Monday, November 2, 2020

Fog City

Well now, the summer has come and gone, but the Coronavirus is still with us and surging. Who thought this scourge couldn't be contained. Unfortunately there is no national leadership mandating the necessary safeguards to limit the spread. So we wait impatiently for big pharma to produce a vaccine. The waiting game continues with people eschewing guidelines risking the fate of themselves and the public. All this dominating the public's attention as the absurd presidential race comes to a merciful conclusion. Tomorrow, Nov. 3 we vote. Frankly our democracy is at stake. Will the absurd incumbent, spewing lies, derision, racism, unbridled authoritarianism, win and advance the plutocracy. Or his opponent trying to unite the people around basic notions of compassion and inclusion. Tomorrow will tell the tale!


The months long pandemic, with no end in sight, raised awareness for me on many fronts. How to interact with family and friends from a distance for example. Actions had to be thought out, planned and executed accordingly. Spontaneity took a back seat and rightly so. Most group actions were simply eliminated altogether. And as the holiday season rapidly approaches traditional gatherings will be rethought. It has been a difficult time but our collective resilience shines through. Children miss school, adults miss partying, money for most is a problem, unhealthy politics rolls on, yet humor emerges from all the misery. We are generally a hopeful lot. For folks my age, well we've seen society come unraveled more than a few times. However despairing each upheaval, it passed. Emotional devastation and heartbreak, whether from without or within, will subside eventually, hopefully. Although this trump train has been utterly depressing. And I come from the streets, where our anthem, mantra was "Fuck It." So seven months of growing a beard as a fuck it statement to the pandemic and trump's hypocrisy, took me back to a time when I disdained the establishment with every fiber in my body.

I've been reading many different authors expressing clearly and analytically their thoughts on our time in relation to history. Perspective always reassures the doubter, that's me, and visiting other, brighter, folks perspectives boosts my morale and off sets my cynicism. In the end, which is coming, when I want to close the door behind me, I turn my frown upside down and carry on. Ciao! 

All Souls Day
Peace

Monday, July 20, 2020

Fog City

I self-published through LULU publishing and LIMELIGHT publishing a compilation of haikus while sheltering in place. It was more a lark and daily exercise but eventually grew. The problem was the virus wasn't ending and I couldn't continue forever. So I stopped and this is what became of my effort. 

Thomas Raher

Thomas Raher has written a very insightful book of Haikus, entitled, HAIKUS in the Time of Coronavirus

About The Book: For Thomas Raher, 2020 started with a bang. The beginning of a new decade. Then the Coronavirus turned the world inside out. Using the standard haiku format, he noted everything as he sheltered and stared out the window. Raher utilized this strict structure to express his thoughts simply. Sheltering in place was a means to be creative. He captures the many aspects brought on by the virus. His chronology and metaphors illuminate the big picture affecting us all. Although the time frame was a mere three months, he manages to grasp the seismic shifts in society. This work can be read as staccato prose, or the poetry he intended. Also by the author: Letters from a Working Stiff (Lulu Press) Smiling Eyes: Memories of Youth (Lulu Press and Amazon)

About The Author: Thomas Raher is retired. He was most severely influenced by the “Beats.” San Francisco, his home, has a significant role in the who and why of Himself. Although he completed a career as a public servant (transit operator), and helped raised three sons, his mind has always been “on the road.”

He has two other publications: Letters from a Working Stiff (2013) - A composite of writings to family and friends reflecting on the challenges of raising a family, driving a bus, and maintaining an individual sense of identity.

Smiling Eyes - Memories of Youth (2019) - Short stories of youth written to his dying mother.

How to connect with Thomas Raher

Blogspot:  tomraher.blogspot.com

Facebook:  Thomas Raher (@tomraher1)

Instagram:  tomraher1

Twitter: @tomraher1


Tuesday, June 9, 2020

Fog City

                                                    Sister Susan's Seventieth Birthday

Pandemic. Virus. Isolation. Sheltering. Police. Murder. Death. Protests. Riots. Looting.

These are the times we live in. Mentally and physically taxing our senses. I have to examine daily the entire gamut of emotions. It's a veritable roller coaster ride. Thrust into this mixing bowl of uncertain ingredients was my sister's birthday.

My brother Casey and I discussed months ago the absolute need to be with her on her 70th birthday. We are now old. A condition unthinkable not so long ago, but here we are. Limitations abound. Unfortunately she is most affected by limitations. She lives below the poverty line in an unforgiving tract of high desert. Stuck. The only redemptive quality is she can dip her toes in the cool Colorado river when temperatures settle at 110 degrees. She's alone. She's suffered ongoing culture shock for the long 25 years she's been in Bullhead City. Hence the importance of our being there.

Casey and I put our heads together trying to form a travel plan. A back story surfaced as a template for such a journey. You see in 1977 Susan was in a difficult situation. She lived in Chicago and her little world had crumbled. Casey and I lived here in San Francisco. She reached out to us for help rescuing her. We didn't hesitate. Casey had a classic Pontiac Catalina convertible road tested and ready to go. We set sail non stop arriving in the Windy City in 40 hours. She was grateful to see us. The car was loaded, we reversed course and headed due West. A memorable trip!

Initially we planned to load Casey's van with lawn chairs, a cooler, and other amenities for the long 10 hour drive to Arizona. A certain reenactment of that awesome 43 year old journey of brotherly love. We tried to discount vision problems, bad backs, stiff knees, pot bellies, and other assorted maladies. It would be historic. Lucky for me, his son Drew desired to go which changed the dynamic. He was flying in from Boston on the wrong day at the wrong time. Everything changed. The new timeline wasn't conducive for me. My enthusiasm drained. I even thought of bowing out, but that would be shamefully inexcusable. I needed to honor her long struggle. Frankly the change in plans worked better for me. I flew to Vegas, an hour and a half, rented a car and drove the 90 miles to her house, easy peasy.

I arrived a day ahead of Casey and Drew, which allowed me and Sue time to catch up uninterrupted. I hadn't visited her in probably 10 years. Our hug was deeply felt and emotional, significant because of our age and mortality. She launched into showing me all the detailed work she'd done making ready her humble abode. It was stunning. So much to see and linger over, while listening to the labor involved over the previous month. I commented adoringly it was a 3D mixed media art display on a grand scale. She should charge admission. She talked and talked interspersing reminisces with recent happenings, painting a large splendid picture of her life over time.

The next afternoon the boys rolled in like thunder. Casey drove alone from San Francisco to Las Vegas because Drew changed his plans. To arrive at Sue's a bit earlier, Drew flew to Vegas where Casey picked him up. A long tiring drive for old Casey but he's a good sport. Casey presented the birthday girl a beautiful bouquet, a grand gesture, while Drew hauled the cooler of iced beer out of the van. Once greeted and seated Casey broke out the cigars and the love fest was underway. The joy of being together at last was infectious and laughter reigned or rained.

There were no extravagant plans for her birthday. Just being in each others presence was the balm needed. We did enjoy a delicious lunch at her favorite local spot, high on a hill overlooking the valley. She had her heart set on a Rueben sandwich with German potato salad, washing it down with a margarita, and wasn't disappointed. When back outside we were gobsmacked by the suffocating heat. Her usual ritual is to submerge herself and a lawn chair in the cold rushing water of the Colorado river, not 500 yards from her front door. Needless to say we all followed for the refreshing dunking. We spent the better part of the day sitting near the shore while the waves lapped up around us neutralizing the stifling heat. Later in the evening as the moon rose and the temperature dropped to 101, we ordered delivery from her favorite Italian restaurant. We enjoyed a leisurely dinner with Spumoni ice cream for dessert. The banter was light and as refreshing as the cool river waters. Old family members remembering childhood, and the experiences that bound us. A much needed stroll down memory lane, ending with genuine hugs of endless love.

Happy Birthday Susan Ellen Raher!!








These black and white photos are from 1977. The scene is the Great Salt Flats.
We stopped for a break and a Kodak minute!
We were driving from Chicago to San Francisco!






















Monday, April 27, 2020

Fog City

O'Toole is spot on with his synopsis of our current situation. Since these are my sentiments I thought I'd borrow his and post it for posterity. Maybe my grandkids will read this and get a good idea of the time we live in.


Irish Times
April 25, 2020
By Fintan O’Toole
THE WORLD HAS LOVED, HATED AND ENVIED THE U.S. NOW, FOR THE FIRST TIME, WE PITY IT
Over more than two centuries, the United States has stirred a very wide range of feelings in the rest of the world: love and hatred, fear and hope, envy and contempt, awe and anger. But there is one emotion that has never been directed towards the US until now: pity.
However bad things are for most other rich democracies, it is hard not to feel sorry for Americans. Most of them did not vote for Donald Trump in 2016. Yet they are locked down with a malignant narcissist who, instead of protecting his people from Covid-19, has amplified its lethality. The country Trump promised to make great again has never in its history seemed so pitiful.
Will American prestige ever recover from this shameful episode? The US went into the coronavirus crisis with immense advantages: precious weeks of warning about what was coming, the world’s best concentration of medical and scientific expertise, effectively limitless financial resources, a military complex with stunning logistical capacity and most of the world’s leading technology corporations. Yet it managed to make itself the global epicentre of the pandemic.
As the American writer George Packer puts it in the current edition of the Atlantic, “The United States reacted ... like Pakistan or Belarus – like a country with shoddy infrastructure and a dysfunctional government whose leaders were too corrupt or stupid to head off mass suffering.”
It is one thing to be powerless in the face of a natural disaster, quite another to watch vast power being squandered in real time – wilfully, malevolently, vindictively. It is one thing for governments to fail (as, in one degree or another, most governments did), quite another to watch a ruler and his supporters actively spread a deadly virus. Trump, his party and Rupert Murdoch’s Fox News became vectors of the pestilence.
The grotesque spectacle of the president openly inciting people (some of them armed) to take to the streets to oppose the restrictions that save lives is the manifestation of a political death wish. What are supposed to be daily briefings on the crisis, demonstrative of national unity in the face of a shared challenge, have been used by Trump merely to sow confusion and division. They provide a recurring horror show in which all the neuroses that haunt the American subconscious dance naked on live TV.
If the plague is a test, its ruling political nexus ensured that the US would fail it at a terrible cost in human lives. In the process, the idea of the US as the world’s leading nation – an idea that has shaped the past century – has all but evaporated.
Other than the Trump impersonator Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, who is now looking to the US as the exemplar of anything other than what not to do? How many people in Düsseldorf or Dublin are wishing they lived in Detroit or Dallas?
It is hard to remember now but, even in 2017, when Trump took office, the conventional wisdom in the US was that the Republican Party and the broader framework of US political institutions would prevent him from doing too much damage. This was always a delusion, but the pandemic has exposed it in the most savage ways.
Abject surrender
What used to be called mainstream conservatism has not absorbed Trump – he has absorbed it. Almost the entire right-wing half of American politics has surrendered abjectly to him. It has sacrificed on the altar of wanton stupidity the most basic ideas of responsibility, care and even safety.
Thus, even at the very end of March, 15 Republican governors had failed to order people to stay at home or to close non-essential businesses. In Alabama, for example, it was not until April 3rd that governor Kay Ivey finally issued a stay-at-home order.
In Florida, the state with the highest concentration of elderly people with underlying conditions, governor Ron DeSantis, a Trump mini-me, kept the beach resorts open to students travelling from all over the US for spring break parties. Even on April 1st, when he issued restrictions, DeSantis exempted religious services and “recreational activities”.
Georgia governor Brian Kemp, when he finally issued a stay-at-home order on April 1st, explained: “We didn’t know that [the virus can be spread by people without symptoms] until the last 24 hours.”
This is not mere ignorance – it is deliberate and homicidal stupidity. There is, as the demonstrations this week in US cities have shown, plenty of political mileage in denying the reality of the pandemic. It is fuelled by Fox News and far-right internet sites, and it reaps for these politicians millions of dollars in donations, mostly (in an ugly irony) from older people who are most vulnerable to the coronavirus.
It draws on a concoction of conspiracy theories, hatred of science, paranoia about the “deep state” and religious providentialism (God will protect the good folks) that is now very deeply infused in the mindset of the American right.
Trump embodies and enacts this mindset, but he did not invent it. The US response to the coronavirus crisis has been paralysed by a contradiction that the Republicans have inserted into the heart of US democracy. On the one hand, they want to control all the levers of governmental power. On the other they have created a popular base by playing on the notion that government is innately evil and must not be trusted.
The contradiction was made manifest in two of Trump’s statements on the pandemic: on the one hand that he has “total authority”, and on the other that “I don’t take responsibility at all”. Caught between authoritarian and anarchic impulses, he is incapable of coherence.
Fertile ground
But this is not just Donald Trump. The crisis has shown definitively that Trump’s presidency is not an aberration. It has grown on soil long prepared to receive it. The monstrous blossoming of misrule has structure and purpose and strategy behind it.
There are very powerful interests who demand “freedom” in order to do as they like with the environment, society and the economy. They have infused a very large part of American culture with the belief that “freedom” is literally more important than life. My freedom to own assault weapons trumps your right not to get shot at school. Now, my freedom to go to the barber (“I Need a Haircut” read one banner this week in St Paul, Minnesota) trumps your need to avoid infection.
Usually when this kind of outlandish idiocy is displaying itself, there is the comforting thought that, if things were really serious, it would all stop. People would sober up. Instead, a large part of the US has hit the bottle even harder.
And the president, his party and their media allies keep supplying the drinks. There has been no moment of truth, no shock of realisation that the antics have to end. No one of any substance on the US right has stepped in to say: get a grip, people are dying here.
That is the mark of how deep the trouble is for the US – it is not just that Trump has treated the crisis merely as a way to feed tribal hatreds but that this behaviour has become normalised. When the freak show is live on TV every evening, and the star is boasting about his ratings, it is not really a freak show any more. For a very large and solid bloc of Americans, it is reality.
And this will get worse before it gets better. Trump has at least eight more months in power. In his inaugural address in 2017, he evoked “American carnage” and promised to make it stop. But now that the real carnage has arrived, he is revelling in it. He is in his element.
As things get worse, he will pump more hatred and falsehood, more death-wish defiance of reason and decency, into the groundwater. If a new administration succeeds him in 2021, it will have to clean up the toxic dump he leaves behind. If he is re-elected, toxicity will have become the lifeblood of American politics.
Either way, it will be a long time before the rest of the world can imagine America being great again.






Sunday, February 23, 2020

Fog City

                               Date: February 23, 2020
Sunday is under way and before I take a walk and settle in to watch some golf, I want to post a letter I wrote to an old and dear friend. I don't utilize this blog site as much as I'd like, and this is an alternate way.

Sir Tom,
Yeah, old age is definitely a condition we have to adjust to. It's tricky though. For me it's mostly mental. I spend a lot of time weighing the pros and cons, and balancing notions and influences. On one hand senior reports from groups like AARP, local Y's, community centers, all profess social interaction is the panacea. On the other hand ancient prophets and poets remind us solitude and practicing being still, calms the restless soul. I'm inclined to the latter and thoroughly enjoy my aloneness. But when out in public, whether golfing with friends or lawn bowling, I do enjoy the physical aspect and the casual banter. My problem with being social is I see the world as it really is, a hypocritical quagmire of greed and oppression. So engaging in small talk always seems inadequate.
Then I fight to balance the pessimism with some hope. Like this morning I decided to attend Mass with Christine attempting to rekindle an innocent faith in a myth espousing charity and compassion. Long before I became calloused to the machinations of the real world, when I was young altar boy, I glowed in happy hope. A sensation I can barely urge to the surface, a memory long blurred by time. But all of this is part of daily life and I waft in and around all of it constantly.
I just finished a remarkable book, "The Stones of Summer," by Dow Mossman. He grew up in CR and It's an abstract depiction of his youthful right of passage. He graduated from the Writers Workshop at Iowa and his book was highly acclaims when it was published in '72. Then he dropped off the face of the earth. But the book has resurfaced and I was fortunate to have been made aware. This is where solitude comes in and spending long periods alone, but not alone. Wandering through the universe of another's mind and finding the similarities and relating totally.
Well buddy, I'm well physically. Just had a physical and all vitals are normal. My liver seems to have rebounded somewhat and all my blood tests are in the proper range. I get 6 to 10 thousand steps in most days, weather permitting. For a guy our age I'm hanging in there. Attitude and tolerance are things to focus on. I have to remember or be conscious of, in a fast paced, youth oriented society, that I'm virtually invisible. All my significant influences and influencers, are unknown and meaningless to the young, especially my grandkids. So being in the now, when I'm with the young, makes me feel like I'm in a lifeboat floating alone far from anything. And all that I know and all that I experienced has disappeared and I wonder why I cling to it. Ah the challenge!

My boys are busy with their lives and doing splendidly, and when I'm with them I try to infuse my introspection, just to see if anyone is listening. Even though we know in the end it doesn't matter!

Peace brother!

I voted for Bernie... fuck Trump and the oligarchy....

Friday, January 17, 2020

Fog City

2020 looks impressive. It certainly has a fluidity as a time marker. I do have a bit of a problem fixing myself now, in this time. Speaking the number and visualizing my past, in the broader historical picture, confounds. What the number really implies is I'm as old as the hills. When I'm out and about in polite society, of which there is very little, I realize begrudgingly, a good many were only born in this century. Century, another time concept to ponder. But what am I talking about. Time. The difficulty is relevance. Youth of this century, with accelerated changes, and narrow focus, can't and don't relate to the links of the past. Here is where I question my relevance. Only because the experiences of my long life journey, applied in a historical context, were significantly influenced by monumental events. Monumental to me. Here's the rub, and I'm sure it's common to all, those events which marked my time so profoundly, are meaningless to most of today's youth. Where does that leave me? I try to keep pace. But as my role in life's drama continues to diminish, and I'm relegated to staring and comparing, I continue to redefine my relevance in time. I'm not complaining mind you, I'm just feeling self-conscious about the obvious changes to grapple with while growing older. So 2020 comes into view not so much with my touchstones, but with those of my offspring. I'm grateful. 

Happy New Year!