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Articles in "Island Life "

The first bit of activism that I participated in while growing up was a campaign to get a swim team at my local high school. As it was, age group league swimming at the time mostly stopped at age 14, making way for the big leap to high school competition and championships.

For some reason the writing of this piece has been a bit like attempting to move dried clay through a cake decorator bag, when it should have required much less effort. It seems though that for the moment I have run out of that vim and vigor that drives the bouncy cheerleader within to perform countless front and back flips while selling the soap of public good.

Perhaps Stephen Colbert’s biggest contribution to the world at large was his coining of the word “truthiness”. In looking it up- not in a book but on the internets- I see that he set forth the principles of truthiness in one of his weekly “the Word” segments in October of 2005.

Through the fog of years, I still remember the pool I learned to swim in. I was four, and the water was clear and warm. It was actually someone’s private, backyard pool- I do not remember their name.

As we continue to bumble along in seeking precedent and context in these times, we find our self turning once again to the ancient times- my ancient times. In particular, we will be going to a certain place, but the visit will occur at a number of stops on the personal timeline.

For almost a year now I have been a part of the Seattle Minute Movies group. Every month a group of us get together at the Seattle Film Institute, drink some sort of beverage with snacks and then go into the screening room to watch the films most of us have put together over the past month. Normally, as per human nature, most of the films are finished somewhere around the Saturday before the Sunday of the screening
 

I don’t know how you treat the transition from one year to the next, but generally I tend to try and temper disgust with what has taken some three hundred plus days to ebb and flow with a modicum of hope that the next, similar cluster of days and nights offers a chance at redemption and renewal,

We have a phrase that gets used on occasion around our house: “Zeek is stuck.” On the whole, Zeek is an active dog- more so than the other two.

I don’t recall running for the position, but then again, the eighth grade was an eternity ago- thankfully. Even though I can’t say how I got there, I do have a vague memory of attending one of the meetings. As I stop and dig deeper, there is a realization that I’m not even sure whether this remembrance concerns a place on the student council or simply being a homeroom representative or what it was exactly.

I haven’t been getting out much lately, but when I do it’s to meetings. This has seriously cramped the possibility of my vying for the most interesting man in the world qualification round, although that is not a title that might even become a doodle in my mental notebook.

To all of those paying attention to this space, apologies are in order for my dropping of the ball the last time around. While some of my scribblings did appear, they were from a year ago, and adeptly substituted by our editor at the last minute when I failed to produce any words at all.

I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of my family at the moment, and since nothing of consequence is happening in that regard right now we will step back within the watery boundaries of this place until something of relative importance that is emanating from the northeast part of this country stirs my interest once again

In truth, as of late, I feel as though I could be floating in a translucent haze just about anywhere. I woke up the other day to the sound of dog claws on a hardwood floor.

Now there’s some sad things known to man. But ain’t too much sadder than. The tears of a clown, when there’s no one around Smokey Robinson

I have been locked into a different routine as of late. My day generally begins with a plate of eggs and a cup of coffee that I carry out onto the back deck.

One might ask, given all the entertainment and recreational activities open to one on Vashon on any particular weekend, why anyone would actively strive to join in on an event that touts a passage to pain as its main drawing card

Yesterday morning at about 5 a.m. New Hampshire time I had a rather hollow and knotting feeling in my stomach. This wasn’t due to a lack of food, but rather an absence of a crucial document.

Many people are planting vegetables this year, some of whom have never gardened before. I gardened with great passion and little skill before I had children. We have a near-sunless, sodden little yard, but I planted in faith.

Fame makes a man take things over. Fame lets him lose, hard to swallow.
Fame puts you there where things are hollow Fame ~David Bowie- Fame

The only female in the competition, Alexina Slater was more than a long shot. She was seen as a risk to the whole event. Too young, too reckless, too weak and too female for such a challenge, the organizers sent a special boat along with the swimmers to trail the main group and pick up the girl once she fell behind and before she drowned.

I was floating around in the Vashon Pool this past Saturday, taking advantage of lap swim on this first day of the pool being open this year. I was trying to remember how it feels like to be in shape for swimming, as I was feeling quite far from that point on my first day back in the water since last October.

“I’d be comfortable telling the director to not commit to anything for a couple of weeks.”- Bill Ameling, VPD Commissioners Meeting- 13 May 2014

I have a mixed relationship with guns. On my Mother’s side, her parents had a Korean War era bolt action rifle propped up behind the floor lamp that stood to one side of their fireplace.

I can’t say that it was the power of suggestion, or even bad luck. I had, indeed , been reading a cyclist’s essay this morning about enjoying a long,