A mystery solved

In the summer of 2013 on our way to the Adirondacks, we drove east of Canton, NY, to Saranac Lake.  At the small town of Edwards we stopped briefly to search for the childhood home of Alexander Brodie.

I wrote about  it on September 8 of that year, “A village, graves and an old house.”  Brodie was a former army officer, a territorial governor out here in Arizona and rode with Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders in 1898 during the Spanish-American War.

I was armed only with a hand-drawn map of where to look.  The map indicated to drive west of Edwards a short distance, past a cellphone tower and the house was there by a pine tree.  I published a photo of the place above a cut-line that read,  “I believe this might be the old Brodie family home.”  It wasn’t.

I received this message today from Thomas Freeman of Edwards:

“Hello there, I wanted to let you know, that my family, The Freeman’s of Edwards have owned the Brodie Mansion since the 1880’s. The house you photographed is unfortunately not the “Brodie Mansion”. You were however close. Had you continued out from town on that same road, past the cell tower on your right at the bottom of the hill, the Brodie Mansion sits far back from the road with a two story pillared porch, it is quite a grand structure. The house is painted white.”

I wrote Mr. Freeman a short reply, thanking him for clearing up the issue.  Mystery solved.  I hope to take another crack at finding the “Brodie Mansion” the next time I’m in the area.

 

33 hours before Xmas

Our tree, ready for gifts.

Our tree, ready for gifts.

It is now less than two days before Christmas and I have done zero shopping.  I have the time to shop.  Plenty of time.  But I put it off as long as I can.

I’m averse to a lot of things about the season to be jolly. It’s what most people usually say before heading out on a spree. Jammed parking lots, commercialization, rude people scurrying around stores.

But, if I’m honest, the main reason I so hate shopping is that I’m afraid I will disappoint someone.  A gift that does not measure up,  If I see a glimmer of sadness in their eyes, really, how can I live with that?  That’s one thing I’ve learned.  Hand someone a gift and don’t look them in the eyes.

Nebra and I made an agreement this year.  We would cut back severely on gifts.  Possibly not even buying anything.

But how many times have I heard, “Oh, don’t buy me anything this year. I have everything I need.”  Then when you don’t they’re distraught.  “He should have known I didn’t mean it.”  You can see the rage building.  It will come back to haunt you.

Empty stockings, bubbling with expectancy.

Empty stockings, bubbling with expectancy.

We do have a tree.  Already a few gifts lay beneath it but they are from family and friends.

One thing makes me believe Nebra is not with the program. Several days ago she placed two Santa stockings above the fireplace, one for me and one for her.

Those empty stockings, I think, are filled with hope, with expectancy.  Maybe Nebra thinks it will be Santa, and not me, that drops something in there.

For sure I best go out soon to buy something.  Anything at this point will do.  I am not yet desperate.  That would come tomorrow.

If I could blow up Christmas, I would.

Fighting back against Trumpism

I started a computer folder shortly after the election called “Trump Era.” Inside are 11 files so far. They deal with FACTS I’ve gleaned on various subjects.

One of the files is named “Jobs.” Another is named “Big Business” and contains info on Trump’s corporate welfare deal with the Carrier Corp. My favorite is a near-empty one, “The Wall.” I plan to start another soon called “Land Grab,” regarding public lands particularly in the West where I live.

Knowledge.  This  is my initial way of fighting back at what appears the New Dark Age of America.  The presidency of Donald Trump.

If anything was clear to me during the election it was this.  Many Americans have not a clue on how our government works and its place in the world.  Facts no longer matter.  The era of easy “information” is as dangerous as it is simplistic.  Find a website that agrees with how you feel about an issue, and that becomes truth.  Few know how to research.  Even fewer know how to think logically.

You have only to look at the advisers and cabinet members Trump has chosen to understand you need to be vigilant, to know FACTS about everything the new administration is going to do after the inauguration on January 20.

Americans who do not support the Fascist policies of Donald Trump need to be more alert than ever, to get over sulking about the election very quickly and begin thinking about the mid-terms in 2018.  Those elections can over-turn a Republican-led Senate where Supreme Court justices go through the nominating process.

This is not the time to go beddy-bye. Knowledge, even in this era of a largely fact-free society, can be turned into power.

Irrationality takes over

Our class valedictorian did not attend homecoming in October this year. But a copy of his published letter to the editor of the Kansas City Star did.

Merrill Stiles, a retired physician, asked readers to think logically before casting their ballots for president and provided a list of considerations.

I was reminded of Merrill’s letter today in reading Donald Trump’s tweet of yesterday. The tweet said that in addition to winning the decisive Electoral College, he had also captured the popular vote “if you deduct the millions of people who voted illegally.”

Trump offered no proof of illegal voting. He seemed to have pulled “the fact” out of the sky. Hillary Clinton by all reliable accounts leads the popular vote by 2 million. And the number is growing.

Not only that but Clinton is seeking a recount of votes in Wisconsin. And the Green Party candidate, Jill Stein, is raising money for recounts in Michigan and Pennsylvania.

Trump has no strong mandate going in to his presidency.  He seeks a stronger voice by saying he won the popular vote so that he can rule America like a king. But the important thing is not what he said. The important thing is that half of America will believe him, nodding that millions cast illegal ballots. Half of the country will suspend logical thinking in favor of fiction, an unproven assertion that would get you a Big Fat “F” in Logic 101.

While I agree with Merrill’s concern, I think it comes a bit late. America has already reached the tipping point where irrational thinking is the standard. Trump is not the enemy. The enemy is us. We have perhaps reached critical mass with the election of Trump. Faith is winning the war with science and fact.

We no longer seek a president but some sort of white man’s messiah. Trump’s election is just another example of America in decline.

Gassing up in Albany

Our attendant in Albany. In gassing up in Waldport, an attendant greeted us in red uniform.
Our attendant in Albany. In gassing up in Waldport, an attendant greeted us in red uniform.

In Oregon, law has it you can not pump your own gasoline.  You must have an attendant do it.

We recently filled up our rental car, a little Chevy Sonic, at a Mobil station in Albany. The attendant soon appeared and took over.  Even washed the windshield.  She had to hustle, taking care of three other cars at the same time.  Took our credit card and read it via a hand-held computer and had time to chat.

This was like in yesteryear when it was the common practice.  This layed-back form came easily with me, having lolled through life having a gas jockey pump your gas while you slipped inside station to buy a Root Beer.

Our attendant in Albany said she also manages this one-person operation, and her husband manages another. Not only that, Her son also recently entered the field. She is convinced the Oregon law was meant primarily to create jobs.  Her family seems to be the living proof.

Maybe this is a good idea, a government solution to more jobs for workers displaced by computer world and obsolete and environmentally destructive industries like coal mining.

Let your mind wander.  Surely you can come up with some weird, unnecessary jobs to help the economy.

 

Escape to the Oregon coast

A coastal trip in the Great Northwest.

A coastal trip in the Great Northwest.

It has been a dreadfully-hot summer here in the arid lands of Arizona.  We are closing in on a record number of days in which the temperature has reached 110 or above.  That number is now about 25 days with no end in sight. The record is 33 days, in 2011, and, not eager to further punish ourselves,  Nebra and I plan to do what millions of other Arizonans have done over the ages.

Run for cover in the cool climes of the Pacific Coast.

For us, it’s a sea-change from the sunny beaches of Southern California.  We’re Oregon-coast bound. Think 60-degree weather, clouds and, hopefully, not much rain.

We have only a passing acquaintance with the Beaver State.  I’ve driven through Portland a few times and seen a few episodes of ” Portlandia.”

Our itinerary takes us to Portland by air, then rental car to Astoria at the mouth of the Columbia River, then south along U.S. 101 and numerous seaside towns.  I count 30 of them on the visittheoregoncoast.com map, Washington’s border to California’s.  A friend of Nebra’s tried to play down the negative by simply saying the coast is “uh, very busy” in the summer.

The 101 highway, by the way, is a famous route, now diminished by Interstate 5, an hour’s drive to the east. It runs almost the entire width of the nation, north and south, Olympia, Washington, to Los Angeles, a distance of 1,550 miles. In California, it is known as El Camino Real (The Royal Road).

Oregon, I read, has 363 miles of “enchanting” coastline, but our idea is to travel no farther than 237 miles of it, to Coos Bay, the largest of the coastal communities.  Coos Bay, an old but still active fishing port, is far from a village, population about 16,000.  From there, we go inland and begin doing the second part of our three-pronged trip.  Visiting the college towns of Eugene and Corvallis and walking up the steps of the capitol in Salem.  The third part is hiking around Portland and in the Mount Hood region.

How our heat-wracked bodies adapt to a 50-degree drop in temperature is a mystery I’m eager to engage.