The Essential Pandemic

Cold and blowing from the north. Twenty degrees in the lee. Dog poop frozen hard, nice to shovel up. I think the song birds have flown back deep into the woods because I haven’t seen them out in the open in a few days.

Over the weekend we planned to take cinnamon rolls around to friends and leave them on their steps. But then it turned out we had contact with a person who had had contact with a person who had just gotten back from a cruise and had not quarantined themselves. So we spent the afternoon cleaning all surfaces and clothes, and dog harnesses that person may have come in contact with… and of course I ate too many cinnamon rolls. Jeepers. Why don’t people just follow the rules. or at least tell us before they come by for a six feet apart dog walk.

We also had a Zoom conference with my four siblings which was more fun than I thought it would be. My sister in Seattle, Martha does not have a dog, and she is naturally quiet anyway so we didn’t hear much from her because there were a lot of people chasing their dogs around with computers yelling and trying to get them to do tricks which was kind of funny for a while. Then we promised not to talk about politics… a promise we immediately broke so our commuter was full of five squares of people yelling and complaining over the top of each other sounding like a video game on the fritz. We are an opinionated family. Then we all toasted to life by clinking our glasses against the computer camera which worked rather well. I was drinking ginger ale from a can which was not so classy but it was an hour earlier in Alaska which was how I defended myself. We plan to do it again next week.

The news makes it seem that some of the worst hit cities may be reaching the peak of their death rate. Is this how we define the light at the end of the tunnel now?

Alaska has a long history with epidemics. Small pox and diphtheria hit hard here before the Spanish flu. Entire villages were wiped out completely almost entire regions if I understand my history correctly. Small isolated communities have a special fear for these diseases for while it’s true we have a defense in the distance and isolation smallness and isolation makes us vulnerable when they finally do hit. Here in these places we have the traditional skepticism of the stranger. What might they be brining in? This comes from the days of the great sicknesses. The stranger could bring in something that was invisible and could cause a sickness that could carry away everyone… literally everyone in the village in the matter of weeks. Many old stories, many of the societal rules and clan structures came from this fear of the stranger.

Our little town of Sitka is about nine thousand people. We live on a big island but with no roads on or off. We live in relatively close quarters. Two grocery stores. One main street. one set of public schools. One main meeting hall in town. No one owns more than five or six acres of private land and most much less. Most people live on or near the water and measure their lots in square feet. We feel we are ready for the virus. The Governor has outlawed intrastate travel now, but he also cut ferry service down to about nothing. There are about 90 active cases in the state. None in Sitka. We have a regional hospital here, the public boarding school has been temporarily closed and there has been discussion of using the dorms for overflow beds if needed. We have a drive through testing center set up. Anyone flying home from outside now has to self quarantine for 14 days by law. Sheltering in place is also the law. All restaurants are delivery only. Bars are closed. Which is a big thing, my friend Brian heard that they were closing and he burned rubber down to the Pioneer bar to say goodbye to his social life for the duration. it was a genuinely sad affair. For many the bartenders at the P. bar are family. 9 thousand people. If one case comes and people are sloppy and just don’t care, or have the attitude that I have heard from some, “I’m going to be dead soon, I don’t care,” Or “Okay… I believe it’s real and al,l but I still think it’s being exaggerated by the people who hate Trump, so I’m going to live my life.” Or... the most frequent I’ve heard…. “It’s the flu. I don’t change my life for the flu.” If that prevails, one case becomes two, two, four, four eight sixteen… counting down to nine thousand. Then of course news gets out and people try to clamp down more on our freedom of movement and it’s harder and harder to leave town and fear kicks into panic thinking and panic thinking gets magical… like “God wants this to happen,” or “It’s like thinning out the herd,” So “I’m taking my boat to Seattle,” sounds like a good thing to do, then people jump on boats and boats sink and more crazy shit happens and airlines don’t want to fly people who might be carrying the virus to Seattle and people get a little crazier and well…

It’s bad. The little island town where it all seemed so good, Is crawling with crazy people with guns. I know, I’m not saying it’s going to happen. But I will say I’ve seen three guys openly carrying handguns in the grocery store in the last week and I haven’t seen that in times when it wasn’t hunting season before.

But you know me, I’m basically a Pollyanna, love will find a way kind of guy, and I honestly thinks that’s going to happen here too. I’ve seen crazy and they can have it. I can eat fish, pilot bread, doritos and top ramen and stay home until the people with the bull horns call me out of my hole in the ground, and when I come out, I’m going to plant a big old kiss on the first copper holding an AK-47 I see.

I recorded what I suppose is a lecture but is more of a meandering talk about that book, The Essential Haiku. Don’t be shocked when it ends abruptly at about 25 minutes. I was wrapping it up when a friend called who wanted to buy some flooring and it cut the recording. I haven’t learned to use Garage Band to edit recordings together and that is my pandemic project for this week.

What I would have said at the end of the recording is this: “I hope you are well, and if you aren’t well…. if you are sick, or worried about someone else… I hope you are with someone who can help you through it. Take good care of yourself, and stay well.

Dot was remarkably well behaved today so you don’t hear from her.

Freezing spray, north wind:

shivering in my pajamas

calling my dog home.

jhs

The Rising And The Rain

Fresh snow today, then hail, then sleet, then rain. Right now the sun is out with the temperature in the thirties, and the wind blowing about five from the north.

We took flowers, a note and some books to our friend Nancy Ricketts at the Pioneers Home in town. Residents there are not allowed out and they cannot have visitors, which depresses almost everyone. We cleaned the vase and the books with sanitizing wipes before we gave them to the nurse in charge and then she assured us she would do it again. Nancy called and said she got her gifts and was quite grateful, and admitted that she had been feeling “quite down” but the gifts had lifted her up. Nancy is a rare woman who knows how to accept a gift as well as a compliment. I can’t bare the thought of her passing during this time of isolation. We just try and talk with her every day, and try and keep her spirits up. She loves to read and she loves to hear from her daughter and other friends. She doesn’t much care for TV. She loves to get dressed every day and visit with people, and I don’t know if they limit her visiting with other residents at this time or not. I imagine they do. She tries to visit with everyone in the home, even the worst of the sick people at least every other day. She reaches out through touch and body language and pure faith that they understand her words.

Today I’m having a Zoom meeting with my siblings which I have never done before. Jan is an old hand at Zoom meetings and she is going to show me how it’s done and of course participate. I will let you know how it goes.

I did a bit longer reading from my poetry book today. It’s called The Rising And The Rain and it’s published by the University of Alaska Press. It’s available on Amazon or you could order it at your independent bookstore if you wanted it. We read it outside so Dot could hear the ravens chiming in.

Snow fell in the dark

this morning crows had written

poems with their feet.

jhs

Love And Obedience

Periodic hard raid today. Same high cloud cover as the last three days. We have seen skeins of Canada Geese flying north going in and out of the cottony clouds. Ducks calling from the calm water and still ravens making all the numerous sounds they make in the trees around the house. At the moment it is raining fairly hard and there are dog toys laying sadly around on the lawn. Dot got wound up today as I was trying to train her to walk on a leash and she jumped up and nipped my finger. She is going to be big and scary looking. Biting is not acceptable. Even playful biting. I did not jerk her by the neck but I did scold her like I was going to beat her. I got her to sit while she was still pulling and biting her leash and I scolded her in my deep voice. Finally she stopped playing and she let me pet her head as I got her to calm down and she stopped biting her leash and let me lead her around. We came into the office and she went directly into her crate that had the door propped open and she appears to be sulking. She won’t even look at me. That’s okay. I need to get some work done. Its funny how projection works. How much of what I’m attributing to Dot are my own feelings? How much are my own emotions that I’m projecting onto this little dog, all my own old issues, little rebellions and parental struggles? All I know is I do have to take responsibility and train her. I have seen crazy and ill behaved big dogs and they are not fun to be around. I have to get on top of the situation with Dot now because looking at her feet she is only going to get bigger and bigger and if I can’t walk her on a leash she is just going to get loose and lunge in front of a car, or just go crazy/barky/wiggly in the house or a fenced yard, which is also no way for her or us to live. I want to walk her to places where she can run loose and learn to come back when called.

Well enough of that. It’s always been interesting to me that in Scripture both in the Bible and the Quran, I’ve always felt there are two essential currents that flow through: one of love and one of obedience. In the Bible the way of obedience is not as clearly laid out as in the Quran. In the Bible the way is told mostly in parable. In the Quran the way is almost as direct as an old car repair guide: step by step instructions on what to do and exactly how. The Angel Gabriele told the Prophet how to handle almost every one of life’s difficulties specifically, from divorce to real estate transactions. In the old and the new testaments, there is much more room for argument or at least discussion.

So too, Love and Obedience are the two great themes of the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes. Calvin clearly loves Hobbes, and Calvin enjoys giving his parents grief, but he loves them too, yet he is hardly an obedient boy. His imagination and his strong individual nature makes obedience to Mrs. Wormwood his long suffering teacher nearly impossible. Calvin is a good American in this way. We assume our communal nature, but we glorify our individualism. We don’t want to admit we’ve already become a type of Democratic Socialists society but we maintain the myth of the wild rugged individual, who flouts the rules.

I’m no different. I was a cowboy,and a detective and I ran a boat in Alaska. I’m almost a collection of cliches based around the rugged individualist Now I have a dog who is more like Calvin than his stuffed tiger. or worse, a projection of myself as Calvin, the wisecracking fallen angel. Maybe all dogs are such creatures? I don’t know. But all I know now is that to learn anything to make any real progress of any deep importance, whether it be writing poetry or finding your true vocation during a time of isolation I suspect you have to hitch yourself to two mules by two different harnesses, one mule is Love and the other is Obedience, Obedience provides the discipline and the predictablily, and Love provides the soul’s satisfaction Both are required to get the job done.

The last thing I will mention is this: I had a friend in college who tried to teach me the virtues of grand opera. We would meet on the weekends and listen to the Texaco Opera Hour, he was Jewish and studied philosophy. He was planning to quit school and join the Israeli air force. I don’t think he ever did. But one day we were talking about our majors. I had declared as an English Major. He said he thought I would be a natural preacher. He said he could see me as preparing sermons every week for a little church in the south somewhere. I thought he was fucking out of his mind. Until today when I reread this blog and recognized that it reads like a pastors newsletter… or even notes for a sermon.

How I saw myself in college: Sluggo.

Here is another reading from What Is Time To A Pig? Where I introduce Ali Wild Horses and explain the history of the historically real Ghost Dance Movement, and the fictional Second Ghost Dance Movement. Dot and I sit outside for this reading under the covered porch listening to the geese fly over and as if on cue the hard rain begins to fall just at the end.

Rain, geese flying north

in ragged Vs forming and

reforming, like thoughts.

jhs

Wow. Only Wow.

More misty rain today. The cloud seems to be seeping into the house. The earths atmosphere seems gray all over. We seem locked in that in-between season between winter and spring. Which is really kind of a default setting for southeastern Alaska; a kind of perpetual autumn, with the only difference now being that the trees are bare and there are tight little nubs on the ends of the spindly new shoots, and there are always puddles but you don’t recall it raining.

I’ve been wondering about your haiku practice. You know you can group haiku into a series if you want to capture a year, one for each season. We did that for a Christmas Card one year that tried to capture all our various travels. We were accused of being way to “hip” and not seasonal enough. Meaning we didn’t have any Santa’s or Angels or religious stuff on the card just crappy little poems and a weird photograph. I will admit it did look like it came from a family all wearing pegged pants and short brimmed hats. Pretty hip. That card will definitely be the Neru jacket in our closet of Christmas cards BUT it was a good effort.

Regardless. Short little poems that evoke a moment can really be a fun pursuit particularly on a gray day. More fun than doing puzzles. I called my friend Ernie today and he was doing his Crypt a quote and he had sacked it out in record time and this had made him grumpy…. but almost everything makes him grumpy these days. Today he started right in on me, “John what is it with these new milk cartons? It used to be you just opened them up by folding out the end paper tab and folding them back up. You were good to go. NOW you got to have these God Damn screw caps right in the middle of the damn things that you have to wiggle the thing around to get the last of the milk or the juice out of the thing! Plus you got all the waste of that damn plastic. WHAT FOR?!! I had to admit, I had no idea why. I had not considered the question. I was just calling to see if he wanted to bring his dog down to the University parking lot so I could run Dot and get her tired out, as long as we stayed at least six feet apart. “OH ALL RIGHT!” He said and we did that and now Dot is sleeping peacefully with her head in a pile of cotton after she tore up some stuffed doll someone gave me from Arizona.

Arranging a play date for Dot was the big event for the day.

Here are some haiku poems I wrote as a series. That is each one was done to be related to the other. See if this is something you might like to try:

FOUR HAIKU FROM THE YEAR THEY LOGGED THE OLD GROWTH TIMBER

Spruce and hemlock, old

as culture, marked for sale

with plastic ribbon.

Earplugs out,

dragonfly on his gas cap:

he swats it away.

 Ferns tip their heads

above muddy tire-tracks

in falling rain.

 Snow falling,

for the first time

on a fallen log.

Four Haiku From The Year I Gave Myself Over To Antidepressants

I placed a red bowl

  on a bench in falling snow,

soon… it holds nothing. 

Pale sun, on melting snow

   just the rim of a red bowl

filled with melting ice.

Doors open, cleaning house

   blue and red sweet peas blooming

on the bench outside.  

Autumn storm blowing

   and I remember the bowl

just as it shatters.

FOUR HAIKU FROM THE YEAR MY PARENTS DIED

 Rain falling on snow.

   Your dog has peed on the floor

waiting for his walk.     

  Wet cherry blossoms

fall on the parked cars all night,

in the morning...gone.    

Sister cut lilacs

   so we could smell them all day

cleaning out your house.

After last night’s storm,

   lonely on the great green lawn:

one bright red poppy.

Mostly I took these little poems from my journals, I spruced them up and either put them into a book or put them in a collection like these. I did publish four books of haiku poems. One Hundred poems of each season. There are still some of this books left at Old Harbor Books in Sitka. (907) 747-8808, or Google their web page on line if you would like to order some. I think Fall is all gone, but there are some of the other three seasons left..

Again, if you want to try your hand at these, try to stay away from fancy words. The poets ego should never You should never come away from reading one thinking “Wow, that person is clever!” You should only think “Wow!” Haiku poets in particular don’t write for fame but write for freedom of thought.

Keep thinking about what that means in practice.

Here is another reading from What Is Time To A Pig? Here I introduce Lester Plays With His Face and I explain the day in San Francisco when I was sitting next to a Crow Indian scholar and we were both being mobbed by fans of Susan Faludi when I learned of the significance of White Man Runs Him as well as Plays With His Face. Also Dot finds a packet of oatmeal and also pees on the floor.

Pulling Against The Leash

Light rain most of the day. The entire sky is a pale cloud sitting right down on a flat grey ocean. A few mergansers dabble off the beach and early this morning at low tide I saw a Kingfisher swoop up to the top of a spruce tree from the tide flat. Back in the woods a woodpecker was making a racket against something that sounded hollow, perhaps a log or a neighbor’s downspout.

Young Dot is learning to walk on a leash, though she doesn’t much like it. We go very slowly, every time she pulls we stop and gather ourselves, try to pay attention to the task at hand and move ahead. But poor Dot is so attentive to every little thing. A woodpecker will send her into a tizzy and she wants to go running towards it, not to mention a blowing leaf or a strange scent from an otter who crossed the lawn at night, or a shell dropped by a raven. There is just so much to experience, she can hardly be expected to think about walking slowly beside me.

Focusing our attention really is the great challenge in life for everyone. Dogs and Dog trainers alike. I don’t jerk her leash but foolishly I discuss the issues with her and ask her to sit, then I give her treats and make her look at me and we discuss the issue of attention, which frankly…. has fascinated me for years.

Our brains and our bodies are sensation gathering trawl nets. Everything that comes into our realm of experience, is logged somehow: light, color smell, sound. Dogs of course are so much more finely attuned in almost all senses. Its amazing that they recognize our authority at all when they are out in the world. So to, it’s amazing that our brain works to discriminate and focus on one particular thing at all. Just consider what it takes to run and catch a baseball hit into center field., everything that goes into that and the immense amount of concentration and coordination that has to go into that? What the brain must communicate to the body? So too consider what it takes to go for a walk then comeback and write a little poem which summarizes the feeling of just that experience? How the brain sorts through all the possible images, and sensations, the smells and the sounds and draws the few out that would evoke the feeling for someone else? Dot and I discussed this this morning as she sat looking at my hand holding the treats. She was probably listening to the calming sound of my voice and waiting for me to hand the treat over. Her attention seemed focused on the treat hand. Just as I am now focused on the treat hand of my computer to coax out words to describe the experience. I try to be no more self-aware than Dot as I learn to walk on the leash of learning to write, for writing is a similar discipline of control. One that I continue to try and submit to. Hopefully it will come naturally. Hopefully it will become enjoyable., but in the early days of training our attention we always pull against our leash.

Or so it seems.

Young Dot learning to walk on a leash

Maybe you would like to try writing haiku poems? I recommend The Essential Haiku by Robert Hass. It is a terrific book, with not only translations by Hass of Issa, Busson, and Basho, but a wonderful essay on the essential nature of haiku poetry. I can’t recommend this book highly enough.

First, don’t worry so much about counting the syllables. Just try and keep it under 17 syllables. I always try and have a reference to the season included; something that I have actually heard, seen or smelled, that evokes the season for me. This is the practice of focusing the attention. The effect of reading a haiku should be as if you are opening the window of your senses and letting the wind blow between your inner world and the outer world. It doesn’t make much sense until you do it or until you read a beautiful poem that makes you feel the world a bit differently. Again, I recommend the essay by Robert Hass.

The dewdrop world,

is but a dewdrop world

… and yet.

Issa.

Naked

on a naked horse,

through summer rain.

Issa.

These are two of my very favorites. The true haiku is steeped in the Zen principles of transience, interdependence, and the universal nature of suffering. The great translator of Chinese poetry J.P. Seaton said that the great wilderness poets of China had a mood of “Melancholy joi du vivre.” If you have ever read any of my novels or any of my poems, you may have picked up that melancholy joi du vivre is right where I live. It’s my sweet spot.

Anyway perhaps you want to give these little poems a try at the end of your journal entry. Don’t worry about if they are good or not. I’ve been doing them for almost forty years. Every Day, and I’m not sure if mine are any good at all. We are not writing for praise. We write for freedom of thought. The key with any good writing is don’t jerk the leash, pull gently as see where your imagination naturally wants to go.

The Writing shed, earlier in the fall

I think of all writers as wanting to roll on the grass with our belly’s up. We want to run from place to place sniffing and experiencing but eventually we have to submit to a form… to a story and a discipline of getting it down for some one else to understand. But in your journal you don’t have to worry about that as much, simply enjoy, Roll and sniff. It’s when you turn it into something for others you have to be gentle with the leash. For now… just enjoy your journal writing.

Here is another reading from What Is Time For A Pig?

Light rain, calm seas,

whales rising, just off the beach:

small dog stops… listens!

No News, No Twitter.

A fine sunny day here. It looks like our lawn may be all moss this spring, which is fine by me. It’s soft and green and Dot likes to roll in it like a big eared donkey. Crocuses are lovely but there is not anything else of much color but green. In Seattle the daffodils are up and smiling like ripe bananas but I’ve seen hardly a one around here. The wind is dying down and the seas have calmed. There are plenty of sticks on the ground for a dog to prance around with, then lay down on the porch and chew. Which is good, and much better than eating rocks.

I made the mistake of listening to “The Daily” podcast today and then listened to all the newscasts and took a deep dive into the twitterverse which was a total mistake as far as my mood was concerned. By noon I was pretty bleak. I wanted to stomp on my computer and burn the pieces then throw the melted ash blobs down on the beach. I won’t go into details as to why… lets just say I was feeling bad about the future. Truthfully I felt like some old fruity southern Belle having the vapors. The world just seemed to be going to shit. I needed to take my own advice and stop worrying so fucking much.

So, I got back up on my horse. I remembered I could still do something to fend off despair. I could MAKE A LIST… you may be one of these people… or know one of these people. List makers take pride in writing down things to do and crossing things off. I have found ways to cheat at this BUT I DON’T CARE! While going around taking care of things on my list I might discover other things that need doing and I will quickly do those things, then I will retroactively add those things I have already done to my list and check them off. I know… it’s pathetic and somewhat self indulgent. BUT I DON’T CARE! These are perilous times.

For example I had on my list this morning:

Call my sister.

Do dishes.

Do laundry.

Call the Veterinarian re: Dot’s bladder infection.

Write to other sister.

Answer query from young student about one of my poems.

Record reading.

Blog.

So, when I was helping Jan put Dot’s Kennel in the car so she could take D. for a ride, I noticed that the recycling needed to be cleaned up and sorted out in the kitchen. I did that, I added that to the list and immediately crossed it off, then called my sister Martha and talked with her.

List making is a depressive’s oldest tactic and today I used it. Big time. The only problem with lists when you are trying to stop drinking or are in recovery it doesn’t really work for NOT doing things. I tried it:

Six AM Don’t drink

Six-02. Don’t drink

Six- 05 Don’t drink

See? Not really the same thing. I did write a long list out like this one time just to keep myself busy but it got pretty creepy in a kind of Shineing-ish kind of way.

But I do feel better about putting things that need doing on lists and checking them off. This may not be helping the economy and yes, I may be a fucking pollyanna when it comes to saving capitalism, but put me in the “If I can not get anyone sick and die by staying inside then I’d rather do that than worry about my retirement fund right now.” column. Count me with the ones who know what works.

Anyway…. Keep your chins up. I promise I won’t listen to the news tomorrow. Here is a recording of me reading the beginning of chapter six of What Is Time To A Pig?

Mussel shells on the moss

and a black dog eating them,

Crows laughing at us.

jhs

The Prophet Of The Self Evident

North wind, with clear cold weather.. Big waves breaking on the small island off our beach. The wind is cold but not freezing. Somehow the teeth are not as sharp or the wind has warmed. Dot is sleeping under my cot, because she has tired of tearing up my office and I got mad at her for trying to eat my good Bible and my latest copy of The Alaska Quarterly Review. If that makes me seem very pious or learned you shouldn’t be impressed because after all somehow they were on the floor where a young dog could find them.

The Bible was my good one because in was the one I bought for Nelson Bentley’s “Bible As Literature” class back at the University of Washington where we read the whole damn thing front to back and discussed it for it’s literary merit and the themes, humor and historical lessons. This was 1976 I think and Nelson was a generous grader so many people signed up including varsity athletes. As long as you did the work and handed in your assignments and gave it an honest effort you could pretty much count on getting an A. What he didn’t like were Christians who only knew how to talk about scripture as a means to “testify” about their conversion to the Holy Spirit. Nelson was very loving and understanding about these conversions but he had to gently remind such students that, particularly when studying the old testament, there was much more to consider in terms of literary value: such as irony, metaphor, symbolism but for Nelson he mostly loved the humor. He loved God’s sense of humor, I remember he particularly got a kick out of how after Jonah had gone through all of his travails and been swallowed by the whale, been spit up, crawled across the desert and sat praying under a shade plant, God had commanded a worm to go eat the roots of the shade plant so that Jonah would have to sit in the sun. Nelson found the image of God… the creator of Time, The Universe, All Matter, Everything, took time out of what must be a pretty full schedule to discuss with a single worm His plan for Jonah and this single shade tree.

Anyway, I didn’t want Dot to eat that particular Bible with my notes and underlining in it. Later she started to eat my copy of Firecracker Boys by Dan O’Neill and I have to say I got so mad at her I smacked her with it and now she is sulking under the cot.

Some books must be saved.

Young Dot trying to con her way into the hot tub.

Anyway… I’m having trouble distinguishing what is a weekend and what isn’t anymore. I don’t see anyone but Jan (up close) and Susie (our terrific neighbor) from at least six feet away. I don’t go into town. I don’t play music with anyone, which I really miss. I don’t go into town for a cup of tea which was my only social interaction during my usual writing life. I also don’t go into the University to harass Jan and her students which I also used to enjoy. Jan still goes in for a few minutes or longer each day but her students don’t usually. They are all dutiful scientists and know their germ theory.

I cook. Which I have to admit I need to get better at. It was pointed out to me by Jan recently that though I cook a lot at home. I do most of the shopping and planning too. I cook like a man. I had not considered this… but when she mentioned this, it’s true. I essentially cook a couple of steps up from the way I cooked as a cowboy on a wood stove: Lots of beans, meat, biscuits, I like salad, and roasted vegetables, But essentially when I think of cooking my imagination runs to getting a fire started and letting the wood burn down to coals. Put a kettle or pan just above, or right down in the fire and start burning, or boiling something. I think this is how many men of a certain age think of cooking as if we were all characters in Lonesome Dove, and there was nothing better than drinking whiskey and farting after dinner.

Okay… I’m not necessarily that bad. But I do make chili a lot. I will make a quiche every once in a while. I blame being dyslexic for my aversion to recipes. but that’s not really it. The truth was my mother cooked like a man… in fact she was a terrible cook. I loved her all her life, and I never really knew she was a bad cook until my older siblings pointed it out to me later in life. My brother’s wife was an excellent cook, and I always found it curious that meals were so pleasant at her house. Literally, I was almost thirty until I figured out that paying attention to what your did while cooking… making smart, creative decisions made the whole eating thing that much more enjoyable. In our house growing up, meal time was all about conversation and your contribution to the discussion. Not the food. I shit you not. My father ran meal times like a board meeting. When he asked you about your day, you had to give a full detailed report. Even when I was seven year old if I had dared to say, “Aw nothing… nothing happened.” He would ask me if I had been in a coma. Boom. So I ended up giving a detailed report of bicycling with Ann Randlette and where we went and what kind of bike she had and what we did after and her little brother Peter and her Brother Bob and how we were planing to float model boats on a pond and set them on fire, which my dad didn’t really approve of but he much more approved of that than having a dullard for a seven year old son and a dinner companion.

What I’m getting at is this: cooking is a good thing to work on during this time of isolation. Cooking and conversation. I’m not making giant steps. Tonight I’m making chicken chili with different kinds of white beans onions, mushrooms, salsa, cumin salt and pepper and slow cooked. Then I’m going to try to cook cauliflower with some cheese sauce. Still pretty farty but good.

I will also call my oldest sister today. I haven't spoken to her in a while to see how she is doing with the isolation. She just lost her wife a few weeks ago and it is hard. Our son Finn is down in LA and he reports that they have Skype calls with her and he has taken soup over to her house to leave with her. Finn’s wife Emily also cooks and helps look in on my sister, which is reassuring. Mary… that’s my sister has two children down in LA so that’s a comfort as well. Her kids have enough money to weather a storm and that is very good.

Money… we can all worry about money. Isn’t it amazing in America that even the very rich worry so about money so much? We used to worry about just having enough to eat, but so many people now worry if their children will have enough money to send their children to the best colleges without incurring any debt? Who has THAT kind of money? Why worry about that? But I was lucky, when my father disowned me halfway through my college years, Jan and I managed to get me through the last two years of the University of Washington, Jan was a seamstress part time and I was a horse shoer. College was manageable. Now it isn’t.

Why? Who gets all that money? I don’t really know, or why it’s so expensive. I ‘m past worrying about college now. But I know many of you aren’t. You want your kids to go to good schools. But here’s what I think now… while we are talking to loved ones and learning how to cook during these weird times. Think about the future. Think about options for your kids. What new things can you do, can they do other than spend a shit ton of money on getting a degree? Maybe we can all lobby to make sure state education should be really sufficient. Not exclusive. Not “the finest” maybe our kids will have to really work at other things to become “the finest” No school should guarantee you a good life just by it’s name. That’s what I think. If a State School is affordable and “good…. sufficient” and by that I mean gives a young person the tools to go on a make something of themselves. To be able to write, to calculate. To put together an application and to go out and put together an interesting plan for a business or an artistic endeavor. Or maybe our kids should learn a trade like horse shoeing and become poets. That’s what I did. Stupid and reckless. Then I moved to a town with no horses. Even worse, so I became a Private Investigator… another dumb life decision. All I’m saying is: have fun cooking and don’t worry so fucking much. Things have a way of working out, if you can avoid taking meth or staying drunk most of the time. Things have a way of working out if you can assume kindness in other people. Things usually will work out.

And if they don’t… you die of the fucking virus and that’s a shame but there is no sense in worrying about that either because we are doing our best about that too.

I’m sorry if I’m becoming the prophet of the self evident. I learned it at my father’s table.

With only love and good wishes.

Hard northerly wind:

the ocean like a river

hissing by our house.

jhs

One of my snapshots from the desert which reminded me of “The Tears In Things” the little poem above.

More Things To Do While Sheltering In Place

A strange damp cloud cover today. The dew was so heavy this morning when Dot and I went outside at six thirty that I thought it was about to rain. But the rain has been very light. A few crocuses have come up through the moss but the blossoms and the budding leafs on the trees are refusing to budge, as if they are holding their breaths like a stubborn baby.

Life goes on. Cleaning my office and Dot messing it up. I listened to one podcast: the NYT’s The Daily and I enjoyed hearing how people all over the country were so civilized and kind to each other while their businesses were shutting down and while they had to still soldier on while putting themselves at risk to make a buck. Cab driversnin surgical gloves and masks as if they were heart surgeons and bar owners bidding their regulars a fond farewell. Until we meet again. It all feels like an old war movie, giving us a chance to be brave in the face of danger. Maybe that’s too much, but that’s how it feels sometime when I look at other people trying their best.

I recorded a reading on my iPhone but now I have no idea how to get it on this web page. I will keep fussing. Dot is of not much help but at least she stopped eating my office. A topic came up from the mail and in conversation. I imagine you think about it too. Why is it that the poor suffer disproportionately more than the rich in America? Our President shrugs his shoulders and said in front of everyone“It may not be right, but it’s probably just the way it is.” (or something like that) which I’m afraid, like it or not has always been true in America. Franklin Roosevelt tried to do something about it, he kept getting elected but my social studies teacher in middle school called him, (and I swear to God this is true) “that Jew in the White House.” He also referred to the Axis Powers as the “Japs and the Krauts” (anyway…that’s another subject)

But what to do? I mean right now today. What to do about hatred, ignorance and stupidity? Particularly when you can’t mount the barricades or form a march? A Million Woman March would look interesting I suppose if everyone kept six feet apart, but still it’s probably not safe.

This goes a bit to my opinion topic of yesterday. Of course we should still express ourselves on line and it what ever forum we want. But in these circumstances when we are not meeting directly with other people and we are spending time alone it might be best for our mental health if we could put our frustration aside and focus on a loving aspect.

I know… not as much fun as ranting. Also it makes me sound like a fucking Pollyanna, which I am not. I am not a perfect nor a necessarily kind person. I just know that anger that had no real resolution eventually turns inward and then becomes depression and self hatred. So… I’m trying to turn off the news and think loving thoughts about everyone,or at least about everyone I can, this includes Mike Pence, and Dr. Fauci who I honestly think are trying their best. Donald Trump? He is much more difficult for me personally and I take this on as a challenge. Actually I think he might have been all right back in New York when he was just a rich man and wanted a good table at the Russian Tea Room, and Studio 54. I might have liked him…. No… I might have gotten a kick out of him. I bet he had a certain amount of that kind of Blustery New York bullshitty charm. Like a gangster, he would have been interesting to meet. Once during college there was a guy in my modern film class who was unlike anyone else: fat, greasy hair, leather jacket the only movie he wanted to talk about was Citizen Kane. This was 1976, he was utterly unlike any of the other serape and sandals students. I was interested in him and started hanging out with him. Anyway it turned out that he was a gangster and he ran a whore house down by the airport in Seattle. He offered me a job working at the desk just “collecting the receipts and the cash” so he said. It paid a hundred a night for four hours work which was a fortune at that time. Jan insisted on going with me to the job interview. I met the guys boss and he was a real live gangster out of Scorsese. Gold Chains, leather, chest hair, the entire kit. Anyway the job involved me taking a bust that was coming up and going to jail. “It’s no problem. I have the cops, I have the judge. I will give you a grand and you will be in jail for two hours tops.” He was interesting and I got a kick out of him. I told him no politely. He also offered Jan a job. She said also said no, “for hygiene reasons” to be polite. Anyway… I liked these guys in the same way I probably would have liked Mr. Trump. I worry about those guys from time to time, and I hope they didn’t die of AIDS in the eighties, or didn’t get dragged into a long stint in jail. But I’m glad I didn’t trust them or have my fate entwined with theirs. Which is unfortunately how I feel about our President.

I hope that doesn’t make me condescending, or a hypocrite. I honestly did like those guys, and the women in the whore house that I met seemed honest and likable. They were making money to get by in America and they liked to laugh and I also hoped they made it out of that life without injury. But they kind of scared me too. They seemed so reckless, it was clear what they were doing was dangerous but while they were tough and allied themselves with tough men they were vulnerable. Beneath the makeup and tight dresses they seemed to know that their lives were all about to go to shit in death or disease or jail, and they apparently wanted everyone to know that they both were frightened by it and didn’t care.

What I’m saying is everyone is deserving of loving thoughts especially when we have nothing else to do but sit and stew about some shitty disease that might kill us. I wish I could give those gangsters and whores a hug right now. I hope they are okay. I would even give Trump a big hug on election night after he looses in November because I know he will be heartbroken and that will be genuinely hard for him, and I pray that he takes it with whatever amount of dignity that he can muster, and I do think he is going to lose, because all he has going for him now is hatred and anger, and I honestly believe that his petty anger at reporters and democrats, and scientists, and anyone who doesn’t idolize him… that kind of anger cannot defeat love and generosity. I just don’t believe it.

Sorry… I digress. What to do: Pick up your mail. Don’t let it pile up. Call your sister or your brother. Call your best friend. Remember be real, but AVOID SELF PITY, and try to say something explicitly loving. Practice it first with someone else so it doesn’t sound weird or nervous. Otherwise you might end up sounding like a serial killer. (pro-tip.. learned from experience)

Have some contact with a plant or an animal.

If you don’t have your own dog, walk a sick friends dog. Call them up and have them tie the dog up outside. Wear gloves and sanitize the leash and collar. Bring treats for the dog and the people. Don’t leave both sets of treats together where the dog can get them. (pro-tip)

If you want to get a dog, Consider an older shelter dog. They’ll be dead soon anyway. Hey… they’re dogs. They aren’t reading this.

Buy a plant, get a cutting from a friend and tend to it. Love it like it knows you. Get some advice on how to take care of plants. I am personally terrible at it. But I might give it another try depending on how long this goes on.

Learn another language. Or start to learn another language. Learn how to flirt with people first. Learn how to say… “You look lovely today.” in Spanish or German. It will make someone feel good. Again be fun and light about it and see the serial killer advice.

Plant something from a seed and talk to it everyday. Take a picture of it with a little sign that says “Day One”

Remember this may go on. That’s okay. The one good thing while living under an existential threat is that… yes you might die… yes lots of people might die… so only worry about the things that are going to change your circumstances in the next week. If you have only two weeks worth of money you are obviously pretty good on living with short supply so make it last another week and worry about it later. Running out of money is a bitch….. but we will come up with some solution. If we live we will go back to work. If we die then we don’t have to worry about a thing. So you don’t have to stress about money anymore that you did before this virus thing, and in fact this virus thing will probably shake up the economy enough to create new opportunities that weren’t there before it happened. So if things are life and death… don’t waste time worrying about money. Reach out to the people you love and figure out how to be happy for one more day… then another day… and another.

That’s a good list for today.

I’m going to try and load and audio of my reading but don’t hold your breath.

Crows eating corndogs

in the back of a pickup

up front, small dog barks.

jhs

Things To Do While Sheltering In Place

It is a beautiful spring day here. I woke up at four am to let Dot out and we slept on the couch until six. Then we went out again. Then we slept some more then had breakfast. Crows are rattling in the trees like madmen and the ravens clunk clunk clunk like they are dropping stones in a well. Dot tries to chase them when the black birds land on our mossy lawn to eat the crane fly larva that are hidden underneath. Soon we will be mowing and I don’t have any idea what Dot will make of that.

Early in the dark morning humpback whales were surfacing close to the house and their deep breaths startled us both. Dot stared out into the blackness but did not dare bark. Yesterday on a walk with a friend Dot came across her first brown bear track in the snow and it apparently sent an electric shock through her system. Dot jumped back and barked at it as if the impression itself was a existential threat. Maybe the unbelievably deep breathing off in the dark water had her confused, for she rushed back to me and sat on my feet as we both looked out to sea.

What to do when you can’t go visiting? My prime directive is to avoid depression and self pity. My poetry Professor in College, Nelson Bentley gave this advice, and even had banners made saying “AVOID SELF PITY LIKE THE PLAGUE!” Even though I have always struggle with depression Nelson taught me that it was no virtue in my writing. William Stafford also taught the same elements, “Good health and sobriety,” he said…” are always on your side.” This is great advice for writers but I think too its good for trying times.

But specifically what to do now?

First I make my bed. Even if I do nothing else. Making my bed is easy and it is there waiting for me at the end of the day. It says, “See, you did something, and it is here waiting for you all day to help you go to sleep and get ready for tomorrow.” I love crawling into a made bed as a way to stay happy.

Second, do the dishes. When dishes pile up I begin to feel like a drug addict. If I have a hard time getting the energy up, I play loud music or wear a stupid hat. If I can I make a game out of it. If kids are around I will make paper hats and have the Pirates attack the Sharks in the Suds! Yes it makes another mess, but things eventually get clean.

I limit my news intake and I limit my time pondering on my opinions about the news. We all seem to have strong opinions. I think it is good to express our opinions in our journals and to clarify what we really think. I think it is also good to read our history and know what we are talking about. But too many times lately I will talk with a friend and I will start in on a speech and instead of talking, my friend will give me their speech which may or may not be similar to mine but no matter neither of us feel that much better because the only thing we can really do, is give money to candidates and get out and vote for our local candidates and sign petitions. No one really wants to hear us give our speeches, particularly our family members. It’s like lecturing a baby with a poopy diaper about the gender gap in pay equity. I was lecturing Dot the other day about sanitary dog habits and I swear to God she looked me straight in the eye with a very intelligent look as we both stood in front of the refrigerator and she pissed on my foot. So much for logic. She wanted to go outside and play.

So… Go outside and play.

Make a game out of everything you can, and if you do keep a journal, collect jokes in the journal as well as your opinions and the descriptions of the things you actually heard, saw and smelled that day. Also note the price of things. In years to come you will find the jokes and the prices of things a lot more interesting than your old opinions.

Other fun things to do: write letters. Real letters are great and they are so nice to receive. You can also write emails as if they were a letter. Write a letter as if it were a journal entry. Tell someone you love what is going on with you, what you see, hear, smell, then what you are feeling. Also add something funny, something loving, think of it as a gift. If they don’t write you back, take it as a compliment. It was so good that they felt to intimidated to write you back. Also write a fan letter to someone you admire. You can write to a writer you admire through their agent or their publisher. The more super famous they are the less likely they are to write you back. If you send along a self address stamped envelope the more likely they are to write you back. You can also write just a regular fan letter make it short and funny and make yourself sound unique and interesting, but not needy and kind of crazy and you can say, “no need to respond to this, I just wanted to thank you for your work.” I’ve done this several times to writers I’ve loved and I’m at about fifty percent for writers writing me back. I have a letter from the Nobel Laureate Seamus Heaney from a cold letter like that. A very sweet letter written on hotel stationary. I treasure it.

The other thing you might do…. give poetry a try. Poetry has way more laughter and wit in it than you might think. Poems are not meant to make you feel stupid…. which is what I always thought when I was younger. It wasn’t until I went to college and started going to readings. Seeing great poets read changed my mind about poetry. Even the most serious poets, were funny. Their readings were full of laughter. So go to YouTube and find some poets reading Here are some of my favorites, you can follow up on your own but check some of these out. Two of my very favorites: Pattiann Rogers and Seamus Heaney

Seamus Heaney reads his poem Blackberry Picking http://estraden.wordpress.com/2012/06/14/seamus-heaney-blackberry-picking/

Dig around, I will have more suggestions. You can write to me and I will try to write back. I don’t write back to people who just want to fight. I do make mistakes in my writing, I am dyslexic and badly need an editor and if you see misspellings I don’t mind you pointing them out but you won’t change me. I’ve been doing my best all my life. I do respect the language… I love it. My brain just has a hard time seeing the mistakes.

Come back tomorrow for more fun Ideas of things to do during a pandemic.

Blue sky, cherry tree,

There are no blossoms showing,

but I still love you.

jhs

Reaching Out To My Fellow Shut-ins

March: the lion and lamb are still fighting it out. Some sleet, some rain after a few good clear days of cold northerly weather. My office is a mess with everything that a puppy can chew, throw into the air, roll around on, tear up and spread all over the floor. Dot is under my foot at the moment chewing on my waterproof shoes. Minutes ago she bit the end off a bag of ground coffee and shook the contents across the entire room. But I kept writing… the hell with it. I have to get my words in. I will take her out for a walk in a bit where she will eat rocks and stare like a gunslinger at the two fat ravens muttering in the spruce tree above my office.

We are into the end of our first week of “Social Distancing,” All my Alaska readings have been canceled, even the Sitka one. This will go down as the worst book roll out ever for What Is Time For A Pig? but I have little to complain about. I am healthy and I have a warm space on an island in the Pacific where there are no reported cases of the virus and everyone seems very dutiful about following the new rules of our new reality.

Still the atmosphere seems grim for spring. There is not herring fleet in town. Whales are feeding in the bay so the herring are moving in, which is good, But I haven’t seen many gulls or eagles. I just notice more and more big fat ravens around, this could be my overactive and morbid imagination messing with me. The ravens in the grocery store parking lot where hoarders are wheeling out three and four shopping carts at a time… these ravens seem ominous. Chuckling at our folly perhaps. People who have never baked a loaf of bread buying twenty pounds of flower. Getting touchy over the last of the Cheetos. Really Cheetos? Maybe the ravens are waiting for a riot to break out and the parking lot to overflow with glorious orange cheese puffs?

Friends are grumpy when I talk with them, Ernie was complaining that he needed bleach to clean (I kid you not) raven poop off of his boat stored in his barn and all that was left was “splashless Clorox". “John, what in the hell is splashless Clorox? I mean Jesus Christ what is wrong with these people?!!”

I saw a woman I didn’t recognize walking two miles out the road with a sandwich sign (front and back messages that you wear over your shoulders) while holding up another sign saying “5G Killing Our Children!" and “5G Suppresses Immunity= DEATH” Wow… this kind of seems like slipstreaming one issue onto another… to me. As if this woman had been sitting around her kitchen thinking, “You know, with this world wide pandemic going on and everyone worried about their health it would be a good time to educate them about the health effects of electromagnetic pollution. Where is my poster board!!?”

Scary Dot.

Well, God bless her, is what I say. We all have our concerns. I’m worried about my puppy eating a battery… yes she did that you can check “Pet’s Choice Veterinary Clinics Facebook page and see her X-ray. (She puked the battery out along with ten rocks) I am also worried about Jan’s mobility which seems to be tanking. She needs a new battery(not the one Dot ate) for her deep brain stimulation unit, that might help, but it might not. But regardless its shitty time to go to the hospital in Seattle and it’s going to continue to be a shitty time to go to the hospital in Seattle for a good long while. And at the bottom of the list I worry about crappy book sales.

But you know what? There is nothing to do about it and I know there are a lot of you shut ins out there who are going through the same kind of things. Worrying about shit you can’t do anything about right now, and are not as bad off as other people and you are doing the right thing but are still a little pissed off about it and so you need something to keep your mind off all this pandemic crap.

I know how you feel. I think we should stick together in this. How about some mindless games and activities? I’m here to offer some things to do while in lock down:

Well I’m going to heed the call. I can’t do much but, instead of whining about splashless clorox I’m going daily on this blog… well five days a week at least, and I’m going to change up some of the format and try not to whine about splash less clorox in writing unless it strikes me as funny…. or meaningful in some way… which you know, it could… I know it did to Ernie.

Anyway…Stick with me. As John Darnielle would say, and say it with me: “I are going to make it through this year if it kills me.”

Check back tomorrow.

Rain on icy ground.

How do I love you when I

can’t get close to you?

Rest up. Come back tomorrow.