Never Forget

May we never forget the thousands of men and women whose courage and sacrifice gave us the gift of freedom.  Our gratitude and remembrance are insufficient re-payment for their selflessness,  yet it is the only currency we have.  Remember them always as we continue to breathe free.

Stalking the Wild Huckleberry

I live in huckleberry heaven.  Until about a year ago I had managed to walk the planet without ever having tasted this tasty cousin of the blueberry that thrives in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest.

Huckleberries are everywhere in northern Idaho.  They are slightly more tart than a blueberry and have a few more seeds to give them a crunchy texture.  They're ubiquitous in farm markets, grocery stores and souvenir shops throughout the region mostly in the form of jams, jellies, BBQ sauce, pies, syrup, candy and my absolute favorite, ICE CREAM.  Not cultivated commercially, these little gems can only be picked in the wild during late summer or early fall.  It's also important to note that they are also a main food source for a wide range of animals including: deer, rodents and…GRIZZLY BEARS!

YUM!

Huckleberries are the favorite food of grizzlies and constitute up to 1/3 of their diet.  This is something to keep in mind should you entertain thoughts of grabbing a pail and heading for an afternoon of berry picking in the mountains.  One third of an 800 pound bear's diet has to be one hell of a lot of huckleberries! I'm guessing that these little beauties serve as a dessert reward after a long day of snarfing salmon and trout from local lakes and streams,  (It probably also helps fight bear breath.)

Born to ride

I bring all of this to your attention as a safety measure should you decide, like me, to spend some time this summer with a bucket in a huckleberry patch.  In the interest of self preservation I plan on packing a couple of pounds of bacon and a unicycle when I head for the hills.  If needed, the pork product should momentarily distract Mr. (or is it Ms?) bear while I go for the unicycle.  If you've ever been to a circus you are well aware that bears simply cannot resist getting on those one-wheeled contraptions.  The ursine buffoons are mad about them and will ride them for hours.  At least that is my theory.  I also hear good things about bears and juggling.

If these distractions fail it would be wise to simply offer the bear your berries as you share a friendly "get to know you" in the woods.  Rumor has it that the picnic may take a while but be patient and allow the bear all the time he or she need to become satisfied.  Much like making love with a gorilla, it ain't over until the very large critter says so.

"Please, sit down and share your delicious huckleberries with me."

They Went That-Away Pardner

Hopalong Cassidy

Sorry, "Brokeback Mountain" doesn't count.
At the local cineplex or on our TVs Westerns have ridden into the celluloid sunset.  Replaced by dopey super hero schlock, teenage romances and flicks built around multiple car chases, the "horse opera" is now at home among the dusty DVDs of those who still remember and revere Hoppy, Gene, Hoot, Roy, the Cartwrights and other saddle pals of our youth.  Oh, we have the Western Channel, available on Direct 'TV and select cable systems offering a steady source of old west fair but finding cowboys anyplace else is like panning for gold.  Now and then there's a nugget but mostly you're wasting your time.

Westerns were always fun and easy to understand.  The good guys really did wear white hats--Hoppy and Pat excepted--and the stories were guaranteed to be resolved on a high note complete with a moral message confirming that truth and justice were the foundation of the American west.

Hoot Gibson

Gene and Pat

I especially miss some of the ever present western plot devices that have faded with the genre.  The always popular convenient knockout of a character that, instead of putting him in a coma, resulted in a five to fifteen minute nap that allowed either a good or bad guy to accomplish an element critical to the plot.  How many sheriffs were knocked unconscious when a low down dirty varmint whacked them over the head with the butt of a pistol?  Rocks and whiskey bottles accomplished the same thing without ever killing or maiming.

"Quicksand!!"

Quicksand as an added element of peril was everywhere in both television shows and movies about the old west.  How characters managed to fall into these deadly bogs of ick located in the middle of mostly arid mountainous country puzzled me even as a child.  I don't know about you, but I've managed to live my entire life without once coming across any quicksand.  That situation was usually good for a dying confession or a last minute rescue depending largely on whether the hapless victim was a good guy or bad guy.  This would likely work well on modern shows set in the deep south.  "NCIS New Orleans" anyone?  Perhaps we should alert that writing staff to the splendorous propensities of QUICKSAND.

Cattle stampedes were always good for dispatching characters.  Runaway stagecoaches chalked up their share of casualties as well.  Frankly I wouldn't mind seeing any of these tried and true plot devices worked into the increasingly stupid "reality" shows the TV nets seem determined to foist upon us.  I'll admit to having seen only the debut episode of the Survivor series but it only took me five minutes to decide that I wanted every single one of the show's participants DEAD.

"Dad burn, that's funny!"

If we can't have Bonanza, Have Gun Will Travel, Gunsmoke and the rest of those fine old sagas of the west, how about  stampeding a bunch of reality show participants into a patch of quicksand?  Or, even better, have Ryan Seacrest and all those annoying bastards on American Idol and The Voice dragged through town behind Wild Bill Hickok's horse while Gabby Hayes and Andy Devine cackle in the background?  I'd definitely watch that!

Andy Devine

An Anniversary

Twenty years ago tomorrow my dad slipped out life's side door.  My brother called me shortly before midnight California time to give me the news.  Dad died in Springfield, Illinois not far from the small town of New Holland where he was born.  He is buried next to mom in the quiet little cemetery, Richmond Grove, that breaks the monotony of the endless fields of corn and soybeans that stretch to the horizon in central Illinois.

After telling my wife about the not unexpected phone call, I returned to bed knowing I would not sleep.    I decided not to forgo work and rose at my usual 3:30 AM to prepare for my morning radio show on KBZT-FM in San Diego.  I had considered calling my boss and begging off the day but found I actually craved the distraction of routine.  I also thought of it as a sort of "take your dad to work" day.  It wasn't difficult to feel like he was riding with me that morning.  I told no co-workers and the show went well.  When finished at 10 AM I handed an envelope to our receptionist on my way out the door and asked her to give it to the program director after my departure.  I explained my situation in a letter and told her I would return in about a week; then headed for the airport.

The last few years of life had been tough on dad.  He had diabetes, rheumatoid arthritis, and severe dementia as a final insult.  At 76, an age that doesn't seem that old to me these days,  he had gone quietly just a couple of days after being admitted to a nursing home.  Mom had nearly killed herself taking care of him by herself and had finally acquiesced to the nursing home when he was no longer able to stand or even remember how to sit in a chair.  It was bad.  Steve, my brother, told me that the look in dad's eyes the day he was admitted to the home said, "I'm out of here".  And, he was.

The funeral was, as funerals go, not too bad.  Often, when we were young, dad would say to Steve and me that we "wouldn't have enough friends to bury you" if he thought we had done something unfriendly or anti-social.  That one always sounded funny to me as I considered it a problem only for those responsible for the ultimate disposal of my worthless carcass.  He, on the other hand, had a ton of friends to see him off.  The service was SRO.  Many people we had never met told us stories of good times and wonderful gestures they had received from dad.  Both of us came away feeling as if we barely knew the man.  Like his experiences as a naval aviator in the South Pacific during the Second World War, these were tales he didn't share.  Anything that smacked of boasting was an anathema to him.  He avoided it and despised it in others.

The Navy Hymn was played before the service.  According to mom, that had been his only request.  A minister who obviously barely knew him expounded at length on what a great guy "Hubert" was.  I wanted to belt the blowhard for referring to him by a name he hated and had not answered to since he was in short pants.  He was "Cop" to anyone and everyone who called him friend.  If he could have jumped out of the casket and strangled the pious putz his friends and family would have totally understood and maybe even helped.  The color guard and 21 gun salute at the cemetery made up for it.

Twenty years is a long time yet I find my dad alive and well and living inside my head these days.  His admonitions to: "act like you mean it", "don't do a halfway job", "don't take a lazy man's load", "use your head for something besides a hat rack" and the ever popular "act like a man" resonate far more than when first administered.  Maybe it's because sixty years too late I'm finally listening and hoping that somewhere he is comfortable in the knowledge that I am, and will remain, eternally grateful.

Springtime Rediscovered

Recently we passed the six month mark of living in our new home.  We've accomplished all the required chores of a re-location:  new drivers licenses and car registrations, new bank, voter registration etc.  Changing address isn't as easy as it used to be and I'm not certain if that is because state laws have become more complicated or, more likely, we're just getting too old for this crap.  Nonetheless, it is done.

Having spent the last thirty plus years in California, it has been a pleasant surprise to realize the savings we now enjoy on everything from gasoline to groceries, insurance, taxes, utilities, and more now that we call Idaho home.  The air doesn't smell like benzine either and the water is tasty and plentiful.  The move was a good one.

In 1973, after spending just one more miserable winter in the Midwest, I promised myself to never "do" winter again.  That summer we headed for Florida and have lived either there or in Nevada, California or the Puget Sound area ever since.  As a consequence neither of us knew quite what to expect as winter approached the Inland Northwest last year.  Fortunately we had a mild one and were not inconvenienced or at all uncomfortable.  A big fireplace and radiant heat helped us make the adjustment  quite nicely.  Skiers hated it but we were grateful for the "welcome newcomers" kid glove treatment.

Now officially it's spring and the two of us have been startled to discover how much we have missed this season of re-birth and awakening.  Seeing the new leaves, flowers, warmer temperatures and green grass has taken us back to childhood and the excitement of coming warm weather and good old summertime fun. I almost feel like it's time to start goofing off in school because summer vacation is coming.  (Who am I kidding?  I goofed off all year long in school.)

As we walk in the mornings and evenings I find I'm taking a ton of pictures because the world looks so clean and new.  In California spring meant maybe a shower or two (not this year) to wash some of the dirt from the palm fronds and give them a dull green instead of their usual gray/green color.

Here are some shots taken as we walk the shores of Lake Coeur d' Alene in the panhandle of Idaho.

"My sun sets to rise again."  --Robert Browning

Canadian geese stop long enough to have babies and poop on our boat before heading north.

Not That You Asked...

But, here are a few things I've been missing lately:

Popcorn made in a pan, not the microwave

chocolate bubblegum cigars

actual mail from a real person

cars that have NO computer

movies featuring stars I recognize

homemade fried chicken

baseball games that last less than three hours

TV sitcoms that are actually funny

dogs that eat table scraps

clerks who can count change

people under 50 who can put a sentence together without using the word LIKE

teachers who dress like grownups

Democrats like JFK, Scoop Jackson and Harry Truman

Republicans like Ronald Reagan, Ike and Abe Lincoln

comfortable furniture

comfortable underwear

actors who don't mumble

30 cent gasoline

Holidays; not meaningless three day weekends

standard time

The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson

George Carlin

Ernie Kovacs

Phil Silvers

Nat Hiken

Joan Rivers

Sinatra

Clark bars

convertibles

booze (I still miss the taste)

No fine dining here

A freaking nightmare

STUFF I CAN DO WITHOUT:

Basic training

C rations

High school algebra and geometry

Kansas

my annual prostate exam

pro basketball

college basketball

ABC news

NBC news

MSNBC

Al Sharpton

Dancing with the Stars (more like has beens)

all reality shows

Hillary & Bill

Harry Reid

Income tax

Rap music

people who've had their teeth whitened just a little too much

cats

people who ask me how I'm "doin'"

SUVs

Heart Smart butter (tastes like Gliden's paint)

plastic water bottles

idiot bosses

popular culture

People Magazine

plumber cleavage

guys with their hats on backward (We get it.  You're a moron.)

winter

variety shows of any kind

 James Blunt singing anything
same goes for Cat Stevens

This could go on forever, but it's a nice spring day in the Inland Northwest.  Time to go outside and yell at those kids on my lawn.

No computer onboard

Free Speech at Berkeley?

I am so old I actually remember having college professors who were openly conservative.  For you youngsters this will no doubt be nearly beyond belief but it is an indisputable fact that once there was free speech and a plethora of opinion espoused in higher education.  Somewhere along the way, probably while enterprising conservative faculty was busy embracing capitalism, the liberals got the keys to the campuses and began turning them into re-education camps for the nation.  These days American colleges are hellbent on cramming political "correctness" into our culture and care not a fig how that sits with the rest of us.

To be politically correct is to be sensitive to the needs, real or not, of all citizens with the natural exception of white males, Christians, and anybody promoting freedom.  It's a place where ISIS just needs a hug and waving the American flag is considered bigotry.  In other words, it is an insane, morally reprehensible dumbass philosophy.  Stupid people are drawn to it like flies because it allows them to "feel good" about themselves.

Well, just when you thought it impossible for PC to become any more infuriating and insipid, here is another hairball coughed up by the comrades running the University of California , Berkeley.  They have now decreed that "in an effort to make the campus more INCLUSIVE, freshman students who are admitted for the spring semester will no longer be referred to as "spring admits".  Apparently the educated dolts in charge sense that students admitted in the spring might feel that "their admission was significantly different" from other freshman and therefor may have hurt feelings.

Yes, I can see where this might be a problem as a student embarks on what is now a six to eight year trek toward a degree from a zoo like Berserkly.

What am I missing?  Is this not the same Cal Berkeley that was home to the free speech movement of the 60's?   And, perhaps even more important,  WHO GIVES A RAT'S ASS WHEN THEY STARTED THEIR COLLEGE EDUCATION?!!  Isn't that whole "finishing" thing the one to concentrate on?

We have students graduating from high school, and probably college, who can't read, write or even balance their checkbook yet the idiots running Berkeley think that this is an issue they need to tackle?  The country has unsustainable debt, a constipated congress and a complete incompetent in the White House and this is what passes for a pressing situation in higher education?!

My wife and I have started a college fund for our grandson.  There are no strings attached and he can use the money to attend any school he wishes (I may amend it to exclude Berkeley).  Right now I'm inclined to think that welding school might be a better investment for the lad and I'm damn sure the faculty would be a whole lot more entertaining and certainly more open minded.
If he's lucky, maybe he can be a spring admit.

Free speech at Berkeley?  Nah, that's so 1960's.