I met Bob. Bob was the lead cook and we became fast friends. He was from Montana and I told him I had always wanted to go there. I loved mountains and wanted to hike and fish.

Bob became a mentor to me. He became my best friend. He was later to be the best man at my wedding. But Bob was always a jokester. We would play practical jokes on each other all the time.

One day he told me that he had a good friend named "Bambi" and we should go see Bambi in Sacramento. Bob was a relatively new friend and when he heard I was from the San Diego area I think he just really had to introduce me to his friend, Bambi. At the time Bob did not know that I had only lived in the San Diego area for six months prior to moving to Lake Tahoe.

So, he arranged a trip to Sacramento to meet his friend Bambi. We drove the hour and a half to Sacramento to have lunch at Bambi's house. I remember Bambi fixed us sandwiches. Bob and Bambi talked about stuff. I was a shy kid and really didn't ask too much and didn't get involved in their conversation.

It was only years later that I found out that Bambi was Lance Alworth, the great receiver for the San Diego Chargers. I still have no idea how Bob knew him.

I wish I had known. It turned out that my mother-in-law was a huge fan of Lance Alworth. Sadly, she passed away before I could talk to her about him. I wish I had known. So many lost chances at conversations.

Yes, I met Lance Alworth in 1980. My friend thought it would be a cool thing to surprise me. I had no idea. I guess the joke was on me. I still kick myself.

2022-03-08T09:55:00.000-08:00

File clean-up:

Memories.

Sitting at the computer looking for something new to write about. Looking for something to get the creative juices flowing. I found this gem from about 28 years ago. I think my son was about 4 years old.

My wife and I were both working and to help our daycare situation we worked staggered hours. I went to work early and picked up the kids in the afternoon while my wife works late. I usually had dinner ready when she got home from work and we then sat down for a family meal.

One particular Friday evening, my wife and I and the kids were watching TV when we thought that popcorn would be a good idea. My wife went into the kitchen and pulled out the air popper from the cupboard. She was plugging it in and adding the popcorn when my three-year-old son pulled up a chair to watch. My son was so amazed, that he had to remark, "Gee, Mom, I didn't know you could cook."

Ah, from the mouths of babes. My wife is a great cook. It just worked out that at that time in our life I took on those duties.

Our son is an amazing kid. He was a happy, smiling kid. His nickname on one team was "Smiley".

March Forth, that is an order (to myself, anyway)

2022-03-01T08:29:00.001-08:00

March first. Then write.

A little play on the date. A friend once told me that the date, March Fourth, is the only day of the year that is an order. I remember that as we start March First. Today. And so, I shall make ready to March forth.

Advice taken

2021-11-28T14:52:00.005-08:00

Stephen Sondheim died this weekend. I remember I bought a vinyl record just because Judy Collins recorded his “Send in the Clowns”. I admired his talent. I admired his career.

Just this weekend CBS Sunday Morning did a couple of segments on Sondheim. In one segment he is quoted as saying to “…let the content dictate the form”. This to me is profound. I shall take that to heart.

I retired from my career in January. And for the past year I have been considering compiling all the essays that I have written for my blog into one complete memoir of sorts. Of course, “let the content dictate the form”, so I have been trying to format this document, these stories, these essays about my life into a memoir.

I hope to have these little vignettes structured to a cohesive memoir in the next few months. That is my new retirement task.

Day 277 - My Retirement Bliss

2021-10-11T14:54:00.002-07:00

Happy Columbus Day to those who remember the history of the world. Happy Indigenous Peoples Day to those who empathize. Happy both days to those who understand the history of migratory peoples, the history of the world.

I celebrate Columbus Day because of the history and discoveries he brought to our lives. The world is no longer flat. There are no serpents at the edge of the world. We will not fall off into the abyss if we travel too far. We have been to the moon and confirmed that the earth is a blue marble flying through space. The world, this earth, is a giant rock hurtling through space with no end in sight. What I mean by that is, we have time, and the knowledge enough to make changes, however you perceive it to be. We have time to become who we want to be, to become better. Humans have done that since the race's beginning.

I celebrate Indigenous Peoples' Day because I care about the lives and contributions of the people who lived here before European intrusion. I am also the product of a certain indigenous tribe or my great great grandfather was and his blood flows through me.

I am proud of my Indian heritage. I am proud to be living in an area of the country with such a vast array of indigenous history and European history. For the most part I am proud that these two groups have learned to live together.

As a part of my celebration of Indigenous Peoples' Day, I want to post a picture of a sunset over the historic Columbia River. I am sure that there have been sunsets in this area similar to this for the past 10,000 years. But I just wanted to share.

PonderingDave, May Be Another Name for ProcrastinatingDave

2021-05-26T09:54:00.003-07:00

Yes, there you have it. My last post suggested that maybe I should change the name. No, not going to happen. But I am beginning to think/ponder that pondering may just be another name for procrastinating. It all happens in the mind. People say that a writer's job is a lonely pursuit. We sometimes work by ourselves. The relationship between mind and page: mind and electrons with in a chip. Who knows how we publish our thoughts.

My mind is always going. There are thoughts and plots, characters and voices, ideas and stories. But, there is something wrong with my motor functions in the rest of my body. My mind very rarely tells my body to sit down and WRITE. I don't know why that is. I was born to be a writer. I think. But the creation of an idea, a character, a story, whatever must get transferred to some media for it to be real. I am learning, striving to do that.

Please be patient.

DN.

Finding My Muse, Again

2021-04-16T10:11:00.002-07:00

On January 7, 2021 I retired from my career. I had plans to settle into the life of a reclusive, lonely poet, and maybe start writing that novel and some assorted stories that have been haunting me for many years. So, I cleaned up my office, created a workspace.

And…nothing. Some words hit the page but they were, so, bland.

Three months into this I was ready to give it up. Maybe the dream of being a writer was enough to keep me alive for all these years. Maybe tomorrow…? Maybe next week…? Maybe next year…? Maybe when I retire. But what then?

Retirement has been great. Pensions, and other assorted income makes for a stress free lifestyle. With the pandemic and quarantines all I really have is time. Time to write.

And…nothing. Why? I used to write a lot. I used to have these words. But for the last three months nothing really came forward.

I should state that I write from deep down in my soul. Hypnagogic, I believe they call it. It usually manifests itself right when my subconscious is about to take over when I am falling asleep. I drag myself out of bed and to the desk. And I write. But not lately. I really don't understand why.

I have been rather pensive and have been looking back over my long working career. 50 years of work. I was smart. I worked hard. I accomplished things. I made money, paid taxes, raised a family, created a pension for my later years. But what bothers me? I cannot help but look at all the mistakes I made in the 50 years when I was employed. Why? I was successful, mostly. I was gainfully employed most of my adult life. It brought me to where I am today - a pensioner.

But looking back I only see the mistakes I made. Is that nature's way of telling me to take control of my decisions; take control of my life. Don't make the same mistakes. Be good. Do well. Make the correct choices. I just have a hard time following the signposts in life.

Maybe I should rename this blog. Call it the procrastinator's diary or something. I will think about it and maybe do something next week. Stay tuned.

DN.

February 28, 2021

2021-03-01T11:10:00.001-08:00

Today, this last day in February, 2021, was a beautiful day in the PNW. I stepped out onto the porch after lunch to breathe in some pure fresh air. Several deep cleansing breaths really did the trick. I felt great.

I glanced across the street to the mailboxes about 50 yards away. The winter rains left the drive access to them all rutted and created three rather large puddles. It wasn't so bad with the snow, but now the snow has melted and there are puddles. Not good for retrieval of mail but good for other reasons.

Today I looked over and saw splashing coming from the puddles. There were several birds splashing around in the water. Once those birds flew away there were more in the bushes and trees behind the mailboxes who waited patiently to bathe themselves in the puddles.

Just one of the many reasons I love living here.

Notes from my desk...

2021-02-15T10:23:00.001-08:00

Some quotes on tolerance:
"No man has a right in America to treat any other man "tolerantly" for tolerance is the assumption of superiority. Our liberties are equal rights of every citizen." --Wendell L. Willkie

"Tolerance. I have seen gross intolerance shown in support of tolerance." --Samuel Taylor Coleridge

"The responsibility of tolerance lies in those who have the wider vision." --George Eliot

"Tolerance comes with age. I see no fault committed that I myself could not have committed at some time or other. "--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"People are very open-minded about new things--as long as they're exactly like the old ones. "--Charles F. Kettering

"Tolerance is another word for indifference." --W. Somerset Maugham

"Broad-minded is just another way of saying a fellow's too lazy to form an opinion." --Will Rogers

"It is easy to be tolerant of the principles of other people if you have none of your own. "--Herbert Samuel

"Tolerance is the oil which takes the friction out of life." --Wilbert E. Scheer

Drain the Swamp

2021-02-10T09:54:00.004-08:00

My first presidential election was in 1976 where voters were unhappy with the state of the federal government. It was an era of high inflation (“whip inflation now” WIN), oil crises (OPEC), the Viet Nam war, the cold war, and the war on poverty. There was a general dissatisfaction with Washington D. C.

I remember that election. The appointed president, Gerald Ford, was running against the Washington outsider, Jimmy Carter, the former Governor and peanut farmer from Georgia. A new, young, republican, I voted for Gerald Ford.

The issues in that election, in addition to those stated above, were the trade deficit, the national debt, social security reform, health care’s rising costs, and assorted other issues.

I won’t delve into the reasons or the effectiveness, or ineffectiveness of each administration but it is clear to me that in the 10 elections since then the American people have elected individuals promising change to the Washington establishment. Carter (governor), Reagan (governor), Bush (a one-term Washington insider exception – but as a Reagan disciple, a point can still be made), Clinton (governor), George W. Bush (governor), Obama (a rookie senator, so new that he may qualify as an outsider), Trump (a businessman outsider from New York).

I think it is clear that Americans want change. We want results from out Washington officials. Do we have to wait? How come Washington is so ineffective in making changes? Has ideology supplanted the altruism of public service? We have been looking to ‘drain the swamp’ since at least the 1970’s. I just don't know how we do that. Term limits? Isn't that what elections are all about?

Inauguration Day

2021-01-21T08:38:00.007-08:00

Yesterday was Inauguration Day. I usually only watch parts of it. Not a big fan of pomp and circumstance. But, a few things caught my eye. Fashion. Yeah, fashion. Me, the jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. But I did like the yellow that the poet wore. Two things caught my attention. First, the bright yellow that she wore. WOW. Talk about attention grabbing. Really caught my eye. Second she is a poet laureate. She is a poet. I am myself a poet. Nowhere near a poet laureate, but I write.

So, I listened. To the short excerpts on the news. I was impressed by the optimism. I checked out the complete text online. (I know there are others, but I found this link: https://www.baltimoresun.com/opinion/editorial/bs-ed-0121-gorman-transcript-20210120-5ojxffrfb5cybjabhgiffgiyhi-story.html).

The optimism she expressed is really the point of America. The dream of a new life. The promise of a life that you make. I encourage you to check out the poem. I found it fantastic, uplifting, inspiring. I see many great things to come for Ms. Amanda Gorman.

Short musings on my first day of retirement

2021-01-12T10:17:00.002-08:00

So, yesterday morning, my first full day of retirement, I woke at 7AM. I showered and then wandered into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. Great leisurely breakfast. I like this.

Morning hours spent doing minor chores. By lunch time I was looking for some quiet time. After a nice lunch with my wife, I settled down to read.

About 3PM I was in need of a nap. I sat in my chair and closed my eyes. Thirty minutes later my wife comes out of her office. "You just couldn't resist, could you?"

"Hey, I was tired when I woke up this morning. But now, this afternoon, I got re-tired."

I don't think she got it.