I am in a little project of posting all my Grandfather’s written materials online. I am first starting with his letters, which he wrote from 1964 through 1967. Some of these letters in my collection were also written by my Grandmother.
As I scan these, I will post them here by date written:
2020 will be the year it all comes into perspective. While many look and hope toward change for the better, I can clearly see the destruction on the horizon. The horsemen have the human race backed into the corner. Capitalist Greed, Ignorance, Fear, Selfishness, Racism, and Hatred, are the Six apocalyptic horsemen facing the future down. The world will survive after several thousand years of a post-human world. But who will record those events, where will the creative art and literature disappear to? Our greatest achievements have given rise to the most debased results in the hands of the worst of us. This ugliness our species has nurtured and sired in our genetic code along with the beauty is the certain path to our end. 20/100 vision is the gift of the saddest of our time.
Thursday morning I wake before everyone else. This is no surprise, I am spinning between time zones, still riding on a plane over the Atlantic Ocean, it will be another several days before my sleep patterns catch up only to be thrown back into disarray.
I walk into the kitchen of our little apartment. Checking out the appliances I figure the process of making hot water with the electric kettle and proceed to make a cup of tea. By god, we are in the UK and I will drink like the natives. The window over the sink provides the view of all the back yards of the permanent residents here.
It is a beautiful day and I am ready to explore the neighborhood. Last night someone mentioned there is a coffee shop up the street a few blocks. I get the key to the apartment and my camera. Everyone else is asleep as I quietly close the door behind me and make my way down the stairs and out the door onto the street.
Back home, it was not long pass 3 AM. It is when I often find myself awake, with Max the cat digging at the blanket, my feet under the covers. But the day itself was alive and wide awake. It was a good thing too, as the double decker buses were daunting and unexpected surprises as I walked along the sidewalk. I followed the road and made notes in my mind of the buildings and unique landmarks along with memorizing storefronts. In this maze of stone walls, I would not be surprised if I found myself stupidly lost.
Before we left the States, I arranged to have our phones access service if we needed it on demand. So far, only Tina had activated her access. This way we could pull up Google Maps or call out for an UBER if needed. I was consciously trying to not activate the service on my phone.
I saw across the street a coffee shop, Machina Expresso was lettered on the window. I craved coffee and maybe a bite to eat. I had no way of telling if Tina, Sarah, or Queena were out of their jet lagged slumber. I walked into the cafe and looked around. The counter was to the left, a couple of tables were at the front and two more were outside on the walk. There was a back room beyond the counter. Several people were behind the counter; a tall blonde man asked if he could help. I tried to recognize his accent, but I was at a loss. “Are you Scottish?” I asked. No, he was from Italy, but he had been here for awhile. In our conversation, he said, “now both our countries have a clown and a criminal at the helm of the nation.” I had to agree, sorry that now in the eyes of the rest of the world we were on the same leadership level as Italy. A joke. There was a time when I rode my bike in the streets of DC, feeling proud and hopeful, I hadn’t felt that way in almost three years.
I ordered a slice of banana bread and a coffee with room for cream, but milk would have to do. There was nowhere in the UK a person could get some half-n-half. I spoke with my Italian Barista about living in Scotland. So far the only people I had spoken to at length were from Poland and Italy. Edinburgh attracted people from all over Europe. I would eventually find the diversity in this city was amazing and welcoming. From what I could see, they welcomed immigrants into their community. My coffee and banana bread came. Finding an empty table in the back room, I sat. I spread butter on the warm bread, making up for the lack of cream in the coffee. It was quite good and I was feeling comfortable in my surroundings.
The Overstory by Richard Powers
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I really like the idea at the foundation of this story — the Overstory. Even though I don’t think I saw Overstory mentioned once in the telling. Several times the understory was mentioned, making me take a guess as to the overstory. This is really a powerful story, coming at the reader from multiple directions and people’s lives, all connected in some form or another. But that is the point. On one level this is a retelling of Edward Abbey’s the Monkey Wrench Gang. On another level, I thought about the seeds of life that are possibly traveling throughout the Cosmos looking for a hospitable environment where life takes hold and evolves toward the next level. At the end of the reading, I realized the characters in the telling were not just the humans leading their marks throughout a cause, but there is just one character to consider and it is going to be “just fine”.
Here is a story of Ullr, the God of Snow and Skis.
In 1985 I drove to Colorado, to deliver a car on a whim. Along the way I picked up Pete, a hitch-hiker outside of Clifton Forge, Virginia on Interstate 64. He was heading out to San Francisco to be with the Dead. I told him to hop in as far as Denver, where I planned to drop off the car to the sister of a friend of mine.
Eventually I ended up in Summit County in Colorado where I decided to Winter over for the season. Living in a youth hostile, I wandered throughout the ski village of Breckenridge, looking for work and a place to live. Eventually I found both, working in a bookstore and silk-screening t-shirts on the side for the tourists coming in throughout the season.
It was a dry season that year. I had called home to the family on Thanksgiving after a bowl of not too well cooked of beans and onions. The meal was a portent of things to come, there was just one major snow fall before Thanksgiving and the ski slopes were bare. Pipes and debris that should have been buried long ago peppered the trails in thin slush and ice. This was not a good sign for the businesses depending on the tourist trade. I went to a small church group meeting in December, the prayer that year was for a rich fall of snow so their businesses could make it though the Winter. Farmers of another crop.
Christmas came and went. The snow was sparse but not so sparse that the tourists and snow machines could not deliver the minimum. But the town of Breckenridge was concerned. In January, the town sponsored an Ice Festival, all the businesses along the main street built ice sculptures for display throughout the month. On the last full week of the month the main event, the Ullr Fest would end in a parade and judging of all the sculptures in from of the stores.
The big celestial event of 1986 was the passing of Halley’s Comet. The scheduled launch of the Challenger shuttle was focused on sending up a probe to intercept with the comet and send back data. It was the best we could do, as it was the least spectacular viewing of the comet in 2500 years. But we would not let that stop the celebration.
The parade on Friday the 24th of January was the big tourist attraction in Breckenridge that Winter. By the end of January there was little snow to show for the efforts of wishes and dreams. We were in the middle of a snow drought. Nothing short of a miracle would save the season was the talk of the town. The parade went on as planned, people lined the streets, the floats went by one after one. The prizes were awarded to the best of the ice sculptures. In the parade one business, made a mock-up of the Challenger in paper-mache and a paper comet the space ship was following. It was one of the last floats in the parade and by then everyone was in a festive mood.
Christmas, everyone had a tree in Breckenridge. At the end of the holidays, and once the decorations were taken down, the locals would regularly haul their trees out to the big parking lot on the west end of town, just across from the “blue river”. The trees were piled one on to of the other, dry pines twenty feet high. At the end of the Ullr Festival, it was traditional for the locals to gather around the pile of trees and set them on fire. Tradition had it that the locals would toss in sacrifices to Ullr in the fire to assure a good season of snow. This year after the parade, one of the sacrifices given in the pyre was the papermache model of the Challenger shuttle. Dancing, drinking, smoking and all sorts of herbal lifting to the gods. And the Challenger went in with all the ski boots, skis, sweaters, underwear, and worthless valuables. All to the god Ullr. Just one good season.
On Tuesday, January 26th the Challenge lifted off into tragic history. The accident, a result of a a freak cold spell dipping down into Florida. The ice breaking the seal of the launch rocket. The explosion with the two sub rockets flying away from the ball of fire and smoke, looked like the helmet of a Nordic God. All the astronauts were lost in the freak accident.
The day after the explosion, while we were all still in shock, in Breckenridge it began to snow. It began to snow and snow for the next 21 days. It was one of the biggest turn arounds in the season for many who could remember. The season was saved Ullr had been appeased.
Maybe just maybe, I can do this without any snark directed across the Potomac River
