Share |

Articles in "Island Life "

“Do we live in a world devoid of consequences, now?”     John Oliver
I was sitting on the couch the other night when Mr. Oliver posed the above question to Mr. Colbert, and not really jokingly, as one might have hoped. It was for the most part related to actions performed by the clown troupe from Trumpworld on a seemingly daily, if not hourly basis

We are once again to that time of the year when one can walk outside at most any time of the dark period and either sit or stand to drink in the darkness in a relatively comfortable ambient environment. It is also that time of year where nobility pays a brief but highly anticipated visit here.

I will admit it- I was trying to be clever with the title, switching lie for lay and thus making a phrase that is used to signify a perusal or survey of the condition or state of affairs of some situation, into the implied description of the latest verbal or written emissions from the current occupant of the oval office, and who we have previously identified solely as 45*.

 I was going to write this a few weeks ago when things were fresher, but I just had to complete the series on our swimming sojourn to the watery desert before moving along to something less fun. What I am referring to here is of course a return to the hallowed halls of Ober Park to remember all the good times we had there at all those past Park Board meetings

I walked passed a bag of papers on the way to the recycling place the other day and noticed a cover to a nursery catalogue- my first nursery catalogue- partly sticking out of the rest of the papers there. It was part of a bunch of stuff Wendy was hauling out of what used to be my office.

A portion of my time last Friday night was spent behind a video camera, a situation I have been known to find myself in as of late. The reason for being there was to record a panel discussion among four women who have been known to swim long distances in the open water, which in the purest sense usually refers to a fluid that is cold and salty.
 

As a member of the on again, off again group known as the Friends of Vashon Pool, I have been receiving emails lately that have been detailing the latest efforts to make the Vashon Pool a year ‘round facility. In reading what these e-epistles had to offer I was left less than impressed

I will admit it- I am addicted to the Trump Watch, in whatever form that might take. The reason for this obsession is fairly simple- we are looking for the end to the madness. The madness is of course that the president- previously noted here as mostly unworthy of naming and thusly designated as 45*- is actually the president, and the sooner he is un-presidented the better.

Last week, if nothing else, was an eventful one here on the farm, or whatever it is. As it was, we were named as the first family to lose power by the folks who came to get the troublesome half of the madrona off of our powerlines. It was Wendy who first noted that as a follow up to the airborne fir branch that took out part of her glass sunroof in that wind storm last October, that now a snow laden section of our majestic Nothofagus dombeyi had stripped her driver side mirror from the door.

I sat down to write something for this past issue, the first of the year, and there was nothing there. It was not because there was no there there, or that it depended on what one meant by the word “is”, or because a mission was “accomplished” and there was simply nothing more to say.

I don’t know that I have ever really been a fan of anything, in the sense that I have come to understand fandom anyway. I do remember becoming a Smokey the Bear ranger and getting a bunch of stuff from that club, but I don’t remember why.

There is something conflicted in thinking about infinity on the shortest day of the year. I suppose one could say there is something hopeful in it. But with the next delivery of hope balanced on the edge of some event horizon and threatening to disappear down a black hole, I guess hope is a requisite commodity once again..

I have been in Vietnam recently- the only reason I am not there now is because I am here writing this. Of course, I did not mean to mislead about my whereabouts- I wasn’t really “in” Vietnam. It is just that I have been immersed in hours of video and photos and listening to stories about one person’s experience of that war- hopefully soon I will be able to share this, but not yet.

“Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence…”
            Robert Frost
            Mending Wall

I don’t know about you, but I found that the recent revelation that scientists had found something that would confirm Einstein’s theory about gravitational waves somewhat disturbing. I say this because, at least on the surface, the idea that it takes all kind of research and special equipment to discover something supposedly earth shattering, or at least physics-mind bending, is mind bending in itself.

When a clarion call rang out from the opinion pages of the Beachcomber last fall that terrorists had bombed the athletic facilities at the high school, I decided I should probably go take a look. In truth, David Hackett’s warning about the sorry state of many aspects of the VHS athletic facilities wasn’t really about terrorists, although the shock and awe contained therein smacked of sensational rhetoric.

Part of my morning ritual here and elsewhere generally includes the washing of the dishes. This is not because I am obsessed with cleaning, as a few people know all to well. It is because in a world cluttered and compelled by a variety of projects, it just feels good to wake up and finish at least one of them on a regular basis.

There is a box on the floor in our house that arrived recently with the shipment of objects, devices, artwork, clocks and toys from my parents’ house. Despite its daunting nature, I am slowly going through all of it, although compared to what got left behind, this task at hand seems rather small, but not insignificant.

The sun was just beginning to brush the tops of the mountains outside of Butte as I left there the other day. The temperature was in the low teens and there was a light dusting of snow all around, although the roads were thankfully bare and dry. It was the state of the snow the night before that sealed the deal on my pulling over for a warm rest stop inside an inn that was a part of a national network of such places.

“Now, only an expert can deal with a problem. Because half of the problem is seeing the problem. And only an expert can deal with a problem…”         Laurie Anderson
   

I know- it should be Surf and Turf, but on this Island and in this park district it seems that grass will always trump water, until of course we run out- of water that is. I start off this way this time because I endured yet another virtual water torture of a meeting at Ober Park last night.

To be clear, I do not obsess on the VES fields both day and night. If I had a choice, I would pick the day time, because I like to sleep at night and I already have enough spinning around inside to keep me alert during the time of darkness,

A little less than two weeks ago I opened up this paper to find that there were  suddenly now two flavors of Island Life being served herein: plain and “real”. Having lived and written and read the plain version a number of times, it seemed only right that I satisfy my curiosity and read all about Real Island Life so as to find out what insights writer Scott Harvey would bring to the fore and what I might have missed along the way.

I hadn’t really thought about it until I sat down to write this, but it was a year ago (possibly to the weekend) that my sister informed me that she had gotten tickets for a lake cruise and I was being asked to tag along on that Sunday afternoon with her, my brother-in-law and his two sisters who were visiting.