11/9 President Elect Trump

Trump's victory stunned a nation and the world this week. At first a somber, sobering mood gripped half the country; the other half erupted in boisterous celebration. America, actually the two Americas, we are at odds.

Being an ethnic and sexual minority, the voice of bigotry that ascended to our highest elected office is extremely disheartening. So many who are insulated from discrimination seem to have little if any understanding why this may be an issue. The following quoted text from an acquaintance's Facebook post is case in point:

"The amount of hate and saltiness today from people that preach inclusivity is astounding to me. If you are surprised that this happened then you truly are out of touch with the pain that real Americans have faced over the past 30 odd years. The rust belt has been devastated by horrible policies over that time and they went to the ballot box to do what they thought was best for their families. People didn't vote for racism. They voted for jobs and a stable life for their families.
Now we have to come together as a country and pray he does a good job. It will all be ok. The world will not end."

Here's how I responded:

"I read this post yesterday. Wasn't going to respond. It stuck with me though into today, and I'm compelled to attempt bridging some understanding ...

Tons of shit has been and is being flung from all sides. While waiting to watch Clinton's concession speech stream, I had to right swipe away the deluge of hateful comments from people mocking her supporters. Horribly heinous comments. And those types of comments weren't limited to that stream, they were all over social media and still are. I've mostly tuned out today.

Now, about the more unbridled election reactions from Clinton supporters ...

This has been a gruesome election. The country has been anxiously on edge for months and dragged through the mud. Emotions have been running high across America. That doesn't excuse the behavior of any voter/supporter/person when they lash out.

Billy, what millions of people in our country are coming to grips with now is not Trump supporters who voted for him, seeing beyond his bigotry (before he announced, after he announced, during the primaries and during the general ...), rather those who voted for him because of his bigotry.

When one is in the majority, and directly unaffected by discrimination, that piece to this story is unlikely to hit home. It's not something that person is ever likely to have experienced nor will experience. No one should have to.

People are coming to grips with who we really are as a country vs. who we thought ourselves to be. Still a large swath of our fellow Americans are bigots. That's not something we can legislate, we can only educate. It's one other aspect, a really big one, that divides our nation.

Policy aside, Trump's harsh rhetoric has given bigots a voice. His win of our highest elected office has emboldened those voices, and they're getting increasingly louder. People are genuinely afraid of what's to come. These emotions are real and they cannot be rationalized.

Most every human wants to feel they belong in some way, that they are part of something much greater, especially in their own country. Everyone wants to know they have a seat at the proverbial table; inclusivity. Many Americans, myself included, are experiencing a profound sense of alienation as a result of the bigotry narrative and the powerful voices it's unleashing.

What's also become clear is we're all feeling pain. That isn't unique or limited to an out-of-work coal miner or factory hand. We all have our struggles and we all suffer for many numbers of causes. It's part of life, part of being human.

Can we all stand together, say to one another "I care about your suffering and I'm here." and mean it? If so, we could very easily be one nation.

Food for thought ..."

The part I left out is this: When a person fails to condemn ill behavior, they essentially condone it. So many of Trump's supporters claim to not be racist or what have you, yet make no stand in opposition to this narrative.

So many other variables at play. Will Trump stick to his campaign promises? Will he offer too much information to Putin, his Russian ally? Will loose lips sink this ship?

We are already seeing signs Trump may waver on big things he promised to undo, like the ACA. What impact will this have on his heartiest supporters? Will Trump condemn the bullying and hate speech?

So many questions only time will tell. The markets dislike unpredictability, it's unstable. Our country suddenly feels like reality TV, and everyone is waiting with baited breath (still) to see what happens next ...

Remnants

Only since 2000 have I known my biological half brother. He and his family came out for their inaugural visit to Seattle from D.C. this month and left early this week. My heart is full. And as I see traces of their time here; small handprints on windows, the end half of a broken blue crayon, an adult ticket for a roundtrip ride on the monorail, the hoola-hoop I promised to (and will) mail to my niece ... I am reminded of their presence still in my life despite the many hundreds of miles between us.

If I'm dreaming please wake me ...

So China says to the US, "Heyyy, gurl, I know you ain't sayin' I've got problems with human rights" as she tosses her hair back, gives a snap of her fingers with her other hand firmly on her hip and then gives a side-to-side head bob.

Essentially that's the jist of an article my friend Zarina posted to her Facebook page to which she further remarked: "If this trend continues the US will be in deep doo-doo."

My response: "The US already is in deep doo-doo. We have an impotent congress latched tightly onto the teat of corporate greed and corruption. We have two loathed POTUS candidates, one the lesser of two evils. We have deep-rooted racism and classism. We have a wide and rapidly more widening gap between the haves and the have nots. We have a culture whereas the populous is nearly evenly divided between those who care about the needs of their fellow man and those concerned only with their own needs (the majority of the latter often ignorantly voting against their own self interests). Divided we fall ...

I recently met a lovely young woman from Nigeria who has traveled the globe and lived in countries on several continents. She said she's never seen poverty like she has here in the US. I know too well what she's taking about. Just take an Amtrak ride through the NE corridor. Between the gleaming downtowns of our major cities it looks like the war-torn ruins of some third world country.

In her native country, people commonly ask one another if they've eaten, and they feed one another if they have not. That kind of communal culture is rare to find in the US.

She's working with one of our local county council members on a project around our state prison system. In liberal Seattle, Washington, where about three percent of our population is black, at least 70 percent of our prison population also is. And the majority of crimes that demographic are convicted of are minor, non-violent offenses. Something is very wrong with that picture."

I think on the horrible acts of police violence we've been seeing in recent weeks and days against black men. Then of recent horrible violence against police. I take comfort in a quote I saw circulating social media this past week:

I think on our current male, nay white male-dominated paradigm, and I am delighted to see more female world leaders. Yet I'm a bit disturbed by the new UK prime minister's recent remarks:

“We will do everything we can to give you more control over your lives. When we take the big calls, we will think not of the powerful, but you. When we pass new laws, we will listen not to the mighty, but to you. When it comes to taxes, we will prioritise not the wealthy, but you.”

Perhaps I'm being overly sensitive here. Was Theresa May actually insinuating the common people are NOT powerful? NOT mighty? NOT wealthy? Her remarks really and truly gives a sense the common people ought to have reason to be grateful to their lawmakers. What a back-asswards concept. Public servants ought to be humbly grateful for the esteemed honor of representing their constituents. When is that ever the case in this day and age? OK, Bernie Sanders is the exception, far from the rule.

What a peculiar place, this modern world ...

More food for thought on the State of our "Union"

Yes, we have a complex, multi-faceted problem on our hands. It's exasperating to see such tragedies like Orlando exploited in the name of forwarding a political agenda or ideology. That helps no one; it solves nothing.

From my vantage point, and despite these incidents not being centrally coordinated, they have so many common elements. Of the most disturbing are vulnerable, unsuspecting people victimized at venues which can be considered a place of refuge; be it a school or a dance club. The randomness of it all further erodes our collective sense of peace and security. Not just as LGBT people, rather as people of this nation.

It's tragedy upon tragedy we have such an epidemic of polarization and violence. Not to oversimplify, I cannot imagine these two societal ills are unrelated.

First step in solving a problem is to admit there is one. These egregious problems pulling apart the delicate fabric of our society, threatening our very existence, they must be thoroughly examined from many angles. Many thoughtful solutions will be required before we realize positive, lasting results. First thing's first, we have to find way to shelf our differences and come together.

So much work lies ahead it seems overwhelmingly insurmountable. Each of us individually can make a difference having meaningful conversations around this, seeking to understand and to be understood.

May we all find common ground soon and a way forward to a peaceful, sustainable society ...

Thoughts on Orlando & America's mass shooting epidemic

Seattleites gather for a candlelight vigil at Cal Anderson Park Sunday, June 12 after the most fatal mass shooting in American history.

A year ago at this time our community (LGBT & allied) came together to rejoice and celebrate the SCOTUS ruling on marriage equality. What a devastating turn of events to come together around this June.

What happened in Orlando was a senseless, diabolical act of violence. We can take a political stance and point fingers, assign blame. Where does that really get us? No where, just fighting among ourselves like children. That's exactly what our two, mainstream political parties seem designed to have us do. A system influenced by antiquated, feudal society to have the common class fighting among itself while the ruling class screw us.

If we take a step back from each of these horrific mass shooting tragedies we can learn something from them. Then we can apply it. That's what we have the opportunity and ability to do if we so choose.

The greatest problem to solve for is us, as a society. We are quick to want an answer, a simple truth and a rapid solution. We have a complex, multi-layered problem on our hands. This isn't someone else's problem, it's ours to figure out, together. What are we as citizens doing to make our U.S. a respectable place where we can all feel secure and liberated?
 

I have in past years volunteered to select recipients for an LGBT scholarship program. One of the brightest minds I had the privilege to meet and interview was an 18 year old who had spent his summer retrofitting a VW bus to use biodiesel, learned how to make biodiesel and then traveled throughout Central and South America showing poor communities how to create and benefit from this more eco-friendly energy source.

As part of the selection process interview, we asked this hopeful what the greatest problem is facing our world and the solution to it. He took quite a bit of time pondering before uttering a word. When he finally spoke his answer, it surprised us. It was simple, amazing and simply amazing: Thoughtlessness.

The student further explained, especially in our Information Age society, we expect to have everything on demand, in the blink of an eye. We are therefore pressured to come up with quick answers to complex problems, and we often fail to come up with the most sound, effective solutions for this reason.

When the immediate emotional aftermath of such horrific events settles, perhaps we, too, as a people, as neighbors, Americans, human beings, etc. Maybe we can brush aside our differences, conduct a deep review of the facts, which for today's incident will be investigated for quite some time to come, and then we can begin being thoughtful about solutions that will make a positive, lasting difference.

That's not up to God, or POTUS or Congress, it's up to us how we choose to move forward in the face of adversity and senseless, hate-fueled tragedy.

May love win, always ...

Last Night's Dream ...

Had a bizarre dream. My mom and I were having a steak dinner, and I started eating the remnants of my steak from the night before, which I suddenly realized had been left out/not stored in the refrigerator.

A friendly couple from down the way showed up and my mom invited them to join us. After my first bite of steak I realized I needed a new steak, not because it was rotten, just because I knew it was probably going to make me sick. So I excused myself and inconspicuously spit out the piece of meat I had been chewing.

I grabbed a bunch of new steaks and was sidetracked by seeing activity at an investment property my parents bought and improved. Odd because they aren't married in my everyday, waking consciousness.

Here was the snag, they bought half the property and improved the property half way. The other half owners were running an event business out of the property and my parents intended to use it as a short term vacation rental.

While I was onsite the other alleged half owners showed up. We sat down and talked about the situation. They were too quick to offer a buyout. I suspected they were squatting on the property vs. actually on title. The wife in particular was really shifty about giving me any contact details for follow up. They also alleged my folks hadn't done much to improve the property.

When I first saw the property, the home was really tired looking and dated. I recall after my folks bought their share it had been modernized, with really cool black metal framed windows, including a funky black glass interior room divide. Walls had been removed to open up the interior spaces. Now up close I was having a hard time seeing the work, and after I left I wondered if I had been influenced to see what someone else wanted me to see.

Meanwhile an event was taking shape outside. A party, a rather large one at that. Low and behold all my steaks I had fetched had been consumed.

There was a sea, like the sound, and I washed my hands in the saltwater. It was night, music was playing, jovial voices muffled below the volume.

I had set my cooler and a couple other things stacked upon it in the shallow part of the sea. I turned to grab some replacement steaks from the party BBQ, they were of poorer quality. I ended up only taking one, the best looking one left. Someone grabbed me a piece of foil to wrap it in. I ended up putting it in a corrugated to go box.

My cooler and other items had vanished. No, they were just farther up shore. So I waded out to get them and then headed for dry land.

The rest gets fuzzier. I was driving my mom's Exploder (slang for Ford Explorer) into the woods. It was either Patrick (my ex's middle brother) or my old friend Andy (from the early 90s). Or they are actually one in the same person. Either way, I told them about the odd property dealings. He knew the people and he was certain they had no business being there and no actual ownership interest in the property.

I was out of breath from having run from the shore or something. Before I knew it Patrick/Andy had loaded my unwieldy items into the back of the SUV, and I was intending to return to my mom and guests. That's where the dream ended, I think ...

What World Do We Live In?

Went to a client's housewarming party this afternoon. He has a lovely, eclectic group of friends. I met people from China, Israel, Mexico and Nigeria. My client is from India.

In high school I found myself gravitating toward the foreign exchange students. To look at our world through someone else's eyes, from a completely different perspective, I find that fascinating. I still do.

So getting beyond the initial "where are you from" icebreaker, this gal from Nigeria (wish I had gotten her name) and I had quite the exchange. She made quite the declarative statement about the U.S. not being a first world country. I couldn't agree more.

In 2009 I took Amtrak down the Northeast corridor from New York to D.C. Between each gleaming capitalist mecca of skyscrapers were the most bombed-out-looking, decaying townships of urban blight you've ever seen. These scenes looked very reminiscent of the most run down, down-and-out parts of Detroit. In 2014 I took Amtrak up the Northeast corridor from D.C. to New York. The picture gliding by out the window didn't look any better. Buildings boarded up or half open in ruin, piles of bricks, weeds growing out of streets. It looked completely post-apocalyptic. This is America?!

This beautiful young woman I spoke with at the party from Nigeria thinks at least forty percent of America lives in a substandard state of poverty. In her home country, she said even the poorest of the poor can still get by. Her people take pride in helping others. She said her people routinely ask each other if they've eaten. She said if she were starving here in Seattle, perhaps she would only call on her closest friends for help. Back home it would just be granted by whomever.

My new acquaintance from Nigeria also spoke of some time she spent in Chicago. She was shocked by the urban blight she saw there, ruins of neighborhoods, horribly impoverished ghettos, which she drove through for about forty five minutes before the scenery improved. She has traveled all over the world, and thinks America by far is the most racist country on the planet.

From her perspective, the saddest thing about this other America, the decaying third world part of our wealthiest country in the history of mankind, is many who live in these squalored conditions are unaware of their situation. They still think they live in the greatest country on Earth, and most are compliant to believe what they're told by the media (which is corporate controlled).

We're only as strong as our weakest link, and we have some terribly weak links. Wealth inequality is one thing. The extreme disenfranchisement of millions is another.

Speaking of, my new acquaintance is being mentored by King County councilmember Larry Gossett, who is working to reform Washington's prison system. She mentioned about seventy percent of our prison system inmates are black. That's when I piped up, "But isn't our total black population here around three percent?!" Yes, she agreed I had it right. OK, that's insane. One of the smallest segments of our general population comprise nearly three quarters of our prison population.

And we also covered the topic of government surveillance. She said it's nearly as bad as what occurred in the former Soviet Union. On the contrary I would say far worse. We have so much more technology at our disposal, thus you need far less man power to more comprehensively know what the population is up to every moment of everyday.

She remarked sometimes she's thinking about something only to a short while later be Googling something and see an ad representing the topic she had just be thinking about. She said it may sound crazy but she thinks they've found ways into our minds.

I don't think it sounds crazy at all. I don't think it's happening quite the way she alluded to. There's a stream of consciousness, and some of that stream may be forced, such as through broadcast frequencies, etc.

It amazes me how much America condemned Soviet surveillance of its citizens during the Cold War, and yet what America is doing to its own citizens here and now goes far beyond. Was pre-1989 America different?

Oddly enough one of the first online topics that caught my eye after the party was my friend Richard's posting, a WIRED article about surveillance: http://www.wired.com/2013/06/why-i-have-nothing-to-hide-is-the-wrong-way-to-think-about-surveillance/

It's important to be aware, to know the truth and to help others. For this reason I believe it is essential to do some form of inward looking/meditation on a daily basis. Some way to calm the mind and tune out.

During my drive home from the party I listened to NPR, which featured an intriguing On Being segment. Today's guest was writer Rebecca Solnit. She searches for the hidden, transformative histories inside events we chronicle merely as disasters, in places like post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans. She writes that, so often, "when all the ordinary divides and patterns are shattered, people step up to become their brothers' keepers. And that purposefulness and connectedness bring joy even amidst death, chaos, fear, and loss."

I was just talking with my mom about this very thing the other day, the hidden beauty shrouded in our darkest struggles.

On a final note, because so many more days are physical struggles for me than not, my perspective around problems has shifted. A long time friend of mine sent me a text this evening about how his ex lied to him about where they were and who they were with. This friend along with many of my other friends usually avoid asking me how I'm doing. Not that its a prerequisite, it would be nice. Sometimes I think that I've been sick so long people have forgotten. Then again, I don't see friends very often. I pointed out to this friend what a luxury it is to be concerned about what other silly humans are doing. That the trivial weight of such burdens is in some ways enviable. They insisted this was bad because they were lied to. I reminded my friend he and his ex have had many lies between them over the years. I asked whether they were surprised.

I don't intend to lack compassion around such things. I just really couldn't care less.

Dealing With End of This Life

First I want to insert how much I subscribe to native and ancient spiritual beliefs about "death." To these cultures, there is no death rather a change of worlds.

My bestie and I lost a former co-worker and mutual friend to cancer within the past few weeks. Well, she was more an acquaintance to me. Even so, she was young, vibrant and a good human whose life in this world abruptly ended. I recently discovered another acquaintance perished a couple years ago. That's even stranger, to much later realize someone my age just suddenly left us some time ago and I was completely unaware. Then there's legendary celebrities such as David Bowie and Prince suddenly passing on. Or seeing icons of my youth having progressively aged. Then there's what really hits close to home.

Being middle age, living with a serious, life threatening (at the very least life altering) disease and my mom having stage four lung cancer. That's a lot to cope with, and I'm unsure whether I've been doing so as well as I possibly can. Of course my initial urge is to in some way make myself wrong for this; feel guilty. The better internal dialogue is I am coping and I have a yearning to learn how to cope more effectively. I'm grateful for being able to allow my grace and imperfections to shine through during this process.

I recently read a couple great articles about holding space for someone as well as yourself. Actually, it's most important first to hold space for yourself before you're able to do this for someone else.

Simply put, holding space is about how we help support one another without judgment. Or as the blog Spiritual Awakening Process lists:

1. Letting go of judgment
2. Opening your heart
3. Allowing another to have whatever experience they're having
4. Giving your complete undivided attention to the situation/other person

I have a really tough time with this. Well, I think many of us do. After all to err is to be human.

Problem solving is in my nature. So stepping back from doing that, trying to fix or influence a better outcome is really challenging.

When I think of this topic and how it shows up in my life, I think of how hard a time my husband has been having holding space for me as someone living with and trying to heal from a debilitating disease. I also think of how difficult it is to hold space for myself when I am also so focused on living my life, which essentially boils down to earning my keep as that's primarily all I have energy for.

As I explained to my bestie this morning, I'm really perplexed with how best to hold space for my mom. She reminded me I am a problem solver and advisor so it is very inauthentic of me to backburner traits so core to my being. While I understand what she means, holding space for others is not about being true to ourselves. It's about being true to the other person. It's a selfless, willing act of love. Thus why it's so important to be able to do this first and foremost for ourselves.

When my mom called me yesterday, and asked if I was busy, I knew she wanted to talk with me. The last time she needed to talk with me, my mom requested ten percent of her pittance of what remains of her total life savings. And she broached that conversation on the eve of my forty second birthday, after I had clearly indicated what a horrible week I had had and how exhausted I was. Thankfully I caught myself becoming infuriated and quickly brought that conversation to a halt until I had the wherewithal to revisit it.

Yesterday's conversation was a little different. This was more around her health. She goes into Seattle Cancer Care Alliance about every three weeks. They check her vitals, run blood tests, do scans, etc. This time she was shown to once more be anemic, which means she needs to have another blood transfusion today. They also found blood in her stool, so they are sending her to a GI specialist.

Her partner Al was taking a nap, so she thought it was a good time to have a private conversation. He has a hard time holding space for her from what I also gathered. Admittedly so do I. When these other, more minor complications arise, my mom immediately goes to a place of worst possible scenario. Yet she has convinced herself the cancer may just go away. In either case I am almost certain my mom does not accept the reality around her health. To me it seems backward to dismiss the stage four lung cancer and become alarmist about anemia, especially when one is actually feeling pretty well. When we fail to accept something, we are powerless to change it. So my concern here is I see my mom worsening her suffering.

So of course I pointed these things out to her, that the doctors have all been very upfront about her cancer type being incurable. That these other complications may be related but are not a result of the cancer spreading.

No matter what I say, my mom is in the same place; she's scared. She said she just wanted to talk to her little boy. I realize in many ways, even when I was much younger, I always provided strength to my mom. Of course in many more ways, especially when I was much younger, she provided strength to me. Now she is falling short of being able to be strong for herself.

Sometimes I can sense the child inside her crying out for help, and this breaks my heart. My mom is doing quite well, all things considered. She told me she wanted to be like her mother, to live to be very old, to eventually not know what was going on around her and then to pass peacefully.

We must always be mindful what we wish for and desire. My grandma was a very strong woman, who lived the last few decades of her life with a herniated disc in her back. She worked until she was about 85 and died nearly 10 years later. It was only in the last six to nine months of her life she was less aware to unaware of what was going on around her; a mere shell of the wonderful, amazing person loved by so many.

I told my mom I really believe we are not given anything in life we cannot handle. That even the darkest of things we experience contain some light. I told her I can look at my life now and say I've lost a lot of friends. Or I can choose the view that the people in my life who really matter and I'm blessed to have are clearly in full view. I choose the latter.

When we are confronted by our life's imminent conclusion, we naturally grasp for what our life has meant to others. For a time a couple winter holidays ago my mom was really pleasantly surprised by how many people's lives she's touched; how many people expressed their love and support. To me that is getting one's life, realizing purpose. It's beautiful and something I would love to experience.

Through all of my imparting of words to my mom, all she really wants is for someone to just listen. I realized this, and so I did. I was also empathetic, expressing how these past couple years have been so challenging for her. These are supposed to be her golden years. She has friends who are retired and playing golf everyday. It must seem so unfair.

Also unfair is her partner Al is mentally on a downward slope. They were at the cable office the other day paying their bill. Mid conversation he froze and completely lost track of what he'd been saying, was going to say, etc. He became so frustrated and started to cry. My mom was there to help. In fact she had to write the check for him. He was still able to sign it. As a whole he can hardly do for himself. While she could really use someone to care for her, he's let himself go downhill and she's still caring for him. I'm at least grateful to know he is taking care of the majority of their financial obligations and feels good he is able to do that for her.

It's the holding back to hold space I find challenging. I want so badly to make it right, influence, diminish the suffering in some way. I want to find more strength and self discipline to do this.

No one knows for sure whether they will draw their next breath after this one. All our time is limited and a precious gift for us to do with as we choose. Even so, my mom's physical being has a compromised and greatly shorter life expectancy. Like birth, death is a messy, painful business. I'm sure she's incredibly apprehensive of what lies ahead as are we all. When the time comes, I want as much strength, grace, empathy and humility possible. Now is the time to train for the marathon ...

Sidebar: Eerily synchronistic, my "This Day in History" widget has this story today: The Last Supper back on display after two-decade restoration http://encyclopedia.tfd.com/The+Last+Supper+%28Leonardo%29

All Roads Lead Full Circle ...

Today is the only Friday the thirteenth in 2016. Since the high was forecast to be at least 80 degrees Fahrenheit, I thought it would be fun to wear my new sparrow shirt. It's a white, short-sleeve button down with a navy print of small sparrows all over it. From afar they may look like big stars.

According to whats-your-sign.com, life is symbolic and we're to start interpreting. The site lists out a summary of symbolic meanings for this small bird:

• Joy
• Inclusion
• Creativity
• Simplicity
• Protection
• Community
• Productivity
• Friendliness

As of late, the greatest feeling I've had is one of nostalgia. Since early last weekend I've been thinking about people from my life around mid to late high school in Texas and Washington.

Had a regular follow up with my Lyme literate natural doctor (LLND), and I mentioned my feelings and deep sense of nostalgia as of late. She said this may likely be on account of me being in a healing crisis. Her concerns today related to my struggle with balance, or rather the area of my brain that controls balance, as well as my heart. She referred me to a Lyme literate cardiologist, who I may have to wait at least four to five months to get into see.

On my way into my LLND's office today, I bumped into a couple folks I met at my Lyme group a few months ago. The wife is the patient, and she's been severely struggling. My LLND mentioned she's very sick in an indicative way as though I am much less sick than she is. I suppose I take some comfort in that, sort of. The other part of me holds much compassion for my comrade of complex infectious diseases. The struggle is real; deeply injuring body, mind and spirit.

After my follow up visit I needed to have blood drawn, which  I had forgotten to do earlier in the week (Lyme brain), which meant having to go to First Hill on my way home from Sand Point. The most expeditious route to avoid a traffic-choked Interstate 5 is to take Roosevelt to Roanoke to Boylston. This route would take me along the edge of the Eastlake neighborhood.

As I recalled from earlier this week, my office mate just listed a very special condominium unit in Eastlake. Special not because it's the latest and greatest carbon-neutral architectural marvel of modern design. On the contrary, the building is actually pretty dated, constructed in '66. It's called the Maison D'Or, a very ornate sounding name for a fashionless, mid-century condo building.

To me this isn't just another concrete honeycomb of dwellings amid a hodgepodge of non-conforming architectural styles that make up the peculiar patchwork neighborhood assortments comprising Seattle. This was a place where I first ventured into my adulthood and savored my first sips of careless freedom.

My high school friend Anna's dad Paulo owned this condo back in '92. It's a top floor 2 bed/2 bath corner unit with vaulted ceilings and an actual wood-burning fireplace (a rare carbon-abundant feature for today). I mean, what are the chances out of 16,000+ residential brokers in the Puget Sound area that my office mate would be the one to list this place. That's at the very least just a little synchronistic.

I met Anna through our mutual friend Megan, who I met through our mutual friend Sam, who I met through my friend Mitch, who I met through his sister Michelle, who I met in fifth grade. And so our degrees of separation go. Anna was fun, a lot of fun, trouble kind of fun. Earlier today I gave the following description of her to my BFF via text:

"Shit talkin', softball playin', Amazonian princess."

To which she replied:

"You love explosive powerful woman. It's because you are one."

Hmmm ...

Anna's dad Paulo was slightly enigmatic. He's Brazilian, so he has a foreign mystique, which is further punctuated by his Latin flair. You know, he has a certain jeux ne se qua. At the same time he was somewhat soft spoken and reserved, always the calmest person in the room. Then again, he was also at times a little touchy-feely. Perhaps it was a cultural thing? Even so, and even though I was quite closeted during the time we were acquainted, I thought perhaps he may also be attracted to the male of our species. As they say, it takes one to know one.

As I recall Paulo worked for a bank and his work required frequent travel. So when the cat was away, Anna, Megan and I had his condo all to ourselves to play. We mostly just hung out, made food, drank, smoked, made each other laugh, played games; typical teen stuff.

It was strange going there today. I mean, I've passed by the building on a number of occasions between then and now. Actually having the intention to visit someone's old home really brought some things to the surface for me. Just remembering how we'd parallel park on East Lynn Street, the antequated front door call box, the cranky old lady who loved to complain about how noisy we were and I one day scared the living shit out of.

In my defense (not really sure there is one) that incident was totally by mistake. I'm not evil; just at times (especially as a teen), you know, dumb. Anna, Megan and I, like most silly adolescents, would occasionally prank each other. It's a show of affection among friends. Anyway, I don't quite remember all the circumstances other than I was hiding around a dark corner outside the basement parking garage, thinking Megan and Anna were unexpectedly coming my way. I patiently held out for the perfect moment to leap out from the shadows with a loud roar! Oh I got the reaction I wanted alright, and then some, just not from the right people.

"You could have given me a heart attack!" the cranky old lady shouted. "I should call the police and file charges for harassment."

In the background I heard Anna and Megan laughing their fool heads off. After I stumbled all over myself with apologies and the cranky old lady shuffled away, I found the two of them convulsing with laughter, Anna in tears.

"Oh. My. God. Bradley!!" she exclaimed. "That was some mutherfuckin' funny ass shit, but we are SO dead! She's going to tell my father and who knows what else she'll do. But whatever, that bitch totally had it comin'."

Anna had a point. Even so, I felt really bad about that particular incident. The rest of the cranky old lady's previous complaints about us though were pretty lame. Yeah, we drank under age. Who doesn't? Yeah, we were a little rowdy late at night. Our rowdy wasn't fighting or screaming; it was joyful banter and laughter. We were kids, and we certainly weren't all that bad. Naughty sometimes, like when we aided and abetted a friend swiping a half-rack of beer from an East Lake Sammamish Parkway mini mart. That wasn't cool, except being the get-away driver was kind of a thrill. Still, we were no ruthless criminals. We just liked being young, carefree and, of course, to party.

Pulling the keys from the keybox, two appeared to be originals, one of them stamped "Do Not Duplicate."

Suddenly I'm thinking about these keys having been in Paulo's and Anna's hands countless times without them giving a thought to possessing them. I think quite fondly on these objects now, rather artifacts that are a sacred link to another life I once held so dear. It was a similar, sentimental feeling as though you're holding a cherished memento of someone who has passed onto the next world. Yet they're still alive, at least I think they are. Maybe not?

The stark, minimal lobby looked exactly the same except for the brand-new-looking, modern traffic control carpet. The elevator is also a time capsule of dark, faux-wood-paneled walls framed by metal. The elevator controls are far from minimal, small circular buttons that protrude and depress in quite dramatically, like antique light switches. When the elevator reached the top/fourth floor much sooner than expected I remembered the lobby entrance is actually on floor two.

The elevator door slid open and there it was, the door to unit 401, right where I had left it some 23 years ago.

The door still had its original mid-century hardware. The brass knob sporting a simple ribbed design, which had at one point been painted white except the paint had over time been worn off the tops of the ridges. I remember as a late teen thinking of the design both as retro and international. Today it just looks a little dated. Yet I like it if only for the familiarity it now represents. 

Standing at the front door to an empty tomb is much different than returning to visit a long, lost friend at their home. Sure there's some degree of anticipation, albeit quite faint and nothing that stirs the soul like wondering how you'll be received by an actual human being, one you once had much in common with and haven't seen for years vs. being confronted by a random blur of memories aroused by sights and smells.

I slid the key into the hole and turned the knob. Ah, yes, I vaguely remember the feeling of this old hardware turning in my hand. As I walked in, one of the first things I noticed were the ceilings being taller than I remembered, perhaps appearing loftier on account of my ever so humble return.

You would think I were an old man, and with all the meds I'm taking I often do feel like one. I mentioned to my counselor the other day how awful it must feel, physically, to be really old and worn down. She told me a real life anecdote. I guess a younger man asked a 90 year old man how he was feeling. The 90 year old man said, "Well, if I were your age I'd be calling an ambulance." Though the elder man responded with humor, he also meant what he said. He physically suffers and yet it's his normal and the best he can expect to feel at his age.

Today when I mentioned to my LLND I feel like an old man taking all these various meds, she set me straight. "That's an internal conversation you'll want to stop as soon as possible," she said. "Instead, the conversation is 'I'm so grateful there are things I can take to feel better and to heal.'" She admitted she can say such things to me because I'll understand where she's coming from.

I definitely get what my LLND is saying, and I used to naturally live from a place of gratitude. I once enjoyed life, fully, squeezing out each precious drop. I think I see why this healing crisis has me so nostalgic. It may be my body, mind and spirit's way of reminding me who I've always known myself to be, that happy-go-lucky person with a light heart and quick wit, he still exists inside me somewhere, even if just in my fond boyish memories.

One thing I loved most about Paulo's place, other than the company kept there; the magnificent view.

Top floor corner with a panorama of a growing skyline to one side; water and hills and mountains all round, oh my! All this in one of the city's quietest, close-in enclaves.

As I walked in I was immediately drawn to the balcony. What a spectacular, sunny day it was to take in the view. I can't tell you how many late nights Anna, Megan and I spent sitting out there, drinking and smoking. Many a night we watched the renown Space Needle turn out its lights (around 2:00 to 3:00 a.m. if memory serves). I took a couple shots with my phone to capture what's been buried deep in my mind's eye since all those years ago.

Looking north to Gas Works Park and the Wallingford neighborhood, I'm reminded of when you could actually climb up onto the colossal defunct industrial machinery which landmarked the park. Sunbathing at the water's edge with Anna and her then boyfriend Andy, who looked like a hunkier Morrissey (and I'm pretty sure he was super into The Smiths, too). Never did we feel more bourgeois than when we were invited to Sunday brunch at Paulo's girlfriend Mary's Wallingford home. Mary, incidentally, is Andy's godmother and the person who introduced him to Anna. There was quite a bit of drama around that, namely because Anna was at times a naughty, and fun, influence.

Mary lived in the second floor unit of her charming Craftsman-turned-duplex. Her brunches were amazing. She'd have about 15 to 20 gathered on her south-facing deck, which offered jaw-dropping panoramic views of Lake Union, backdropped by the Seattle skyline. She was a whiz at homemade hollandaise sauce, and would fly in fresh-caught lobster from Maine. Of course she'd have bottles of chilled champagne, and I'm pretty sure that's where I enjoyed my first-ever mimosa.

As I walked back inside from the balcony, the sixties-modern stone fireplace, which has since been painted, confronted me.

In most cases I prefer raw stone, even and especially if it has a nice patina. Suddenly in my mind's eye I'm sitting back on the concrete fireplace ledge again with a lit cigarette in hand.

The living room is no longer this plain, safe yellow-beige walled sanitarium with minimal, neutral staged furnishings. Instead it looks warm, worn and well lived in with exotic hand-woven area rugs, shelves of old books and a plethora of unusual indigenous art pieces.

Despite the new hardwood floors and interior paint, the place smells eerily the same. It's a sweet, faintly-musty fragrance somewhat like old leather and tobacco. I feel like a ghost who has come back to haunt. Only I know how much wine (in many cases cheap bottles of Boone's) was poured and drags blown up the fireplace flume in this space.

I made my way into the kitchen, and suddenly I'm once more a silly youth, taste-testing the amateur combination of spices I added to our sizzling breakfast potatoes. Turns out I had luck in my choices, they taste divine. Anna and Megan are amazed as am I. We all wear smiles. We sit to breakfast at the table that morning, entering into our usual brand of banter; light and jovial.

The flashback vanishes and once again I'm middle age, worn down by disease. My lips draw in toward one another, my eyes begin to well up and I take a full breath. In this moment I'm overcome equally by a profound sense of joy and sadness.

Way back when, I lived for fun in all things; it's all I ever did without a care in the world. All those many happy days sailed on by like clouds gathering before a rain storm. And, yes, there's beauty in the rain, too; often a more somber, heavier kind of beauty.

I hastily completed my tour shortly thereafter and hurried off like a guest who overstayed their welcome. I am, after all, part legal intruder. Then I had another text exchange with my bestie to let her know of my discoveries.

She agreed what a small world it is for this residence to be so blatantly called out to me. "I wonder if the place asked you back?" she wrote. "Maybe it's time to reconnect?"

Maybe. I saw Megan's mom Debbie a couple Dia de los Muertoses ago. She still worked at Countryside Floral in my hometown of Issaquah. I stopped in impromptu for a pair of arrangements for my grandparents' graves.

Debbie was surprised, pleasantly it seemed, to see me. She told me Megan is a mom, and has a special needs child. Her younger brother Matt is a team leader for one of my parent company's brokerage offices on the Eastside in Bellevue. Anna is a recent divorcee "on the loose" in Arizona. She was one tough cookie.

I recall things not ending well between us and leaving those relationships in an unresolved fog when I moved to California in the summer of '93.

Something else trivial and silly dawned on me. I remember this really naughty, misogynistic song I sang a Christmas ago to my bestie's nanny in Portugese. She is Brazilian, and I learned this song from Anna's boyfriend (before Andy) Dun Dun and his bestie Penna, who also were Brazilian. I loved those guys! Super fun and spirited. I'll skip past the song for now, it's pretty dirty.

One day all five of us went up skiing. We were drinking whisky in the parking lot before the lifts opened. I'm not sure if those guys had even seen snow before. They were both pretty athletic. We all rented gear, and after about a half hour of giving them all a lesson, we were all skiing intermediate runs. The guys were doing exceptionally well. Sure they'd fall and crash here and there. They'd also get right back up and after a couple hours the falling became less and less. The weather was perfectly sunny, and we all had such a marvelous time. As I take this intermediate run at my health crisis, I wish to be as resilient as my long lost Brazilian pals.

Ah, to be young, wild and carefree. Those were indeed the good old days ...

Who's Who at Knudsen Park

[Written on my iPhone notes app]

Today (5/11/16 2:00 pm) at Knudsen Park I've seen a hunky Latino reading a book on a bench, a couple younger men passing a joint on a bench, an older man in a blue linen blazer measuring the centerpiece tree, a woman enjoying a soda, a man laying on a bench in the shade, a guy with spiked hair and Egyptian looking eye tatts (only the line extensions were drawn downward vs. continued across the sides of the face on the outer eyes) wearing black backpack, red tee, shorts and heavy metal chain as a necklace riding a yellow and orange mountain bike, a woman with a hot pink head scarf wearing a black burka praying toward Mecca, three guys congregating, smoking weed behind me and just heard a woman ask them if they have a lighter (though I did not see her).

The sleeping man just awoke, he's wearing black pants, tee and leather jacket, has longer, shaggy hair and a beard-goatee combo. He's now smoking something and coughing a bit, now making a call and overheard saying something about a housing program. As Carlin says, homes are just places where we store our stuff. A heavy set woman with large breasts wearing long, brown hair, pants and eyewear frames in a tight white top just walked through the corner of the park on her phone. I've been on my phone quite a bit since I've been here, too.

A clean cut man wearing dark shades, a charcoal gray polo and light blue shorts just wandered in with his lunch and sat where the woman had been enjoying her soda. A short, heavyset woman just wandered in with her lunch and sat on the concrete barrier surrounding the base of the centerpiece tree. This park is situated in a circular formation with a ring of well manicured trees and benches surrounding a large, dark red leafed centerpiece tree that's much taller than anything else directly around it. Few places are more well manicured than this. I'd rather be nowhere else right this moment. It's a beautiful, warm, sunny and peaceful day in Seattle ...

As I was leaving a woman in a light blue plaid short sleeve top pushed her two sleeping toddlers in on a stroller toward the three congregated stoners who just disbanded. She is now seated next to the other woman on the centerpiece barrier. All you can hear are the swooshing of cars passing on the adjacent MLK Jr. Way arterial, maybe the occasional car stereo with windows down.

It's quieter in my counselor's waiting room, just the occasional commercial toilet flush or shuffle of feet on carpet along with an oddly low volume digital Emerson alarm clock radio playing Rush's Tom Sawyer with a sticky note next to it asking please not to turn it off. The woman who walked through the corner of the park on her phone just walked slowly through the waiting room reading her phone and quietly entered the door at the other end of the room. The station moved onto The Politics of Dancing and it's time for my appt.

The Honourable Jean-Marie de Montague

Rhododendron^{[pronunciation?]} (from Ancient Greek ῥρόδον rhódon "rose" and δέντρο déndro "tree")^[3][4] is a genus of 1,024 species of woody plants in the heath family (Ericaceae), either evergreen or deciduous, and found mainly in Asia, although it is also widespread throughout the Southern Highlands of the Appalachian Mountains of North America. It is the national flower of Nepal. Most species have showy flowers which bloom from late winter through to early summer.

Thanks, Wikipedia!

The Coast Rhododendron is Washington's official state flower. Archibald Menzies discovered the Coast Rhododendron in 1792 when he and George Vancouver landed near present day Port Discovery.

Why am I writing about Rhododendron's? They're just about everywhere I look, they're starting to really blossom and I love it! Springtime in Western Washington is one of the most beautiful seasons and places to enjoy it. My yard has at least a dozen or so well established Rhododendrons, as does my neighbors' right across the street.

Tedd was out tending to his yard when I arrived home a short while ago. He was pruning back a yucca, which I don't understand why one would have such a plant in the Pacific Northwest. Anyway, Tedd is a character. Very bright, from an engineering background. Long story short, his family were some of the early settlers and founders of our town. He and his wife Vickie have lived in that house for about 30 years, maybe more. They are such lovely people.

When it comes to plans, Tedd is a veritable encyclopedia. He seems to know about every species of Rhododendron. Today I admired his giant red one at the very peak of its bloom. He told me it is called The Honourable Jean-Marie de Montague, which I had to say repeatedly in my head and then a couple times out loud to Tedd before I could remember it.

I wanted more info. on this specie, so I did some online research:

This cultivar's long name, 'The Honorable Jean Marie de Montague,' is generally shortened to 'Jean Marie de Montague' or simply 'Jean Marie' for sake of practicality or affection. But it is charming to find it not only listed in such important overviews as Greer's Guide to Available Rhododendrons by its fuller name, but actually alphabetized under the word "The."

Developed in Holland by C. B. van Nes & Sons about 1901 (though not in general production until the 1930s) 'Jean Marie' was for decades regarded as the best of all red rhododendrons. When the buds have matured, there is no more perfect red in existance. The flowers open to a slightly paler red, with faint freckles on the inner uppmost petal.
There you have it! And here's a photo:

Washington's Democratic Caucuses Undemocratic

It’s a cool 44 degrees Fahrenheit Saturday morning in Normandy Park, a wooded hamlet on the southwest end of liberal-dominated Seattle. I’m standing in line out front of our local elementary school, feeling a chill more than the Bern. At 9:11 a.m. I receive a text from a campaign volunteer, which essentially stated:

“It’s going to be close, so we need everyone to show up! Doors open at 9am. Do you have a plan to get to the caucus?”

Many of us were already there, standing out in the cold for a good 45 minutes before being allowed to enter the building. At least it wasn’t raining.

I was the first from my precinct to sit at our assigned long “Orange Is The New Black” cafeteria-style table, joined shortly thereafter by another fellow around my age-ish. I’m just a tad over 40. We also had in common this being our first-ever caucus.

Another 10 or so minutes went by. We had been instructed to wait patiently until everyone was seated in their correct precinct location. The room buzzed with caucus-goers socializing and slowly making their way to their precinct tables. Then the announcements started, the warmest from a woman volunteer:

“Thank you all for coming,” she said. “I am so glad to see so many of my liberal neighbors. It’s quite a departure from the conservative loud-mouths I’m used to seeing around this town.”

The full gymnasium erupted into laughter and applause, a group of people united by ideology, despite their presidential candidate choice.

Once instructions were orated, a volunteer man who chairs the organizing committee lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance. After “indivisible” he said, “with justice and liberty for all,” during which time the room garbled the last verse. Some said it the way it’s always been said and written. Others changed and followed the leader who transposed two words.

Each table had about 20 people and I’d say our caucus location had about 200-300 people turn out in total. At our table, which is our precinct, one person volunteered to be our coordinator. She took charge of a prepared agenda and read through each item, checking it off as she went along. She told us we have four total delegates and anyone who did not bring in or had forgotten their registration form was able to complete one.

After everyone completed their registration forms, which require the participant to name the candidate of their choosing, the forms were tallied by another participant at our table. We had nine precinct participants vote for one candidate and ten precinct participants vote for the other candidate. So that’s 43% of the vote in favor of one candidate and 57% of the vote in favor of the other candidate. Each candidate received 50% of the delegates.

Wait a minute. So one delegate received more direct votes and they share an equal number of actual delegates? How is that accurate? How is that representative? How is that democratic? The simple answer; it’s not.

After the votes were tallied, our coordinator divided us up by candidate. Participants for one candidate on this side of the table and participants for the other on that side. Then she gave everyone at the table an opportunity to speak on behalf of their candidate to try influencing others to change their vote. Two people spoke for one candidate, including our precinct/table coordinator, and four people spoke for the other. No one changed their vote.

Next came the final delegate count, and the four delegates from our precinct are selected along with four alternates, which can be done by volunteer or nomination. I was nominated to be a delegate, and am required to participate in the Legislative District Caucuses on April 17, 2016. Each delegate received a small, rectangular yellow form where they fill in their identifying information. This small form is then our ticket into the Legislative District Caucuses, where we have an opportunity to further influence delegate votes in favor of one candidate or the other.

This is followed by our County Conventions on May 1, 2016, followed by Congressional District Caucuses on May 21, 2016, followed by the State Convention in Tacoma on June 18, 2016 and finally followed by the National Convention in Philadelphia from July 25-28, 2016. During each of these events delegates can influence other delegates.

We want to believe every vote counts, and that our presence matters. Clearly throughout the caucus process every vote does not count. If anything I’m feeling the disenfranchisement.

Remembering the 2001 Nisqually Quake

Sunday morning I'm reminded of the big Nisqually earthquake in 2001 from a Facebook post by Vintage King County. They posted the following news link: http://komonews.com/news/local/look-back-nisqually-quake-15-years-later

I remember this quake well. I was on the ground floor of the Banner Building in Seattle's Belltown neighborhood, on the phone with a contractor who was across the lake in Bellevue. I was facing out our large, near floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at what is now the Vine Bldg. Then the land had just been scraped in preparation for construction. I saw a backhoe raise up and down, followed by a mound of dirt raising up and down and another backhoe raised up and down. Western Avenue rippled with a huge wave, like surf rolling in. I thought for a split moment I may have been hallucinating, it just looked so surreal. Then the reality dawned on me. No sooner had I said to the contractor I had on the phone "I think we're having an earthquake," the wave rolled into my office. The solid concrete floor I stood upon began to warp and wave like JELL-O. I asked the contractor (who mind you was less than eight miles away) to hold, and placed the call on park. Just then my office manager ran up to me in hysterics asking me repeatedly whether to stay inside or go outside. Realizing we had many stories of glass facing looming over us, I urged her not to go outside. She bolted out the door. I then staggered to the back of our office see how my other three colleagues were faring. They were huddled under their desks. To lighten the mood I placed my hand against a concrete pillar, supporting the thick, solid concrete loft platform directly above us and said "I'm going to stand below the most fabulous beam in all of ArtSource." Just then the upper floors really began to creak and groan loudly. Suddenly my heart went from light to heavy with a surge of panic. And just as quickly the ground movement ceased. My colleagues came out from their desks. Our office manager came back inside unscathed. Come to find out, the contractor I placed on hold had held the line and we resumed our conversation. Had the quake's epicenter been closer to the surface, we may have had a very different outcome that day. Grateful the impact spared us. Tagged: Kelly, Nantini, Sam, Tina

Smudging

Mystics say the Native American practice of smudging, or purifying a room with the smoke of sacred herbs, can help clear negative energy from a space. The apparent benefits are steeped in science—when burned, sage and other herbs release negative ions, which research has linked to a more positive mood.

 

On occasion I like to smudge my home. Regardless of spiritual or ceremonial implications, I actually enjoy the way my home smells afterward; a little hippie-dippy.

Thursday afternoon was the last time I indulged this practice. I've been feeling less than stellar this past week, and it's something I've been meaning to do since our last house guest departed.

First I cleaned house. My kitchen was a mess, so I got that in order, tidied up the rest of the space (a never-ending chore). Then I referenced an online "how to", and proceeded to start with cleansing myself in the farthest, lower room in my house, which is the basement utility room.

I wrapped myself in sage smoke from toe to head in clockwise, then counterclockwise circles while saying a prayer. The prayer was about clearing negative energy, thought form, ideas or attachments never to return. After I finished clearing myself, I went through the rest of my house, going around each door and window as well as filling each corner with smoke. I continued repeating the prayer.

When I reached my lower floor bedroom, our dog came out from under the covers to see me. So I cleared her, too. After, she burrowed back under the covers and I went on to finish the room, closet and adjacent bath. Just as I was finishing the bath and about to re-enter the hallway to the bedroom door, our dog sprang out from the bed, charging into the hallway barking as though she were chasing someone. I nearly leaped out of my skin!

After smudging the rest of the house, I felt better, calmer. The next day our dog started having loose stool and has been a bit unwell. I started feeling a bit more blah yesterday and today a bit unwell, too. I feel like either I didn't do something right or perhaps this is part of the bad juju making its way out of our systems. One can only hope ...

Smart Meters Threaten All Life As We Know It

Ever stop to ponder our modern day and think to yourself, "Geez, the world has become a really weird place since 911."? You're not alone.

Environmental depletion, mass extinction, pollution ... Lack of clean air, water, food ... Mass disease and starvation. Corporations attempting to control most every aspect of our lives, including food and water. The world has never been a more toxic place.

Just when you thought there was enough ill in the world, your electric utility company is set to deploy something that you absolutely must be aware of. Introducing the "smart" meter, the revolutionary way our governing powers intend to fry us and be involved in every aspect of our lives.

According to my local electric utility Seattle City Light, more than 500 utilities across the nation already use this technology, with 50 million advanced meters installed at 43 percent of American households (Institute for Electric Innovation, 2014). So that must make it OK right? Wrong.

These meters emit Radio-Frequency (RF) radiation up to thousands of times greater than mobile devices, the health/safety hazards of which is still under-studied and/or under-disseminated. Further, these advanced meters, as they are also referred, have the ability to communicate with every piece of hardware or appliance in our homes and relay that info. back to the utility as well as third parties interested in knowing our personal whereabouts. That game gesturing technology is awesome, right? Depends on what it's being used for. Playing games. Government spying, detecting our every action, thought and mood. Talk about Orwellian dystopia. It's more like a horrible nightmare.

This subject recently came to my attention at a group meeting for Lyme disease patients such as myself. One of the attendees is organizing a community group to stop these smart meters from being deployed in their Seattle neighborhood. I don't want them in mine, either.

Today I called down to city hall in the small, suburban Seattle town in which I reside. I spoke with community outreach manager Amanda about this issue. She mentioned our town has no cell phone towers, and this is by design. She's going to look into this issue with the city manager as well as their utility contacts and get back with me early next week. Amanda said if we don't have anything on the books, I may be invited to speak to city council about this issue.

If you wish to further educate yourself on this subject, I highly recommend this site and documentary: www.takebackyourpower.net

My headline may seem a bit dramatic. Watch the documentary and then you decide whether it actually is ...

Stroll Down College Memory Lane

My college newspaper celebrates its 100 year anniversary in 2016. My department put out an open call for some of our prominent memories while we were on staff at the paper. We're to submit a 250-350 word anecdote to be used as part of an interactive timeline. Here's mine:

The Mustang Daily diligently reported about important issues and prominent people of our time, even as fledgling student writers. Dennis Peron was my first notable interview. He was a legend in San Francisco politics as well as a close friend and political associate of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man on the city board of supervisors. Peron was also an avid AIDS activist, author of the successful California Proposition 215 (which legalized medical marijuana in the state and ignited a national movement) and a Republican candidate for California Governor.

Peron was expected at the October 1997 San Luis Obispo County hemp rally to promote the herb’s compassionate medical use as well as his candidacy for governor. I called him at his San Francisco home to make an introduction ahead of the event. Peron appeared to be really won over by this and he was instantly disarmed. He completely opened up to me, sharing very personally about his life partner who died of AIDS as well as the horrors he experienced on the battle field during the Tet Offensive in Vietnam. I listened intently. In this moment I stopped being a student and started being a journalist. This is what Cal Poly’s “learn by doing” philosophy is all about.

Reporters from practically every news outlet in the region were at the rally to report on it and grab a few quotes/actualities from Peron about his gubernatorial campaign. When I greeted Peron, he regarded me as though we had been long time friends. He spoke to me exclusively and refused to give any other reporter an interview at that time. All cameras were turned on us sitting on the county courthouse lawn where we talked. All the while I feverishly scribbled notes onto my reporter’s pad, trying to maintain as natural a conversation flow as possible. That was a thrill. Having earned Peron’s trust and respect, especially as an inexperienced student, was priceless.

Never underestimate the power of human connection. Forming relationships is fundamental to success. No one does it all on their own. This will make all the difference wherever you steer your career.

Pharma Bro, Karma Bro

The idea that a human being can carelessly, or possibly even maliciously, steal from the sick and dying ... It's beyond greed. It's the worst kind of sinister.

I think the Cock, excuse me, Koch Brothers have a new recruit. Let's get him behind bars before he can commit any further crimes against humanity.

The ugly irony here is some of the congressional leaders grilling this guy, well they support and defend the exact same kind of "free market," capitalistic greed this guy was engaged in. And he was only arrested when he defrauded white collar investors. So ...

IOWA COIN TOSS

What are the chances of winning six coin tosses in a row?
#Rigged

p.s. When the people lead, the leaders will follow ...

PO Talk

Years and years ago, the old me, who was ironically the younger version of me, was the type of person who found joy in even the most mundane of tasks. I'd strike up conversation with perfect strangers, my days always felt so bright.

As I've grown older, and sunk deeper into the throngs of my responsibilities as a small business owner, I've erroneously strayed away from that part once so core to my former self.

Today, however, a glimpse of the old "young" me returned at the counter of the Burien post office branch no less. The nicest woman helped me. I remembered her from a previous time around the holidays, when the office was jam-packed with people shipping and mailing all there holiday who knows whats. She wasn't very nice to me then. If I had to handle all those pensive people, one after another, for hours on end, I wouldn't be very nice to me either, even if I was Pope Benedict.

So our conversation starts in the usual way. She asks me how I'm doing. I said well, thank you, how's your day going? She told me it was going well, she was just about done for the day, and it's her Monday. I smiled. She smiled.

Madonna's 'Everybody' was playing on the overhead speakers as background music. Out of nowhere she exclaims, "I LOVE MADONNA! This song, oh it takes me back. I think this was on her very first album, which I had on vinyl - I think I also had it on eight track. This was back when music was good, really good. Those were some good times ..." she ended a bit wistfully.

Believe me, I know great artists bring people together. Am I a racist for being a little bit surprised a middle aged black woman was into Madonna?

"Ah yes," I said. "The 1980s. What a great time to be alive. That was a time when optimism flowed freely through pop culture. We did have some incredible music back then, didn't we."

Sidebar. I recently read an article about older music outselling new music for the first time in history. True story.

We continued bantering back and forth while she weighed and stamped each of my large letters. I remarked about being just a kid when this album debuted, a simpler time before having a real job. She let out a laugh and told me she was working her first job out of high school for the government. I asked what area. She proudly revealed for the department of defense. I asked her what she did for them. She was a paper shredder, working for minimum wage at $1.60 per hour at the base in Sand Point. I smiled, and she laughed a bit more considering what a measly sum that is by today's standards.

She asked if I grew up around here. I told her I did out in Issaquah. She asked if I graduated Issaquah High, to which I confirmed I had. She asked what year. I told her 92. She laughed again and told me I'm just a baby, she was 18 by then and she graduated in 1974 from Roosevelt. I asked if she lived in the Burien area. No, Skyway. She grew up in the Central District.

For a time she was in law school at Seattle College before it became Seattle University. She said thought she should have started at a two year school first, and she rushed to get out into the real world. I acknowledged when we were younger we were always in a hurry to grow up. And now that we're older, how we wish things could be how they were before we were tied down by our adult responsibilities.

She said she's now been with the post office for 30 years. I said it must be treating her fairly well for her to stay that long. She agreed it has been good. I asked what area of law she was studying to practice. She said corporate law. Her uncle was a corporate lawyer. She then said with a big smile by now she would be retired from her corporate practice on her own private island. That was her dream. I told her it's great to dream and it's never too late until it's too late.

I really felt a sense of connection today with this near perfect stranger. Near perfect because I recall having seen her at least once before. While we were bantering back and forth, someone came in to drop off a large basket of letters. I said hi to Lynn, and she greeted him back and asked how he was doing. So as we were saying our goodbyes I called her by name and told her to have a great rest of her day. She sure made mine!