climbing

12 days ago I went to the river. It is a 15 minutes drive "up the hill" to the American River Canyon.
I could not find a parking space at my usual place. I parked at a lower level and proceeded into
new territory. First find: Mountain Quarries Railroad bridge built in 1912 according to a recent
well-maintained plaque which described a series of natural disasters that this structure had survived.
Then I found a horse trail and took it toward the site I had been introduced to by Louisa 27 years
ago. By dropping down a couple of hundred steep feet, I reached it. After spending an hour or so
at the beach there I decided to return by following the river back to the old bridge. It was a rocky trail.
 Some of the rocks were the size of Volkswagens, some as large as small cabins. I encountered a
 few people along the way and asked if I could actually get to the bridge by following the river back.
 Answer: No. "You have to go up,but it is very steep. Of course I had to try it. I sighted the easiest
climbs and started upward. I was wearing shorts and tennis shoes, not my usual hiking boots. It was extremely hot and I carried a water bottle and my T-shirt. As I climbed I looked for a hand-hold and
 felt with my feet for a toe hold. At one point I felt I was holding on to the side of a mountain and didn't
 dare look down or look back. Thoughts running through my mind were my doctor who years ago
 invited me to go rock climbing with him. Not long after I heard and read that Dr. Kime had perished
 on one of his rock-climbing ventures.
As for my venture I could see my Placer-Herald headline :"70 year-old missing in American River
Canyon."
At this point I was pitching my water bottle and then my shirt up, so as to have both hands available.
Suspended in space I said a brief prayer for a branch, a rock anything to grab onto to hoist myself
 up another foot or two. A rock appeared.  I grabbed it, felt for a toe-hold and pulled my full body
 weight upwards. I reached a somewhat level area and made myself rest. I remembered "hydrate"
 -took some water and considered abandoning the water bottle to lighten my load for the remainder
 of my trip to the horse trail. After getting my wind back I continued upward. There was no going
 back at this point. After two more rest stops I reached the horse trail and sat there panting and grateful.
  6 days after my climb I noticed a red itchy spot on my belly (unfortunately that is the best term
 these days).
With each passing day the redness expanded. On Wednesday I got on line and made a Dr's
 appointment. I presented with redness, swelling and itching on my right torso. My sister had recently undergone an excruciating case of  shingles with similar symptoms. Did I catch it? The doctor said
 "No, the pattern had crossed the mid-line of your body which shingles never does and you describe
 'itching'. With shingles it is not itching, but pain." "Where have you been? and what have you been
 doing? he asked. I thought and said the Quarry where I had done volunteer work on two previous weekends. He looked puzzled and asked: "A quarry? What's that?" I explained and he said he thought
 I was exposed to poison ivy or poison oak. Later,of course I realized I had probably contacted one
of those evil plants on my climb.  He prescribed a steroid ointment and after my worst day on Thursday,
 when my stomach had the appearance of raw hamburger, it is resolving.
Now I lay in bed, restless with small firestorms occurring on my skin. Ow! another new itch. I look down.
Indeed there is another new red spot. My body says "scratch" - my mind says "Don't do that." As the
condition calms in the areas where it originated there are new frontiers on the borders where those dreaded
flares occur. My mind acts as a microscope and zeroes in on those newly afflicted areas. I see lightning storms happening on the map of my body with jolts of thunder that rattle my body and make its entirety jump.
This, too, shall pass.
Climbing? I probably shouldn't but, hell, I don't sky dive.

Bookend blog to "A Remembrance" one month ago

Not long ago, I related an event (remembrance,memorial)  for a deceased person, Kevin. That event disturbed me because there there was no mention on God or faith or spirit.
Now I relate an event that occurred within a month of that experience. A month earlier I considered  that I had had a remembrance devoid of faith.
 My new experience a month later was an event with "too much" faith.
Can I never be happy? Too little, too much?
My son invited me to a musical event, a rock concert at a major church in my local vicinity.
I thought 'I'm an adventurer, The church itself is called Adventure, it's phone number is an uber-comforting 624-LOVE.   I'll try it. I'm up for loud music and to share that with my son.
 My son, his daughter, my daughter, and I entered the structure that
dominates an entire mountain-top adjacent to my hometown. In the lobby I observed a functioning
coffee house and refreshment stands. We took an elevator to the balcony and looked down on the
coffee house, the refreshment stands and several tables exchanging products and services for $$.
Uhmm, I thought I don't know the bible real well, but money-changers seems to ring a bell.
My next visual (this one in my head) was to see Jesus with his staff held high entering this building
and clearing it of abominations. Righteous anger, that is what Catholics call Jesus' emotion. Not anger (too worldly, too lowly, but righteous).
  The concert started with melodies that were okay but a bit repetitious with lyrics of "high" and "low."
Then the sounds built. The introduction of smoke on stage. Cheers arose from the audience of thousands.
Hands started rising throughout. I felt no urge to join.
  Power-point, videos took the stage --the wonders of the universe, the stars, the galaxies, the seas, the grains of sand. The message I'm sure was There Must Be a Creator of these wonders. His name is God and we must honor and glorify Him. More hands rose. A series of video clips showed hands raised in history for
good causes.
One was not shown and one was missing --the Nazi salutes of the 1930's.
  More music at incredible decibels in this Mega church. The smoke on stage multiplied to huge proportions).
A  preacher appeared on stage, although he was not introduced as such. He had a seductive smile (or was it Angelic) on his lips as he nimbly segue-wayed from  Power-point God to Jesus. And the sacrifice of Jesus by his Father. (At this moment I thought of Abraham willing to sacrifice  his son on an altar.) Jesus willing to give his earthly life for His cause, as many before him and many after have done. Called Martyrs. I admire Martyrs, I admire Saints. I wish I had the courage to be one or the other in my life.
  Back to the scene, back to the stage. The smoke, the tempo, the decibels increased. And then --the hugest,crudest cross was being dragged cross the stage by kind of scruffy looking teen-agers.
  By this time I was squirming in my seat. I thought to myself, I know I have claustrophobia , but how can I be experiencing that phobia in a huge auditorium? Yet I did. Hey, look, I couldn't even handle the emotion of Billy Graham or Oral Roberts in the '50's and '60's. I  turned to my daughter beside me and asked in desperation: Can you take me home?
 I felt so manipulated. didn't the others?
  I didn't even say goodbye to my son who had invited me.  I did not want to interrupt his 'rapture' if that is what he was experiencing.
  Pure theatre and mass production--there's the word Mass.How much did this church pay for this production?
How many tithers (It is Written) did they recruit?  What was the cost benefit to this Mega-church? I would guess that it was a success and a good investment to the church.

train trip

I left on the first day of April, 2011, with a train ticket from Sacramento, Ca to Mount Pleasant, Iowa.
Amtrak emailed me to say the first leg of my trip would be by bus due to an avalanche in the Sierra Mountains.
--bummer--I wanted to see the snow scenes due to heavy snows (and rains in my foothill home in Rocklin, CA). The bus trip was pleasant and it allowed me to have extra time in Reno, NV to see grandchildren. I boarded Amtrak in Reno and spent a restless night trying to sleep in a  two-seater. I estimate I tried 40 positions. When I walked through the train I observed younger people sleeping across two seats who looked like they were in Paradise.
  On the second day and at the earliest hour I sought out the Conductor (the boss of the train --not the Engineer) and pleaded for a sleeper for the night to come. He was officious as he examined the Manifest and imparted some doubt to me. Finally he said "All that is left is a Super Deluxe Room." I asked How much? He said $350.
I said I'll take it.
  I felt I had been waterboarded or close to it from the night before. The Conductor introduced me to my new
sleeper room attendant (Porter?) a big strapping Dennis with an Irish last name. Dennis asked my name twice and remembered it for the remainder of my journey. We made it through the rest of Utah and proceeded into
Colorado and the most dramatic part of my trip --the Colorado Rocky Mountains--lots of heights, lots of lengthy tunnels when the train was absorbed in darkness and a hush fell over the babbling passengers.
  I had worn an oversized winter coat to serve as a blanket and pillow on the train. I had it over me when
Dennis came to check on my comfort in the Super Deluxe Room. He pulled down a blue Amtrak blanket and laid it over me in an almost maternal manner. I fell asleep and awoke to lunch call. Meals were now free as I had secured a sleeper. After lunch and meeting nice new people and looking down --yes, down on Denver--the Mile High City --I slept as we crossed arid Eastern Colorado and then the length of Nebraska.
  Dennis woke me in the morning to tell me I would be getting off the train at 11 AM. When we got to Mount Pleasant he picked up my bags and helped me to de-board the train. He had a question as I left.
"Do you think you will do it again?" "No" my brain said. "Well, for you" my heart said.
 I told Dennis "Yes."





d

A Remembrance

Yesterday there was not a funeral, not a memorial --it was more like a remembrance or celebration of the life of Kevin, a fellow I never got to know too well. The event which followed the death of Kevin by about 10 days, was held in a non-sectarian, historic church building which Kevin had helped to restore a few years before his passing. 
The gathering was conducted by the deceased's older brother. A power-pint slide presentation was on a large screen at the front of the audience. It showed photos of Kevin as a baby and all the other stages of growth to  near his end of days at the age of 36. Photos showed him in Hawaii, in state parks, using his building skills, enjoying a drink, with friends, and at the Burning Man festival held in Nevada each year.  Music that sounded blue-grass, C & W, and 80's pop played in the background. The woman sitting next to me said "I've never heard this kind of music at a funeral. " I thought --well, first of all this isn't a funeral and the music we're hearing is probably "Kevin's favorite hits.' But I said nothing. The program was simple: introductions of family, a moment of silence for Kevin, 3 speakers, volunteer speakers and "thanks for coming, lunch will be served in the annex."
  After the service I thought-- there was no prayer, there was no hymn, there was no mention of God or anything I would consider "spiritual." I've pondered this and always have to ask myself --Was that right?
 No doubt it was right for Kevin, but for me? Is that what I would want?? 
  So often I've been at weddings, "funerals" and other "life-marking" events where the minister, the priest,
 the rabbi has taken it as a moment for him or her to grab the spotlight and thump on their own point-of-view, grab  the opportunity to try their skills as a comedian, or, most disappointingly, attribute their own beliefs to the deceased. Some cap on a time of weakness and vulnerability to spread the Word as all are searching for "Whys" ---why him/her?, why now? why so young? In a sense it becomes the presenter's happening. Yesterday Kevin had an event that was singularly his.

Mad Men

I have recently become plugged into the Mad Men TV production. It takes place in a New York ad agency in the early 1960's and roughly corresponds with my first career in N.Y. with a major publishing firm. As a new
college graduate in a new career I was instructed in the art of Martini drinking and it's merits for acquiring clients and selling our products which were textbooks to college professors. 
The Mad Men series, which I'm embarrassed to admit I'm addicted to like a housewife to a soap opera, portrays that era of drinking, smoking, pill-taking, psychoanalysis, big gas-eating cars, and where women,the chicks, in an office situation were fair game for a slap on the ass with no fear of a lawsuit. The series even shows rampant littering. It was definitely was not a time for 'pack it in, pack it out.' I remember throwing a bottle or can safely out the car window when finished. "Did you hear Adeline was killed driving drunk" and its variations were heard to which a shocked listener usually responded: "That's so sad." Neither the speaker nor the listener had a sense that the drunk driver was responsible. mostly it was attributed to 'bad luck.'
At Blockbuster where I returned the dvd of Mad Men, the young clerk said "That is such a cool series." I asked her if she could identify with the culture of that time. She said "They took alot  more risks, but they had alot more fun."
Do I recommend watching Mad Men? I usually multitask while watching TV--book in hand,etc--not with Mad Men when I am totally glued to the screen looking for small details which are pitch-perfect and bring back feelings of nostalgia. But be warned Mad Men is very dark, very depressing. By season 3 where I am at now there is no portrayal of a person leading a spiritual life other than a few Catholic characters to follow church rules and confess their sins on a regular basis.

from the Sacramento Bee Letters 2.6.11

"I remember Ronald Reagan very well. I voted for him.
We were the world's largest lender when he came to
power and when he left we were the world's largest
borrower. the savings and loan bailout cost taxpayers
billions of dollars. Interest rates hit 20 percent.
During his presidency,the United States sold arms to a
terrorist enemy, Iran, and used the money to send more
weapons to Nicaragua, also illegally. When questioned
about these transactions, he said he could not remember.
(A few years later he publicly announced his impending
Alzheimer's disease.)
The only thing "great" about Ronald Reagan is the public
relations effort to make him out as a hero. President Dwight
Eisenhower was and is the greatest Republican to hold the
office of President since Teddy Roosevelt. They deserve
the adulation heaped upon Reagan, who was a slouch by
comparison. (signed) Harry Cowan, Mount Aukum

tip for congestion (nasal,throat,chest)

This is old-fashioned, but look in the closet and dig out that vaporizer
you haven't used in years. Buy some distilled water. Put it to use.
Vicks or any other additive is not necessary. You will be pleased with
the results. Continue to use in the dry, winter months.