mods and rockers

all of history shows division. day has night, dark and light. there's good and bad, us and them. yesterday and tomorrow, but we live in today. old and young and the list goes on. we seem to need an opposition to define ourselves as people too. i suppose you cannot be a glorious victor without a worthy combatant. after all, the hebrews had the philistines, the capulets the montagues and the americans had the russians during the cold war.
and in that fighting tradition of cold war there is perhaps no greater division than the mods and rockers of 60's england. although the legacy of these two groups lives on, the real time of their original existence was relatively short evolving from the lifestyles and needs of two distinct classes of youth. most basic among the needs of any group are transport and style. the rockers choosing the stripped down gritty world of pure speed aboard their triumphs and bsa's while the mods opted to display their tastes for fashion and style outfitting vespas and lambrettas with wild ornament and their swank dress. their ultimate clash at brighton exploded the imaginings of future hopefuls on both sides.
and as a reminder of the continuing struggle i keep these little diecasts displayed, although i choose not to take sides. for i would prefer to answer as ringo starr did in "a hard days night" when pressed on the question "are you mod or rocker" to which he replied "neither, i'm a mocker"

up against the wall
until i have to push back
you pushed me too hard

baa

outside our door is a hill that looks down to a walking path and wetlands area. it is a fantastic view and i am grateful for where i live each time i gaze at it. to the northwest i can see the sutter buttes (most of them, as some are now obscured by a giant indian casino) to the east we see beautiful sunrises each morning and sometimes rolling thunderstorms moving into the foothills of the sierras. and in between we look out over our little neighborhood.


the grass on the hills has been green and tall because of all the rain we have had this season and yesterday when i walked outside there were hundreds of sheep all over the hillside and down on the path! apparently our local fire department contracted a sheep rancher to help with natural fire abatement by grazing his flock for a few days. the result is we are transported to another world. everywhere there is baaing and bleating in pitches high and low, a chorus of those little tin cans turned upside down. it really makes me wish i was a shepherd...

reach higher to grasp
my definition of art
then hang on tightly

pirate's cove

yesterday was about as perfect a day as it gets around here. from morning to evening the weather did not disappoint. we left the greater sacramento area early and headed to the bay area to make a day of it in celebration of our son's upcoming birthday. we had decided to visit our old hometown where there is a wonderful lake with vast spaces for hiking, bicycling and boating. our plan was to go out in a couple of boats for a while and then hike a bit, after which we would picnic and open presents.
originally we had planned to take rowboats, but as we walked down to the dock i spotted these little electric motor trollers. (that is rowboat types fitted with small power motors, not people who act rudely on the internet) with minimal effort we were able to switch to these and were off. good thing too, because as they weren't going to let our entire crew into one boat, my wife and i would have had quite a workout, which isn't a bad thing, but the little trollers enabled us to extend our range and cover a lot more of the lake.
while our little guys were understandably nervous in this new water environment, our older sea-scouts were loving it. and as we headed away from the boat house toward open water the spirit of adventure began to grip us all. however, these were terribly slow motors that moved along at barely more than a drift. no matter. for our guys we were now true mariners fording the expanse. explorers in the league of magellan and leif ericson.
my oldest stood up to take a pose on the bow, placing his hand above his brow to quell the sun's rays, that he might be the first to spot any new land, and thus having the privilege to give it new name. we navigated our way around a little island and into a strait. then headed for a point, beyond which lay a beautifully shaded inlet. back here it was dead quiet except for a swan and his companions. being back there reminded me of my own exploring as a lad in a red aluminum canoe with my best chum. we would pack our gear and head off for hours, rowing among the reeds and mapping those territories by naming them after ourselves of course.
as we continued our little voyage i was reminded how powerful those memories are. imagination is what ultimately sparks the fuel of adventure. what is it then that we believe we will find when we go, if we choose to go at all?

like puppets on string
we move ahead together
step by step we go

there's a signpost up ahead...

sift through all information presented, and find the relevant message for today...

friday night lonely
can't fix the stains of heartache
watching life spin by

side of the road kitty

i met this kitty yesterday while walking home from work. he looked a little banged up and in need of a friend. so i spent a little time on the sidewalk in the warm sun giving him some attention. as i petted him i felt his tail was broken too. sad little apartment kitty. i know how he feels sometimes. i would have missed him though if i hadn't been walking. (we're all too busy to pull over and give kitty a little scratch)

plug into heavy
i am the hammer tonight
slow glide waxes the wood

racer and the breeze

once upon a time some fifteen years ago, i was wandering through my favorite thrift store. as i walked to the back of the store, there hanging on a wall was a work of art. a blue 1960's schwinn cruiser - all original. it was beautiful. the kind of bike that fires the imagination.
i carefully pulled it off the wall and set it down on its tires, now exhausted. i inspected the lines. it was low and sleek with these wonderful swept back moustache handlebars. and when i took hold of them i could feel myself at the top of an enormous hill, looking down as the wind blew my hair and grinning like a child who is free.
she was called the racer and i longed to make her go...

as fate would have it, my future wife had had a similar experience and found a ladies bike - the same color and year. hers was called the breeze...

they became our code names for each other - racer and the breeze. in our early days of marriage we drew up plans together of how we would fix these two up. i'd outfit a basket to the front of hers and buy fresh flowers to put in on our morning weekend rides to the cafe. there we could sit and drink coffees together and read at a table outdoors while our steeds racer and the breeze waited patiently to take us to unknown destinations.
sadly though we never seemed to have the funds to make our two wheeled dream go. and so racer and the breeze sat. first under a tarp outside our cottage. then they followed us from garage to garage always sitting in a corner together waiting.
years passed. we had kids. and finally we hauled them out into the daylight for a good look and just realized they were probably going to be waiting a long time. and in a burst of spring cleaning we decided it was finally time for somebody else to have a crack at them. and so with a little sadness, a craigslist post was made and a very nice gentleman and his wife came by to pick them up. and as i watched racer and the breeze roll away on the back of that bike rack i watched that little dream go too. (for now)

you and i sat here
unknown and talking for hours
our dreams on display

weekend blues

my schedule at work is odd. i work four days and then have four days off. as great as this sounds (it actually is pretty great) it means that there is no set schedule from week to week. and in fact it means that i'm also working many weekend days. as much of a drag as this can be, i sometimes look forward it. there is a completely different vibe here than that of the monday through friday group.


and there aren't a lot of people hanging around here either. i usually have the break room all to myself.


in general i have a lot more alone time. it's a good chance to let some of my deep thoughts roll around and begin to find seed.


and even though i'm still working, sometimes it feels like a lazy day indoors. that is until the phone rings and abruptly brings me back to reality. so as you roll around on your weekend activities, your soccer games and antique fairs and b and b trips, know i'll be thinking about you mr. and mrs. weekend, as another workday goes into the books.

go over there now
look around and you will see
the place you came from

school time

this is our little school...

and these are our little students. there are 4. 2 in the front and 2 in the back. the teacher sits at a desk at the front of the class. all day long she teaches them. she teaches them each school day.

they are learning how to count and read. they are learning how to tell time and write. some days they work on special projects.

and when the school day is done...

they are learning how to play!

today is your day
we all celebrate your life
what's your name again

look high to the eye
ever present and watchful
waits for you to blink

new-me

back in the day, americans used to build cars. pretty good ones too. they had most of their factories for building these cars in detroit, but there were others.
consider this one originally opened in 1962 by GM in fremont, california.
"the choice of the fremont plant and its workers was unusual. at the time of its closure, the fremont employees were 'considered the worst workforce in the automobile industry in the united states', according to the united auto workers. employees drank alcohol on the job, were frequently absent (enough so that the production line couldn't be started), and even committed petty acts of sabotage such as putting 'coke bottles inside the door panels, so they'd rattle and annoy the customer. in spite of the history and reputation, when nummi reopened the factory for production in 1984, most of the troublesome GM workforce was rehired, with some sent to japan to learn the toyota production system" (from wikipedia)
in one of my many short timer stints, i did a little time on the line here myself. like a page out of the movie "gung-ho" the toyota corporation turned this place around and it became the first factory in america to begin employing toyota's "lean" method of production. part of lean meant reducing costs and waste. and so for a couple weeks yours truly worked down in the cardboard recovery section of the plant where all shift long little tram cars would tow buckets of cardboard that had contained manufacture parts to a conveyer belt and dropped them off for sorting.
i'm not going to kid you. this wasn't rocket science, and we weren't exactly making the world a better place to live by "greening" the planet. it was a brain dead job where those of us on the belt would work as quickly as we could pulling styrofoam, plastic and staples out of cardboard without stopping that belt. it was a cost saving measure for toyota because on the end of the belt we were crushing, baling and stacking cardboard that could be sold back to paper companies. one day our foreman posted the holiday schedule and i remember all the temps ogling over it. they had something like 29 holidays on that thing.
the plant was enormous. once on my lunch break (we worked all the way on the south end) i walked all the way to the northern end of the plant just to check out all of the different work stations. i wish i'd had a video camera. it would have made a hilarious short film as i passed auto workers, some bantering on about something on tv the night before, some sitting around reading the paper because the line was stopped. a tour tram went by with local students and teachers. japanese engineers in white coveralls and hardhats were doing mock-ups in preparation for a change on the line. and everywhere these guys walked around with this swagger. this "i got me the sweetest little unskilled gig and i ain't hurryin' for nobody" walk. by the time i reached the other end of the plant i had to hurry back before my break was over.
and one day, while sorting cardboard, all these alarms started going off. loud pulsating alarms. and i look around and see all of the regular workers are stopping what they were doing and start to walk out of the building. i look at the other temps like "are we, should we--supposed to go somewhere too?" our foreman was outside in a work trailer on the phone and we walked out to ask him what was going on. when we got outside we saw a huge column of black smoke coming up from the far side of the building which looked like it was a mile away.
"hey cap, are we supposed to leave too? it looks like there's a fire goin' on down there" the foreman squinted at the cloud of smoke and then said "naw, they would have called me if they wanted us to leave too" as we stayed on our work the alarms occasionally blared and i kept thinking this somehow didn't seem right. eventually we did get the call to evacuate in a safe and orderly manner. and when i got home that night i caught the story of what had happened on the local news. apparently, at the other end of the plant where they partially gassed the newly completed toyota tacoma trucks, some genius had left the nozzle in and driven away. and when it fell it sparked and started a gasoline fire. i guess all the japanese training still hadn't blossomed in the american workforce. the funny thing is, i can't remember if we still got paid a full day or not.
and so, when i heard the other day that they had rolled the last of the vibes off the assembly line and shut 'er down for good, i felt a little sad for all those guys. there goes that pension and another sweet gig for the moderately skilled american worker.

out of many one
these truths are self evident
under watchful eyes

it is a fine day

as the optimism of spring abounds amid all the good weather of late, i am reminded that it is once again baseball season. the loafing and waiting of winter now over, it is in fact time to get to work. i must admit i haven't had as much opportunity as i'd like thus far to evaluate this year's team, but i hear they are a promising bunch. and when i have made it out to the ballyard to watch the boys in their warm-up routines and impromptu games, i am confirmed that summer is indeed on its way.

and as the local nine begin to work off their winter weight under an ever warming sun, we can all warm ourselves in the moment and make predictions for the coming season. it is a long stretch though, so there's no need to hurry. much like the game itself there is a pace to these things. if you push it too fast you may get ancy and find yourself grinding it out sometime down the stretch. but if you try hard and listen to the rhythm of the game you may just find yourself in step to the beat on a beautiful day enjoying the pastime. so pour yourself a glass of cold lemonade, pull up a chair and stay a while. it is a fine day!

skin-a-ma-rinky
shrinky dink skin-a-ma-rink-
y do - i love you

hiding in plain sight

my kids decorated these easter eggs saturday, and then it poured on sunday. of course this meant that the egg hunt was rained out. all week long they have greeted me as i opened the refrigerator, these little art projects. so i decided to take them out in the sun today and watch them sweat a little and stage an impromptu post-easter egg hunt. hopefully i found them all when i was done...

poets speak their heart
the sun goes down in your eyes
run to the ocean

klassic kitsch

this is a little alcove at the home of my friend todd and his wife janet. they live quite artfully and whenever i visit, i stand in front of this ever changing display in their dining room.
i read once about how the eames' loved to incorporate all of their found treasures into their starkly modern home. it seems we are always trying to balance our living spaces with a true stripped down functionality while retaining an essence of our joy and playfulness. ultimately our homes need to say something to the world about who we are, where we've come from and what we picked up along the way.

sky above is dark
hear the song of geese in flight
pass and then silence

happy.

saturday morning

saturday mornings are the best time to go to the doughnut shop. strike that. any time is a good time, but saturday reveals the essential character that is the doughnut shop.
the regulars have shown up before the dawn to drink their doughnut shop coffee and read their newspapers. the light inside the shop is slowly mixed with the rising sun until the daylight begins to dominate. cars begin to pull in to the parking lot one after another. a steady stream of business lining the display cases. soccer moms and dads, and now little league and softball, all sports really. it's ok, it's a doughnut.
sometimes after my papers were all delivered on a saturday morning i would head over to the old "rudy's" shop on the boulevard. though my order seldom changed i always enjoyed the perusing. bear claw? french crueller? not so much. but i do have eyes on that maple bar. and maybe throw in an old fashioned glazed while you're at it. i like to pick the outer spokes off and eat 'em first before devouring the inner cylinder.
doughnut shop is a great place too for a little one on one time with mom or dad. my mom was a big voyeur and liked to just sit and watch and listen to all the people. great entertainment that. people ought to take the practice up again. much better than plugging your eyes or ears into an electronic device and zoning out. and what could be finer than enjoying a doughnut while you do?

we played flute for you
you did not dance - we sang dirge
and you did not mourn

rusty and sparky

i finally saw the new "alice in wonderland" last night and was surprised how good it was. beautiful visuals and a much closer representation to the lewis carroll story than disney's first offering. the "alice" story has since been widely mined by everyone from jefferson airplane to the creators of "lost".
one of the key story elements employed is the dreamworld the main character enters where impossible things take place and bizarre characters come to life. and here in that theme is "rusty in orchestraville" from 1946 capitol records.
in the two stories on this record a little boy is having difficulty staying with his piano lessons (from the same teacher) and falls into a sleep which transports him into another world. side one - rusty in orchestraville features the sonovox, new at the time, it has a very peter framptonesque quality. both stories feature some pretty great selections of music as both boys learn the tough lesson of just how important sticking to your piano lessons can be. (and one has to wonder if psychotropics had anything to do with it)
to enter into the world of rusty in orchestraville click to down load here.