Ever since my garage door crunched itself into an intractable accordion, trapping my car inside, I’ve been riding the bus. I like it. It takes more time, but it’s easy – and its richer. One of my companions at the bus stop most Tuesdays and Thursdays is Mr. Joey Prude. The first time we spoke was on a Thursday. That day, like every other day I’d seen Mr. Prude he sat under… Read More
I just got e-mail. I’ve been writing e-mail back. And crying. My friend, Murry Owen, died last night. His body just couldn’t manage to breathe anymore. Yesterday I started this week’s blog. I called it “Big Changes.” I wrote about how I got to spend time yesterday morning with my friend Jim. Jim is the friend who found out 7 months ago that he has Rheumatoid Arthritis (EX:C blog, “Chronic Pain,” 6-4-2011). … Read More
Today is only a day. It is Saturday, the 4th of July weekend, and like every other day it has filled with moments linking up into hours, holding people and motion – holding change. This is how it went. Sun rays angled across the morning sky. I woke with two friends on my mind – two friends who are too close to death. Tom, a remarkable and kind educational leader, is here… Read More
I have a friend who lives with chronic pain. He has Rheumatoid Arthritis. The other day we were sitting drinking tea. It was the first time he told me of the RA diagnosis he received last December. “It hits like a train,” he said. “But, man is it ever teaching me about making choices.” “Three things,” he said. “First, it doesn’t feel fair. It isn’t fair, and it is what’s going on,… Read More
My friend Murry is in a protracted conversation with esophageal cancer. He knows all too well that his condition didn’t come from nowhere. The president spoke yesterday to matters in the Middle East – to the changes signified with the public uprisings in Egypt and Tunisia. He spoke to Israel and Palestine– to that protracted conversation. We all know that none of that came from nowhere. Today I took a photo of… Read More
During the work week between 6 and 7 a.m., it’s a different kind of quiet on the streets of downtown Portland. All last week I walked downtown to catch the bus. The weather was warming, the air softer to the touch. I liked it. That time of morning, delivery people dot the grid of city streets. They roll dollies with boxes of produce. They use fork lifts to move reams of paper… Read More
If we’re ever going to begin to grapple with the problems we have collectively,we’re going to have to move back the veil and deal with each other on a more human level. Wilma Mankiller (1945 – 2010) Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation Today I sat with two Elders in my community – two Grandmothers. Both of these designations, elder and grandmother, carry ambiguous valence in a culture (mine) so taken with… Read More
I don’t remember exactly the year. Maybe it was 1979. Probably summer, but more likely spring since summer in Baton Rough, LA can be beyond the capacity of all but its own hearty inhabitants to survive. There was the protection of the stately oaks dripping with Spanish moss. Whatever the season it was mild enough to leave untroubled the breathlessly fine fabrics and careful protocol involved to make the wedding as glitteringly… Read More
I’m not sure the first time I realized this day, March 4, is the only day of the year that doubles as a poem. Poetry is, by nature an illusive combination of feeling and fact. It is mysterious, powerfully so. It is anchored in words, also pretty imprecise when it comes down to it. There is certainly reality in it; otherwise poetry would never catch our attention at all, but it’s bigger… Read More
In January of 2009, Nick Minnis sat in a coffee shop watching the street scene on the corner of 28th and E. Burnside in Portland, OR. We got into a conversation about change. Nick said, “I’m not a politician. My world is small. I work, I provide, and I sleep…very little.” He laughed. I don’t know whether Nick is in a union. I do know he is a working man, a laborer…. Read More
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