Snow Day!

The weather here, two days before Thanksgiving, is colder than it's been for nearly 50 years. Yesterday evening the snow was blasting madcap out of the north, swirling wildly in the streetlights' halide haloes.

I woke early to moonglow on the back garden, reflecting brighter onto our bed than usual. Checked the school district's website for the news I knew would follow: school closed due to weather conditions. Yahoo for the break in routine!

Today, with customary good cheer, Saint Francis bears his burden of snow. The birds have returned, braving the chill now that the wind is not such a killer.

RA 11 875 290

It’s been about 40 years since the much-anticipated day I separated from the US Army. I had been drafted during the last years of the Vietnam War, enlisted for language school, studied Russian for a year, gone to interrogator training, and spent 16 months stationed with a Military Intelligence detachment in Alaska.

It wasn't bad duty at all for that time, although it took me away from one path and set me on another one that for many years I resented.

I've pretty much put all that behind me though now, and hardly ever think about it anymore.

Tuesday, during writing class, we were working on personal narratives about a single event we remembered from our life. This is a new topic and I always begin by writing along with my students. The event that popped into my mind was something that happened during that time 40 years ago.

After writing, we share a little of what we've written. When I introduced my piece, these nine- and ten-year-olds were incredulous.

"You were in the Army?" “Mr. D, were you really in the Army?”

I assured them that although it was a long time ago, I had been indeed. Their response could hardly have surprised, moved and confused me more.

Each one of them applauded.

It wasn't just for me, of course. I stood for everyone who has ever worn the uniform of service to our country.

I can't say what prompted them to that simple and spontaneous act, but it seems churlish of me to hold resentment for something they recognize with such innocent gratitude and honor. Sure, it's much more complicated than that, but isn't it ever.

Liveblogging Halloween, 2010

We are not expecting many trick-or-treaters this year. There are child-filled enclaves here and there throughout the city, where a critical mass gives impetus to join roving hordes of young superheroes and villains, but we are not among them.

Our neighborhood's business district has joined most others in the area, encouraging parents to bring their kids into the shops for guaranteed plentiful and safe, if homogeneous, treats. Ever optimistic, though, BFF bought some Reece's Peanut Butter Cups and special Halloween Kit-Kats to tempt tiny revelers.

It isn't long after the sun has gone down, the ritual jack o' lantern been lit, and rooster head put in place, that we do indeed hear our first excited, high-pitched voices, and the doorbell rings. Let's see what 2010's Halloween brings:

6:37pm PST. Boy and girl both about eight years old, Transformer and Wonder Woman store-bought. Kit Kat and Reece’s each.

6:40. Four boys all about eleven, different costumes, mostly home-made except a Scream carrying a Pulaski. Cautioned to be careful with that dangerous tool while going down the steps, he hollers, “I will, it’s only for killing people.” Rooster doesn’t blink.

6:47. Cute little boy about three wearing perhaps a mutant turtle costume. Father wearing ear flap cap, smiling. Boy wants to stay and talk but we can’t understand him so we shut the door on his face. Just kidding.

7:07. BFF, going out on the porch for a smoke, offers the conciliatory observation that at least it's held off raining. Moments later she comes back in and whispers that she thinks we might have a Spanish-speaking family coming up. Her clue: "Hola," and "Gracias" heard from the street. They arrive! A little girl about three years old, not sure about the costume since she's wearing a coat over it. Very cute! Mother accompanies her as father remains at the curb holding an even younger child and speaking softly en espanol.

7:15. BFF is dispirited by the lack of neighborhood participation in the giving ritual, as evidenced by the few houselights offering welcome for costumed children, especially the little ones.

8:02. We get through dinner without interruption, counting only eight kids in all, but when BFF goes out to snuff the jack o' lantern's candle, she's met by our neighbor with his friendly and garrulous three-year-old boy dressed as a Holstein cow. A good close to the evening.

What Moves Me

It was miserable weather today, but surprisingly not a bad commute. Here in one of the most famously rainy cities in the country, drivers are usually strangely mincing in their habits, braking at the first drop of precipitation, and then proceeding reluctantly and at a slug’s pace.

But swinging onto I-5 early this evening all was copacetic; especially with Miles Davis's 'Flamenco Sketches' popping up on the iPod to accompany me down the pike.

Ten minutes later, gliding Red Ed into the parking space in front of our house, IZ brought my “Best of the Best” playlist to an upbeat close with his ukelele version of 'Over the Rainbow.'

I’ve got 67 songs on the playlist that accompanies me on my daily commute —over five hours of music for the road. That's almost two week's worth of head-bobbing inspiration to replace profane grumbling behind the wheel.

It’s strange how proud we are, as a species it seems, of our musical tastes. Witness the bass-thumping lowriders we all recall from the too much time we've spent together at the same stoplight. Just about anyone is willing to share their favorite song at the drop of an octave.

Tomorrow morning I’ll get into Red Ed in the cold and rainy dark, and plug back into the beginning of “Best of the Best:” Van Morrison mumbling and moaning his way through 'Vanlose Stairway.'

A couple of months ago I read in the new Marcus Greil book that once the lyrics are written, the Man sings them for the sounds of the syllables rather than the words' meaning. That's why I've always heard 'Vanlose Stairway' as the more cryptic line, “We’ve lost their way,” I guess.

Van Morrison comes in second, on the iTunes playlist, after Tom Waits--the most frequently played--and tied with Neko Case and Bob Dylan.

Oh, I could go on and on, through BB King and John Lee Hooker, Lucinda Williams, Marshall Tucker Band and Mark Knopfler. Don’t forget Cesaria Evora and the Drive-by Truckers.

Somebody stop me!

Buena Vista Social Club. Billy Bragg and Wilco. Bettye Lavette and Bruce—

This is who I am. These are my values!

Blind Boys of Alabama! Joan Osborne!

This is what moves me!!

Ahhh, Autumn

Is there any common, natural wonder more invigorating than a crisp autumn morning? Taking care of the usual Sunday chores, opening the back door, recycling bin in hand, I take a breath of that bracing air, and squint at the sun rising over leaves turning scarlet and plum. Steam billows off the shed's asphalt shingles as last night's frost evaporates in the spreading, chilly warmth.