January Meditations

I have completed the manuscript of my mother’s book of letters written during my family’s Church of Christ missionary service in Brazil from 1968-1970. The project evolved into something so much richer than the letters as I edited and wrote the footnotes. I hope to release the book in the spring and promote it heavily in Christian literary circles.

In a cafe the other day, I paid $6 for a croissant. The price wasn’t marked on the display or anywhere else for that matter, and I was shocked when the barista rang it up. Six bucks!!!!!! It certainly didn’t rate as a $6 croissant, whatever that is.

On a similar note, a friend treated me to lunch and I felt like drinking a bloody mary. It cost $14. No thanks.

I still haven’t decided how to promote the Prefontaine book this coming spring.

Dad is still doing well in his assisted living center, although the cost is going up another $300 a month. It still shocks and saddens me to see elderly homeless people shuffling the streets around the center with all their possessions in tow.

Elmer and I continue on our early morning walks through the parks in the neighborhood, but haven’t walked into a story about the homeless in months. They just ended.

We also visit the dog park every morning and I enjoy my time there with other dogs and their owners. It’s a great way to begin the day. One of the regulars recently gifted me a set of pens he made and they are excellent.

I plan on a week long visit to the Oregon Coast some time in March to explore a few places I haven’t explored. There aren’t that many left.

I haven’t written anything about Oregon Tavern Age in a long, long time. It truly is dead as a topic for me.

I read most of the postmortems on Harris’ campaign in the liberal print press and they all felt off to me. None of these writers wanted to really get at the main points of why the Democratic Party can’t speak to working class people of all colors. It’s that simple.

As for the prospect of Trump’s second term, I feel almost indifferent; the Republic and the Constitution need drastic overhauls (or outright scrapping) and he just may be the right amoral man to do it, no matter how many people suffer.

I continue to write letters in longhand.

I drove past the striking Providence health care workers picketing in the rain and wind and cold. I honked my horn and gave the thumbs up. I never had to walk a picket line in my professional career.

My most recent visit to a certain small independent bookstore will be my last. Kids were running amok, screaming, tearing stock off the shelves and the parents and staff did nothing. In fact, one parent was playing hide and seek with her brat in the aisles. It was absurd.

My father in assisted living told me the other day he had a craving for gizzards. Gizzards! So I am on the hunt for gizzards.

I heard Rush and Queen while shopping in the grocery store. Dead. Dead. Dead. That music is so dead to me.