I've been coaching basketball now for more than 30 years. I still love the laser-like focus I get during a close game. The rest of the world disappears, it's just me, the players, the refs, and maybe the other coach. After all these years it still takes hours to let go after the game has played out and everyone's headed home.
Tonight was one of the few times I've had to coach both teams. The first game we won by a basket, the second we lost by a basket. The second game finished about four hours ago, and I'm just now beginning to ease off a little.
One of the things that definitely helps is music. After so much time and so many different artists, my two favorite musicians are still the guys who were my favorites when I was a teenager - Jimi Hendrix and Keith Richards.
I flirted with playing the guitar for a while, but it didn't take too long to realize that these two hands were not made for playing the kind of music I had hoped to produce. It's ironic that although I hold pencils, pens, and paper clips all day, my hands look like the were made to turn wrenches, something I definitely inherited from the old man.
I can't even type efficiently to this day. My fingers are often dyslexic. Reading has always been easy for me, but the fingers still insist on reversing letter orders. So tonight I've been slowly coming down, listening to old Stones, Hendrix, and Maytals tunes, and now struggling my way through typing this roundabout stream of semi-consciousness.
I had recently guided a gentleman from Texas and two of his sons. The place I took them to was one I wouldn't take local clients. It could be spoiled too easily.
We had a good talk about favorite rivers. Sometimes it's not an entire stream, but a certain run on a given river that has an almost indescribable quality that keeps you coming back for more.
There are just some places that reach a little deeper than most. I call this soul fishing, a term I stole from "soul boarding" which is snow boarding in true, deep, light powder.
After fishing these soulful spots I have always come back happier than when I left, often with a feeling that transcends mere happiness.
Here are a few pictures from one such stream of soul.
Maybe it's the approaching 50th birthday, maybe too much time alone, who knows. This has been a strange period in life lately. Still passionate about teaching. Still passionate about fly fishing. The hunting bug has waned the past couple of years. Still passionate about coaching track, not so sure about basketball right now. I have too much on my plate that I seem to be doing kind of half-assed, by my standards. The job is still getting done, but not with the same degree of enthusiasm or attention to detail as before.
Friday we had a class field trip to a local creek. It was the coldest day in years. Twenty-one degrees with the wind whipping at times. We managed to pull it all off, but I had to play the roll of cheer-leader all day, not just for the kids but also for the bus driver, transportation director, teachers back at school, and the interns from the local non-profit who were putting on the whole trip. I almost thought of canceling the whole enchilada, but decided a little adventure and adversity would be good for the little darlins. So it was up to me to fire up the troops. I'm not the rah-rah type by nature, but you gotta do what you gotta do. It makes me wonder about the kind of doubts and hurdles encountered by people who have had to lead others through challenges that were infinitely tougher.
Digging out of this rut has been much tougher than I had imagined. Constantly looking for sources of inspiration and ways to bring back discipline. Still working on finding something that will stick for more than a month.
It's fall. Yes, I know I've written that before, but it's FALL! Uncle Mike and I headed for the hills to celebrate the annual opening of grouse season. The weather was warmer than usual, but we did manage to find a few birds on our favorite ridge. There's nothing like taking in the views of the Cascades, with a cooling breeze rustling through the trees while sharing a snack with someone who genuinely appreciates what it's like to be there this time of year.
Saturday night I went back and forth from the fire ring to the pickup cab to listen to the Husky football. No, I didn't attend the University of Washington and had no desire to go to a school that big, but I have been watching and/or listening to their games since I was a little kid. The Dawgs played their butts off, handing Boise State a 38 to 6 beating, revenge for last winter's bowl game loss. I was ecstatic to hear that UW finally has a defense again.
Headed out after school to hike the Pine and Cedar Lakes Trail today. Huffed and puffed my way up to the overlook ridge. I didn't stay at the top long because there was a guy at the overlook who appeared like he needed solitude more than I needed to view the Islands. On the way down, my mind drifted around to several topics, but seemed to land mostly on memories of when I coached football. Coaching those boys years ago was an absolute joy, well, at least most of the time. I often miss coaching the sport, but these fall afternoons out hiking or fishing have become too valuable.
I drank a bad-tasting protein shake when I arrived home to the kitchen. It quelled the hunger long enough to make my favorite September meal, grouse pesto pasta with a fresh ear of corn and a fresh peach. To me, that's about as good as it gets. I missed not washing it down with an Alaskan Summer Ale, but the beer has to wait until the beer gut disappears. About half way through the meal I seriously had this feeling of euphoria. Maybe it had something to do with the taste, maybe the fond memories associated with the meal, or just because I was so damned hungry, but it felt awfully nice to be blissed out on a Wednesday evening. Simple minds simple pleasures?
Bare-boned tired. Sleep has been coming in only five-hour bouts lately. Too much worrying. The cardiologist checked out Mom's heart today and found that two arteries leading to her heart were at least 90% clogged. Close to a heart attack. I love my mom dearly, but she has been overweight for a long time and has smoked her entire adult life, two biggies in shortening one's time on this planet. Mom has not had a smoke since I brought her in six days ago. She's doing O.K. without them.
About ten years ago, my youngest brother, Mike, contracted one of those antibiotic-resistant infections. His idiot doctors in Auburn screwed up and allowed the infection to get so bad it was attacking his vital organs. Luckily, we were able to get Mike away from the hacks in Auburn, and move him to the University of Washington Medical Center. He had reached a point where the heart surgeon addressed our family, letting us know Mike might not make it through surgery. His heart was in that bad of shape. Well, Mike did miraculously make it through his ordeal with a new pig valve sewn into his heart.
My brother weighed over 400 pounds when he was admitted. He lost about 80 pounds while in the hospital. The doctor was very matter-of-fact, letting Mike know if he didn't lose more weight, his chances of living past his forties were slim. My little brother was given a second chance. He did not take advantage of his reprieve. Five years later, Mike was again admitted to the hospital, weighing over 380 pounds. He didn't make it the second time, that heart finally gave out on him at age thirty-four..
Tonight, when my brother Tom and I began talking to our mom about how she needed to give up smoking, and how she now had some momentum built up, she started in with the excuses. Here she is, being given her second chance, and Mom is already laying the groundwork for failure. It is beyond tough to see someone not take advantage of an opportunity that could help them live longer. So how much time will we get with her? What will her remaining years be like? Who the hell knows.
I don't know about you, but I'm getting sick and tired of "authority figures" telling me what to think, what to believe, and what to do, out of fear.
"God wants you to do as I tell you. If you don't do as we say, you don't believe in God!"
"Obama is out to get your guns, only we can save you!" "The corporations are out to rule the world, the only way to stop them is to follow me!"
What did F.D.R. say about fear?
Now it's easy to get into that "Back in the good ol' days" mentality. Don't forget that after this speech our country rounded up the Japanese and threw them into concentration, er, internment camps. Or that long before this speech our country waged a ruthless, unprovoked war on the original inhabitants of this continent.
What ever happened to thinking for yourself? What happened to questioning authority? Is the herd mentality that strong?
Think for yourself. Do it in your own way. And not because I told you to.
Pretty big scare today. My mom called last night, worried that her leg was hurting, swollen, and getting worse. Took her to the doctor, and when she came out of the exam room she was shaky. Turns out the doctor wanted her to go straight to the Emergency Room.
So after a battery of tests, it was determined that she has a large blood clot in her leg and a small one in her lung. The doctor and nurses all seemed optimistic about Mom's recovery with blood thinners.
Although this wasn't quite as scary as Dad's falling off the ladder problems of a few years ago, in the ER waiting room, I was definitely dwelling on just how much time I have left with my parents and how many more trips to the hospital we might be taking in the near future. Not a pleasant topic for meditation.
My mom, dad, and uncle are all losing their hearing and visibly slowing down both physically and cognitively recently. I always thought they would become this way in their sixties, but it wasn't until the very late sixties, and now early seventies, that they really are beginning to be like old folks. So, looking at it from a selfish angle, that gives me only 20 more years, tops, before I'll be constantly saying, "What?!"
Makes me wonder how many more elk hunting trips, how many fishing trips, how many games of pinochle do I get with these folks I love dearly? After Grandpa, Mike, and Steve, I put a great deal of mental physics into the topic of dying and living. Hadn't thought about it much lately, but today there was the elephant in the Emergency Room, staring down his trunk at me.
The first couple of guiding trips I wasn't so sure this was going to be such a good idea. The fishing wasn't spectacular, and I felt bad because these folks were paying serious coin.
The women were cool, happy to be out on the water and relaxing in a beautiful setting. The guys were visibly disappointed in the fishing, and for good reason, fishing was slow. I felt like I let them down.
Ed, my friend and new boss did his best to cheer me up over the phone. It was frustrating to let people down. In the end, all you can do is your best. Take the folks to beautiful places, teach them how to cast, and teach them how to catch the fish. Much is still out of the guide's hands.
The last two trips have been an absolute joy. Teaching folks how to fly fish, seeing their happy expressions when they catch fish, and their genuine appreciation of the gorgeous surroundings.
It has been a blast getting to meet people from around the country, and even the world.
I've been playing around with the digital camera and making movie/slide shows. Here's an example of one of the latest attempt:
This song and video by Canadian Rachelle Van Zanten is now on my all-time favorites list. Our kids deserve better than what we're handing over to them.
This is the first summer I can remember without a big trip. For some reason I just didn't feel like it this year. Granted, money is a little tight and all, but the idea of a long road trip just doesn't do it for me right now. Maybe I'm just tired of doing the long drives solo. The flights to the Ukraine and Nome lost their appeal, too. I've never been much of a homebody, but taking the occasional guiding job and just fishing and hiking around here seems to be enough this year.
Worked in the garage and in the yard, and just kicked back on the back patio under the dogwood tree, with a nice breeze, and listened to good tunes felt pretty damn good. I've already fished more than I would have if I'd gone up to the Damdochax this summer, and I've also lost 12 pounds since school ended. Bizarre.
Today's mission:
1) Fish one lake for large-mouth bass, using a spinning rod and a plastic worm.
2) Fish another lake for rainbow trout, using a fly rod and one of my own hand-tied flies.
Mission Accomplished.
That sounded really moronic. That is how much outdoor writing reads nowadays. Did I fish the lakes? Yes. Did I catch fish? Yes. So what?
I've read books and articles by writers who have reached the stage in their fishing lives where they say it doesn't matter anymore if they catch anything, it's all about being out on the water. I'm not there just yet. Close, but still not there. I still need to catch one fish. Just need to look at a fish up close and take the hook out of its mouth. That's what I did today, one fish from each lake. Had some other fish on and lost them, but caught one tough-looking large-mouth and one elegant rainbow.
The first lake was spent paddling around the lily pads and along the brush-lined shore casting into every likely looking pocket. There were a couple of bald eagles chattering at each other, and there were many small fish splashing around. There were a few other folks out fishing but I was lucky enough to get the spots I wanted without any competition or crowding.
The second lake I had all to myself. It's a small lake, with a single house on the end by the boat launch. The rest of the lake is pretty wild along the shore line. Never did see one fish rise, except for the several leaps my rainbow executed on its way to the pontoon. With the wind, I mostly rowed around with a sinking fly line, cruising proven locations around the lake. Big clouds, wind, sunshine, all made for a grand day out on the water.
No, I'm not to the don't-need-to-catch-anything stage, but it feels pretty good to be completely satisfied with one fish.
Our school is participating in a fantastic program called AVID. AVID is set up for kids who show academic promise but are from homes that don't have a history of attending college. This is the second school I've worked at that supports AVID, and I've become a big advocate of the program.
The problem with worthwhile endeavors in education these days is that they usually encounter strong opposition from politicians and some administrators. Also, teachers with massive egos that don't participate in AVID for some reason seem to greatly resent the positive attention AVID receives.
The three of us who teach the AVID elective classes have encountered such opposition this year. Many of the better, more level-headed teachers at our school have embraced several of the AVID strategies, and have been tremendously supportive. But, as Einstein once said, "Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds," and we have.
Such opposition requires tons of energy and time to circumvent, time which would be better spent helping kids. Oh well, such is the hand dealt. Today, after some semi-violent opposition, we were granted our one and only college visitation.
Was it ever worth the struggle. A blue-sky day greeted us as we explored our way around campus and completed many a fun task and challenge. The smiling faces made it all worthwhile.
I've posted here several times here how much I love coaching track. The camaraderie yesterday of nine kids pushing each other in friendly competition to make their way through a tough workout was inspiring. Great kids and a great day. I couldn't be more proud.
The flip side was the whole mess with trying to get the Seattle Sonics back in town. A big part of me wants to tell the NBA and David Stern and his sleezy entourage where to shove it. I grew up with the Sonics being my favorite team and the NBA my favorite sport. I was in awe of Wilt Chamberlain and loved Lenny Wilkins when I was in third grade. Dr. J was the coolest guy on the planet to me when I was a teenager, and Magic and Larry brought a decade of the game played at its very best.
As with many things as I get older, the shady characters behind the scenes have tarnished something I grew up with. Stern is a slimeball. Those Oklahoma guys must have set him up really nice for retirement. You could see and hear Stern's ongoing resentment toward Seattle with his little of-handed remark the other day. Guess the Seattle group was just a little too honest publicly and not willing to sweeten the pot privately for the Commissioner to bless the Sacramento deal.
Too bad for Lenny, Gary, Freddie, Jack, Spencer, Xavier, Gus, Shawn, Nate, Lonnie, Slick, and everyone else that their accomplishments and contributions are being erased by an egotistical lawyer. Seems to be a lot of that going around lately. Thank God there is still middle school track.
Enough of the heavy stuff for a while. Typical Sloth & Gluttony night of eating silver salmon, watching Deadliest Catch, and putting off grading tests.
With the NBA playoffs going now, I was thinking, what would be the dream game to see? The Dream Team of 1992 certainly stands out. What if pro players had always been able to compete in the Olympics? My two ideal teams would come from 1964 and 1988. To me, these would have been the two best times in NBA history, with the best players at the best stages of their careers.
Now I just thought about putting up today's best and see how they might stack up.
Here goes:
1964 1988 2013
1 Oscar Robertson Magic Johnson Chris Paul
2 Jerry West Michael Jordan Kobe Bryant
3 Elgin Baylor Larry Bird Kevin Durant
4 Bill Russell Karl Malone Lebron James
5 Wilt Chamberlain Hakeem Olajuwon Tim Duncan
I changed Bill Russell, Lebron James and Tim Duncan's positions to allow for the best players of each era to be on the court at the same time.
Looking at the match-ups:
At point guard I'd have to go with Magic, but I only was able to see Oscar at the tail end of his career, when I was too young to know what a triple-double was. Either one could post up Paul all night long.
Shooting guard would have to go to Jordan, but I would love to see he and Kobe in their primes head-to-head. West was great but not in their league.
Small forward is hard because I don't remember seeing Elgin play. This one is the closest to a toss-up.
Power forward is a matter of how you view the game. To me Bill Russell is the greatest team player ever. It's a team game. Lebron is absolutely spectacular, but he's never been guarded by anyone approaching Russell's caliber. Malone was a stud, but he is third here, in my opinion.
Center would have to go to Wilt, but Hakeem would make him earn his money. I think both would be too athletic for Duncan.
The 1988 team is the over-all tallest of the three, but the other two teams are quicker. I think the '88 squad has the best back-court. The '64 team would be the toughest up-front, with the two greatest rebounders of all time. If I had to bet on outcomes, '88 would finish first, followed by '64, then this year's team.
Earth Day!
All these specials on PBS this weekend.
Grow a beard and tell everyone how smart you are.
Give me a break.
Thoreau, Muir, Leopold, Pinchot.
Ahead of their time?
No, you smug little intellectuals.
The real earth ethic was already here.
Before Gore Tex and REI.
Before Stetsons and barbed wire.
Even before Columbus and Leif Erickson.
"Is it really important for a boy to learn the name of a wild animal, what it eats, where it lives, and how it rears its young while at the same time the boy never gets to live near the animal? Would it not be better to let nature be, and let the boy live with unspoiled affection for all creatures, instead of teaching him to boast of knowledge?"
"Of all the teachings we receive
this one is most important:
Track season is off to another fantastic start. I'm blessed with two solid assistant coaches whom the kids love. It has its challenges, but coaching this sport has become tremendously rewarding.
This post is actually dedicated to a participant in a completely different sport. I am not a golfer, nor a golf fan. I just happened to turn on the T.V. to see the end of the Masters today. This was the first time watching golf since viewing a tournament at the Denver airport four years ago. Today's tournament was won in overtime by an Australian, Adam Scott. But Scott was not the one who impressed me.
The man who gained my admiration was Argentine Angel Cabrera. Cabrera hit a great shot, and when Scott followed up with one of his own, Cabrera looked over to Scott, smiled, and gave him the thumbs up. At the final hole, Angel hit an unbelievable putt that stopped inches from the hole. Scott's putt was a long one that made it in to beat Cabrera. Cabrera, being the man he is, didn't sulk or pout, but rather walked over to Scott and gave him a genuine hug. That is class, something we seem to be lacking so often in American professional sports these days.
Last night I returned from a four-day fishing trip to
Eastern Washington.The great thing
about fishing is that it forces you to slow down and listen, at least the kind
of fishing I like to do.Of the four
lakes fished, I was the only fisherman on three of them.I don’t bring an MP3 player, there is no cell
phone service at two of the lakes, and the phone is off at the other two.I sit in an inflatable craft that requires me
to wear waders and flippers to move and not become soaked.I have enough storage in this thing to carry
my lunch, a water bottle, rain jacket, sunscreen, a couple of extra spools for
the fly reel, some extra leader material, and four or five small, clear plastic
boxes of flies.
When not thinking of how I’m going to catch my next fish, or
watching an osprey trying to catch its own fish, my mind is free to drift like
the small waves being nudged along by the light breeze.My favorite days are when my mind tends to
latch on to fun topics like sex, or food, or sports, or where I’m going to fish
next.This trip’s mental theme was not
so sunny, even though the weather was.No, for some reason, politics and the dark side of human behavior kept
blaring away inside my thick skull.
It didn’t help that the camp sites at three of the four
lakes were completely trashed.At the
last lake it was mostly just the usual wrappers, broken beer bottles, and cigarette
butts.There were wads of toilet
paper strewn all over the bushes and ground, even though there was a public
bathroom only fifty yards away.At the
most remote lake there were broken fishing rods, beer and pop cans, various packages
of fishing bait and equipment, and even two abandoned pickup truck seats by the
fire ring.The worst of all was at the
first lake, where there was gang graffiti on the outhouse, every sign, and on many
of the big rocks.The broken glass there was
to the point that I couldn’t take two steps in any direction without stepping
on it.The worst part was the dead dog
that someone had just dumped recently.Good thing the dog hadn’t been there long enough to really smell the place
up.The sensible side of my brain said, “Let’s
just get the hell out of here!”The
stubborn side won out, with “I’m not gonna let a bunch of punk-assed gangbangers
keep me from fishing!”What kind of
people go out of their way to visit a remote lake and then just trash it?
This was the back-drop of the trip’s big question, “Where have
the level-headed people gone?”I’ve been
wondering that a great deal lately.It
seems like this country is becoming more and more polarized.Even though I didn’t vote for him, I took
great joy knowing that a brown-skinned man like Barack Obama could be elected
as president.I didn’t vote for President
Obama because I felt he was just saying anything he could to get elected, and I
felt Ralph Nader had a much better plan to get us out of Iraq and balance our
national budget.I didn’t vote for McCain
because I didn’t want my tax dollars to keep supporting tax breaks for the
wealthy, and I didn’t want another president who might feel it was his duty to
declare war an another country full of brown-skinned people.
I was reassured in my decision to not vote republican by the
absolute hate and venom unleashed at Barack Obama by all of these supposedly respectable
white men and women after the past two elections.I thought much of the blame put on President
Bush was unreasonable, but it was nothing compared to what is being hurled at
our current president.Maybe we have
come a long way since Martin Luther King’s days and maybe we haven’t come so
far after all.
The tragic killings in Aurora, Colorado and especially at
Sandy Hook elementary have me deeply worried.The shootings themselves were, of course, tragic enough, but what really
has me worried are the reactions of many people after the shootings.An enormous segment of our society apparently
could care less about all of the innocent people who were gunned down.
What this segment of our population cares most about are guns.It is just plain sickening to me.Little first-graders were killed and all of the
gun people lined up to either ban guns or worship guns.Is that what it has come to?God, I hope not.If you own guns then you are labeled a
red-neck by the left-wingers.If you own
guns but believe AR 15s and AK 47s are too excessive, then the right-wingers don’t
want to believe you exist and call you a liar and a liberal.Yes, I do own some guns.Yes, I do hunt with these guns.So what?The lives of those poor little kids and their families is and always
will be more important than your damn guns or the rights of Remington, Ruger, or
Browning to sell all of weapon and ammunition that they can.And no, I don’t think that those of us who do
own firearms should be penalized by the actions of the criminally insane.Both sides seemed to completely lose sight of
the human element.Those victims and
their families deserve better.
Is affordable health care for everyone in this country
really a bad thing?Can the greatest
economic power on the planet afford to make sure we all can be treated both
physically and mentally?Or should adequate health care be
reserved for only a certain, privileged segment of our country?Follow
the money.Where are your priorities?
Are we as a country really this polarized?I hope not.But the politicians and those who back them seem to think so.What happened to those of us in the
middle?Are we being drowned out or are
we being lazy enough to let ourselves get drowned out?I would like to think our country has not been
reduced to the Liberals vs. the Teabaggers.I’d like to think most of us are still using our own heads and not letting
the extremists on either end do our thinking for us.
Waylon Jennings began a song with, "The only two things in life that make it worth livin'..."
So this got me to thinking the posts have been kind of heavy lately, maybe it's a good time to lighten things up...
So here's an incomplete list that will always be open to revision...
Kids' Happy Laughter
Sunsets
Family (most of the time, anyway)
Watching An Athletic Woman Move
The Smell of Mountain Hemlock and Heather
The Feel of Granite
The 400m Relay
Catching a Bright Fish On a Fly Rod
Good Movies and Music
Waking Up In a Warm Sleeping Bag On a Cool Morning
Fall Sunshine On Aspens
Dirty Jokes
The Sound of a Small Alpine Creek Running Through a Meadow
A Driftwood Fire On an Ocean Beach With No One Else Around
Watching Bears
The Taste of Fresh Barbequed King Salmon
A Conversation That Makes Me Think
Naps In the Sun
My dad has never been much of an imparter of wisdom. He's always been more of a doer than a talker. He is remarkable in many ways, but that's a topic for another day. The reason I brought him up is that one of the things he did used to say from time to time when I was growing up was, "You Learn Something New Every Day." Today, I discovered this gem for the first time...
George Catlin’s Creed
I love a people that have always made me welcome to the very best that they had.
I love a people who are honest without laws, who have no jails and no poorhouses.
I love a people who keep the commandments without ever having read or heard them preached from the pulpit.
I love a people who never swear or take the name of God in vain.
I love a people “who love their neighbors as they love themselves”
I love a people who worship God without a Bible, for I believe that God loves them also.
I love a people whose religion is all the same, and who are free from religious animosities.
I love a people who have never raised a hand against me, or stolen my property, when there was no law to punish either.
I love and don’t fear mankind where God has made and left them, for they are his children.
I love a people who have never fought a battle with the white man, except on their own ground.
I love a people who live and keep what is their own without lock and keys.
I love a people who do the best they can. And oh how I love a people who don’t live for the love of money.
Gatlin was a painter and writer who traveled and lived among various indian tribes in the 1800s.
Sometimes I still think I was born 200 years too late. Not too late to live by this creed to as great a degree as possible.
Been doin' some thinkin' lately and one thing that popped up is that life for me has not been linear. There used to be this drawing toy, I think it was called a Spirograph. With the Spirograph you could draw these little circles all over the place. I was thinking today that life has been more like one of those Spirograph drawings - going off in a direction but constantly circling back on itself. I've been doing a lot of that circling back lately for one reason or another.
Keep circling back to past experiences or lessons or interests, but still kind of moving forward at the same time. I've lately been trying to figure out why I've been pushing so hard against all of the recent trends in education in my own teaching and my own philosophy regarding education. It's all been such a monumental mountain of crap lately. Yet I've been pulled strongly back to my roots of environmental education, and putting so damn much time and effort into an educational endeavor that is running completely counter to what it seems like everybody else has been embracing(assessment and data analysis). I know the kids don't give a rat's ass about assessment and analysis, and neither have I.
Ya, sure, you have to play the game if you want to stay employed, but my heart has been into taking the curriculum and winding it up as much as possible with the outdoors for these kids. Why? Well I came across this old video of Floyd Red Crow Westerman talking. The whole thing is good, and definitely worth watching, but the part that hit me where it counts is at about the 7:36 mark, entitled "Corrupting the Children." This is it. This is why.
What made you do it? The guy definitely looked creepy on T.V. But to shoot him? At least you didn't kill him. God you must be hurting!
I remember when your sister was killed. How they found her baby still alive, clinging to her lifeless body. How devastating it was for you and your family. How numb you all looked. So many memories coming flooding back, like it was only a couple of years since, not over a quarter century.
It was heartbreaking to see you handcuffed on the news. Your athletic grace has not left you. I still have a few slides from our time out in the islands. The ex threw away your letters long ago.
So much has come flooding back tonight. The music, your apartment, watching you pitch, the sunsets at Redondo, how you looked in that dress when I talked you into dressing up and going out. The frustration, confusion, and the feelings of helplessness have all returned, as well.
How much pain have you been carrying? They said you have been even worse off lately. I so wished I could have helped you then. I sadly wish someone could have helped you now.
I also wish I could say I have become a huge success, but here I am writing to someone I haven't seen in over 25 years who will never read it. Yes, I'm still working with kids, 25 years into the teaching career I began back then. With that part of life I have no regrets, it's even more rewarding now than then. Now, 25 years later, watching you on T.V., I feel just as alone as I did in those days driving back to Ellensburg.
I wish you well, Chief. I have thought of you now and then over the years. You will be in my prayers once again. I hope they don't punish you too harshly. I hope you can get the help you need and some much-deserved relief from your agonizing pain.
"How dare those minorities want health care! Don't they know their
place? If there were only more rich white guys like me in this country.
I can hardly wait until my 42 grandchildren can all vote."
"Why were those 47 percenters so sensitive? Don't all of those men
and women in the service, police officers, firefighters, teachers, air
traffic controllers, forest service workers, and government pension
planners know what a drain they are on this country's economy? Why
don't they all go out and get real jobs?"
"Can't believe I lost that darned election! Ann, go get me a Pepsi!"
The politicians manage our educational system as well as they manage the budget.
Let's say you cut pay and benefits of all of your managers in your
business. Then you cut all of your manager's operating budgets by over
80% in four years. Next, you told your managers they would never be
allowed to fire under-performing employees, even if the employee did no
work, swore at you, and harassed their fellow workers on a daily basis.
Finally, you told your managers that your own pay was guaranteed to
never be cut, you also get full medical benefits for your entire family,
and you can travel any time you want, all on the company's budget,
which you haven't balanced in years.
How many top talented managers do you think this business would recruit, let alone retain?
Today we took six of the kids from our advanced flyfishing class to the
Nooksack River. Half of our kids were girls, by the way. No fish were
caught, but a great time was had by all.
I was talking with
some of the parents later in the day, and we were impressed with the
fact that even though the spot we were at had cell service, the only
activity the kids had with their phones was to take pictures of each
other. It was so nice to see kids having fun old school, without
electronic entertainment.
The morning was spent learning to wade
and learning flyfishing techniques such as skating, upstream dry fly
fishing, swinging, streamer stripping, and nymphing. At noon we headed
back to the cars to eat lunch and warm up. While crossing the bridge,
Abby and Kalia spotted a school of fish (whitefish) under the bridge.
Lunches were scarfed and kids were hurriedly sliding down the bank to
try and catch whitefish.
After no luck with the whitefish, the
river Olympics were on. Rock skipping, river dancing, and other events
were creatively invented by the kids. What's that? Kids being kids?
It was refreshing. No fish caught, no need for artificial
entertainment, and much laughter and many smiles were the order of the
day. Not bad for a bunch of 12-14 year-olds who are "at that age."
