tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33895705370686757232024-03-05T11:21:40.957-08:00Raher's RegionWhat's happening ever closer to my mind's eyeThomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-56894166437100665782022-12-30T14:10:00.001-08:002022-12-30T14:10:42.166-08:00Fog City<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">As you can see the year is drawing to a close. I'm listening to my last Christmas CD, A Jazzy Christmas, with the likes of Dinah Washington, Billie Holiday and Peggy Lee. The season has taken its toll as it does each year. All the preparations and plans can and usually do come unglued. This year just as the family came together we were struck down by the pernicious and ubiquitous flu bug. We had to apply the covid protocols and separate individuals from the family herd to control the contagion. Unfortunately we were second to fall victim to the sickness, consequently we were eliminated from certain fun family functions. These new viruses tend to linger much longer than expected. Physically and mentally they are draining, which is frustrating, because you can't join in the festive fray without worrying about spreading the flu. We did the best we could and survived full of joy and blessings for the optimum minutes we did share.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If the ongoing news is any indicator we were the lucky ones. At least we were home, the millions traveling to be with friends and relatives were met with unbelievable obstacles. Blizzards, ice, whiteouts, airline cancellations, all of epic proportions stranded million across the land. Extreme seems to be the new common. The holidays are supposedly a time to remind us what is meaningful. A time for centering. I think mostly it is adjusting. Adjusting to extremes. Adjusting our momentum from fast to slow. Adjusting our audio from chatter to listening. One aspect of being under the weather is the silence in isolation. Sickness force adjustments, concentration, reflection, quiet, stillness, a kind of meditation or medication. Adjusting. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A new year is just around the corner and adjusting will be a primary ingredient. You see I've gotten old and my body forces constant and permanent adjustments. I''m learning tolerance by having to tolerate all the things I can no longer do. This is extreme because all my life I took for granted certain abilities would last. But now the obvious limitations need tolerance and adjusting. As the larger world grows ever more extreme, so does my personal world. Adjusting to the simplest tasks becomes extremely more difficult. And so it goes!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"I'll see you in the funny papers"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfWnW7iAAJFwwIlF_MVNq8-pDfdRBbAy6SiSff6d5JD1IvB_Wnsxdor6F1ozN-uCIdVXp67xKJsoMU04AInW4dxpR63SUmd8C6kRo-PQ07HG-z9az-2VUneBlqFY3Npj6N7T_x4ZdeXWvYjBibA2iYOHrlLj-u0bB0F1b_rxEvWy_z3VksKtlsHf4/s1600/xmas22.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfWnW7iAAJFwwIlF_MVNq8-pDfdRBbAy6SiSff6d5JD1IvB_Wnsxdor6F1ozN-uCIdVXp67xKJsoMU04AInW4dxpR63SUmd8C6kRo-PQ07HG-z9az-2VUneBlqFY3Npj6N7T_x4ZdeXWvYjBibA2iYOHrlLj-u0bB0F1b_rxEvWy_z3VksKtlsHf4/s320/xmas22.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /><br /></span><p></p>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-8666778865362652992022-11-04T12:28:00.006-07:002022-11-04T12:28:36.788-07:00Fog City<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">So what? Always the question, to express more opinions, observations, attitudes, ideas, and remembrances or forget about it. Who really cares and do I even care? Sometimes I feel the need to write because somebody might read it and get a sense of who I am or was. But what to write? Current events is always good for ranting and raving, family matters rekindle what is joyous, especially children's development, the increasing aches and pains of aging, comparing the experiences of the past and present, you see just spewing spontaneously writes itself. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The holiday season is in full swing. Halloween just concluded and fortunately I didn't have to participate. I've always been shy and introverted and I am reluctant to dressing in elaborate costumes. I don't mind eating exorbitant amounts of candy but at my age excessive sugar is a killer. Not to mention the excessive nature of the upcoming holidays and the stresses involved. I'm already strategizing the use of aches and pains of old age, as well as old age itself, as a means to minimize holiday activities. We'll see, I've survived this long!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It's been months since I've written for this blog. I sense it becomes repetitive. I find myself most of the time a cynic steeped in fatalism. I have to urge myself to be optimistic and glean the positive and beautiful from the world around me. It's easy with grand children because of their innocence and exuberance. But distance of sorts keeps us apart. So the ongoing pernicious politics of life swarms over my psyche like a cloud of wasps. Our country is torn in two without a bridge of compromise, and a real civil war, with weaponry, festers just below the surface. I fear the gloom and doom!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Then there is getting old. I'm 74 now and realizing begrudgingly I'm basically irrelevant and invisible. I had a revelation yesterday, let go of the ego, and unnecessary expectations. Sounds simple doesn't it. Actually the more alone you or I are the easier it gets. The aches and pains grow and functioning on most physical levels ceases, which eliminates expectations. Since performing socially is curtailed by physical restrictions there's no need for ego. Impressing on any level is unnecessary when you are alone, so who needs an ego. This awareness although difficult is relieving. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A man is just about as happy as he makes up his mind to be!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXqetEWvEq-Ua0GTYnsy-A4Rux7CBJArU35BW00mO0UHNEPIyoQiMPsLfvT6o24zzAxhAqHbRNHN_POUVxVzghq0CLxF9GyfRx3fucFo7EzcRZgaRwpkiAXMBNXHzYMkszX7B9fEH_TgOvgRhPR2CwwWukmG2qegJC6G6O0tgYTwxHc7wKNa5X0UO2" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3026" data-original-width="2270" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXqetEWvEq-Ua0GTYnsy-A4Rux7CBJArU35BW00mO0UHNEPIyoQiMPsLfvT6o24zzAxhAqHbRNHN_POUVxVzghq0CLxF9GyfRx3fucFo7EzcRZgaRwpkiAXMBNXHzYMkszX7B9fEH_TgOvgRhPR2CwwWukmG2qegJC6G6O0tgYTwxHc7wKNa5X0UO2" width="180" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-50570815530438484662022-08-04T15:54:00.000-07:002022-08-04T15:54:13.717-07:00Fog City<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">I'm in isolation. Finally after two years of conscious caution I've been waylaid by the persistent Covid virus. I turned 74 on July 28 and boy does that sound old. What happened was I saw an ad for a Tommy Castro and the Painkillers show. My youthful exuberance surged and I dug deeper. The band was playing on my birthday at the SF Jazz Center which was a natural inducement, because the venue is down at the Civic Center and just a 5 Fulton bus ride away. Anyway its was a special night full of great music and I got to reconnect with an old friend, the base player, Randy MacDonald. I'm building here. A couple days before that outing another extravaganza took place. Our San Francisco Lawn Bowling Club was honoring our oldest member. Arnie Barros was turning 100, truly phenomenal. The festivities included bowling in the morning and a catered lunch of Arnie's choice. Our district supervisor proclaimed it Arnie's Day with a framed City Hall certificate. Of course our club President made a speech extolling Arnie's long history of achievements, while Arnie sat smiling and eating. Over a hundred of Arnie's admirers including a huge contingent of his extended family, were on hand for this monumental occasion. There's more. A day after my birthday I had been scheduled by my dear wife Christine to help, as she hosted her cousins. Again we utilized the bowling club because her traveling clan was thirteen strong. They are from the Midwest and were obliged to visit all the favorite SF tourist attractions. They weren't wearing masks and by the way masks were optional in all of these large social gatherings. They had a good time and Christine instructed them on the basics of bowling and provided snacks making for a comfortable afternoon. It was a short visit because they had to race to Pier 39 to catch a tour boat circling the bay before leaving for Fresno. Whirlwind. So for a guy who has avoided social contact pretty much throughout this pandemic, I virtually jumped into the deep end. The day after the cousins left the virus symptoms surfaced all together. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The symptoms seem to be waning but I still tested positive this morning. I'm watching the Giants and Dodgers on my iPhone while I update my blog on my laptop. Lucky me I have all I need and I made 74 who'd a thunk. I guess I'll see ya in the funny papers!</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv69A2NgBJupGVk36pA-Y6yAOSpGjzJBOPL-pYjwmBDJmsjCJew7AVwwliW-UYAQ4pyLHmguO5INOBeyxpj9gVH4S2Dj8QfoNX5nTH7rehl8zKsHcljI6oaPtXFPUqIWLcWE13oHY9uh3dFu7YrZIgwV14di9WuGrkW_x23NySRMMcatg8sTAPhBhf/s1440/26376D85-6932-45DB-A376-2B4D5DCCE45D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="1440" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv69A2NgBJupGVk36pA-Y6yAOSpGjzJBOPL-pYjwmBDJmsjCJew7AVwwliW-UYAQ4pyLHmguO5INOBeyxpj9gVH4S2Dj8QfoNX5nTH7rehl8zKsHcljI6oaPtXFPUqIWLcWE13oHY9uh3dFu7YrZIgwV14di9WuGrkW_x23NySRMMcatg8sTAPhBhf/s320/26376D85-6932-45DB-A376-2B4D5DCCE45D.jpeg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_8JVIaWE8bADxb1GPH5vChEJimKgkw6l_pNMBGWe_-JWBUbUcO0o9jTnDawWiYM_M1jccZ4AqoG1kT1LzgXoxyg8V_8gPOtMZMUpBE6RDRDoj6Jc5Yyau-91-O8M8VpbYiZTdfFYoOEEKqZMkHeUzT1N4fFNy65cqTdvWrQuxipTjQEqTvMa-FT88/s2914/CF8A004F-E2C2-4B36-A564-F9FEFF6FE187_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2914" data-original-width="2797" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_8JVIaWE8bADxb1GPH5vChEJimKgkw6l_pNMBGWe_-JWBUbUcO0o9jTnDawWiYM_M1jccZ4AqoG1kT1LzgXoxyg8V_8gPOtMZMUpBE6RDRDoj6Jc5Yyau-91-O8M8VpbYiZTdfFYoOEEKqZMkHeUzT1N4fFNy65cqTdvWrQuxipTjQEqTvMa-FT88/s320/CF8A004F-E2C2-4B36-A564-F9FEFF6FE187_1_201_a.heic" width="307" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-6781288065301564692022-05-28T14:32:00.001-07:002022-05-28T14:32:26.836-07:00Fog City<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">Today the battle<span style="font-family: inherit;"> rages between external and internal forces. The difficulty is keeping them separate. They overlap and mingle so as to upset the balance. My very precarious mental balance that is. Why is balance necessary? Simply because it minimizes stress and we all know stress kills. Most all of societies ills, maladies, ailments, dysfunction, are totally or partially attributed to stress. Stress rears its ugliness in myriad and varied ways. Everything we think or do has an element of stress. But if we can limit the stress by separating the external, jobs, finance, wars, politics, traffic, with the internal, anxiety, regret, self esteem, fear, well just maybe the battle isn't a total loss. </span></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Solitude can play an important role and something I've decided to utilize more and more. It's easier to control the environment when you are alone and quiet. You needn't allow the external stress to invade your privacy, your solitude. Then the internal stress of your own making can be dealt with calmly and peacefully. Separate and balance. I found as I get older I need less and less. I've also found when out and about interacting socially the external stress, even the happy stress of family gatherings, manifests itself physically. Nerve endings react, pimples/bumps, toothaches, rashes/hives, muscle and joint aches, and occur for no apparent reason. Stress. </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">You see if I want my quality of life, which is certainly limited as I approach 74 years old, to be joyful, then I must adjust to these new realities. I know it's difficult for friends and family, who only know the persona I've cultivated over a lifetime, to wonder what's the matter. I can't go around trying to explain that I'm adapting to the mental and physical person I've become. Although I do and those explanations seem futile and or inadequate, which is more stress. So you see I'm leaning more and more toward solitude however much the external forces tug at me to get out there. </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">I desire to live in peace and to continue the life I have begun under the motto "to live well you must live unseen." Rene Descartes</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">The human race exaggerates everything: its heroes, its enemies, its importance. Charles Bukowski</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Blessed be he who has found his solitude, not the solitude pictured in painting or poetry, but his own, unique, predestined solitude. Blessed be he who knows how to suffer! To him comes destiny, from him comes authentic action. Hermann Hesse </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">A few quotes from mental friends, I hope you don't mind.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9Qg5l46uPBABL5gvbSjReeZl5GQpwMLoAYw1jw9eWZDJOEduBl7YhMowSMMveFcf4ImuWq903OVd-026Ej4cJ03tQR_3Xhc0qu-ww8T7Wzvsf0D7emhMGrh56GlL1v3HiRihHtmKKKKMqgr1UumDQvuK6YoUD3MHh_9Da0hQWKbPBGl0Va8m3H1x/s3088/9E6A733E-9475-4B60-8FCC-E08E840B8A66_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9Qg5l46uPBABL5gvbSjReeZl5GQpwMLoAYw1jw9eWZDJOEduBl7YhMowSMMveFcf4ImuWq903OVd-026Ej4cJ03tQR_3Xhc0qu-ww8T7Wzvsf0D7emhMGrh56GlL1v3HiRihHtmKKKKMqgr1UumDQvuK6YoUD3MHh_9Da0hQWKbPBGl0Va8m3H1x/s320/9E6A733E-9475-4B60-8FCC-E08E840B8A66_1_201_a.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> <p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-43791377880402570242022-03-01T12:06:00.000-08:002022-03-01T12:06:29.700-08:00Fog City<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Today is Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday, the eve of Lent. We are still in the throes of the Covid epidemic but much less so. Most people have been vaccinated and hospitals report fewer cases and less emergency over crowding. Restrictions on mask wearing mandates are being lifted and a cautious normalcy is returning. Let the good times roll and let's celebrate Fat Tuesday in true tradition before the fasting and abstinence begins tomorrow. I'm also celebrating 16 years of sobriety. There was a time when a planned celebration was in order. Food and drink, colorful beads and hats to match, loud music and raucous behavior, a mighty release, but no more. Those days of revelry are a thing of the past, a distant memory. Not only am I sober but I got old. So staying sober is hardly a challenge, because I do very little of anything. Although when I look around this very polarized world, autocrats vs democrats, authoritarians vs egalitarians, it makes me sad and frustrated, and God knows I could use a strong drink. The human fabric gets more frayed and chaotic as remedies and solutions seem impossible. I hunker down in my solitude and wait patiently for the grand children, in their innocence and exuberance to fish me out of my mental quagmire. Being with them and their skipping and smiles and robust parading around, makes each minute a Mardi Gras. Their unencumbered hopeful joy is a much a needed balancer, juxtaposed against the great expanse of despair for far too many.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I reflect on my own youth when adult problems were yet to come. Like my grandkids I played with abandon, all day if I could. I would get weary from the shear joy exhausting all my energy. I was comfortable and confident in my own skin and my family environment. I was happy and growing and learning and absorbing. I was a sponge filling with happy and exciting experiences. I'm reminded of that long ago life when I'm with the children and I feel good. But like that long ago idyllic life, change happens and we can't and don't stay children. The adult world, the world of suffering, the world of injustice, the world of hopelessness, encroaches my consciousness. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll celebrate Mardi Gras sober, with my children and their children on my mind, and all the joy they've brought me in my life, and give thanks. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEii49gkwNoiv9g6BasBxN8VIFLFjEgXqQo0bO1tbxck7PBSvRg4Dm8W_Psp_4dYWFOJcO1WRHt8C87qUAyf12KOOrkG4IcYJCpXy5YEt_2fUfN4sOzuCkd6cPvYCKGewPQ0LoOTO0M0WAz0XwHFyHWTF3Q1i0tTlZA50AQBHiQLNH-QHSMeDDEdo7yP=s3088" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEii49gkwNoiv9g6BasBxN8VIFLFjEgXqQo0bO1tbxck7PBSvRg4Dm8W_Psp_4dYWFOJcO1WRHt8C87qUAyf12KOOrkG4IcYJCpXy5YEt_2fUfN4sOzuCkd6cPvYCKGewPQ0LoOTO0M0WAz0XwHFyHWTF3Q1i0tTlZA50AQBHiQLNH-QHSMeDDEdo7yP=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-8605178416404804782021-12-22T13:09:00.000-08:002021-12-22T13:09:56.166-08:00Fog City<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> I guess you could say winter has arrived. The temperature has been in the forties. The weather casters are no longer singing the fearful drought refrain. Real rain storms have continued saturating our thirsty land and dumping tons of snow in the mountains. All good for our future water needs. The grey wet days with glistening streets and reflecting rain drops add to the spirit of the holiday season. Christmas is just a few short days away. The weather keeps us indoors with the thermostat turned up, and the darker, shorter days allows for turning on all the colorful Christmas lights. Ambiance is the key to holiday cheer. Instrumental Christmas carols provide background music, while the muted television shows irrelevant football bowl games and myriad college basketball games. Tamales are steaming on the stove. Reminisces are the main subject of conversation and thumbing through old photo albums. Where are the children now? Happily with their own children!</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> Unfortunately we all can't gather to share our lifetime of experiences. Distance is one culprit. The Covid virus in all its mutations continues to surge and the latest version is more transmissible. It's been nearly two years and the social restrictions, which had eased are now back in place. Isolation is once again in play. So although we have all the external manifestations of a wonderful Christmas, the deadly virus hangs over our collective cheer like Scrooge himself! But the spirit is indomitable and we are secure in our comforting devices, like rum balls, eggnog, chocolate truffles, mint candy, assorted nuts of which we are included, old classic movies we've memorized over the years, and good books when there is a lull. And we can give our time and money, what little we have, where we think it helps. Close to home in most cases, and remembering to extend an open hand of tolerance, to paraphrase a concluding line in one of my favorite movies, The Bishop's Wife!</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">I don't have many Christmas's left. I won't be dwelling on the usual negativities I have no control over. I'd usually list them here, but I'm sure you know what they are. Anyway in my old age I'm attempting to create a better balance and rid the useless negativity from my battling psychos. On that note I want to wish a Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night. </p></blockquote><p> Here's a few family photos of this year dedicated to our loved ones long gone!</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2ze7jlmHES6hyphenhyphenvaO6zE1EYDZ3v67oFtT6ubqjXSPo2aXdIILOZK9uNmR1UNlogA3uq0DAbF5oXl6G0jrghJfL-4yqiGhZWLg8jj66LcrUpYaK_SnGzYGSuhx8XInPwKRtMGoo606AWA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2ze7jlmHES6hyphenhyphenvaO6zE1EYDZ3v67oFtT6ubqjXSPo2aXdIILOZK9uNmR1UNlogA3uq0DAbF5oXl6G0jrghJfL-4yqiGhZWLg8jj66LcrUpYaK_SnGzYGSuhx8XInPwKRtMGoo606AWA/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8V8bzTHGZizJoJZh8lWqBMSVBwpTrRfdLPCPqEZg0vG7TIeTi3o5EiZU3Aj2tk1MrzQdYp4qpc31Su1qhvPRAMNy_R-VmuFYEqi2xZjY1Hrar5ChIWJmvvfOry4HVXhgtvha8BFNF8o/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8V8bzTHGZizJoJZh8lWqBMSVBwpTrRfdLPCPqEZg0vG7TIeTi3o5EiZU3Aj2tk1MrzQdYp4qpc31Su1qhvPRAMNy_R-VmuFYEqi2xZjY1Hrar5ChIWJmvvfOry4HVXhgtvha8BFNF8o/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6nfsj-77fsRGalXhlmNLYH9qWuknNEQuXnIeueNhzhFXT5aYhBuTAD2FVPRexeOrAjPY8LAiWTPnMmWf8siPrIWV2QkHOemQcjG1EXnT_BYQUYfKl9dO05ey5uzJEQo58GnHT_2XJpk/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2776" data-original-width="3689" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6nfsj-77fsRGalXhlmNLYH9qWuknNEQuXnIeueNhzhFXT5aYhBuTAD2FVPRexeOrAjPY8LAiWTPnMmWf8siPrIWV2QkHOemQcjG1EXnT_BYQUYfKl9dO05ey5uzJEQo58GnHT_2XJpk/" width="319" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-59628329532742298542021-11-19T15:33:00.006-08:002021-11-19T15:43:08.960-08:00Fog City<p> Today I finished a pseudo biography of Lawrence Ferlinghetti. It's incredible. He recounted his youth somewhat, but mostly it was a stream of conscious illumination. We shared his journey through Greek mythology, iconic philosophers, beat poets, American politics, the digital age, business as usual, and social injustice. It's an amazing rant, a brilliant rant on materialism, capitalism, spirituality, religion, climate change and our ultimate demise. I was enthralled because he elucidates with humor and clarity all the ills of a society at perpetual crossroads. I envy his ability to rattle off these complexities, their essence, and expose them for debate. He speaks to me and says what I would if I could. I concluded reading it this morning and the last line was, "AND that is why the cries of birds now are not cries of ecstasy but cries of despair.'</p><p><br />As I closed my eyes to ponder and absorb what I just read, my wife interrupted my reverie informing me a young murderer, symbolic of our extremist home grown terrorists, had been acquitted. This form of right wing vigilantism steeped in racism no longer fears repercussions. The law, a term I use lightly because it doesn't work for all, has become absurd. White rage, white backlash, white power has been reinforced, and validated by a radicalized judicial system. It's only getting worse. Our government is torn in two and doesn't work, our society is torn in two and there's no overlap, violence in all it's many forms seems to be the only recourse. We are killing ourselves and we are killing our planet, not at all a rosy picture. Worst of all my golf game has deteriorated to have become boring and no fun!</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5RPraIl5jIyc-PPY3drnTswmhG1Bd8grBhgJOimY0g55GQOfLhY8sauIobtulUfI1fgYIilR7JkRlh4qYeTyB0rJ5aj20kAQA5LqVL270jqOW2h5K30RUSj-xEPUjeF5Kd6cG34FYvsA/s2048/A6795C20-40D8-4832-9CAD-861F81566441_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5RPraIl5jIyc-PPY3drnTswmhG1Bd8grBhgJOimY0g55GQOfLhY8sauIobtulUfI1fgYIilR7JkRlh4qYeTyB0rJ5aj20kAQA5LqVL270jqOW2h5K30RUSj-xEPUjeF5Kd6cG34FYvsA/w335-h360/A6795C20-40D8-4832-9CAD-861F81566441_1_201_a.jpeg" width="335" /></a></div><p></p><p>See ya in the funny papersđ</p>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0San Francisco, CA, USA37.7749295 -122.41941559.4879117497363339 -157.5756655 66.061947250263671 -87.2631655tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-15221016811886534192021-10-19T17:39:00.005-07:002021-10-21T19:24:37.293-07:00Fog City<h2 style="text-align: left;"> A Shock</h2><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">This blog is a personal rant. I only bother to write it because I know It probably won't be read. You see yesterday my son sent a golf video of me six years ago titled Veterans Day. I made an assumption mistakenly. A bit of a back story is in order. First I have three sons which makes for the ideal dream golfing foursome. I'm a veteran (Army) and my oldest son is a veteran (Army). He by the way has two Purple Hearts, seeing action in both Iraq and Afghanistan. A few years ago good fortune conspired and we all came together on Veterans Day for a family round of golf. It was a success and we decided a tradition was born. Last year of course the Pandemic put the kibosh on our convergence. Now though public gatherings aren't as restrictive. So when I received my son's message with the video earmarked Vets Day, I thought he was reaching out and planning our traditional golf outing. I messaged back about what's what. Now comes the shock. He said his brother, my son, was coming from Portland specifically for golf, and he had notified my other son, which makes three. Here it comes. Then he says he penciled in his cousin, my nephew as the fourth, and I'd be sitting this one out. I was stunned, shunned, snubbed and dissed. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">What hurt and cut to the bone was my failure to realize they didn't share my sensibility about this family event. You see it should be a poignant and singular chance to acknowledge our four generations of Vets, and all Vets. Plus the lads have their own families and live in different locales, meaning once a year the four of us could be together, for a half day, without the responsibility and distractions of women and children. Alone, sharing laughter, reminiscing, reinforcing our bonds. When the boys were little I fantasized about a family foursome when they were all adults. Back then I got them clubs, showed them the fundamentals, watched them get better and grow to love the game. My dream foursome had come true.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I got old. I suppose now I don't measure up. It's a hard reality to accept. I'm no longer an integral ingredient in a foursome I thought would last. I don't begrudge the boys, I've never let expectations rule. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Shattered Toe</span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbs96jfUprro4vgwUK4VzrH8lgzTQEOsj5SH38AzDQj9u5uB-wkpskv4FBhKKenGdOrG7eXeQ3CTDHrBOYkXUvmlCfe_R8-95y_921gNEmzOHmzATvnox5NK-d-0sbeGOB9RMFHO5nWUQ/s4032/26548246-EBD1-4AAE-8735-474F79C99711.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbs96jfUprro4vgwUK4VzrH8lgzTQEOsj5SH38AzDQj9u5uB-wkpskv4FBhKKenGdOrG7eXeQ3CTDHrBOYkXUvmlCfe_R8-95y_921gNEmzOHmzATvnox5NK-d-0sbeGOB9RMFHO5nWUQ/s320/26548246-EBD1-4AAE-8735-474F79C99711.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><p><br /></p>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-4393551982117116142021-07-22T14:39:00.002-07:002021-07-22T18:22:47.922-07:00Fog City<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">I <span style="font-family: courier;">haven't written a word in a good long time. Why? Ideas, opinions, declarations, all seem irrelevant. The problem it seems is containment. The overlap of personal dilemmas and national political dilemmas is a matter to be resolved. How? Deciphering and analyzing the problems and studying a possible solution. Ironically this mission is similar. Measuring for what enhances one's existence and that which doesn't. What then from each quandary can I contain and nurture? The big picture of a national government stymied by intransigence without any sense of compromise is utterly frustrating. I've decided to disassociate myself from the daily news cycle because it overwhelmingly detracts from any personal enhancement. The political divide and utter polarization sucks the positivity out of the air. It's difficult enough inhaling and exhaling the constant air of greed, corruption and deceit, so I tune out. </span></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Now closer to home tuning out would have the opposite affect. It's about balance. The negative affect from the macro-view of an incompetent government is balanced positively by multiple micro-spheres. Foremost is family. After a long lifetime of suffering the observance of injustice and inequality, children old and new are the ultimate saving grace. When I'm slumping near depression I can bask in the happy, humorous, innocent laughter of children and grandchildren. There's nothing quite as powerful as the unconditional love of a toddler grinning at the very sight of you. The want to be needed and the need to be wanted. Existence enhancers. Extending beyond the family are small social circles built around positive and uplifting activities. Friends who reinforce what is good and are civil, shining examples of what could be. Understanding and containing what only enhances our lives and understanding and ridding what detracts from a graceful view. The balancing act is necessary for peace of mind. Mindfulness!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ns_Pu1vDsCPg8cpIBd6V2wIOaQUC3acojcTmfPUWddtXwCyNS-gKgQhpzbI2ID6KdnVijsjyEX6M9H7SxsXaeYeai5EjcFFGFfBLfQrJICPgh4fdcJJKvQl11XirA77ak4MxCo4Lmug/s1280/81C1C7F6-694B-4EC2-B041-76571D151697_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ns_Pu1vDsCPg8cpIBd6V2wIOaQUC3acojcTmfPUWddtXwCyNS-gKgQhpzbI2ID6KdnVijsjyEX6M9H7SxsXaeYeai5EjcFFGFfBLfQrJICPgh4fdcJJKvQl11XirA77ak4MxCo4Lmug/s320/81C1C7F6-694B-4EC2-B041-76571D151697_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span><p></p></blockquote><p> </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"> </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-42031883139807553462021-05-06T13:20:00.004-07:002021-05-06T13:20:53.767-07:00Fog City<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Today is another unremarkable day. I did feel the need to post something, anything on my blog. I guess I should start with what's happening with the Covid 19 pandemic. Now that the radical trump administration has been more or less deleted, the government under Biden's guidance can get busy. Nearly two thirds of the adult population has been vaccinated and the production and distribution is moving forward. Reported cases continue to drop as well as deaths and hospitals can breathe a bit easier. Certain restrictions have been lifted and businesses are starting to open. People can gather in ever larger groups, like sporting events, and masks are less mandatory. All in all people are still cautious but less fearful, as a sense of normalcy creeps slowly back. The country is still unalterably divided though and the fabric of America is torn. The future is one big bold question mark. I choose the here and now.</blockquote><div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">Maybe I'll just complain about every little thing like most old codgers. Those complaints center around the inevitable deterioration of the body, which keeps me definitely in the now. Different levels of pain are evenly spread throughout most joints and muscles. Any movement takes focus because you never know how the body will react or not act. I was trying to carry heavy grocery bags up the stairs. First I lifted one to make sure my back could do the job. Then I put one in each hand and lifted insuring my biceps and elbow joints were up to the task. All this before taking a step. The climb up the stairs is the real test. Now that the upper body seems able, the first step up will indicate how competent the lower half is. The aching hip, knee and atrophying thigh muscle all cry out, stop! Fortunately they push the weight upward, but one bag is heavier and the process begins to tilt, and I stop to regain balance and catch my breath. Focus. Up I go finally getting to the kitchen and start unpacking. I used to take all these body movements for granted. Now each action is calculated. This focused calculation keeps me cemented in the now. Sometimes I stay still avoiding action and pain, which also keeps me in the now. Oh well, clichĂŠ..."nobody said it would be easy," </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Thinking on...my son springs to mind. He's experiencing aging and has been struggling and learning about the now. And I'm happy to report his dedication and focus are exemplary. Happiness is elusive and illusionary when searching afar. But when you realize playing with and teaching your son in the very now, you begin to understand happiness. Which I think he has. When I see the laughter and interaction displayed when they are together my heart soars. His now is my now! Love...</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeKLsdRJpUZzj6mvfNsqP4z46iOzIBBmBwSf3COohCV9-YZf-yT7dQC1BSsHE5LPDInfWnB5Errhyphenhyphen0UgH7ean01bt6rgiNhTwULFkqq7y4uEnS2JYymM2Ot2aNkOpuX1jnrsK_HEHa_Y/s3556/279C8596-E071-4709-9ED4-1CD0C9427F44_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3556" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeKLsdRJpUZzj6mvfNsqP4z46iOzIBBmBwSf3COohCV9-YZf-yT7dQC1BSsHE5LPDInfWnB5Errhyphenhyphen0UgH7ean01bt6rgiNhTwULFkqq7y4uEnS2JYymM2Ot2aNkOpuX1jnrsK_HEHa_Y/s320/279C8596-E071-4709-9ED4-1CD0C9427F44_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Rowan, Reina, and Ramsey! </span></td></tr></tbody></table></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p></blockquote>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-81005811286370777142021-02-19T14:24:00.002-08:002021-02-19T14:24:47.115-08:00Fog City<div style="text-align: left;"> The relationship between age, or old age, and current events, the strange and difficult times we are living through, at least I am, is perplexing to say the least. A half a million Americans have died of the Covid virus. Seniors are the most vulnerable but now they are first to receive vaccines. I've received the first of two vaccine shots and feel somewhat relieved. But we are by no means any where near normalcy. Schools are closed and teachers are fearful, and shouldn't they be first to be vaccinated. Businesses are struggling mightily to stay alive. Jobs are scarce and the economy is suffering. Legislators remain stymied by intransigence to provide financial help for all. It's been a long and tumultuous year with many levels of anxiety. The new year and new administration have provided a much needed hope however illusory. </div><p style="text-align: left;">I zoomed with my granddaughter last evening, a treat, I'm watching golf on TV thinking I should exercise, as life marches on. My point is the fragile conditions for most don't really affect me. Being old I'm concerned about climate change, but only in regards to my grandchildren because I'll be long gone from this world. Since I'm retired with a secure pension and social security, the financial woes affecting the average American aren't a worry. In a self centered way I smirk at the obvious travails burdening most. Only for a moment. I do really feel a deep sorrow, a sadness for my fellow humans affected through no fault of their own. Our democratic system, which we have taken for granted, has been threatened and come under question. All the problems and struggles we face seem less for me simply because of my age. As I near the end of this remarkable journey I linger on all I've been gifted. Needless worry is just that, and I don't have time for it. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The larger problems of the world dwindle after my coffee takes affect. I cross my legs and stare out into the misty morning. My worry shifts. Will that lady quiet her yapping dog, which is driving me bonkers. Are the neighbor kids playing in the fairy garden going to be nice or destroy? Is my neighbor in the upstairs flat going to use the washer and dryer all day or what? Do I have to remind Christine, who's at the grocery store, not to forget the peanut butter? Am I going to have to go outside and help the nervous driver trying to parallel park? These are my kind of problems, which I personally can deal with if I choose. Ice bergs melting, global virus threats, republican insurrection, however worrisome are out of my league. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I really have nothing to add, the twenty four hour story tellers and pseudo pundits continuously inundate us with speculation and bias ad nauseam. So I'll bid you adieu until another blog update.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKKQ7Wtp1t44k5D_pfsWvtH7RJGjS2zo-TGbFmBSiVHH-CnzhrwQRb-8nFBr_eiZn-Cmz8M-IMldWxPA59hB1dpWDz0vXRiIr_Na3KzGGETKRNLwHtl5jQw8bvAaXbd-_uW5AmvRjCkw/s1536/BB2BCD34-5225-4FF0-9E14-67636286A17D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="1536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKKQ7Wtp1t44k5D_pfsWvtH7RJGjS2zo-TGbFmBSiVHH-CnzhrwQRb-8nFBr_eiZn-Cmz8M-IMldWxPA59hB1dpWDz0vXRiIr_Na3KzGGETKRNLwHtl5jQw8bvAaXbd-_uW5AmvRjCkw/s320/BB2BCD34-5225-4FF0-9E14-67636286A17D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-60097961615779026282021-01-04T12:43:00.000-08:002021-01-04T12:43:59.877-08:00Fog City<p> A full moon shone brightly ushering in the new year. I wish the change I and we need occurred spontaneously with the calendar page flip. But it won't happen. Democracy is still teetering as Trump refuses to concede his election loss. He is a tiresome individual and his lies are so tedious yet half of all Americans believe and support him. Go figure. I guess they'll have to drag him screaming from the Oval Office!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Since Thanksgiving, when millions defied stay home recommendations, the covid virus has surged and spread. Hospitals are at capacity. The numbers are staggering but vaccines have been produced and distributed. Time will tell how successful the vaccines are even with new strains of the virus emerging. Politics and the virus are waiting games coated in speculation and doubt. It certainly has been a tumultuous and fretful year, but there is a glimmer of hope for the future.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Although major gatherings were replaced by FaceTime and individual family visits, the Christmas holiday worked just fine. The necessary precautions were taken, masks were worn as needed and outdoor visits minimized questionable contact. Gifts were exchanged, food shared and enjoyed keeping the holiday spirit as close to traditional as possible. Christine had our humble abode decked out in shimmering Christmas splendor. Colored lights warmed each room and heirloom ornaments decorated our view with memories of past joy. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVtYuFoqmLOeRDRJKU3T-wGpiXt383A18lbLSuE0wvmCAz9xC4s3nxsz7Q5ofra8Ez0zcP4HxbIazAbSUfYUIryDIWKzjM_fdDohj-q_d3ywTVChUO-y-GrMuZqYlfqeNZg3tTQ0WH3I/s3783/C654A49F-9919-41E7-BE21-24382EB77E88_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3783" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVtYuFoqmLOeRDRJKU3T-wGpiXt383A18lbLSuE0wvmCAz9xC4s3nxsz7Q5ofra8Ez0zcP4HxbIazAbSUfYUIryDIWKzjM_fdDohj-q_d3ywTVChUO-y-GrMuZqYlfqeNZg3tTQ0WH3I/s320/C654A49F-9919-41E7-BE21-24382EB77E88_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></div>So you see as the world fluctuates ever precariously between levels of chaos, we manage to maintain our pride of spirit sharing traditions of goodwill and tolerance. So I'll conclude this brief blog post with a couple of recent notes, one a haiku the other a wish!<p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Change happens simply</p><p style="text-align: left;">By stepping across time lines</p><p style="text-align: left;">Puzzling but hopeful</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">May your walls know joy,</p><p style="text-align: left;">may every room hold laughter,</p><p style="text-align: left;">and every window open to great possibility.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Happy New Year!</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-83878953604415254812020-11-02T20:55:00.002-08:002020-11-02T20:55:36.554-08:00Fog City<div style="text-align: left;">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!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_f9swhJFit8V-lSEn1VlCdG_88INl9myIHwb-Z5jj8NILShPKYH046xiDfKdU7PjwLC_6d5pKBFZK1gGm4pmehFOimArZDybyV3Pe4V2gTa_h6ReMizVDMzPqEj1mMZ24aKyD6um_dVY/s2049/61BAE067-EA24-4D05-883C-26DA6ACC6831.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2049" data-original-width="1537" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_f9swhJFit8V-lSEn1VlCdG_88INl9myIHwb-Z5jj8NILShPKYH046xiDfKdU7PjwLC_6d5pKBFZK1gGm4pmehFOimArZDybyV3Pe4V2gTa_h6ReMizVDMzPqEj1mMZ24aKyD6um_dVY/w213-h282/61BAE067-EA24-4D05-883C-26DA6ACC6831.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEsOsU-DCdGCXA5a7NWASn6etq72DNOEw8hQejJM7OnEre4FieyxQwz2VHDXHBqE6loQ_qC6Uz6TxrjLr0_tc9iVtQ7C9dMCoib4lY-ukgvwfb1vnmKG8YGKqfv7LI9nGOb7FrXQ75AY/s2599/A19C68ED-C567-400B-915A-17F9945104ED_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2599" data-original-width="2100" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEsOsU-DCdGCXA5a7NWASn6etq72DNOEw8hQejJM7OnEre4FieyxQwz2VHDXHBqE6loQ_qC6Uz6TxrjLr0_tc9iVtQ7C9dMCoib4lY-ukgvwfb1vnmKG8YGKqfv7LI9nGOb7FrXQ75AY/w238-h297/A19C68ED-C567-400B-915A-17F9945104ED_1_201_a.jpeg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>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! </p><div style="text-align: left;">All Souls Day</div><div style="text-align: left;">Peace</div>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-12287079521305002502020-07-20T10:46:00.001-07:002020-07-20T10:46:20.610-07:00Fog City<div>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. </div><div><header class="article__header separator has-animated" data-animate="" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><h1 class="article__title h2" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 4rem; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: inherit; line-height: 1.125; margin: 20px 0px; text-transform: inherit;">Thomas Raher</h1></header><div class="article__body rte" itemprop="articleBody" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 30px; zoom: 1;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;">Thomas Raher has written a very insightful book of Haikus, entitled, <a href="https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/thomas-raher/haikus-in-the-time-of-coronavirus/paperback/product-vq8kv4.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #3f6c38; position: relative; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank">HAIKUS in the Time of Coronavirus</a></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;"><a class="image-link" href="https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/thomas-raher/haikus-in-the-time-of-coronavirus/paperback/product-vq8kv4.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #3f6c38; position: relative; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank"><img alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0064/5355/9363/files/Cover_0dc88eed-a62a-4f85-a319-1709ac873a65_large.jpg?v=1595144138" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></a></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">About The Book: </span>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: <a href="https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/thomas-raher/letters-from-a-working-stiff/paperback/product-1pewm44n.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #3f6c38; position: relative; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank">Letters from a Working Stiff </a>(Lulu Press) <a href="https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/thomas-raher/smiling-eyes-memories-of-youth/paperback/product-176ggkgn.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #3f6c38; position: relative; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank">Smiling Eyes: Memories of Youth </a>(Lulu Press and Amazon)</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><img alt="" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0064/5355/9363/files/Back_Cover_large.jpeg?v=1595144362" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; height: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"></span><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">About The Author: </span>Thomas Raher is retired. He was most severely influenced by the âBeats.â 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 âon the road.â</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;">He has two other publications: <a href="https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/thomas-raher/letters-from-a-working-stiff/paperback/product-1pewm44n.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #3f6c38; position: relative; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;">Letters from a Working Stiff </span>(2013</a>) - 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.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;"><a href="https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/thomas-raher/smiling-eyes-memories-of-youth/paperback/product-176ggkgn.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #3f6c38; position: relative; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;" target="_blank"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;">Smiling Eyes - Memories of Youth</span> (2019)</a> - Short stories of youth written to his dying mother.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">How to connect with Thomas Raher</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;">Blogspot: <a href="http://tomraher.blogspot.com/" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #3f6c38; position: relative; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">tomraher.blogspot.com</span></a></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;">Facebook: Thomas Raher (@tomraher1)</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;">Instagram: tomraher1</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Monotype Baskerville", serif; font-size: 19.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 20px;">Twitter: @tomraher1</p><p></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div></div>Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-71106873569499474812020-06-09T17:36:00.001-07:002020-06-09T17:36:23.848-07:00Fog City Sister Susan's Seventieth Birthday<br />
<br />
Pandemic. Virus. Isolation. Sheltering. Police. Murder. Death. Protests. Riots. Looting.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday Susan Ellen Raher!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPUg8oSSwwAlQHwpK2e_ijVF1pzFNEh1bkehoJCxVGvLXjJr-6bv_BHbAkSf0qdyG7tvOMNFqFYldpVLpte4DpBN0jF5df__kK9WcBZTizzRiZz6dFlg0DFUHPQnNvmlD9pSA70KhdFI/s1600/EDC23715-DEF3-4970-8FAF-05C79FD1359E_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPUg8oSSwwAlQHwpK2e_ijVF1pzFNEh1bkehoJCxVGvLXjJr-6bv_BHbAkSf0qdyG7tvOMNFqFYldpVLpte4DpBN0jF5df__kK9WcBZTizzRiZz6dFlg0DFUHPQnNvmlD9pSA70KhdFI/s320/EDC23715-DEF3-4970-8FAF-05C79FD1359E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNxDZWQ1cbxSqZpETr7zNr3oQFpjFTQ_vSqS_vUsX6T04HFpzLuJ8ksYv6HFm24KjM_JFkH5yVNAFpPECtFJ2PzUk6VC1qZmNSz3sms1fjGLhPMqo40GWCOwuyQP-7mNA0GLj1Ixf7bOM/s1600/D3311FFF-9856-4912-BB6C-C49CF023A471_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNxDZWQ1cbxSqZpETr7zNr3oQFpjFTQ_vSqS_vUsX6T04HFpzLuJ8ksYv6HFm24KjM_JFkH5yVNAFpPECtFJ2PzUk6VC1qZmNSz3sms1fjGLhPMqo40GWCOwuyQP-7mNA0GLj1Ixf7bOM/s320/D3311FFF-9856-4912-BB6C-C49CF023A471_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiECxYtGeTIJtdedK0ZnLoZzzZdW-5H2ULp8qrKsYOwVZCbpNs-eh4PyscE0lcs2sr2X8PAoirp9jXTPBmCiVSJHq-nAPgqDvefBAHZvQUu5kFowbgXLf72ZppJE0p10-BCXUCRBmHXfA8/s1600/Scan+432.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1360" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiECxYtGeTIJtdedK0ZnLoZzzZdW-5H2ULp8qrKsYOwVZCbpNs-eh4PyscE0lcs2sr2X8PAoirp9jXTPBmCiVSJHq-nAPgqDvefBAHZvQUu5kFowbgXLf72ZppJE0p10-BCXUCRBmHXfA8/s320/Scan+432.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBAbAwa-fgUpZtfbTQ9XghtYjiVIRxfu0OdYyRoumMwUVxlVPUv94S-Y2259CvlfyN1hRbQx9AybKSz2zHeGg1kdJO6lXzpwBeV5n3k0jWkorFkOAX4ay-7OnTHwTHdqjsu2QCzP1YYPA/s1600/Scan+431.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="1182" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBAbAwa-fgUpZtfbTQ9XghtYjiVIRxfu0OdYyRoumMwUVxlVPUv94S-Y2259CvlfyN1hRbQx9AybKSz2zHeGg1kdJO6lXzpwBeV5n3k0jWkorFkOAX4ay-7OnTHwTHdqjsu2QCzP1YYPA/s320/Scan+431.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
These black and white photos are from 1977. The scene is the Great Salt Flats.<br />
We stopped for a break and a Kodak minute!<br />
We were driving from Chicago to San Francisco!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-31308488006777434792020-04-27T17:56:00.002-07:002020-04-27T17:56:53.128-07:00Fog CityO'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.<br />
<br />
<br />
Irish Times<br />
April 25, 2020<br />
By Fintan OâToole<br />
THE WORLD HAS LOVED, HATED AND ENVIED THE U.S. NOW, FOR THE FIRST TIME, WE PITY IT<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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 worldâs best concentration of medical and scientific expertise, effectively limitless financial resources, a military complex with stunning logistical capacity and most of the worldâs leading technology corporations. Yet it managed to make itself the global epicentre of the pandemic.<br />
As the American writer George Packer puts it in the current edition of the Atlantic, âThe United States reacted ... like Pakistan or Belarus â like a country with shoddy infrastructure and a dysfunctional government whose leaders were too corrupt or stupid to head off mass suffering.â<br />
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 â 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 Murdochâs Fox News became vectors of the pestilence.<br />
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.<br />
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 worldâs leading nation â an idea that has shaped the past century â has all but evaporated.<br />
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 DĂźsseldorf or Dublin are wishing they lived in Detroit or Dallas?<br />
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.<br />
Abject surrender<br />
What used to be called mainstream conservatism has not absorbed Trump â 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.<br />
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.<br />
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 ârecreational activitiesâ.<br />
Georgia governor Brian Kemp, when he finally issued a stay-at-home order on April 1st, explained: âWe didnât know that [the virus can be spread by people without symptoms] until the last 24 hours.â<br />
This is not mere ignorance â 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.<br />
It draws on a concoction of conspiracy theories, hatred of science, paranoia about the âdeep stateâ and religious providentialism (God will protect the good folks) that is now very deeply infused in the mindset of the American right.<br />
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.<br />
The contradiction was made manifest in two of Trumpâs statements on the pandemic: on the one hand that he has âtotal authorityâ, and on the other that âI donât take responsibility at allâ. Caught between authoritarian and anarchic impulses, he is incapable of coherence.<br />
Fertile ground<br />
But this is not just Donald Trump. The crisis has shown definitively that Trumpâs 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.<br />
There are very powerful interests who demand âfreedomâ 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 âfreedomâ 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 (âI Need a Haircutâ read one banner this week in St Paul, Minnesota) trumps your need to avoid infection.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
That is the mark of how deep the trouble is for the US â 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.<br />
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 âAmerican carnageâ and promised to make it stop. But now that the real carnage has arrived, he is revelling in it. He is in his element.<br />
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.<br />
Either way, it will be a long time before the rest of the world can imagine America being great again.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBEvAOgLe_ROk0NCBqSFid59LaIntLlY6gdd4LVqK0TdcBGB5meLrIBswdGQG0NS1_tPMJHln8bsK9TI4J7y5_Fk_cQBe34yI0YDZQ44wvMxjd92JCoK4jRpISifpYxSEd9hmo0m2ZzE/s1600/B9E54521-745B-47E1-8DB7-24E4EFC3A7DE.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBEvAOgLe_ROk0NCBqSFid59LaIntLlY6gdd4LVqK0TdcBGB5meLrIBswdGQG0NS1_tPMJHln8bsK9TI4J7y5_Fk_cQBe34yI0YDZQ44wvMxjd92JCoK4jRpISifpYxSEd9hmo0m2ZzE/s320/B9E54521-745B-47E1-8DB7-24E4EFC3A7DE.heic" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-30131653950506399362020-02-23T11:18:00.001-08:002020-02-23T11:18:16.514-08:00Fog City Date: February 23, 2020<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Sir Tom,<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
Peace brother!<br />
<br />
I voted for Bernie... fuck Trump and the oligarchy....<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-5896949631976920402020-01-17T10:44:00.001-08:002020-01-17T10:49:14.984-08:00Fog City<h4>
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. </h4>
<div>
Happy New Year!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTihkYiCA1cS-fepvAJmPJbfYZpvqo96rLrrJZkjFDPoW8TrVGNvYD2KxXv2BqB0uU987tFcgNQUnRQ6RlMw134MnzIAlAaFc3Pf5PyV7ViDNlagHVuGeZRuXpzNztNs7lXuOmZSskRM/s1600/fullsizeoutput_5e56.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTihkYiCA1cS-fepvAJmPJbfYZpvqo96rLrrJZkjFDPoW8TrVGNvYD2KxXv2BqB0uU987tFcgNQUnRQ6RlMw134MnzIAlAaFc3Pf5PyV7ViDNlagHVuGeZRuXpzNztNs7lXuOmZSskRM/s320/fullsizeoutput_5e56.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-47667200760322657192019-10-29T12:14:00.000-07:002019-10-29T12:44:34.392-07:00Fog CityI'm sure I have something to say, why else would I be sitting here typing. My problem is justifying writing at all. I look in the night sky and can't help being overwhelmed by infinity and the relation to the utter smallness of my thoughts. My time, our time, this time, passes so rapidly, sometimes I don't see the point in expressing thoughts, worthy thoughts, thoughts of past experiences, or even thinking at all. There's a futility in trying to find meaning. I find more meaning in futility. But then the human aspect emerges. We have to live together. So we better find some meaning in our common condition. You would think that would be a simple matter, like caring and sharing. Life is more complicated and there are so many factors in the human condition. Here is where I diverge because I get weighed down trying to balance our innate goodness with our obvious evil. Personally I find the scales tilted in favor of evil, visible in our constant greed, oppression and utter corruption. What then?<br />
<br />
I turn to the children, specifically my grandkids. When the definition of love gets muddled on life's journey, for me it's rekindled in the moon light in their eyes, the sunshine in their smiles, the spring in their step, the gladness in their understanding, the realness of their hug. Their souls are free, but for how long? Right now I just wallow in their innocence and joy. When I'm with the little ones I'm transported, and thankfully so. At my age, remembering is a challenge, their antics, their laughter, their questions, all jog my memory. I can relive similar experiences, and smile in wonder at the human condition before.....<br />
<br />
Bless the children!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyfcwy17MPPvx8wuX6b2ilD-dJR6nbO3KponjGWRpVEA00L_IspmBK7ovIsrBG4dsmQfNoHBZGYVrUfKER_DaksUx37sof3rRplScnKia6oRus4hzkG738ciRElm0o4GUQ7nJqG5oo_Gw/s1600/rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyfcwy17MPPvx8wuX6b2ilD-dJR6nbO3KponjGWRpVEA00L_IspmBK7ovIsrBG4dsmQfNoHBZGYVrUfKER_DaksUx37sof3rRplScnKia6oRus4hzkG738ciRElm0o4GUQ7nJqG5oo_Gw/s320/rose.jpg" width="256" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Def5PwJ5Cq1wVRzPruZYZ3wT4e0RBRWBAenM5LfRxESJQeuhLKD20Rrdsi8_a9C6ZDOmiGHG2CrkJP04mLnQFquzVkgx0cA90AUV4cOvf2O0sDWy3rZR0AyFHrXgC1v_07d1EUya4lU/s1600/girls.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1191" data-original-width="726" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Def5PwJ5Cq1wVRzPruZYZ3wT4e0RBRWBAenM5LfRxESJQeuhLKD20Rrdsi8_a9C6ZDOmiGHG2CrkJP04mLnQFquzVkgx0cA90AUV4cOvf2O0sDWy3rZR0AyFHrXgC1v_07d1EUya4lU/s320/girls.jpeg" width="195" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SX1GSb-XV621O9d7rUy_emJvWxjgRcDETP_u1CaOjxCSCgoL38qY3Wq49JyOra6RbaJffMnizh5uIO29H1v2svBI2F5x7OMT7jDQjN3uGCyo5vKMC_Cp8T8NVIWVNY-XcVQjh4z5nDc/s1600/tom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1201" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SX1GSb-XV621O9d7rUy_emJvWxjgRcDETP_u1CaOjxCSCgoL38qY3Wq49JyOra6RbaJffMnizh5uIO29H1v2svBI2F5x7OMT7jDQjN3uGCyo5vKMC_Cp8T8NVIWVNY-XcVQjh4z5nDc/s320/tom.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-89680395710184368642019-08-29T13:42:00.000-07:002019-08-29T13:42:00.002-07:00Fog City OK<br />
Aug. 29th 2019<br />
<br />
Where to begin? Why begin? What's to be said? I don't know. I just thought since it's been a couple months since I've blogged, sounds like clogged, well something needed to be written. The Labor Day weekend approaches and the holiday spirit collectively builds in the minds of the populace. As I remember the school year didn't begin until after Labor Day, which indicated the end of Summer. But now the kids are already back in the rigmarole of school days. Of course I'm not affected in any way shape or form. I'm an old man and can barely remember youthful times. My days whistle by with little variation and I don't mind. There's an ease to sameness which I now appreciate. Frankly most activities however inviting become an effort. I guess I'm referring to the upcoming holiday season. I really shouldn't go on about my self induced anxiety concerning the prolonged effort from now until the new year. So I won't. But just let me state if I had my druthers, I'd be a solitary curmudgeon.<br />
<br />
So what else is new? My brother Casey stopped over the other day, and we had a very comfortable few hours catching up with family matters and sharing annoyances. We delved into our shared history and how our parents divorce affected and changed each of us. We speculated on all the what ifs. Mostly we laughed at even the most traumatic of events, what else could we do? But in old age and having to continue the struggle, the good fight, well sometimes we wish we would have had some money, a formal education, mentors to guide us, aspects which would have helped us navigate the congested and murky waters of life. Regrets sure. We always return to our goof fortune, I mean good fortune. Sometimes we have to search for it. Then we laugh and that's where it starts. Humor is our foundation and what a foundation it is. It is the thread connecting the generations through hard times and celebratory times. My granddaughter tries to make me laugh, and she does to the extreme joy of us both. How much money or education do I need for such a sheer feeling of ecstasy.<br />
<br />
Thinking of my granddaughter and the juxtaposition with my sister, her great Aunt, is disconcerting. My sister who knows the healing balm of laughter, also knows the heavy burden of loneliness, of extreme poverty, the despair of no hope, yet she forges on. She has more than tread the fierce rip tides of life, and did it alone. She's old and deserves a respite from all forms of burden. Sadness and struggle unfortunately are human's common legacy. Ain't that funny!<br />
<br />
<br />Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-58224465273703551502019-06-22T11:27:00.001-07:002019-06-22T11:27:55.723-07:00Fog CityToday is Saturday June 22nd, so it is officially summer. Frankly it doesn't mean a twit to me, because at my advanced age every day is the same, with little exception. Although the daylight varies so there's that. When I become aware of all that is happening around me, and be sure plenty is going on, street festivals, music events, art shows, etc. etc., I'm quite mentally motivated. But after further thought, like transportation, congestion, time restraints, distance, large crowds, noise pollution, jostling, lines, sunscreen, well you get the gist. I stay home. I visualize. I've heard it and done it all before anyway, so what's the point. I know, bad attitude. But that's my nature, if it don't come easy forget it.<br />
<br />
I did have a wonderful experience on Father's Day. After some gentle coercion by my son, mainly having tickets, provided by his wife, the wonderful Doctor Lauren, Cassidy provided transport, I didn't have to get up early, we were off to the US Open Golf Championship. The event was held at the Pebble Beach Resort on the Monterey Peninsula near Carmel by the Sea. God's country. Or more like the rich peoples country. It certainly was a once in a lifetime chance and I thank Cass and Lauren for that. I must say being on the world famous golf links watching the greatest players in the game had moments of surrealism. The skies were grey and overcast with a marine layer. The temperature cool. The crowds were massive and enthusiastic. We surveyed the best viewing opportunities and got lucky with some but others were filled to the max. Along the 8th fairway we secured an ideal spot. A huge ravine, cliffs sloping down to the sea, dissected the fairway. The players second shot had to carry the chasm. A sliver of land was the only walkway to the green and we were perched right there. This vantage allowed all the players to walk past us no more than arm's length away. We could give them thumbs up, and shout encouragement as they strode past. Certainly a highlight of our experience and we have video and photos for proof. I play golf. Cassidy plays golf. I'm a fan and have followed the game since I was a boy. I know the history. My favorite players go back as far as the era of Sam Snead and Ben Hogan. The game has change considerably but you still have to get the ball in the hole. So comparisons of different eras, different players, different equipment are fun to argue, the action remains the same. I was in awe of the course itself, set up to be a true championship test. I was in awe of the players and their mastery, their skill at conquering such a test. Or not. I was fortunate to share such a rare experience with my son, who knows my history with my dad and my uncle, himself a great golfer, who can appreciate the linkage of time to family through golf. I'm sure he'll endeavor to keep it alive with his family. We rode home in silence, it was late after all, but sometimes silence tells it all.<br />
Love wins again!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hmQ51QH9r_56XzfaOJby24_ekOb40fmG3Chpk-P4oH-IgTRpZgmjBHNgvOGsFJ7kmNAPcAtppeOmjfYO_drho97j-aE1w69QIk5EyLvLVQGb8XtTPFYCIVLoInq1-Izww4CWByj-iMY/s1600/usopen.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hmQ51QH9r_56XzfaOJby24_ekOb40fmG3Chpk-P4oH-IgTRpZgmjBHNgvOGsFJ7kmNAPcAtppeOmjfYO_drho97j-aE1w69QIk5EyLvLVQGb8XtTPFYCIVLoInq1-Izww4CWByj-iMY/s320/usopen.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-48185115306031929372019-06-02T10:22:00.001-07:002019-06-02T10:22:24.149-07:00Fog CityToday is June 2nd, 2019. My brother Steveâs birthday. And tomorrow is my sisterâs birthday. Susan will be 69 and Steve would have been 68. Unfortunately he died at 21. Sad. So today heâs been dead 47 years. And I wonder. I named my first born son Steve. And today I think about them both. My son is cause for consternation. He has a big and giving heart. That there is no doubt. He is 42 years old and has lived an erratic and adventurous life. His goodness, his joy, the things that make him happy, seem always shrouded in delusion and silence. He always is uncomfortable communicating. His expectations never align with his reality, or our reality. Consequently he exists in a dream world of his own making. And when that dream gets shattered, which it inevitably does, he lashes out. Why is the question. Why canât he abide by the rules, protocol, and processes which are required to get through this maze of life. I think he just doesnât care. He knows whatâs needed and asked for, but procrastinates or simply doesnât complete the task. Normal things like housing, laundry, food, identification, bills, finance, all seem to escape his ability to cope. Hence his life is in a constant state of flux. Heâs not stupid, although I question that over and over, because of his repeated problems. This flux, his flux, only seems to bother him after another breach in the process. He glides along, slides along as if the broken pieces will magically emerge whole, like a movie run backwards. And the people heâs entwined with suffer. They suffer his anger and frustration. Especially his mother, who only wants him to be happy. With all of his snafus sheâs there with her worry and her support. She prays incessantly and worries incessantly, to the point of exhaustion. The burden she carries as his mother, and the cloud of doubt and gloom is affecting her profoundly. Iâm affected. The only one who doesnât seem to care is he. He changes for the better, with good intentions, but it only lasts so long. Sometimes months. Then his demons kick in and his one step forward is two steps backward. And on it goes. The trouble is, heâs wearing down his mother. Sheâs old and Iâm old. We donât need his shortcomings to be our anxiety. But they are. Parents!<br />
<br />
My brother Steve. Frankly I barely knew him. I was three years older. Our young worlds really didnât overlap. And once our family disintegrated the separation between individuals became more obvious. He was a good boy and funny with a mischievous streak. I remember when he was very young he had asthma. My mom would set up a steam tent over his bed so he could sleep easily. He grew out of it though. One Christmas I wonât forget. The family still pretended to be in tact. Toys were scattered about in the living room and under the tree. We four kids were playing with new stuff and lounging in our pajamas. Steve was looking around and assessing and comparing Santaâs gifts. When out of the blue he yells, âthis is the worst Christmas ever!â I guess he didnât get what he ordered and my mom was chagrined. As we got older and our childhood became adolescence and teen, things really changed. I had become relatively delinquent and with my dad out of the picture Steve somewhat followed suit. He experimented with nonconforming styles, like Beatle boots and longer hair. He started to get in trouble. My mom, poor thing, was a basket case. She had no coping mechanism for out of control teens. Some how she decided, and Iâll never know how and who with, to allow Sue and Steve to become wards of the state. Both were shipped off to the state reform schools for boys and girls. So much for the post World War ll, 1950âs American family, it was over and radically altered forever. A shame. Steve survived his stint and actually thrived. He came home to finish high school. He developed a group of great friends and even was a star on the swimming team as the lead diver. So today I think of him and a time long ago, fading from memory more each day. Memory is all we really have and when thatâs gone, well itâs time to go. For Ramsey my troubled son, I hope he finds his bliss, just a wee bit, before I shuffle off this mortal coil.Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-21171375943740056752019-05-14T09:42:00.000-07:002019-05-14T09:42:37.242-07:00Fog CitySince 2009 we have gathered as a family in Palm Desert for the Hanucup Golf tourney. Initially it was played in December and coincided with Hanukkah. Weather mandated a seasonal change and now it falls on Mother's Day weekend in the Spring. The name remains even though it's closer to Passover. Children play in the pool, sumptuous food is served constantly and we have our Friday morning tourney. Eight players teed up this year, all of varying degrees of competence, hence we use the handicap system to equal the playing field. Our winner this year was Adam Gautier, with a 31 handicap, edging out myself with an 11 handicap. It was great fun. Cassidy created these humorous introductions, and I wanted to save them.<br />
<br />
From: Cassidy Raher <cassidyraher@hotmail.com><br />
Date: May 9, 2019 at 6:45:38 PM PDT<br />
To: Larry Brooks <larrybrooks@me.com><br />
Subject: Golf introductions<br />
<br />
Golf introductions:<br />
<br />
From Cedar Rapids, Iowa, this golfer is the owner of 2 green jackets. As well as 2 gray sweatshirts and 3 white pullovers. A man whoâs social media presence rivals that of the Kardashians. A golfer who moves through life at the pace of a lawn bowling match. 3 time Hanucup champion: Tom Raher!<br />
<br />
This next golferâs swing hasnât changed in two years, which was also his last swing. A man who needs no introduction. The dark horse of this tournament, and within his family. The king of cuisine. Captain of cutting. Chairman of chopping. The barista of the boardroom. Danny Brooks!<br />
<br />
Next on the tee, an estate planner from Agoura Hills, CA. Heâs the lost member of the rat pack. And the proud owner of a back pack. A seasoned traveler who hasnât seen his own home since the last Hanucup, he plans on beating all of todayâs opponents.... with jokes and sarcasm. Letâs hear it for Adam Gauthier!<br />
<br />
âNext on the tee, a fashion icon in his own mind; a golfer whoâs had more hairstyles than Lady Gaga; a man who keeps the local dispensaries in business. San Diego native and Former hanucup champion; Steven Dratler!â<br />
<br />
Next on the tee, a lawyer from Alameda, CA. This golfer is just excited heâs getting fresh air. A former member of the Avengers, which is the name of his litigation team, he swings his driver like heâs just mainlined a triple shot of espresso. Last yearâs runner up, Casey Kaufman!<br />
<br />
âFirst on the tee, the defending champion and family videographer; this guy has lanes reserved at Fantasy Bowling this evening at 11 if anyone wants to join, always representing the Bay and looking to be the first repeat winner, 1 time Hanucup champion, Cassidy Raher!â<br />
<br />
âNext on the tee, from Rancho Santa Fe, Ca, this golfer returns to the Hanucup after a 4 year absence. After only playing his home course since then, heâs most looking forward to getting back there as soon as possible. Ready to compete for the crown, Howard Dratler!â<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBHC62idT_W6cqRkQw20u4_JbMPrdWj3D_oHEQ2e30SI7aqEn_-3p1S2-aDbgIMHdoNQljg9sxQhTuYWHuXOq-fEDRW2vcnZuwn1jQKHE6Ts28xalSiE9_Ympde-lNfBu48gQLJxjp-w/s1600/74F927EB-4FA7-47FE-9BB5-7765C9ADCEFD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBHC62idT_W6cqRkQw20u4_JbMPrdWj3D_oHEQ2e30SI7aqEn_-3p1S2-aDbgIMHdoNQljg9sxQhTuYWHuXOq-fEDRW2vcnZuwn1jQKHE6Ts28xalSiE9_Ympde-lNfBu48gQLJxjp-w/s320/74F927EB-4FA7-47FE-9BB5-7765C9ADCEFD.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-7038340269527600982019-04-29T13:40:00.000-07:002019-04-29T13:51:43.255-07:00Fog CityI was asked by a 17 year old high school student studying in Switzerland, how old was I, what was I doing, what was my opinion of, and what was the mood and climate in society, especially the protests, of 1968. We've never met but I was happy to oblige.<br />
<br />
My Response:<br />
<br />
Re: Questions from Natalie<br />
Thomas Raher <tomraher1@yahoo.com><br />
To:<br />
Thomas Raher<br />
<br />
Apr 28 at 1:44 PM<br />
<br />
Hi Natalie,<br />
I'll try to be forthright and lay a bit of my historical landscape. In 1968 I was 20 years old, and it really does seem like a very long time ago. I was serving in Uncle Sam's Army, having been drafted in 1967, and was stationed in Germany. Consequently I was isolated from actively protesting and the military mandates as little outside news, especially public outcries against the military, as possible. Let me go back a bit. Prior to service, as a teenager, and product of divorced parents and a radically dysfunctional family, I rebelled. I had black friends and lived with a black woman, while immersing myself in the black culture. I learned a great deal. Back to the Army. While hanging out in the barracks with black buddies, listening to the soul of Motown, the news of Martin Luther King's assassination spread like wild fire. Of course I was dumbfounded and tried to express my shock to my friends. But the pot was simmering and rage was palpable. They asked me to leave because, obviously as a white man, I was a symbol of all their oppression.<br />
So you can imagine an entire society torn, the fabric frayed. The political climate as I quickly learned, was divided along racial lines and those pro and con for the Viet Nam war. The manifestations of this climate, this hurricane, were many. Blacks said no more, expressed by the Black Panthers, students opposing the draft protested and took over college administration buildings. The police, well they just got more aggressive. But still being in the Army, I was insulated and only slowly becoming aware of the push and pull of the right and left, and black and white. I saw who was being shipped to Viet Nam, and it wasn't Joe College. Poor whites and an inordinate number of young blacks were fodder for the whims of the military industrial complex. My philosophy on many things was evolving and expanding.<br />
The events of 1968 radicalized and numbed me, and my opinions solidified then, have varied little. My opinion of the power elite and their class war hasn't changed. In '68 I was of the opinion, with the emergence of left leaning politicians, and the ongoing civil rights movement, that a thread of social justice and fairness for all, would seep or creep back into our collective consciousness. King was murdered, Kennedy was murdered, I'm afraid that opinion was short lived. Skepticism and suspicion ruled.<br />
The protests went on and would go on for years. Young men were burning draft cards. The nightly news, which we saw very little on the base, reported the number of deaths each day. Families were divided, those believing in stopping Communism, and those who saw the war as waste. My time as a soldier was winding down, and I was becoming ever more grateful I hadn't been sent to Viet Nam. I believed it was wrong, and I didn't want to die. I was siding with the protesters more and more. I was frustrated and saddened, and after the horrific assassinations, my only sliver of hope was a Humphrey victory at the riotous convention in Chicago. He lost and my hopes were dashed. I guess '68 was when I actually became cynical. Cynicism resides firmly in my psyche.<br />
Nothing has changed actually, from then to now, and I suspect things could be considered worse now. At the time, protests, passing civil rights laws, ending the war, ousting Nixon, we mistakenly felt we made a change. But look at what's happening now. Right wing governments are xenophobic and fostering hate. Trump is building a wall and trampling on civil liberties. Brexit has divided England. And if worrying about the social climate isn't enough, our actual climate is teetering on collapse. The protests continue for all manner of human rights, and here the police continue to kill unarmed blacks without repercussions. A football player, Kaepernick, protests police brutality and there's protests in the form of white backlash. Racism. Endless war. Corruption. It's been 50 years and.......<br />
<br />
Natalie, I hope I haven't been to off putting, but I really don't see the world through rose colored glasses. Although your mom's photos have a positive affect. Thanks for listening. Good luck with the project and your future!!<br />
<br />
P.S. My wife read your questionnaire and wanted to respond, I think she'll be sending you her thoughts. OK?<br />
<br />
A snapshot or two of me in the Army, circa 1968!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgliVbTDxKFUb0bzTjo7PiWF77zi-1SMpBR3gbMX-mEgAqK15-SipuvQ0PPNBuT9NR8E6yVFMvZ2agsKaJ35tdxZnJZ7HQbFHnpJh6laMzyFlaQtsw6h-hgBDWqV8ET-UOLffwBsr3h3ds/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1e4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="863" data-original-width="894" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgliVbTDxKFUb0bzTjo7PiWF77zi-1SMpBR3gbMX-mEgAqK15-SipuvQ0PPNBuT9NR8E6yVFMvZ2agsKaJ35tdxZnJZ7HQbFHnpJh6laMzyFlaQtsw6h-hgBDWqV8ET-UOLffwBsr3h3ds/s320/fullsizeoutput_1e4.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-cefFMepPE0JdP4d-7poMpovOiL72Ee5G3_shPOXayoju7Sb5iRhZqDzHzHFrhZFmUu3RKgbZ0Y2Hr3s3O_F5m0U9LHrgi7nZcqfLTFBysYCavgxTMx__AbG14KCuhmZyI1ruHX2mO-M/s1600/fullsizeoutput_357.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="971" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-cefFMepPE0JdP4d-7poMpovOiL72Ee5G3_shPOXayoju7Sb5iRhZqDzHzHFrhZFmUu3RKgbZ0Y2Hr3s3O_F5m0U9LHrgi7nZcqfLTFBysYCavgxTMx__AbG14KCuhmZyI1ruHX2mO-M/s320/fullsizeoutput_357.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3389570537068675723.post-90691538064203936532019-02-23T09:00:00.001-08:002019-02-23T09:02:57.958-08:00Fog City<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
February 22, 2019</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So What?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Iâve been thinking that it could be possible to use this essay format for writing blog entries. It shows the date and title and formats the writing in a easy to read block. Christine, my beautiful wife just returned from a baseball game at USF, where the Dons won. She was so excited she ordered a Round Table pizza. Actually itâs not much of an excuse because tradition has it, we always have pizza on Friday night. It is Friday isnât it? Well the street lights just went on so we have to call the kids in from playing in the street. Oh they are all grown and have their own kids, how wonderful!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYco6-V_FzFTJetZ5HSXiJWTMyxzJfcQmhijdu4vOtjc7BFx0kXSHueO8xQAyJxkagXZc9kjBzA1oiZLbi8lqAzwQjctZvRGoC6KTbF1BZzz8sbQKOiO1ATOWYu0vOgbJH57_Ee0Zy8pI/s1600/IMG_5813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="1124" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYco6-V_FzFTJetZ5HSXiJWTMyxzJfcQmhijdu4vOtjc7BFx0kXSHueO8xQAyJxkagXZc9kjBzA1oiZLbi8lqAzwQjctZvRGoC6KTbF1BZzz8sbQKOiO1ATOWYu0vOgbJH57_Ee0Zy8pI/s320/IMG_5813.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Thomas Raherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03819724679816344251noreply@blogger.com0