March 15, 2009 by Dave Rama.

There is a quote that goes something like:  “Satan, get thee behind me.”  That may be imprecisely quoted, but it refers to our ability to resist temptation.  A quick review of public figures and ministers may suggest that Satan is still out front, and resistance is low.

The press has reacted with a good deal of moral outrage that the Governor of Illinois has been accused of offering to sell a seat in the United States Senate.  I agree that the Governor has performed a stupid, and probably criminal, act.  The media, of course, also sells elected offices through advertising.  Typically, the candidate who spends the most on advertising wins the election.  The difference is the media offers no guarantee of getting elected, whereas the Governor was going to provide a definite Senatorial position in return for the candidate’s dollars.  Perhaps the media does not like competition.

Truly, neither major political party is holier than the other, because corruption is widespread in both cases.  Usually, the evildoers are caught with one or both hands in the cookie jar, grabbing the money, like the Governor of Illinois, or the Representatives in the House taking bribes from the lobbyists.

The other issue that catches officials with their pants down is they get caught with their pants down.  Sexual indiscretions from the Governor of New York, Presidents Clinton and Kennedy, Senator Hart of Colorado, and former Presidential candidate John Edwards reveal the temptations of available women, of which there is an apparently endless supply.  In our neighboring state of Idaho, there is a slight twist to the longings of Senator Craig, who paraphrased a musical line from Lawrence Welk, “You Set My Foot to Tapping.”  Politicians in Oregon are not necessarily good with temptation, either.  It takes no time at all to recall the sexual harassments offered by Senator Packwood, the Gubernatorial desires for babysitters from Neil Goldschmidt, and the newly elected Mayor of our largest  city, who enjoys kissing teenage boys, but keeps his baser instincts in check until they turn eighteen.

The only group that remains to set a good example for we poor, benighted heathen is conservative religious  leaders like Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggert, and Ted Haggard, who have collaborated on an exciting new book, called “Ministers Do More Than Lay People.”  The Catholic brand of Christianity offers their own set of problems, notably the existence of pedophilia in some members of the clergy.  There is a group of religious writers afoot who express how disturbed and saddened they are at the fact that there is declining church membership in both Europe and the  United States.  Gee, I wonder why that is.

I am what my children call “old school.”  At least, I think that is what they’re saying.  I don’t hear everything plainly, so they might be saying “old fool.”  In either event, I am old enough to remember when elected officials and ministers had at least a modicum of character and morality.  Those two diseases have apparently been cured.

Dave Rama, writing on the Ides of March.

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March 14, 2009 by Dave Rama.

I wish to annoounce the completion of my sixty-fifth annual trip around the sun.   This milestone made me notice the significant landmarks being celebrated this month.  On the twelfth of February, we note that it has been two hundred years since the birth of Abraham Lincoln.   Also on the twelfth, we can note that the NAACP turned 100 years old.  On the fourteenth of February, comes St. Valentine’s Day, a landmark for lovers and elementary school students, a date set aside for remembering love.  The fourteenth is also the date that marks the existence of the state of Oregon for a sprightly one hundred fifty years.  Despite the fact that I share a birth month with Oregon, there is no truth to the idle talk that I was an eyewitness to statehood.

In this month we also recognize President’s Day,Groundhog Day, the Daytona 500, and the day we clean out the woodburning stove, Ash Wednesday.  We should also remember the birthday of George Washington in February, on either the eleventh or the twenty-second.  A new and improved calendar  came into use during George’s lifetime.  He was born on the twenty-second, but if he had been born on the new calendar, his birthday would have been the eleventh.  That is a fact from my store of trivial information that is difficult to work into the conversation.

Those born in late January and early February are said to be born under the sign of Aquarius,  If you translate the months from English back to Latin, you get Januarius and Februarius, and then things will rhyme.  There is a term in astrology called the age of Aquarius which refers to a spiritual awakening, and age of brotherhood.  I think most of us would like to live in this period.  As food for thought for you true believers, the cusp of the aquarian sign is January 20th.  That is correct-Inauguration Day.

I found slightly more than 200,000 websites to answer any question that came to mind about the topic of astrology.  I learned astrology is very big on the use of adjectives.  The positives read very much like the Boy Scout Law–friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.  Aquarians are identified as practicers of practical idealism, which sounds like an oxymoron.  My favorite description, though, was ethereal.  The term sent me to Webster’s to learn it means airy.  Also tenuous and delicate.  I have been called a lot of things in my life,  but never delicate, and only rarely has anyone suggested I might be airy.  When I applied these words to Abe and George, I fail to discern their ethereal side either.  Far be it from me to contradict an astrologer, but I can’t see anyone referring to George Washington as airy.  The website did say Aquarians have a DARK side, harboring characteristics like fanatical eccentricity, wayward egotism, and TEMPER in capital letters.

I would like to reinforce the point that February is a bland month by pointing out that the single most entertaining television event of the month is the Westminster Kennel Club dog show.  Enjoy!!

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March 14, 2009 by Dave Rama.

The world is a colorful and beautiful place. I have experienced an assortment of colors in the places we have lived over the years. In the Great Plains, you get to see that great dome of sky unequaled anywhere, with the shifting shades of blue, and the brilliant colors of God’s light show when the thunderstorms blossom. We have lived in Iowa, where the summer green of the cornfields is muted by the humid haze, and in the fall, the changing leaves of the hardwoods generate great calendar pictures. We have lived in the Southwest,where the earth tones are spectacular, and you get the electric flash of turquoise jewelry which is so commonly worn by men, women, and children. The gem’s brilliance creates its own definition of blue. During our time in the southwest, we lived in the southern reaches of the Rocky Mountains. Thirteen thousand foot peaks give a special meaning to “purple mountain’s majesty.”

We are currently settled in the high desert of eastern Oregon. Here we gaze upon tall brown hills, with ranges of deep blue mountains in our line of sight, and various shades of green and gray in the sagebrush. The pine forests lend their own verdant colors, and in autumn, there is the contrasting yellow of the Western Larch. The summer sky here is a milky shade of blue on the best of sunny days, with haze caused by high atmospheric pressure and the occasional forest fire.

This January we are experiencing a phenomenon that was not common in any of our previous homes, but is a regular wintertime occurence here-an inversion. An inversion occurs when warm air rides up over the top of cold air and holds it in place. There are two results. One is that foggy conditions occur. In a world that uses the term High Definition to excess, the fog takes the edge off any structure, blurs the line of sight, and causes some items to disappear completely. The fog also causes hoarfrost to form on every available weed, tree, and power line. If that is not enough, we saw a small group of deer breakfasting on the neighbor’s lawn, and they were frosted from antler tine to tail. The effect of the hoarfrost, for the first day or two, is to cause people to grab their cameras and start snapping pictures, because the scene is one of God’s truly dazzling works. The second effect happens when an inversion lasts more than two or three days. Because the fog is everywhere, the world no longer seems to be in color. Winter appears to be in living black and white.

People fall into two distinct groups regarding this weather situation. One group of folks, like me, get crabby and owly and are not much fun to be around until the sun returns, which it always does. The other group sets forth a cheerful philosophy which is “You don’t have to shovel the fog.” My wife falls in that category. In an attempt to save the cheerful from the crabs, we should all join hands and sing, “Heaven Help Us, It’s an Uncloudy day.” If, as some proclaim, God could send us a Son, surely it would be a small matter to send us some sun. A toast to all who are willing to share their warmth and brilliance. Here’s to you, sunshine!

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December 26, 2008 by Clair Button.

I left alone at quarter to nine, the road dusted with icy crystals over black frozen dew from the night before. Fog from the river filled the valley below low-hanging clouds, and black Angus cattle drifted through shrouded pastures, their backs striped with white, looking like giant skunks. The smell of sodden leaves, hay, and fresh manure hung in the valley like fog, to reassure me that it was just my imagination.

The sun, only a pale imitation of the moon, briefly tried to lift the clouds, before giving in to gravity and the weight of snow-laden masses descending from the mountains where I headed. Wet snow began to stick to the windshield. As the road lifted above the valley fog, every living thing wore a top-dressing of white, black alders dripping cones even before the snow could begin to melt, red dogwood, yellow willows, and conifers painted with shades of blue and green over stark black trunks, all limned in white as though the artist had first painted in oils, then cut through edges of white on scratchboard. Mysterious realm, where even the rocks could be seen to have form and life. And there above the fog, the sun tricked the wind into complicity, revealing more here, less over there, shadows and light, magic of artist’s skill.

Hissing splash of melting snow beneath my tires gave way to muted crunch and whisper of dry powder settling deeper. Alone on the road for so long, it was easy to let reality slip and imagine myself a pioneer tracking through wilderness, but the blowing white had not completely obscured the evidence of some other brave soul who had gone before me into the mountain stronghold. I longed to see his tracks turn off and leave me to my wilderness alone, and when a truck passed going the other way, fleeing down to the valley, I hoped it was him.

White curtains swept across the landscape, and pulling close, confused my path, forcing me to slow and guide the wheels only by the distance to the nearest obscure dark shapes that lined the trail. Deeper still, I floated in silence broken only by gusting winds that pushed me toward the edge of … I knew not what, perhaps a flight into the void where only white winds ruled.

Wind stopped and dark trees reappeared, marching back to the edge of the trail, looming and drooping over, forlornly observing my passage.  A gray ghost of an owl turned the round disk of its face toward me as though it resented my presence in her silent realm, as I had resented the fool driver who had gone before me earlier.

Sun emerged, and patches of bright blue sky, putting an end to the rule of monochrome. Revived, trees shook off clouds of snow that drifted gently in my passage.

Then over the crest, emerging into another universe, where the next range of mountains and forests can be seen swathed in white, lit in gold, and surrounded by wild platinum and silver clouds, and in between, golden valleys streaked with green and black rivers and dotted with white farmstead homes, whose chimneys hint of warmth and life within. Beauty to fill the darkest soul that revels in isolation. We are never truly alone, for the artist has been there before us.

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October 24, 2008 by Clair Button.

Thank God the political season silliness is drawing to a close! After two years of nonsense, two weeks looks like the light at the end of the tunnel. I know, I know. It might be a train. Put that aside for now.

It looks to me as though we once again missed our chance to have real, honest to goodness, intelligent discussions on real issues. And once again, we pretty well dragged everybody through the pig pen with various forms of distorted propaganda, weird rumors, outright lies, and digging up stuff from the outhouse of past lives and relationships. The thing we all seem to have forgotten, is that once the election is over, we still have to figure out how to work together if we don’t want to have civil war.

You can’t tell me there aren’t going to be a lot of disappointed, bitter, angry people out there on one side or the other. For that matter, the winners might not feel too much like kissing and making up with the other one who said somebody’s grandmother was the illegitimate child of Adolf Hitler born to Joseph Stalin before he had a sex change operation.

So, I thought we might start the discussion now about how we are going to smooth over those ruffled feathers and hurt feelings. We need a little I’m OK, you’re OK session, sort of an old-fashioned love-in without the sex. Lord knows we don’t really want to get in bed with each other, but a little conciliatory expression might not hurt.

In that spirit, I offer the following suggestions to both sides:
Republicans, shake hands with the nearest Democrat and say, “Yeah, you are a human, even if you did vote for a socialist terrorist. I forgive you.” Next time, try it without muttering “You dirty so-and-so” afterwards;

Democrats, prove you are liberal and forgiving by pulling out your wallets and donating a dollar to Sarah Palin’s IRS defense fund (since the liberal media dug up her per-diem mini-scandal). Promise never again to say “They all ought to be in jail.”

I admit, it’s just a first step, but we have to begin somewhere. By the way, take me off your phone call list. I already voted.

Clair Button is the author of three mystery novels and also writes the odd bit of humor.

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October 15, 2008 by Linda Bergeron.

Five ways of looking at…….Harvest

I.Stepping into the morning yard with hot mug,first outdoor breaths,I spot the fallen plumsnestled in the rascal grass.I stretch my shirt into an apronthat will hold each oneas I take them to the kitchen,close to my chest, full of aroma,little fleshy bounties at last, since the long ago days of spring.

II.When the heat and spirit-warmth of Sunchange how it arcs the day,and knowing that diminishing is the next journey-way,one hungers alreadythe absence that will comeand runs out of doorsto greet the more precious September sunin a desperation July did not know.

III.Last flower of its kind, from the bush that a moon ago was full-headwith blossoms.I pluck it with my nail, todaya valuable harvest of pink and yellowto set in a tiny vase - remembrance and presence in a single one.

IV.Tucking in the still-green tomatoes in the coming on of twilight,under a sheet, draping off the edges where the cold could come in;

covering the solitary late-flowering morning glory ~all grown up and ready to bloom, so late in August, then willing to adjust from the random weed-and-rock bed to a pot of soil I gave it, a sturdy rod to lean on.She adjusted and continued to present her daily purple show;and lastly, the petite pepper who tried so hard to bear some fruit, andcarries now ~ a large and a small ~ misshapen bells,glossy greens that hang awaiting weather’s final tale.Covered, tucked, little attentions ~surely a way to say a fortnightof evening goodbyes and I-love-you’s, to the season’s garden.

V.What abundance!the evening bird voice, no longer the cacophony of many in unison,but now a single abbreviation of one telling the listening a single secret;

the bowl of fruit and the ease with which my hand travels over thelushness to select and bite into, another

the dried slices, plump and plentifulin an aromatic cupboardawaiting the hunger that winter’s coldwill bring;

how like the other side of the fecundityof spring is this:richness, plenty, fruition,blossoms and bees and breezesthrough long hot days,evening stars, meteors,Pleiades sparkling in the nighttime black,and chilled rosy sunriseslaunching toward autumn.

Poetry by Linda Bergeron

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October 15, 2008 by Linda Bergeron.

Awake. Last night’s full moon

still present, in predawn’s dark.

Out I aim, to the balls of lit clouds

that fill the great sky above this valley town’s stillness,

single stars scattered in the sky beyond.

My feet bridge me to earth,

my torso pivots slow moves,

my face is given to seeing everything,

to surrender to the endless vault of it all ~

my aloneness finally altered and dissolved

by the saying-goodbye coyote clan yips,

as She, in her brilliance, descends beyond the shadowed west ridge.

The small house behind my footsteps is hardly there.

Poetry by Linda Bergeron

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October 11, 2008 by Linda Bergeron.

Untitled Poem by Linda Bergeron

Bahama cruise:

no news,

sun, sea,

take-care-of-me,

horizon blue,

endless view,

cloud-watch sky,

unseen tide,

arising moon,

autumn soon,

present care,

home out there,

friend and kin,

without, within.

Return to shore?

Aground once more.

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October 5, 2008 by Dave Rama.

There are so many questions in my mind about forms.  Who are the people who think up the questions on forms for businesses, schools, and the IRS?   Who decides what needs to be known?  The other side of this coin is to wonder who reads this information, and why do they want to know?  there is certain basic information that everybody has , like an address or phone number that I understand needs to be known, but there are an awful lot of unnecessary questions asked as well.

One of the organizations that does a lot of work with forms is the public school system.  (I can’t speak about private schools, but I rather suspect that is more a case of being able to lift the bag of money onto the headmaster’s desk.)  Every year the kids come home the first week of school with a pile of forms to fill out, and they can’t even read yet. After a few years, it became clear no one was reading this material, and we would fill out the same information again the next year for the same child, like this eight year old kid had maybe picked up a few credits at MIT over the summer.  How many languages does this child speak?  That question might make sense if you lived close to Canada where French is spoken a lot.  When these forms asked for parents’ occupations, we changed jobs each year.  Once, I put down that I was a steel-driving man, and my wife entered courtesan. (Robert Fulghum wrote that he always put down prince in the occupation blank.) Why does the school need to know the grandmother’s maiden name?  Would my child be held back a year if I lied about that?  It hasn’t happened yet.  (How many grandparents are named Attila, anyway?) In the blank for parents’ languages spoken at home, I usually entered Portuguese, Korean, and Hindi, but no English.  This avoided a lot of unnecessary parent-teacher conferences.  I also never knew why the school needed character references for parents.  The Public schools have to take kids even from Jack the Ripper, right?  Still, I filled in the blank.  I always listed my sainted Grandmother Rama, and if a second reference was needed, I put down Mother Teresa.  I didn’t think anyone was going to call Calcutta, and no one ever did.

Now, however, I find myself on the opposite side of the form.  I would like to sell my house.  The greedy have turned that into a fantasy for the moment, but it might happen at some later date.  At that point, I will have a form to give the lenders to fill out instead of the other way around.  The questions about character references will be long and very thoroughly checked.  Any lender with a history of bankers in the family will be rejected out of hand.  Anyone with connections to the Republicans will never get my business.  Anyone who lists character references that lack the combined positive qualities of St. Francis of Assisi, Abraham Lincoln, and Rose Kennedy will be swiftly assigned to the trash.          Dave Rama

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October 3, 2008 by Clair Button.

Well, shucks. Here we thought we could just turn our heads and trust all those geniuses on Wall Street to manage our money and all of a sudden we discover “GREED AND CORRUPTION ON WALL STREET!” I swear, we just woke up in a whole new world.

I couldn’t count all the times I heard that phrase on television last night. Only an imbecile could fail to recognize that those greedy bogey-men in three-piece suits are at fault for gambling away our hard-earned savings. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that we naively believed we could trust those boogers to make us a pile of money if only we got rid of the rules and regulators that were “in the way” of our great, American entrepreneurial spirit.

Not that I was all that greedy, myself, mind you. I only wanted a little piece of the action. Hell, I knew those CEO’s were out to make a killing. That’s what the history of capitalism is all about. But greed and corruption? What were those guys thinking? Were they dumb enough to think they could get away with that? Oh, boy, we’ll fix them! We’ll cut the strings on their golden parachutes so they only get a few million more apiece.

There was a time when I thought I couldn’t afford to gamble on stocks. Still, I read the investment advice telling me I should invest any extra money in a stock account to make fifteen or twenty percent a year. It was my bad judgment to figure a schmoe like me couldn’t do much better at picking stocks than saving the six or seven percent by paying off my home loan. Hey, if I was smart as Warren Buffet, I’d own Tahiti by now. Nope. It ain’t gonna happen. On the other hand, the bank ain’t gonna get my house, either.

And though I don’t like the price of gas, we’ve found that by driving a 1991 Volvo (with duct tape to hold on the cracked turn signal) that gets 30 miles to the gallon and by staying close to home, we can still afford to drink premium beer. You just have to get your priorities straight.

Now, the whole world’s financial system is in a shambles, and since my life expectancy isn’t all that long, I figure someone else is going to be holding the bag when we finally figure out we can’t pay off those “toxic” debts, reset everybody’s mortgage, send all the kids to college, and wage several wars all at once.

They say those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Well, a whole new world will start again next year. I figure this is a good time to invest some of my extra beer money in stocks. It should be safe now. Sarah Palin says she and that other reformer, John McCain, are going to “end greed and corruption on Wall Street!” Now, that’s one hell of a promise! I’m all for that. I’m just surprised that the Democrats didn’t think of that and jump on the bandwagon.

Clair Button is the author of three mystery novels and writes a little bit of humor from time to time.

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