More Memorial Day bits...

Three photos from the USS Hornet museum. I think this area is being developed for a "Women at Sea" exhibit.

More Memorial Day bits...

Three photos from the USS Hornet museum. I think this area is being developed for a "Women at Sea" exhibit.

Memorial Day...

From the very messy desk of Charlie...

It's Memorial Day, and I'd spent many years working on the Battleship New Jersey... but now I'm in Berkeley... so I can't go down to Camden!

So I felt especially driven to go the aircraft carrier USS Hornet, in nearby Alameda. I took the bus... the 51 to the 63.. which took an hour, it being a holiday... and got there about 12:30 PM.

Here is the USS Hornet:


Now most of you would say 'wow, big ship'... but I took this picture because there are four white antennas on the right hand side... it's the ham radio operator in me!

Here is the view from the "island", looking forward. The Oakland hills are in the background.


And here's our tour guide, explaining what we were about to see:


And this is what we were about to go see, the flight control center:


I had a few more pictures, mostly of radios and the like. I won't bore you with them.

After that I went below decks to the hangar deck. This was the Memorial Day ceremony:


I missed most of the speeches, but caught the blessing. Next, the wreath was brought outside (sorry about the blur):


And everyone was offered a flower:


After a blessing by the chaplain:


Then we threw our flowers overboard:


I tried to think of who my tulip was for, but in the end it had to be for everyone-- yesterday, last week, last year, last war.

Rest in Peace.
---

That was my day.
Peace,
Charlie

(Taps)

But, Well, You Know...

But, Well, You Know

I had an odd dream last night... yea, I know-- when has anybody had a dream that isn't odd-- but this one was interesting in being uninteresting.

In the dream I was waiting somewhere. Maybe I was in an airport lounge, or maybe I was waiting in line at a Stuckeys or one of those other restaurants they have near the interstates in the south... I know I was in the south, though, and I was waiting.

I'd struck up a conversation with a family. Mother and father were in their late 30's, maybe early 40's. She was taller than he was, but he was a substantial man, possibly a farmer, with well groomed, black hair. There were maybe three or four school-aged kids, staying close to mom and dad, but not saying anything, and looking rather bored.

Dad was saying: "When I have off we like to go see things."

Then, after a pause he added: "Normally we'd go to New Orleans, but well, you know..."

That was it. I woke up.

"But, well, you know" Those were the last words.

Now Jung and Freud would probably explain this dream as having something to do with unresolved childhood issues, but fortunately, I'm not up on all that. Instead, as I slowly woke up, I thought about what I would have answered. "But, well, you know"... in fact I didn't.

I thought about that maybe the father was trying to say "there are homosexuals in that city" or "there are Negroes there", but, well, there has been racial diversity and visible Lesbian and gay businesses in the Crescent City for generations, so why would he say "Normally we'd go to New Orleans"?

In fact, NOLA is less racially diverse, it's "Whiter" today than it was a decade ago, thanks to the disproportionate loss of housing in majority-black neighborhoods. But that wasn't the conversation I was having... in my dream.

"But, well, you know" If my mind hadn't made that phrase up, I'd be very offended. I certainly have heard others use it, it's a common conversation stopper. And maybe that's the whole point. It's like those big steel bumpers they put on railroad sidings... you know, to keep boxcars from going off the end of an incomplete track. It might have meant "I don't want to go any further." But, I'm the type of guy who wonders what's around the next bend. Where would the conversation have gone, if I'd pressed on?

What if I'd said something like: "I'm not sure I understand, tell me more." What would he, or his wife, have said?

In my mind, I see them saying something like: "Well, you know, they had some trouble down there." Can you imagine someone saying that? Maybe you've said it. "Some trouble", and more importantly "they". Another level of conversation stopper... like a big block of iron, welded onto the rails... "this should stop any boxcar that rolls down here, and maybe a runaway locomotive too!"

So I searched the faces of the people in my dream. The kids were easy, the older teens were looking at the floor or off into space, bored. They were so familiar with dad's attitudes, they'd heard it all before. And they were not happy that he'd taken them away from town and their friends, but they'd become resigned to a month of motels or RV parks.

The younger ones, the ones who still looked up to the parents, were still trying to make sense of the world, and dad clearly understood the mysteries of life, though they weren't sure why he was talking to strangers. They told volumes in their posture and clean double-knit shirts.

Dad himself was at ease. Probably a church-going man, he had a job, maybe in sales? Probably in a small town. One could imagine he sold propane or combines or ran a carpet installing company. Something needed, something conventional. The mom might be a teacher, or she might homeschool the kids. She wasn't going to interrupt her husband, and besides, she thought the same thoughts he thought.

I've met these people a hundred times in a hundred places. They are good people... as they say.

So why the "But, well, you know"?

Since I dreamt them, I can continue the conversation any direction I like. And today I think I'll go somewhere biblical... not my usual style, but as I was waking up I realized I was trying to apply a passage about caring for the sick, and visiting those in prison.

The triplet in the bible: Clothe the naked, care for the sick, visit the imprisoned is an interesting one to try to fit into the situation. The scene isn't a charity scene, it's a vacation. New Orleans, Louisiana isn't a town to be pitied... it's a city, a city recovering from a flood, and recovering from the attitudes and platitudes of the flood recovery. NOLA is a city that knows what it means to be dismissed, to be quietly made a non-place. Well, you know.

So when Jesus talks about the three actions that will get you into heaven, clothing, caring for and visiting, you would think he wasn't talking about summer vacation.

It isn't just because it's called "The Crescent City", but I'm imagining NOLA as a sort of woman with breast cancer. The sudden diagnosis of a lump is a shocking thing... To bring the men into this, imagine finding a lump on one of your testicles. I hope you never do. But this lump, wherever it is, is not good. It is going to kill you. It needs to go, and you need radiation and chemotherapy too. It is going to make you very sick for several months, longer than you expect. But someday, you are likely to be cured.

Cured is an odd thing for a woman who has had a breast removed. It might be similar for a man who has lost a testicle, but a woman is reminded of the whole episode every day. Even on vacation.

When it comes to clothing the naked, most post-breast-cancer women experience shame-- and that's a pity. I, for one, think a woman who has survived is as beautiful as one who has never experienced adversity. And I'm not just saying that because my mother was one.

So the phrase "Clothe the naked" can mean various things... It could mean that they should be hidden away under layers of muslin, veiled, keeping secret the effects of the cancer, keeping up appearances. But it doesn't have to mean that. It could also mean keeping our recovering friend warm, giving them a place of honor and a fine new outfit.. perhaps a new swimsuit that shows off their new figure, rather than pretending that it is the old one.

Here's where the testicular cancer analogy doesn't work that well... I don't think I'd advocate the creation of custom Speedo bathing suits for the 'one testicle man'... so we'll leave that thread, ok?

But we need to get back to New Orleans. Why does our friend shy away from visiting the Crescent City? Is it because he is un-Christian? Is it because he fears his children will have nightmares, nightmares of abandonment and panic? Or is it because he's decided NOLA is a "they", not an "us"? Has he decided to shun 'them'... But, well, you know... because they don't fit his family's lifestyle? Is New Orleans the breast tissue cut away with the cancer?...simply lumped with the lump, made non-existent to protect the health of the rest of society?

I'm left this morning without a good answer. It was, after all, only a dream. I'm left with no words to say to my nocturnal friends to make them see that "But, well, you know" is not a Christian way to end the conversation; it is not Christian for the happy and healthy family to restrict their view to the happy and healthy parts of the world, to imagine that shivering nakedness, sickness and imprisonment only happen to the unworthy.

But the dream is over. I can't go back and tell them, they are gone. And in real-life I'm not sure I'd do much better. In real life there would be excuses, reasons to visit an aunt in Florida, or a new vacation community in the Ozarks. And real life families are never so perfect. He's worrying about the new boss, their son's friend died suddenly, maybe she's recovering from cancer. In real life, I probably wouldn't even be having the conversation, and that's a pity too.

Oh, I went back to sleep for a bit, and had a second dream... it involved pecan pancakes, and lots of syrup and two eggs over easy, and sausages, deep fried sausages. And of course grapefruit juice, because I'm on a diet.

More Our Glass.

(Note, first word pronounced as the locals do...)

Louisiana
Gentlemen
all just
love
deer
meat stew-
venison
Jambalaya.

Our Glass Poetry

Ok... so it's an art form!
In a couple of recent poems I noticed my tendency to juxtapose lines with successive lengths... and with "Uncle" I wrote the whole poem that way...

It seems rather like a 1920's parlor game, and maybe someone invented it long ago, but, in case they didn't, I hereby dub this "Our Glass Poetry"

And that means rules... like haiku rules.

1) The poem's first and last lines have the same number of syllables.
2) Each line has one fewer than the previous, until
3) Two lines with one syllable words.
4) These two words must have the same meaning in some sense...
5) They do not have to be used to mean the same thing
6) They can be visual synonyms, or aural synonyms, or actual synonyms.
7) Then each line has one more syllable than the previous.
8) Ok, simple?
9) Syllables are the way you hear it... rhythm has 2, spelled has 1.. or two if you want to sound Elizabethan.

Examples

How you
cook
toast
matters

To our
cook!
Toast
your glass


And in the
midnight
hour,
time
can be
so cruel

It is
our
time
to shine

Shed a
tear!
Rip
your shirt!

Enough examples... enjoy!
Charlie

Uncle

I love Walter Cronkite!
His short clipped mustache,
Eyebrows that jut,
And the way
that he
looks
sees
so much.
Decades of
America.
War, death and pain,
Fraud and impeachment,
with a crinkle cheeked smile.