Corvallis AC

There’s a phenomenon here in Corvallis, OR

That I call Corvallis AC

It’s a breeze that comes in from the Pacific

50 miles to the west.

It cools off the day and cools off the house and

Cools off the people in the house.

A zephyr

In Portlnd we had gorge winds from the Columbia gorge to the east,

But it often blew an ill-wind,

Snow and freezing ice,

As it blew below the warmer, moister sea breezes from the west,

It made freezing rain and black ice.

Transformers would explode in a vision of yellow sparks in the night,

And lights would go out.

But here in Corvallis everyone loves the evening zephyr,

Except maybe cyclist who complained to me,

On my Honda Motorscooter,

About the wind

With no one in front of them

To break the wind

And set the cadence

As we had on the first Cycle Oregon when we turned into the wind

From Mapleton to Florence on hwy 126

And made new friends and

Learned the protocol for drafting:

The leader changes, every mile, and each member of the line gets a chance

To face the wind.

Kites are abundant at the beach with strong winds for

Stunt kites that dance and swoop above the sand.

But no kites here,

Only the occasional turkey vulture

Soaring and sailing in the up drafts.

I envy them,

And I envy the woman in South Africa who

Went hang gliding with the cape vultures! Ahhhh!

So I will just enjoy the little zephyr who cools my patio

On the east side of the house.

My old neighbor sent their children to ACE school

And their science books said that the wind

Was the breath of God.

Thanks God.

-small town boy


Shame kills

It was a little matter, really,

But I felt it in my gut, all day,


I had given love notes to my dear friends,

And one took exception.

She felt uncomfortable enough to tell her supervisor

At the gym where I work out everyday.

He pulled me into the back room to tell me about it

And to also mention that my colorful spandex workout clothes were not appropriate.

I felt shame.

I knew what it was, but I couldn’t shake it.

I knew that I just had to let it work its course till it dissipated,

But it didn’t lessen, even a little.

I began different scenarios:

-Don’t go back.

-Don’t go back on the days she worked.

-Tell her I was sorry . (Her supervisor said he would)

-Go back as though nothing had happened, like an adult.

Finally after a wonderful birthday party filled with love,

It began to melt.

Until the middle of the night.

2 a.m. And I’m dealing with it, again.


All through this experience I’m thinking that Jeff (the Holy Spirit)

Has some life lesson going on.

It had all the hallmarks: deep emotional response, critical to my love experiment, and a threat to my plan of how to love others (by telling them) and a roadblock to what I wanted to do.

Finally, about three, I got the message.

It was Shame that killed my father.

You see he had committed suicide when I was nine.

He had been chasing other women, drinking to excess, and abusing my mother, but

It wasn’t until she served him with divorce papers that he decided to kill himself.

He did it, I believe, because all that he was doing was about to be made public.

He couldn’t live with the shame.

I remember the Super Christmas we had a month before he died.

He was making up for something with outrageous gifts.

I didn’t know that at the time he was already out of the house.

And the next month he took drugs (he was a veterinarian)

And died.

From Shame.

This is a great insight for me. I changed my last name two years ago because he had done this.

Now I feel his pain, his shame.

I’m sorry he felt this.

I love you dad.

thanks Jeff, for the lesson.

I love you too.

-Small town boy

Because you don’t believe…

  1. Because you don’t believe doesn’t mean He isn’t there.
  2. Because you don’t go to church anymore, doesn’t either.
  3. Because you haven’t noticed all the “coincidences” doesn’t mean he’s not working in your life.
  4. Just because you can’t stop to listen doesn’t mean He’s not talking to you.
  5. Just because you don’t pray doesn’t mean He’s not answering your unsaid prayers.
  6. Just because you don’t sing doesn’t mean the angel choirs are silent.
  7. Pay attention to the spaces in between.
  8. Look for Him and you will find him.
  9. Love lots. It’s Him acting through you.
  10. Don’t worry if you’re not perfect, He really loves the real you.

Just because.

– small town boy

I love you

Today is my seventy fifth birthday,

And I just want to tell you

That I love you, each and everyone of you.
               Family.                Friends

Strangers, acquaintances, Muslims, babies

             Jews, black people, Hispanics,

                      Asians, gays, God

                               And me


This is my bucket list:

1. Tell EVERYONE you love them.

That’s all; that’s it; for one day, now .

These are Burning Man principles: (let’s see if they apply to this effort?)

✔️ Be all inclusive, yep.

✔️ Gift, yep.

✔️ Decommodificate, yep

✔️ Radical self reliance, yep

✔️ Radical self expression, yep

✔️ Working together, yep

✔️ civic duty, ?

✔️ Leave no trace, yep

✔️ Radical volunteerism, yep

✔️ Immediacy, yep

Great, nine out of ten.

Golden Rule:

✔️ Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, yep

✔️ several of the Ten Commandments, yep

Anything else?

Should be simple, no?

Let’s start with you: I love you.

Pass it on.

-Small town boy

Will you walk with me?

My wife is always several steps ahead of me,

When hiking in the Rockies, she left me in the dust.

My dog walks with me now that Animal Crackers demoed a halter that makes her do so.

My great grandson walks just behind me, imitating my slow old man walk.

My pace is slow, my range is short, I have to sit once or twice when walking the dog around the park.

I use a cane when I go for a walk because of a full hip replacement in my right hip, it’s twenty five years old.

I’m seventy five next Friday.

I do better on my bike, a semi recumbent Giant Revive,

But I ride with no one.

I have a Honda 150 SHi, but it’s too small to ride with the Oregon Scooter Club in Portland or Salem.

My neighbor, the house my kids play at, has a small scooter unused in his garage.

I said, “We should go for a ride.”

His eyes brightened and he said, “yes.”

So I walk with my dog.

But I often think there’s someone else walking with me, right beside me, who’s in no hurry and always ready to sit next to me and talk.

I love Him for this.

He gets up with me in the morning, and we greet the day, and we talk about those who need help today and those who don’t, the list is long.

He’s with me the last thing at night, and we put the day to rest, and we talk about the things that happened today, the good and the bad.

He does not judge me or my actions or my thoughts or me.

He is my closest friend.

I decided to take life one day at a time when I turned seventy.

He helps with this.

Each day I purge my mind, my heart, my body, and my spirit of their respective baggage/histories/hurts.

And be open to the day He has in store for me, and the events, places and people it has for me.

I’m happy because He walks with me, 

And because I walk with Him.

– Small town boy

Just sitting around

Temperatures are high, over 100° in the Willammette Valley, 

88° here at the coast, warm for the coast.

We’re all lazing around the beach house.

My granddaughter is on the second floor deck, and her mother is down at the beach. 

John and I have been hiding inside, we’re both redheads. Playing nine ball on the pool table.

Betsy and the kids are in the living room with iPads. She is texting about s’mores made in a small cupcake pan, grandson playing his building game and granddaughter playing a spelling game with a friend from next door. She’s on John’s iPad because she left grandmas in the sun till it complained, so she’s off that one for a while.

I’ve escaped to the back (shaded and breezy) deck with iced tea, my iPhone (to write this blog) and my book, No god but God, which I’m enjoying very much. I’m reading it to honor Khizer Khan, a man of honor.

I’m mostly clothed, wishing otherwise, and hoping someone didn’t forget we’re making ice cream this afternoon.

I will leave this idyllic location early tomorrow morning to take grandson to soccer in Corvallis. He loves it and is quit good even though he’s only been in summer soccer for a few weeks.

I can hear but not see the ocean, sounds relaxing. No strong winds today.

Morning glories and blackberries have taken over the sand filter (septic system) this deck is built over.

House needs repaintimg on this (south) side. There’s a bat box up there by the third floor deck that’s too hot right now..

Germany just win the gold in women’s soccer defeating Sweden. (I had to go inside to upload the pictures).

Back to the deck. My dog was looking for me.

Love to you all.

Enjoy your vacation if you are where school hasn’t started up again (to prepare for testing).

Find somewhere to sit, quietly, alone, and do nothing.

– Small town boy

If you were me, what would you do?

I’m at a loss to decide

What to eat, how to quit smoking, what exercise to do, what book to read, what clothes to wear? And more…

If you were me, what would you do?

Would you eat better?

Exercise more or better?

Get a list of popular books?

And clothes, what about clothes ?

Why do we wear clothes anyway?

What are we hiding?

I think I won’t wear clothes today.

Oops, there’s someone at the door.

If you were me, what would you do?

Get dressed of course, naturally. 


Dress naturally? Hmmm…

Kilt? Shirt? Socks? Boots?

Seems unnatural to me.

If you were me would you observe cultural taboos? All of them?

Would you be embarrassed to be seen? Nude? 

Do you pull the shade/blinds when taking a shower? Quickly grab a robe or towel?

Or air dry?

 Look at yourself in the mirror?

If you feel embarrassed for others to see you? 


If I were you?

I’d seek opportunities to be without clothing.

I may, today.

– small town boy

If you remember…

These words mean trouble.

If you

Remember often proceeds I told you so,

A reminder of my foolish thinking.

A reminder if my failing memory.

A reminder of false priorities.

A reminder .

I remember life.

I remember love.

I remember hugs and kisses.

I even remember sex and erections long gone.

Do you remember?


Cuddling? In bed? Sleeping in the same room?

I do. Every night.

My body remembers too.

My body holds memories of touch and contact. And warm kisses. And holding hands. And sitting together   

And bench seats in cars that allowed you to sit next to me with my arm around your shoulders.

My heart remembers:? adrenaline, stomach churning, Pulse pounding, aching and loneliness.

My spirit also remembers:

 joint spiritual paths, joint friendships and joint prayers.

From memory comes hope.

From memory comes action .

Let me build new memories with you, enjoy your touch, seek celestial answers together, and enjoy being together and doing things together.

I love you, remember?

– Small town boy

My poop bag is my moop bag

When I walk Tawny, my red Golden Retreiver,

I carry poop bags in a blue bone container on the leash, orange colored.

When she poops, I pick it up.

She likes that I do this for her; it is preferable to pooping in the back yard and getting yelled at.

I like it too because it stretches my back.

I went to The Portland Regional Burn last year on Memorial Day, called SOAK, held in Tyghe Valley neat The Dalles, Or.

There I was given a MOOP bag.

MOOP stands for Material Out Of Place. I learned to pick up even the smallest MOOP.
We argued about dead bugs, removing only those which were out of place.

One on Burning Man Principles is “Leave no trace!”

When I went to Burning Man 2015 at Black Rock Desert near Reno, Nevada, I picked up MOOP so as to leave the playa in as pristine condition as we found it.

I mean these folks are serious, they had rakes to find the smallest thing.

Is peeing on the playa MOOP?

When I returned I noticed a particularly littered corner on North Lombard in St John’s in North Portland.

How ugly I said. Someone should pick it up, I said.

And so I did, starting with a plastic bag I found in the litter and then filling it with the rest of the mess.

When I deposited it at the True Value’s trash can, a man said thanks.

So, now when I walk the dog and pick up her poop, I leave the bag open for the rest of the walk around the park and fill it with MOOP before I dump it in the trash.

I know of at least one other old guy who picks up too.

Probably he doesn’t know it’s MOOP.

– small town boy