Friday, May 26, 2017

Push the Bus

 By Fred Owens
We pay careful attention to national and global affairs at Frog Hospital. If anything important happens, we will let you know.
I made a fairly polite joke  about our President and his visit to Saudi Arabia. My Facebook friend Albadr Alhazmi thought it was funny. He is a Saudi Arabian and has lived and studied in the United States. I cannot speak for him, but I would say his political views are conservative and his religion is orthodox Muslim.
Albadr and I are friends and I hope to meet him some day. I might go over there to his country -- that would be cool. Ride a camel. Sleep in a vast tent a way out in the desert. Arise before dawn and see the Morning Star in the sky....Some day.
Push the Bus
"You don’t know America ‘til you go to Texas and you don’t know Texas ‘til you go to Mexico, so that’s what we did."

I might make that the opening line of the book, if it makes any sense.

We say that the Revolution and the Civil War were the defining events of American history. But the case might be made for the battle of the Alamo and the victory in that war which defined the boundary.

The Roche Family was only dimly aware of those facts.

They were a group of hippie hooligans who camped along the Rio Grande River in 1973, physically contemplating the nature of boundaries. Like Rico, one of the main characters, said, "Wow, one side is Mexico and the other side is Texas ..... wow ..... I don't know.... it doesn't look like much of a river to me."

The book doesn't start in Texas however. It starts at a mental hospital near New York City.

"Tom Blethen sat at the edge of his bed reading a letter from his Aunt Mary. He lived in the men’s dormitory at Rockland State Hospital in New York. He was a psychiatric aide and they rented quarters to staff members who wanted to live on the grounds.Tom was about ready to give up this job."

Tom did quit the job, then he hitchhiked to Texas and joined the gang.

This story is hardly original. It seems like a remake of the Wild Bunch starring William Holden and Ernest Borgnine, where a gang of aging outlaws try to make one last big score, so they ride down to Mexico and get in a shoot out and they all get killed. Bang, Bang.
No Bang Bang in this short novel, Push the Bus. The gang made it down as far as Michoacan when they ....... but read the book and find out yourself.

High School
I contacted three old friends from high school. They weren't exactly friends, they were just guys in my class for four years and we got along well but otherwise we never hung out after school.
There was Mike and Jack -- they edited the school yearbook -- and there was Phil who edited the school newspaper.
We were all in double A, where they put the smartest kids. Mike and Jack and Phil  had school figured out and I didn't. I set the senior class record for consecutive days in detention, but they smiled and got honors and recognition.
The thing is they were never mean to me, they never rubbed it in or mocked me. They just kind of looked at me like  -- Dude, don't let all this bother you, you're just throwing up obstacles in your own path. But I ignored those signals. I fought. What for? I don't know.
That was in 1964. Now I'm thinking to write a story about high school, only all the high school movies are like Rebel Without a Cause because all the misfits drifted out to Hollywood and became screen writers. I didn't  want to write that story although it's true and it's what I did.
Instead I decided I wanted to write the story of Mike and Jack and Phil. Not just their high school years but their entire lives. Like how did it work out. This is a good idea, but there's a huge problem with this kind of story. Mike and Jack and Phil need to agree to some intensive interviewing, about their lives, their work, and their families. I kept dreaming up questions that I wanted to ask them.
Of course you know what happened. They did offer me cordial greetings when I contacted them and they wished me well with my life, but no, they did not care to become involved in my literary ambitions. They begged off. They declined.
No interviews. No questionnaires.  No phone calls. Just "nice to hear from you , Fred. Be well. Let's have lunch some time."
Well, I can hardly take this personally. they just didn't think it would be any fun.
So do I give up?
I looked up the school's alumni association. It's a private Catholic school -- actively raising funds from prosperous alumni. They never got a penny from me, but they keep trying.
I found this notice in the alumni news:
Let us know what's happening

Have you recently earned a degree? Won an award? Changed jobs? Written a book? Reached a milestone? Accomplished a dream? We want to hear about it. Keep your classmates and friends up-to-date on what's happening in your life by submitting a class note to 
LOYOLA magazine editor Robin Hunt at rhunt@loyola.org
.
Alumni news is all about bragging. But what if you just got divorced after 15 years? What if your dog died? What if your son just dropped out of college because of his drug addiction? These things happen to all of us. Why do we only share the good news at alumni affairs. It's like that at every school. "I can't go to the reunion unless I lose fifteen pounds and get rid of this beer gut. I've been stuck in the same crummy job for so long. My house has termites. My wife drinks in afternoon. Nothing worked out the way I had hoped...... except I'm good at bowling. I often bowl over 200 and some neighbors are impressed at my BBQ prowess. I can do most of the repairs on my car, and I've grown some impressive carrots in the back yard garden. Yeah, yeah, my life isn't a disaster, just a bumpy ride, just like most of the people I know. I'm all right. But screw the reunion. I'm not going. "
Thus saith a typical alumnus at a typical high school.

I should give details about the school I went to -- Loyola Academy, an all boys high school run by the Jesuits in Wilmette, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago.

When I went there, 1960 to 1964, there were 1,600 students, all boys. It was so grim -- all boys. The dress code was no jeans, no sneakers, no t-shirts -- had to be leather shoes, khaki pants or better, and a button shirt  -- had to wear a tie with the collar buttoned.
I used to get busted for that all the time because I had a fat neck --- left the collar unbuttoned and wore a sweater to conceal it, then Fr. Beall would reach out -- he had very long arms and he was very tall -- reach out, grab the sweater, pull it down and check to see if my top button was buttoned.
And Fr. Beall was one of the teachers I liked.
But that is not an unusual story. Lots of people had a hard time in high school. Instead, at least for balance, I need to hear from Mike and Jack and Phil about their happier experience.
Or I could contact Tom Graney. The new alumni directory is really slick -- you can look up anybody in seconds. I found Tom Graney and he lives in Florida. That's Colonel Tom Graney. I guess he made a career of the army. It might be interesting to hear about that.
We Called Him Billy

Ed Murray was a student at Loyola.  He was a year older than me. He's the older brother of Bill Murray the actor. Bill -- we called him Billy -- is our most famous alumnus. I have a story I'll save for next time about Bill Murray  and fast times at the caddy shack -- the real caddy shack that inspired the movie Caddy Shack.
High School. Getting tired of high school stories? I was just getting warmed up, but we are sensitive to the demands of our faithful readers. Our purpose is to inform, to stimulate and to entertain. Our commitment is to tell the truth and keep it interesting.
The End of the Spring Subscription Drive. Last Chance!
A $25 or $50 subscription to Frog Hospital comes with the promise that I will try my best. I have been writing this journal since1998. I have written some hundreds of issues of this journal, and some of it has been very good indeed and I would like to continue writing this, and I would like you to send me a check for $25 or $50 or punch the PayPal button.
You can find the PayPal button on the blog. Go to Frog Hospital.Or make out a check to Fred Owens and mail it to:
Fred Owens, 1105 Veronica Springs RD, Santa Barbara, CA 93105

thank you very
much,
        Fred

Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214

My gardening blog is  Fred Owens
My writing blog is Frog Hospital


Thursday, May 18, 2017

High School

FROG HOSPITAL -- May 18, 2017 -- By Fred Owens
with news from Chicago, Boston and South Texas
High School, Loyola Academy, Wilmette, Illinois, 1964

That horrible feeling when you wake up in the middle of the night and realize you will NEVER get over high school.
So don't try. ....don't try to get over high school, don't try to get over anything ....some memories fade, some memories don't ..... What surprised me about the high school dream I had the other night was the details I remembered, the faces and the names of classmates..... Where is all that data stored?

It was not the usual nightmare. It was a pleasant and friendly dream. We were the smartest kids in the school, in double A, some twenty of us and now I'm realizing that some of these fellows were just a bit more mature and sensible than me...... It wasn't them, it was the jocks who got voted to class office. They were the real jerks..... But Mike Plunkett, Jack Liess and Phil Rettig, the guys who put out the school newspaper and yearbook.... They had no animus toward me .... They could have been friends if I had only stopped sulking and lashing out.
Why forget? Why remember anything? Why assume you have control over what you remember and what you forget.
Meryl Streep said it well in this commencement address. "Real Life is actually a lot like high school." So you don't get over it, because you're living it now.
After the dream I contacted Mike Plunkett. He was glad to hear from me.

Marty Federman Passes....His Obituary Here
I sent him my Frog Hospital newsletter every week for the past 18 years. He rarely read it and he told me so, but I said Marty it just makes me feel better to keep your name on my email list. So I have kept this connection to him all this time because it was good to have him in my life even in this small way.
Marty Federman was the director of Hillel at Northeastern University in Boston when I first met him in 1992. In later years he took several positions of leadership in Jewish spirituality and politics. He had a warm and loving home in Brookline, right outside of Boston.
The Woman Who Burned Her Own House Down
People seem to find new ways to screw up their lives. A few years ago, on a day much like any other, Charlotte Anderson, age 39, was mad at her husband. The Andersons lived on a few acres under some post oak trees in a quiet neighborhood near La Vernia. He left for work about 8 a.m.
At about 9 a.m., Charlotte took a five-gallon can of gasoline, poured it all over their 1,800 square foot house, lit it on fire, and then stepped outside and called the sheriff on her cell phone to report what she had done. Meanwhile, the neighbors saw the smoke and called the La Vernia Volunteer Fire Department. I heard all this on the police scanner at work. Three fire departments came, but it was too late – the house was completely consumed.
The deputy came out and arrested Charlotte. She was charged with Arson. Her bail was set at $10,000. Investigator Rich Nichols interviewed her and I talked to him afterwards. He said that there had been marital difficulties, then he told me some more stuff off the record.
I never heard of anybody setting their own house on fire, have you? I got curious. Maybe her husband had done something to make her mad? I drove out that way, about 15 miles from Floresville, and pulled up slowly to the house, which was marked off with police tape. I just took a slow look around at the ashes. Then I noticed a man across the street shoveling gravel for his driveway, and I went over to say hello.
I asked him if he knew the Andersons. He seemed kind of nervous and wary, so I tried to put him at ease, but still I was a stranger asking questions – I had given him my card and said I was a reporter for the local paper, but I noticed he only told me his first name. Anyway, he said he had only moved to La Vernia two weeks ago from Des Moines, Iowa – and he looked like he wished he could just go back to Iowa and live around some normal people.
I decided to drop my investigation. It seemed more like a matter of private misery than public concern.
A True Story. "The Woman Who Burned Her Own House Down" is a true story. This happened in La Vernia, a small town in South Texas. At that time I was a reporter for the Wilson County News which covered that territory. I like this story because it is both funny and sad. And odd, and personal.
We laughed about it at the office, but then we stopped laughing. What a disaster for these people. Obviously the woman had mental health issues. And the poor husband. Did he deserve to lose his home? Maybe he did. We didn't know. We did know that the insurance would not cover a case of self-inflicted arson. So they were left with nothing but ashes.
We do know that after several days had passed, Charlotte Anderson was still in jail. Her husband apparently did not care to bail her out. Nor her family, nor her friends, if she had any.
But still, we worked at a newspaper that did not care to broadcast the pain and suffering of local people. She burned her house down, she went to jail, and on top of that she got her name in the paper for doing just that.
It was a public humiliation and an embarrassment to her family -- having her name in the newspaper, in print, in black and white, for all the world to see. The staff at the Wilson County News was always mindful of that. We only printed what was necessary and factual, and not to amuse the readers, but only to inform them.

Yes, it is a true story and Charlotte Johnson is her real name and it is a crime to set a building on fire even if it's your own home and you're mad at your husband.
And it's a little funny too. Maybe the husband deserved it. Don't mess with Charlotte.
Spring Subscription Drive. A $25 or $50 subscription to Frog Hospital comes with the promise that I will try my best. I have been writing this journal since1998. I have written some hundreds of issues of this journal, and some of it has been very good indeed and I would like to continue writing this, and I would like you to send me a check for $25 or $50 or punch the PayPal button.
You can find the PayPal button on the blog. Go to Frog Hospital.Or make out a check to Fred Owens and mail it to:
Fred Owens 1105 Veronica Springs RD Santa Barbara, CA 93105
thank you very
much,

Saturday, May 13, 2017

How can I help?

 By Fred Owens
How Can I Help?
I posted this on craigs list How can I help? How can I help you write a better essay? We can sit together at a coffee shop -- I prefer the Good Cup on the Mesa -- and go over your words. We can find the right words. My approach to tutoring is non-directive. I'm going to listen and pay attention. Tell me about your struggle. You're going to do most of the talking and all of the writing. I charge by the hour, $20 or $25. I can send you references and samples of my own writing.
But no takers, so far. No response to this notice. I have to admit something here. I have an incredibly high estimation of my ability as a tutor and writing coach. I expect to merely nod my head in that direction and then receive a flood of gold-plated offers. I expect to be recruited.
But the brutal reality is that I have landed in a swamp of over-educated pathetic creatures who are dumbfounded at the poor pay and lack of  respect in the occupation of tutoring. It is the very lowest rung on the academic ladder.
Geez, I'm not begging for work. I'm better off gardening, and I will take the tutoring only if it's worth my while.
Gardening is not exactly a high-status occupation either. I make $15 an hour. Some people say I should charge $20 or $25. Sure. But my actual customers prefer to pay me $15. My big selling point as a gardener is that I speak English. You can actually tell me what you want me to do, and then I will do it. I'm old and I don't work too hard in the hot sun, but I can follow instructions.
It's their property and their money, so I just do it their way, or I tell them, no I can't climb that tree, or no I can't fix your automated irrigation system either. They actually like it if you tell them what you cannot do -- better then pretending, better than bluffing.
I bring  that same work ethic to the task of tutoring. If you want to learn it, or if you want your child to learn it, then I will give it a go. It's like nature. In the garden, you step out of the way and let things grow. Growth is natural.
And human beings have a natural curiosity and desire to learn, especially children. I learned that in my high school Greek class. The first line of Aristotle's Metaphysics -- everybody knows that of course -- the first line reads thusly:
"All men by their nature desire to know."  Or
πάντες ἄνθρωποι τοῦ εἰδέναι ὀρέγονται φύσει.
That is one of the great opening lines of all philosophy and literature. Honestly, I never read the rest of Aristotle's book -- but I know the first line by memory.
It doesn't say anything about behavior. It says people have a natural desire to learn, not that they have a natural desire to behave well.
What this means is that you let children learn and you make them behave -- two different things.
But in my tutoring work, I do not enforce behavior. Not interested.  Don't hire me.
Gratitude. Thanks to Harvey Blume, a chess enthusiast and resident of Cambridge, Mass. but originally from Brooklyn, and a friend of mine since we met in the Tikkun group in 1992. I asked him to look at a manuscript, a memoir of 36,000 words. He read excerpts, he made useful comments -- just having his support made it easier. I cut out 6,000 words and now I have something pretty good. I can rest easy, for now. Thanks, Harvey. The memoir is called the Falcon Journal because I wrote it in 2005 when I was camped on the Rio Grande River at a place called Falcon Heights.
Here's an excerpt:
I am a very good camper. Other things I have not done so well at. I have always been ambitious, but I have never had any success. It is this writing. I am meant to write. I know that. When I am writing I feel that I am doing the best thing that I can possibly be doing. It’s when I stop writing that the trouble starts – because I expect something to come of it. Expect what? I ask myself. Fame and fortune – the usual thing. But that never happens. Then I feel let down. As I get older – this is a blessing – I go through this cycle very quickly, and then I get back to the writing. Because the words matter.

Onward. So that was the Falcon Journal, written in 2005, when Trump was not President, when nobody even heard his name. It was like a dream world back then. But this is 2017 and Trump is having temper tantrums in the White House...... I'd rather not think about it.

Spring Subscription Drive. A $25 or $50 subscription to Frog Hospital comes with the promise that I will try my best. I have been writing this journal since 1998.
I have written some hundreds of issues of this journal, and some of it has been very good indeed and I would like to continue writing this, and I would like you to send me a check for $25 or $50 or punch the PayPal button.
You can find the PayPal button on the blog. Go to Frog Hospital.
Or make out a check to Fred Owens and mail it to:
Fred Owens
1105 Veronica Springs RD
Santa Barbara, CA 93105

thank you very much,
Fred


--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214

My gardening blog is  Fred Owens
My writing blog is Frog Hospital


Saturday, May 06, 2017

The Boardwalk at Fishtown

 By Fred Owens


The boardwalk was never in good repair. It was rickety, some of the boards were loose, and some were missing. The small branch of an alder tree grew across the boardwalk at one place. One had to push the branch down and step over it, or stoop and get under it – but no one ever cut it off. Two seconds with a lopper would have done the job, but the branch remained unharmed for years, and every day it was in the way – in the way of all visitors and all residents, going back and forth. So some visitors to Fishtown might have thought the residents were too lazy or too spaced out to “fix” the branch, or to nail down the rickety boards. They were welcome to that thought. Yet the branch was there because it was there, and things don’t need to be fixed because they are not broken. The branch was not “in the way” it was the Way – a concrete symbol.

Claire Swedberg is writing an art history of LaConner and Fishtown. This quote will be included in her text.

You can read a longer history of Fishtown on this link.
http://froghospital911.blogspot.com/2010/01/bit-of-fishtown-history.html

Foreign Travels

Trump is making his first trip to the Middle East. The itinerary is a patriarchal trifecta -- Saudi Arabia, the home of Islam, then Israel, the home of the Jews, and then Rome, the center of the Christian faith... Abraham will not be pleased. Trump gives patriarchy a bad odor. I would take Isaac from Old Testament as a role model. Or Saint Augustine of the new persuasion. But not this guy.
Is he flying directly from Saudi Arabia to Tel Aviv?  That actually would be a good thing. The Saudis and the Jews pretend that they don't talk to each other. But they do talk to each other, all the time. So why not fly from one capital to the other?
Then he finishes with Pope Francis in Rome. He will be handing out American treasures as he travels -- gift certificates to McDonalds, entitling the bearer to a Big Mac and fries.
Selling the Orchard
Last week I reported on the possible sale of the Mesa Harmony Garden Orchard, an almost one-acre plot with 100 fruit trees, located on property belonging to Holy Cross parish in the Mesa neighborhood of Santa Barbara.
The orchard was planted seven years ago and it is just now coming into full abundance. This winter's ample rain ensures a robust harvest of plums, peaches, apricots, figs, table grapes, citrus, and more -- some hundreds of pounds. All the harvest is donated to the Food Bank. That was the idea -- that lower income people might have access to fresh fruit.
But the parish is running a deficit of $10,000 a month, according to Father Rafael, the new pastor. The orchard needs to be sold, he said.
Bad news, you bet. Except that a likely use of the property would be several units of apartments to rent to lower income families. Yes, there is a scarcity of green land in these parts, so let's save the orchard. But yes there is an incredible scarcity of affordable housing as well, so lets build a few more apartments. It's complicated.
This possible development could take years, three years, five years. Those fruit trees aren't going anywhere, not for a while. And who can guarantee the future? If you plant a fruit tree, you can hope for the harvest, but there is no promise.

Spring Subscription Drive. A $25 or $50 subscription to Frog Hospital comes with the promise that I will try my best. I have been writing this journal since 1998.
I have written some hundreds of issues of this journal, and some of it has been very good indeed and I would like to continue writing this, and I would like you to send me a check for $25 or $50 or punch the PayPal button.
You can find the PayPal button on the blog. Go to Frog Hospital.
Or make out a check to Fred Owens and mail it to:
Fred Owens
1105 Veronica Springs RD
Santa Barbara, CA 93105





--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214

My gardening blog is  Fred Owens
My writing blog is Frog Hospital