PFC Rede: Six weeks in

Today marks six weeks since Jordan left for basic training. It took until this past weekend for us to finally get a chance to talk to him. We missed his first three calls and had tried to be diligent about carrying our cell phones with us wherever we went.

On Saturday, we nearly missed him again. I literally had my hand on the doorknob, ready to head out to the grocery store, when I heard the phone ring in the kitchen. I rushed back to pick up and was delighted to hear it was Jordan. We had a short but reassuring conversation and I was prepared to fill Lori in when she returned from seeing her Saturday morning clients. The moment she walked in the door, the phone rang -- Jordan, again. Turns out he and his fellow trainees were given a six-hour leave and he had time to kill. Why not call twice?

Some quick highlights:

-- The first few weeks weren't as physically challenging as he expected, but his drill sergeant really stepped things up last week. He said he was sore all over, but welcomed the challenge. Others haven't fared so well, either because of illness or injury or because it's been more than they can handle. (One guy went AWOL but quickly returned when he realized all he had were the clothes on his back. Another faked being gay.)
-- They've been marching more and more -- even to target practice, which involves a two-mile uphill climb with all their gear on. The routine is getting harder because it's heating up; 90-degree days are becoming common. The most challenging and fun part of the experience so far is learning land navigation, at night as well during the day
-- The food is OK, better than expected, and they have more than the stereotypical five minutes to chow down. Still, he was thrilled to have his first bacon-cheeseburger that day at a restaurant in town.
-- They were scheduled to have a marksmanship test this week and Jordan was hopeful, even confident, that he'd score well.

All in all, he sounded good, even if it was obvious he's fighting a cold himself. He readily admitted being homesick, but we'll be seeing him in a few weeks. His company is scheduled to graduate from basic training on July 3. Our plane tickets are booked.

A final word...Last night as I watched President Obama answer questions at a press conference marking his first 100 days in office, my ears perked up when I heard him say that he was been "profoundly impressed" with the servicemen and servicewomen he's met since becoming president.

"They are very good at their jobs...and fiercely loyal to their country," he said.

I share our new president's pride.

A word about woodpeckers

When I began this blog, I knew my posts would cover a lot of topics. But even I didn't think I'd be writing about the northern flicker who's moved into the neighborhood. I don't know that he's actually taken up residence, but he's proven to be a consistent visitor, showing up every afternoon to pound out a hole on the telephone pole across the street.

The rat-a-tat-tat of his beak knocking against the wood has become a familiar sound. And while he's big enough to spot with the naked eye (12 to 14 inches tall), viewing him through binoculars is a treat. With their dominant brown color, black spotted chest and a red chevron on the back of their head, they're easily identifiable.

Flickers aren't terribly shy either, which is why they're known as urban woodpeckers and can be found in backyards as well as forested or wooded areas. Take a minute to listen to their call and see a video. (Click on the second one on the right, the "red-shafted" form foraging for dandelions.)

According to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology:

On walks, don’t be surprised if you scare one up from the ground. It’s not where you’d expect to find a woodpecker, but flickers eat mainly ants and beetles, digging for them with their unusual, slightly curved bill.

I can vouch for that. Once, on a casual bike ride in my neighborhood, I spotted a flicker doing exactly that, concentrating on the cracks in the sidewalk, barely a block from 33rd Avenue, a major residential arterial in Northeast Portland. I braked, slowly got off and quietly approached to within 10 feet, watching him for what seemed like 3 to 5 minutes.

Call me a nerd or an unlikely bird-watcher, but I think they're beautiful creatures, whether on the ground, casting a watchful eye at you or in flight, flashing their white tail feathers.

Rip City

Riding home on the bus tonight, I looked up just as we were passing the Rose Quarter -- the concrete wedge tucked between the Steel Bridge, Broadway and I-5 -- and saw clusters of people, young and old and mostly male, headed toward the same event: Game 5 of the NBA playoffs between the Houston Rockets and our Portland Trail Blazers.

They were wearing red jerseys with familiar names and numbers: #7, Brandon Roy. #5 Rudy Fernandez ...

The game starts in about 20 minutes, with the Blazers trying to stave off elimination by winning tonight -- and then Thursday -- and then Saturday.

It's a remarkable thing to see how a city -- heck, an entire metro area -- rallies behind a group of professional athletes and their coach. At first, you'd think it was nothing more than a group of young guys with good character who are representing Portland to the rest of the country via the national coverage that comes along with these things.

But, actually, I was talking to a co-worker about this the other day. I think Portlanders are happy to have this diversion given the sometimes-depressing news that can just wash over you like a wave.

Start with the weakened economy, the banks bailout, the outlandish Wall Street salaries and the partisan posturing that defines national politics. Consider our foreign entanglements in Afghanistan and Iraq, the misguided suicide bombers all over the Middle East, the revelations about torture at Guantanamo Bay and Abu Ghraib. Closer to home, the litany of fatal accidents, house fires, petty crime and the occasional homicide become so common as to resemble wallpaper.

Is it any wonder that everybody becomes a Blazers fan? My favorite anecdote: Leaving the gym yesterday morning, I saw an older woman, probably in her 70s, at the front desk. She had a hand on her walker and was bent over, chatting with the receptionist. "I don't know what happened in that fourth quarter, " she said of the game Sunday, when the Blazers lost by a single point. "They couldn't shoot. They couldn't rebound..."

I'm guessing that lady is parked in front of her TV right now, hoping the Blazers will catch fire and rejuvenate all of Rip City (a k a Portland).

A bodacious breakfast biscuit

Ahhh....or should I say, urrp?

Finally, I made it down to Pine State Biscuits on Southeast Belmont for Sunday morning breakfast. The menu is fabulous and there's a reason there's a line of people on the sidewalk waiting to get in to the small space.

I met my son Nathan around 10 o'clock and we both went for "Reggie's Special." Imagine this: A fluffy buttermilk biscuit split in two and lovingly stuffed with a piece of crispy chicken, bacon, cheddar cheese, a fried egg and gravy. Yes, it sounds decadent. Oh, but it's so good.

Funny thing...I first heard of Pine State Biscuits flipping through the pages of Esquire magazine. It was listed in a February 2008 feature on The Best Sandwiches in America. Soon thereafter, one of our columnists at the newspaper wrote about it. I drove it past it at some point while en route from one place to another in Southeast.

And today, I finally made it to the temple of calories. That I had any room for it at all is a minor miracle, considering that we had an early birthday celebration for Nathan (pictured in Mexico, 2006) last night.

With help from daughter Simone, I made a superb paella that filled a pan as big as the hubcap on a Hummer. What a dish! risotto rice with saffron, chicken thighs, shrimp and mussels in the shell, fresh green beans, peas, roasted peppers, sauteed onions and garlic, seasoned with red pepper flakes, paprika, salt and pepper and chicken broth. Here's the recipe from The Oregonian: Really Good Paella.

As if that weren't enough, Lori made an outrageous chocolate cake made moister than usual by adding root beer. Heavenly.

Clearly, I should get out and run 10 miles. I'll do 5 and call it good.

P.S. By the way, this is my 50th post. Another milestone!

Oregon's creative culture

Three boomers walk into a neighborhood wine bar after work ... No, not to purchase a fancy bottle of pinot noir. They (and I'm one of them) are there instead to learn more about The New Oregon Interview Series, billed as a series of public conversations with "various artists, chefs and other instigators" on topics ranging from music, film and books to food, fashion and the visual arts.

In short, it's all about the people, mostly in their 20s and early 30s, who make up Oregon's creative class and the subjects that motivate them. The notion of the creative class, of course, was popularized by Richard Florida in the 2004 book "The Rise of the Creative Class," and is very much in evidence in Portland. City leaders have welcomed these young people -- with their college degrees and D.I.Y. ethic -- to Portland because Richard Florida and other researchers have shown that arts, culture, heritage and the economy are all powerfully linked.

The higher the percentage of residents with post-secondary education and the more open (as in diverse and tolerant) the climate, the more a metropolitan area can expect to rely on these knowledge workers in a future that demands creativity and innovation.

Granted, there isn't much anyone can do in the face of this horrible recession we're in. Oregon's 12.1 percent unemployment rate is the nation's second highest. But a look around this city -- at the many indie-oriented businesses, the jobs tied to film, animation and the arts -- tells you we're attracting these very people who in past years might have gravitated to New York, San Francisco or Boston.

With all that as backdrop, it was a delight to meet two of these very creative people -- Nora Robertson and Tiffany Lee Brown -- two nights ago, when they described The New Oregon Interview Series before a small crowd at Blackbird Wine Shop. Nora's first interview with a couple of fashion designers is already online, and the first live interview in the series is scheduled June 24 at Urban Grind East in Northeast Portland. Unless a conflict arises, I plan to check it out. Maybe you should, too.

Recommended reading: A profile of Tiffany and her Easter Island project that ran in The Oregonian.

It's all about money...or is it?

On Wednesday, I began my day at the Oregon Convention Center, where I attended a fundraising breakfast for Habitat for Humanity. I made a modest contribution and left feeling pretty good, knowing the money raised would go to help low-income people in Lents (Southeast Portland) and Rockwood (west Gresham) in need of affordable housing.

Later in the day, I received an email from a Big Brothers Big Sisters staff member, telling those of us on the Latino Mentoring Advisory Council that our regularly scheduled May meeting isn't going to be held because the agency needs to devote more of its resources right now to fundraising.

On Thursday (today), I spent my lunch hour and more at a downtown law office in the Wells Fargo Bank, listening with other board members to an update on preparations for The Dougy Center's annual gala and auction, the agency's major fundraiser. All of us have bought tickets to the auction and contributed other goodies, within our means, that are being packaged as a live auction item. All the proceeds will go to finance The Dougy Center's internationally recognized programs in grief counseling for children and families that have lost a parent or sibling to death.

There's an obvious thread here. Nonprofit agencies, such as these, have to spend more time than they'd like rustling up money to do their good works. Wouldn't it be nice if it were otherwise?

On the one hand, fundraisers -- whether they involve food or a fun activity (such as the Bowl for Kids' Sake event for Big Brothers Big Sisters) -- have an undeniable emotional appeal, when you see and hear adults and children give personal testimony to the difference that a helping hand can make. Who isn't touched by an expression of gratitude for the time someone makes to be a mentor or for the collective effort involved in literally building a house that's new, clean, safe and warm?

On the other hand, it can sometimes be weary to attend -- or just be invited -- to a seemingly never-ending list of lunches, auctions, receptions, scholarship dinners, etc. (And I'm not even mentioning direct-mail or telephone solicitations.) In this economy, everyone is tapped out. I understand that. At the same time, as someone who's privileged to serve on the inside with some outstanding nonprofits, I know how vital it is that we continue to ask -- individuals, corporations, foundations -- for contributions while also aggressively applying for grants.

In a society like ours, where capitalism and the education system and many other factors result in a a lot of haves but also a lot of have-nots, there will always be the need to provide direct service to people in ways that government cannot. I sound preachy, I know, but on behalf of these three programs and many, many more, any help we can get is appreciated.

I'm not Ashton Kutcher

Of course, you already know that. He's the world's most popular Twitterer -- the first to eclipse 1 million followers -- and I'm, well, way down the list of bloggers.

But while Ashton has more than 1.3 million followers (check him out here: http://twitter.com/aplusk -- and send him a tweet if you like), I've crossed a threshold of my own.

(Drumroll...)
I now have 10 followers. Yes, ten. Ha!

Of course, this pales in comparison to other blogs that I've come across that have 200, 300, 600 followers. Maybe those folks are blatant self-promoters or just have WAY more friends, relatives, co-workers, etc. Or, I suspect, they've been at it considerably longer and know their way around the Web better than I do.

In any case, thanks to those of you who've taken the Rough and Rede plunge. I have yet to make a big deal of this publicly, so I appreciate the interest. Feel free to pass on the URL: http://roughandrede.blogspot.com/

And to those of you who occasionally drop in on my ramblings, you're hereby invited to sign up as a follower.

I promise a more nutritious post tomorrow...

What's on your iPod?

It's a treat for the senses when I remove the earbuds and let nature take over when I'm on a running trail. The swaying of wind-blown trees, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the splish-splashing through puddles, the chirping of songbirds -- it's all good.

But when I'm in the city, I'm tuned in to music. Family members accuse me of having narrow tastes. But I honestly think they're pretty eclectic. During my run today, these were among the artists who shuffled through:

Adele, Alicia Keys, Joan Osborne, Hall and Oates, Los Lobos, Alison Krauss, Kathleen Edwards, Mark Knopfler and Emmylou Harris.

Does that seem narrow?

What's on your playlist? Leave a comment below...

Always running

It's coming up on 9 o'clock. Here I am in my running shorts and T-shirt, getting ready to head out the door for yet another neighborhood run. A nice way to start a day off during the week.

The title of this post is taken from a book on gang-banging by Luis Rodriguez that I read several years ago. It was quite good and I'd recommend it to anyone who wants to better understand la vida loca. And while there's nothing about me that's come remotely close to that way of life, the book title has always stuck in my head.

In my case, always running takes on a different meaning. Except for a period in my 20s, when I took an inexplicable break from it, I've been a runner since high school, starting with the half-mile (you'd call it the 800 meters now), moving up to the one-mile (1500 meters today) and then the 3-mile run (roughly equivalent to the 5000 meters), experiencing more success at each level.

Turns out I was too slow for the half (with only two laps, it's more of a dash/sprint). I did manage a 4:38 mile as a junior, but did even better at 3 miles -- 15:22, an average of 5:07 per mile, and wound up with a top 10 finish at finals that earned me All-League honors and helped our team win the league championship. (Geez, I sound like someone in Springsteen's "Glory Days.")

Anyway, I run because of the sense of freedom and the sense of solitude. I've run three half-marathons (in Portland, Seattle and Anchorage), one full marathon and countless 10-Ks. I've also done Hood to Coast (the 192-mile team relay race) a couple times, but I don't enter those events anymore. Instead, I head to Tryon Creek (above, photo by Gary Halvorson, Oregon State Archives) or to Hoyt Arboretum, Oaks Bottom, Forest Park, the Eastbank Esplanade, Springwater Corridor on weekends. During the week, it's out the door and all around the neighborhood -- ranging up to Ainsworth, down to Hawthorne, west to the river, east to 82nd and sometimes beyond.

I run in the sun or the rain, sometimes after a snowfall, and almost always in the morning, usually only two or three times a week, four to five miles at a time. When I was traveling a lot for work, I'd head out from my hotel and explore. I ran trails in Columbia, Mo.; I ran along the water in Miami and St. Petersburg, Fla.; and past forlorn, abandoned homes in Detroit (probably not the smartest move) where drug-addled men were either sound asleep or groggily stirring awake. I've run in L.A. and NYC, in steaming-hot Dallas and in Midwest college towns like Evanston, Muncie and Iowa City.

I even ran from one state to another: From Bismarck, South Dakota, I crossed a bridge over the Missouri River into Mandan, North Dakota.

So why do I do it? Well, clearly you can do it anywhere, anytime as long as you've got a pair of running shoes and a light jacket for cooler weather. I like the variety that comes with running different routes. I like the quiet time to collect my thoughts, see new or familiar sights and listen to my favorite songs on my iPod. I don't run as far or nearly as fast as I used to, but I suspect I'll keep doing it until a knee, an ankle or an Achilles tendon gives out on me.

No sense to AdSense

A few weeks ago, I decided to explore the "Monetize" tab on my blog's publishing tool. That's the page where I can create and edit my posts, moderate comments (not a problem, since only a few of you dear readers have posted any), adjust the layout of the blog, etc.

Anyway, I knew it was possible to earn money from doing something like this; I also knew it took an awful lot of followers, random readers and total page views to make the effort begin pay off. So, why not take the plunge? I created an account through AdSense. Soon enough, a whole bunch of Google ads started to populate the site. Maybe some of you noticed; I suspect many of you didn't, having become accustomed to the visual clutter that characterizes so much of what we see online.

In short, the way it was supposed to work is that curious readers would click on an ad that caught their attention -- and if that happened enough times, it would trigger a micropayment to my account. Eventually, the micropayments would add up to a real payment deposited to my checking account.

Well...after three weeks or so of the ads' presence, I've decided to pull the plug. Given 157 "page impressions" (a page impression is generated every time a user views a page displaying Google ads), there were exactly two "clicks," which meant I had accumulated 57 cents in my account. Ha!

Now, understand, I didn't set up the AdSense with the fantasy that this would create another source of income for me. Mostly, it was a way to gauge how many (if any) readers would click on the ads or even just notice them and make a comment. I can withstand the loss of tqo quarters, a nickel and two pennies.

What it does make me wonder is ... if the key to newspapers' survival is generating significant revenues from online advertising, are we doomed? I'm not guilt-tripping anyone. I'm just wondering out loud. If this is the financial model -- advertisers agree to pay depending on how many folks click on their ads and how long they stay there -- is there any hope?

So, to wrap things up, I've decided to disabled AdSense and return the blog to its pristine state. I think it's a lot more attractive the way -- just content, no ads. But I do so, knowing that while I'm among those complaining of visual clutter, it's the way my employer and others make money on the Web.

Two L.A. women

Twice this week I sat down to lunch with someone whose life experience I can relate to and whose accomplishments I admire. Both are Latinas who come from working-class households in L.A. and, like me, did well in school, became the first in their family to attend college and, for the sake of career, dared to move away from California.

First, Adriana. A mutual acquaintance met her at a Hispanic Pros networking event in the neighborhood and said she was interested in becoming involved in Big Brothers Big Sisters' Latino Mentoring Advisory Council. We got together for lunch Tuesday near Lloyd Center and I listened as Adriana told her story of moving to the U.S. at age 3, only to have her parents divorce and then live with her father and a sister in downtown L.A.

She attended a large, public high school where nearly all the students are immigrants and have so many scholastic and financial obstacles to overcome. She spoke of caring teachers, of being selected for the talented and gifted program, and her own sense of adventure, which led to her choosing a small liberal arts college in Minnesota for college and then law school in Boston. Now she's an attorney for the state of Oregon and, on short notice Thursday, agreed to write an OpEd piece for The Oregonian in support of a bill that would allow illegal immigrants, like she once was, to qualify for in-state tuition. Read her piece right here. No doubt she'll get serious blowback from readers.


Three days later, I met with Esme, a Salvadoran immigrant whose parents also divorced, who graduated from USC's journalism school and then came to The Oregonian, due to my recruiting efforts (not a boast, just a fact). Yesterday was Esme's first time back in Oregon after leaving us last summer to return home to her sprawling family and a job at her dream employer, the Los Angeles Times. She did fabulous work here on the immigration beat, and endured all kinds of crap from those who demonize Latinos who are here legally or not, so I'm glad to know her editors have given her a lot of freedom to find and write stories about people who are doing interesting things and who incidentally are Latino.

Over mezza at a Lebanese restaurant on Hawthorne, we talked about family, about our newsrooms, about our blogs and, somehow, about spirituality (like me, she has issues with the Catholic Church; unlike me, she sees God's presence in more places than I do.) Though we all miss her at The Oregonian (she's a 4-foot-11 pistola of a person), I'm very happy that she's happy.

I don't know that Adriana and Esme will ever meet. But I sure feel fortunate to know both. I'm grateful for Esme's friendship and I look forward to working with Adriana on the advisory council. Si, se puede. Yes, we can.

Note: clipart provided by: www.worldatlas.com

"Stand By Me": a global collaboration

OK. I was all set to write a short post about an ideal Thursday night in Portland: a sushi dinner with Lori, followed by live jazz, but...who says you can't change your mind?

I found this in my "in" box this morning. Evidently, it's getting around the Web quite a bit. Not a bad way to start the day.

"Below is a link to one of the best pieces of sound engineering work I think I have ever seen/heard. It is a composite audio/video of song whereby additional tracks were laid in by different singers and musicians from different places around the world. The finished product is tremendous!

"The song itself is that classic standard "Stand By Me" originally released in 1955 by The Staple Singers and released again in 1961 by the Drifters. [Actually, it was composed by the legendary songwriting duo, Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, along with Ben E. King, above. Although King was a member of the Drifters, they never recorded the song because their manager rejected it. King did so as a solo artist after leaving the group.]"

Check it out:

"Heavenly Day"

My favorite song at the moment...

Yes, it's a couple years old, but Patty Griffin wrote it and sings it beautifully.



She's coming to Portland on June 30. To Oaks Park, of all places, with Emmylou Harris, Shawn Colvin and Buddy Miller, as part of the "Three Girls and Their Buddy" tour. Sure hope to see the show.

Good wine, great friends

I'm still recovering...

Our friends from Eagle Lake on Orcas Island came down to visit this past weekend. Carl and Juliana were celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary and, to our great honor, decided to include us in the festivities. In short, the four of us spent the weekend eating and drinking.

Consider:

Tasty tapas at Toro Bravo, capped by their heavenly paella.
Coffee, mochas and breakfast sandwiches at Jim & Patty's.
A tour of five wineries, starting with Ponzi and concluding with Willakenzie Estates , below. (Check out the guide to Willamette Valley wineries here.)
Lunch at The Dundee Bistro.
A fabulous Italian dinner at Iorio.
A box full o' treats from Voodoo Doughnut, including the signature bacon maple bar. Yum!



We had a great time -- lots of calories, lots of laughs, lots of passing plates around the table. It felt good to show off our neighborhood and the surrounding area, and better still to enjoy each other's company with no pressure, no pretenses.

We've known Carl and Juliana for only four years, but it feels like a lot more. We're fortunate to have them as our friends...

A void at Easter

Easter came and went quickly this year, with little fanfare but yet a lot of meaning.

Nathan and Sophie, Simone and Kyndall (and their puppy Quimby) all joined us for a delicious roasted turkey dinner that Lori prepared. It was a delicious meal, made all the better by the usual laughter and conversation. But we all paused to raise a glass in memory of Max and, again, to honor Jordan's commitment to the military.

We had hoped for a phone call, considering that we still haven't talked to our soldier-in-training since he left for boot camp on March 19 -- nearly four weeks ago. It wasn't to be. I guess they really do work 'em hard 24/7 while they're in basic training. We miss our boy. Here's hoping he received the big box of treats (candy, Clif Bars, etc.) that we sent and that we hear from him sometime soon, whether by letter or phone call.

We miss our big dog, too. On Saturday, we received his ashes in a stylish urn and promptly placed them in Jordan's room. There they sit, on a table next to his bed, with Max's photo and his green-and-yellow "John Deere" collar.

National exposure...for a day

Not to make too big a deal out of this, but...

If you link to the Daily Kos site -- one of the most popular Web sites for those who follow national politics from a liberal/progressive point of view -- and scroll down to "Your Abbreviated Pundit Round-up" dated April 12, you'll find a nice surprise there. Within the round-up, you have to scroll down past the heavy hitters from The New York Times and The Washington Post -- Frank Rich, Thomas Friedman, Maureen Dowd, David Broder, etc. -- until you get to a local name you recognize. Mine.

Click on my name and it will take you to the piece I wrote for Sunday Opinion. Pretty cool...

Spring cleaning

We all got an email at the end of last week from the newsroom office manager, scolding us for piles of paper that have accumulated in places they shouldn't, according to the fire marshal. If you work in an office, you know how it can pile up on top of shelves, against window sills, under desks, etc.

Well, for some of us anyway...

Mondays are my lightest day at work, so I'll spend some time cleaning up my area. Don't know about the rest of you, but I tend to be a pack rat. While that's good in some respects -- you never know when something you've saved will come in handy -- it's also obviously inefficient.

A long time ago I figured why I do it. I'm one of those who remembers things -- where something is, what's on it, how important it is -- if they are in plain sight. If it's in a file in a drawer, I'm more likely to forget it's there. Hardly a good thing if you're into a pristine work area. I'm not.

Not that I'm aiming to win the messiest desk award. I can recall former co-workers who've built haystacks of paper on their desks, including one person who, when she retired, discovered a fuzzy blue-green sphere that earlier in its life was an apple or an orange. I'm not that bad. Or, at least, I don't think so. Guess I'd better run a fruit and vegetable check while I'm tossing unneeded paper into the recycling bins today...

Faith: Progressives and religion, Part 2

Back in March, when I started this blog, among my first posts was a little piece on Robert P. Jones and his new book.

Finally, I got around to writing a short piece for The Oregonian as a follow-up. Check it out.

Oh, and here's the original post, which you can find in the archives, listed on the right side of this blog. In fact, I invite you to poke around in the archives. If you see something you like, post a comment. I'd like to know who's reading and what's of interest.

Roxie: Our year-round bunny

It's Easter Sunday, so what better time to say a few words about the quietest member of our animal family -- Roxie.

She's a member of the Dutch breed, a beautiful brown-and-white like the one pictured here. She came into our lives about five years ago, when Jordan was a high school junior. He and Lori got her from the Oregon Humane Society through the foster care program. One thing led to another and, of course, she became a permanent member of the household. Jordan originally named her after one of the characters in "Watership Down," one of his favorite books as a kid. But because only he could easily pronounce the name -- Hyzenthlay -- my suggested alternative of Roxie eventually stuck.

Every time I sit down to write at this computer, Roxie is just a few feet away in her pen (not a cage). She's got a piece of linoleum, roughly 6 feet by 6 feet, with a metal screen, about 3 feet tall, all around it. She has a pastel-colored blanket, with tons of holes in it, to sit on, chew or burrow into, depending on her mood. She's a gentle creature, as you would expect, so much so that you can place her on her back on your lap and stroke the top of her head, right between the ears, until she closes her eyes and completely lets go of any tension in her little body. She weighs, at most, five pounds.

Roxie is, without question, the softest thing I've ever touched. Her coat is just luxurious. I sometimes wonder if she'd be happier with a mate (for companionship, not for reproduction) but I can't say I'm inclined to go get another one.

So, call her Hyzenthlay or call her Roxie. She's easy to care for and easy to like.

A few musings about money

Here's some old-school rock to start the day...



Why "Money"?

A few things occurred to me as I was taking my morning run:

1. Yesterday is when my paycheck reflected a 1 percent increase. As in past years, my employer included a lump sum payment rather than spread the increase throughout the next 12 months. I don't mind and, actually, I like it that way.
2. Today we're mailing our electronic filing authorization form to our tax preparer. With some of the the 1 percent raise, we'll pay him for his services. Fortunately, we have federal and state tax refunds to look forward to.
3. When the stock market crashed, I got caught with too heavy a portion of stocks in my 401(k). Rather than take the losses now, I've kept the faith -- I hope not foolishly -- that I've got enough years between now and retirement for the account's value to come back. Add my voice to those hoping -- er, praying -- for the federal bailouts and stimulus packages to get credit flowing again and revive the economy.
4. Next month, a 10 percent cut takes effect for all full-time employees at The Oregonian along with a requirement that we all take four unpaid furlough days by September 1. I can handle those OK. It's the freeze in pension benefits, also recently announced, that's harder to take. Obviously, my peers and I looked forward to the increase that would come with additional years of service. But, as the top brass explained, the same forces that have devastated personal and institutional investment accounts across the board also have slammed pension funds.

All in all, I can't complain too much. Most important these days, my health insurance benefits are intact (which means Lori is covered as well) and my health is just fine. Today, the bathroom scale gave me some happy news. Slowly but surely, I'm shedding the extra pounds I've been carrying too long.

David Suzuki: A voice of reason

David Suzuki, environmental activist. David Suzuki, force of nature. David Suzuki, one smart dude. Any of these descriptions would have worked as a headline on this post.

I had the distinct pleasure last night of listening to Suzuki, a 72-year-old award-winning scientist and human rights advocate from Vancouver, British Columbia, during a World Affairs Council of Oregon program. The third of four speakers in this year's International Speaker Series, Suzuki exuded an everyman vibe with his open-collar shirt, featuring an iconic salmon, khaki pants and black loafers; his wavy white hair, goatee and glasses; his humor, energy and arms-spread-wide passion for his topic: "The Climate Crisis."

From my second-row seat just to the speaker's right (thanks to The Oregonian for being a series sponsor), I had a great view of this remarkable man, a third-generation Japanese-Canadian who lived in an internment camp as a boy during WWII and yet went on to a distinguished career as a geneticist, author of 43 (43!) books, recipient of 20 honorary doctorates, and the host of several long-running and widely acclaimed series on science for PBS, The Discovery Channel, CBC Radio, among others.

While I respect where environmentalists are coming from, I'll admit that I often dismiss them as single-minded zealots who put trees and critters above the very real needs of people, especially in developing countries. Suzuki made me rethink my bias. During an hourlong speech, he eloquently made the case that: (1) we need to do a complete flip in putting the planet's health ahead of this "thing" we call the global economy; and (2) we need to seize the opportunity during this global economic crisis to make dramatic, lasting changes to lighten our carbon footprint, wean ourselves from fossil fuels, and create green jobs and green, renewable energy.

"When the economy is in trouble," he said, "we let nature pay the price." We let corporations off the hook by relaxing environmental regulations when we should instead be tightening them for the sake of cleaner air, water and soil for future generations. "This crisis," he said, "should be an enormous opportunity to get things right."

I can't do justice in this short space, but these were among his major points:

-- We've been living on our capital, not our interest, for too long. We need to ask: How much growth is enough? Are we happier with all this stuff? "We are altering the planet in ways never seen before in the planet's 3.9 billion years."
-- Humans evolved from their lowly status as naked apes not because of innate strength, speed or other physical attribute, but because our brain allowed us to develop foresight, the ability to imagine what the future would be like if we acted --or not.
-- As recently as 1900, most of humanity was engaged in farming, which meant people understood their dependence on the natural world. Now, most of us live in urban areas, disconnected from the places and processes that produce our food and oblivious to the environmental damage done to our forests, oceans and biosphere.
-- Mixing science and technology too often brings unintended consequences along with new insights into the laws of nature. DDT killed insects but it also decimated fish and birds (notably bald eagles) that ingested the deadly chemical, and taught scientists about "biomagnification," the process, in an ecosystem, in which a higher concentration of a substance in an organism is obtained higher up the food chain.
-- Life has flourished because of genetic and ecosystem diversity, yet we are trying to impose "a single monolithic structure called the global economy." Humans could stand to learn a thing or two by studying how nature has adapted to challenges over these past nearly 4 billion years.
-- To ensure our survival, we need to abandon the idea that growing the global economy takes precedence. It's taking care of nature that should be our bottom line. "We're animals, and we need clean air, clean water and clean food that comes from the earth."
-- As we seek to tranform our society through green jobs and green energy, we need to ask if development proposals move us toward or away from a shared vision of a locally sustainable economy and environment. "What do you want to see within a generation?"

Previous speakers, economist Paul Krugman and journalist Fareed Zakaria, evidently painted discouraging scenarios of the global economic crisis and international politics. Suzuki, at times, cited statistics that left the crowd seemingly stunned, pondering explosive population growth and the rate at which we have squandered our resources. Yet, he admonished us to keep working toward solutions and ignore the naysayers.

"I tell people to shut up and go away -- you've given up," he said, his voice rising. "We can't give up. The future I see for my grandchildren is what motivates me...I want to be able to say I did the best I could."

Read more about Suzuki on OregonLive.com.

An Oscar-nominated film worth viewing

It's not every day that someone you know is part of the production crew for an Oscar-nominated film. In this, Sophie Harris, associate producer of "The Final Inch," one of the nominees in the Documentary Short Subject category.

Even though another film took home the Oscar, that's no knock on "The Final Inch," a film directed by Portland's Irene Taylor Brodsky. It tells the story of indigenous volunteers as they work tirelessly in India's worst slums to give out free vaccines in hopes of eradicating polio -- one of the last remaining public health scourges.

Sophie is the girlfriend of our oldest son, Nathan, and we're fortunate to know someone with such charm, intelligence and modesty (see quote below). Lori and I watched the film last night and came away impressed with the overall quality as well as the central message -- that, despite cultural, religious and economic obstacles, amazing progress is being made in the international campaign against polio.

Quoting Sophie:

If anyone has 38 minutes and nothing to do, for the next two days the film I worked on that got nominated is going to be streaming free of charge from the HBO website. http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/thefinalinch/video.html
And if you've got HBO, it's showing on there throughout April (showtimes: http://www.hbo.com/docs/programs/thefinalinch/index.html)
No pressure if you don't get a chance to watch it, just thought I'd pass along the word as HBO rarely streams stuff for free.

View a trailer here and check out the "The Final Inch" website for more information.

Sunshine, marijuana and a long home run

Twenty-five years ago in April, I was nearing the end of a fellowship at the University of Michigan and following the exploits of the red-hot Detroit Tigers. I made it to one game that spring before I had to return home to Salem, but the game -- and the Tigers' magical season -- remains fresh in my memory.

I had a seat in the centerfield bleachers on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon at historic Tiger Stadium as Detroit took on the California Angels. It was a great atmosphere, with marijuana smoke wafting over our section, and bare-chested fans cheering on the Tigers, who had gotten off to an amazing start en route to 104 wins and a World Series victory over the San Diego Padres. On that day, though, the Tigers lost as Hall of Famer Reggie Jackson smashed the longest home run I have ever seen -- a towering blast of some 600 feet that cleared the right field pavilion and landed on the street. Reggie hit it so hard that he just dropped the bat and watched the ball sail over the roof before beginning a slow trot around the bases.

The memories came to mind this morning as another season of Major League Baseball gets under way.

I'll be rooting again for the Tigers, who've become my second-favorite team. They had high expectations last year but a miserable last-place finish in their division. I don't expect miracles (they've only been back to the World Series once since that magical 1984 season), but I do hope they improve enough to make the playoffs. If all goes well, I'll go up to Seattle in a couple of weeks to see them play the Mariners.

My other team? The Oakland A's. I've followed them since they moved from Kansas City to the Bay Area when I was a boy. Seems I manage to see them once a year whenever I've back home visiting my mom. Maybe that'll happen again this year; if not, I can always see them in Seattle. The A's, too, had a disappointing season last year. I don't think they've got enough talent to make the playoffs this year, but one can always hope.

La familia: Planning a reunion

I spent much of yesterday putting the finishing touches on a couple of documents I'm sending to family members in preparation for the 33rd annual Rede Reunion.

For the first time, the event is being held outside California and the Southwest. Seemed like a good idea when we volunteered to do it two summers ago. Now, given the distance for most of my relatives and the tattered economy on top of it, I'm crossing my fingers and holding my breath for enough of a turnout to justify the time and expense.

Portland in July is a gorgeous place to be, whether you're a resident or visitor. We've planned a schedule of events around the centerpiece activity -- food, fun and games at Peninsula Park (above) -- and we've also made arrangements with three local hotels and motels for a group-rate discount. Between now and the end of the month, we'll see how things shake out.

It really is amazing that this annual event has happened, without a break, over all these years. It's been held in New Mexico and Arizona, as well as southern and northern California. As my aunts and uncles age, each get-together becomes more precious, especially when we note the passing of a loved one.

My dad and stepmom, Catarino and Oralia, will come for sure, as well as my younger sister, Cathy, who's coming down from Alaska. So far, uncles Paul and Luciano are signed up. I'm hoping that Manuel and his lovely wife, my Aunt Linda, will be able to make it, too.

I'd be the first to admit I haven't keep up family contacts as well as I should have. Distance obviously has something to do with it. So, too, does life itself -- meaning we all grow our lives in different ways, focusing on immediate family members to the exclusion of others who we see infrequently, at best. So, even though the number of attendees is likely to way down from years past, I am looking forward to the reunion with the expectation that we'll have more quality time to share with a smaller group.

And, now, off to make photocopies to stuff some envelopes...

Bike City, USA

From today's New York Times comes yet another blast of positive publicity for our fair city -- Portland, Portland Style: Touring By Bicycle -- filled with lots of references to familiar places and businesses.

The Hollywood neighborhood, Lucky Lab, Mississippi Pizza Pub, Amnesia Brewing, Alberta Street, Powell's Books and so on....

Even if you're an occasional -- make that very occasional -- bike rider like me, it's pretty easy to appreciate the bike culture here and the attendant publicity that comes along with it.

Consider just two perspectives from the article:

From a bureaucrat:

“Portland is a really easy and comfortable city to use a bicycle as transportation,” said Roger Geller, Portland’s bicycle coordinator since 1994. “There is a lot of energy around cycling right now and it’s not just 20-year-old men racing. I see average people out biking.”

From a visiting cyclist:

“The thing about Portland is there are so many world-class rides at your fingertips,” [Bruce] Rogers said, as he prepared to ride with his best friend across the Willamette to Council Crest, said to be the highest point in the city, with a panoramic view of the Cascade volcanoes. “Portland’s pretty much roadie heaven.”

My perspective? Well, it's pretty obvious that the more cyclists, the less congested our roads become, the cleaner the air we breathe, and the healthier we become as a society.

Plus, there are psychological benefits. Case in point: I'm a fair-weather, mostly weekend rider, but every excursion leaves me feeling better about myself -- not just pumping the legs and exercising the lungs, but taking in the sights at a slower pace than if I were driving. With fair weather now upon us, there's no excuse to get out more often and for longer, leisurely rides.

MNN: 'Operative Journalists trying to set up Indigenous People for Attack?'

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“OPERATIVE” JOURNALISTS TRYING TO SET UP INDIGENOUS PEOPLE FOR ATTACK?

Mohawk Nation News
http://www.mohawknationnews.com/

MNN. April 1, 2009. The colonies of U.S. and Canada know we, the Rotinoshonnionwe, have a birthright to conduct trade and commerce on our homeland, Onowaregeh, Great Turtle Island. State and Federal authorities cannot legally stop us except by coercion, breaking laws, criminalizing and threatening us. We are peaceful, law abiding and take care of our families and communities. The misnomer Center for Public Integrity out of Washington DC has been putting out propaganda to produce racial hatred against us.

“Serial warfare” uses the media to set up the target for the attack. “Investigative journalists” seek the truth. “Operative journalists” use deceit, misinformation, destruction, psychological attacks and exaggeration on their “mark”. They create suspicion and biases against us by falsely connecting us to “guns”, “contraband”, “drugs”, “organized crime”, “smuggling” and “global terrorism”, to set the stage for an attack by U.S. and Canadian occupational forces, both military and corporate.

We are being criminalized by the foreigners for something that is not a crime. We have a right to trade and commerce. Tobacco is our product which we create on our homeland.

No violence is associated with any of our legitimate businesses. The only violence is that perpetrated on us by foreign cops and outside interests. No one supports those few business people who may be involved in drugs, similar to the U.S. government that was trading drugs for guns in the Iran-Contra affair, or the CIA releasing drugs in East LA [GaryWebb: Dark Alliance]. The colonists constantly criminalize almost anything we do that would make us independent. We have tried to play by the rules. The government raised the taxes and demands so high to try to control us that we could not sustain our businesses.

If most U.S. and Canadian businesses were criminalized or taxed too high to be viable, they may be forced to break their own laws to survive. The state has been trying to determine that the Mohawk People are “insurgents” to remove any human rights protections we have according to international law.

We would never carry out criminal economic enterprises like Bernie Madoff, AIG, Wall Street bankers and all the other corrupt scrum bags who have created the worldwide melt down. These are the kinds of interests that are coming after us.

The “operative media” plays a major role. Mainstream papers are losing circulation, influence and advertising. Many like the Montreal Gazette have become cheap sensation seeking rags. They divert the public from their own dire situations by ganging up on the “Indians”, a target they think can’t defend themselves.

The Center for Public Integrity is a propagandist of racial hatred which is a precursor to genocide. They criminalize and slander us for whoever hired them to set us up for the kill. This group of media whores may be lobbying for Big Tobacco and the foundations that fund them. They are "generously" funded by the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health. NYC Mayor and billionaire, Michael Bloomberg, constantly condemns "Indians" and tobacco and hires journalistic “hit men” to assassinate both. Other donators are the Carnegie Corporation of New York, Ford Foundation, JEHT Foundation, John D. and Catharine T. MacArthur Foundation, Park Foundation, Rockefeller Foundation and PIERS Port Import Export Reporting Services.

Their propaganda does not mention that the police forces are involved in stealing our products and money such as the Ontario Provincial Police, Surete du Quebec, RCMP, NYS Troopers, U.S. and Canada Customs Border Patrol, Cornwall, Montreal and other city cops. They hijack our products and then sell them to their own customers. This is known as the silent “blue market”. Many of our people don’t get a summons to go to court to reclaim our possessions. We sometimes find our vehicles in the parking lots of various donut shops.

Big Tobacco companies such as Rothman’s, Imperial and RJ Reynolds are headquartered in Britain. They don’t want any competition or for Indigenous to profit from trade in our own products. They want to be the only game in town, make the rules for everybody and call in the military on some made up pretext.

Tobacco is legal. The fear is that the profits are being invested in our youth, families and communities which will make us stronger. Onowaregeh, Great Turtle Island, is the richest territory in the world. The invaders want to keep us as the poorest. If we had a real share of our own resources, we would not have to resort to what they call the “underground economy”. We are not afraid to work in the light of day because we aren’t criminals.

This is not about lost revenue or health care expenses in the U.S. and Canada. It’s about loss of control over this aspect of our lives. The “extortion” they are crying over is chump change compared to the trillions of dollars they are stealing from us.

Yes, we have organized crime in our communities called “Indian Affairs” and other colonial agencies. Non-native business people and the colonial state, with the help of their “Indian” mules, use the protection of the colonial Indian Act and Federal Indian law “band” and “tribal” recognition to make money. They help build casinos and other developments on our lands from which we do not benefit or control. The “kingpins” are all on the outside. We’re left with trying to clean up their mess! [MNN “Canada & Big Tobacco..” 2/6/09].

Big Tobacco and their global cohorts want everybody in the world to be under their thumb or otherwise eliminated. They are trying to corner us and cut us off from any means to survive. The streets of Kahnawake, Akwesasne, Kanehsatake, Cattaraugus and Tuscarora are safer than any street in Montreal, New York, Buffalo or Washington, D.C. This fear mongering hyperbole by the journalistic “guns for hire” of the multinationals and their colonial agents means we better get ready to defend ourselves. A big attack by the combined forces of the U.S. and Canada may be coming our way soon!

MNN Staff, Mohawk Nation News & Native Pride http://www.mohawknationnews.com/ http://www.letstalknativepride.blogspot.com/ katenies20@yahoo.com
kahentinetha2@yahoo.com
Note: At this time your financial help is urgently needed and appreciated for the lawsuit against the Canadian government for assault of Indigenous women at the Cornwall border. Please send your donations to PayPal at www.mohawknationnews.com, or by check or money order to “MNN Mohawk Nation News”, Box 991, Kahnawake [Quebec, Canada] J0L 1B0. Nia:wen thank you very much. Go to MNN “General” category for more stories on this; New MNN Books Available now! Purchase t-shirts, mugs and more at our CafePressStore http://www.cafepress.com/mohawknews; Subscribe to MNN for breaking news updates http://.mohawknationnews.com/news/subscription.ph
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GLUTTONOUS SNOUTS IN THE TROUGH WHOSE GREED KNOWS NO BOUNDS: Prime Min. Stephen Harper pm@pm.ca; RJ. Reynolds America http://www.rjrt.com/, Salem NC; Rothman UK Holding Ltd. http://www.fundinguniverse.com/ 15 Hill St., London W1X 7FB 071-491-4366; Imperial Tobacco Group PLC http://www.imperial-tobacco.com/ P.O. Box 244, Upton Rd., Bristol BS99 7UJ +44-0-177-963-6636; See Rothmans UK Holdings Limited London (071) 491-4366 Fax (071) 493-8404; JOSEPH GOEBBELS SCHOOL OF DIARRHEA JOURNALISM: Center for Public Integrity www.publicintegrity.org; William “Who-needs-a-carton-of-Immodium-diarrhea-cure” Marsden wmarsden@thegazette.canwest.com; Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health www.jhsph.edu; Carnegie Foundation http://www.carnegie.org/; Ford Foundation http://www.fordfound.org/; JHET Foundation http://www.jehtfoundation.org/; John D. & Catharine T. MacArthur Foundation www.found.org; Park Foundation info@parkfoundation.org; Rockefeller Foundation rockfound.org; PIERS info@piers.com.
Note: Upper Cut School of Journalism looking for suitable candidates with integrity.

Otto: A new appreciation

Subdued isn't a word I'd normally associate with Otto. Our Jack Russell terrier is anything but.

It's clear, though, that his behavior has changed since he lost his big buddy, Max, this past weekend. Normally, he's jumping up to see me first thing in the morning, his stubby tail going 80 mph, and mouthing a chew bone or some other toy. Today, he stayed put on the pad we have for him in the kitchen and gave me the equivalent of a nod. At the moment, he's curled up in a ball on the floor, catching a little snooze.

It's not hard to tell what's going on. He's adjusting to the loss of not one but two companions as we transition to empty nesters. First, Jordan leaves for basic training. Then, a few days later, Max dies unexpectedly while we're on vacation.

Otto's always been something of an attention hog and a virtual extension of Lori, whom he's always regarded as his master, if not mother. Now, with Max gone, it's a different dynamic. I can see myself spending more time with Otto and appreciating his good qualities -- his intelligence, his playfulness -- as we all adjust to a quieter, less crowded house.

I suspect today's subdued behavior is nothing but an anomaly. Otto's a good little guy. He'll adjust -- and so will I.

Losing Max

A week away from the city did us some good, but little did I know we'd come back from the island without our big, lovable dog. Max died in the early morning hours on Saturday, March 29. Today would have been his 12th birthday.

Max was a gift -- a Father's Day surprise in 1997 -- from my wife and kids, who had heard me say for many years that I wanted a big dog. Well, big is what I got. He weighed close to 90 pounds after three months and topped out at 110. No surprise, given he was half Black Labrador and half Great Dane. Standing erect, he could put his head on the kitchen table without even trying. His paws filled your fists and his noggin weighed the same as an anvil.

For as big a dog as he was, he was never mean or aggressive -- just a friendly, mellow guy with warm brown eyes who loved to put his head in your lap. He was patient, too, with Otto, our Jack Russell terrier, who would literally run circles around him and greet him everyday with licks and play-bites.

As he aged, Max developed the predictable hip and hind leg problems that afflict Great Danes. Increasingly, he had to expend a lot of upper-body strength to get to his feet. Painkillers seemed to help some, but in the last couple of weeks we noticed he was slowing down even more.

On Friday night, after dinner guests had left, Max began showing signs of distress. I had to carry him to the porch, where he lay on his side, his eyes reflecting fear and worry. We brought him back inside and lay with him, covered with blankets on the kitchen floor and his head resting on a pad. His breathing grew more labored and we just stayed with him, petting him and channeling the love and concern expressed by Jordan, who had asked after him in his first phone calls from Fort Benning. (Max, after all, had essentially become Jordan's roommate after he could no longer climb the stairs to our bedroom.)

Death came around 2:30 a.m. We took the ferry to a veterinary hospital in Anacortes so he could be cremated. We'll get the ashes sometime next week and probably keep some here and take the rest up to the island. If he had to go, we're glad it was on Orcas Island. He loved the fresh air and seemed so much at peace, spending time with the ones who loved him.

For a dozen years, Maxie Boy gave us nothing but love, affection and loyalty. We will miss him dearly.