Opening Day

Something there is about the beginning of the season and us Little League boys that just won’t let baseball pass unnoticed. I have had three connections from the old Pittsfield South League in the past two days – dredging up all kinds of images: smells, sights, sounds -whole scenes that all took place 60 plus years ago. Very strange…

But maybe not – Baseball was the center of the universe during that short time between age 9 and 12, from in just Spring until August with Little League, and then the fantasy follow up of the big boys through the World Series. Playing ball was what we did – it was our job, our communion, all that mattered. Or my birthday each year I would ask for five new baseballs from my grandparents, in advance (August 15 was far too late in the season for such a treasure), and they would deliver - a luxury. Each ball came in its own cardboard box nestled in tissue paper, and smelled of wax and vanilla. The hide was smooth and the seams perfect. I would use them one at a time, first only to play catch, then run down, then finally pick up games. Eventually they would be gone – lost in the tall grass beyond the playing field, hit too far and into the river, or nabbed by the dog who had other sport in mind.

Pittsfield had the double A team for the Red Sox at old Waconah Park (which vaguely resembled Fenway, but with a much lower ”monster”) and some fine players at the high school level, some of whom went on to play some pretty good ball in the majors - Mark Belanger shortstop for the Orioles and Tommy Grieve center field and then General Manager for Texas in particular. Tommy and I were on the same Little League team, the Elks Club, and he was far better at 9 than I was at 12. At that point I had some seniority and experience and as the catcher had a certain standing at the heart of the beast, but we all saw that the little blond kid could hit the hell out of the ball and was something special. The last time I saw him up close and personal was at Clapp Park in Pittsfield in the late ‘60’s where I went to throw a Frisbee with a girl friend and he was there tossing a ball around. He had just been drafted by the Washington Senators and I barely recognized the strapping young man he had become at 19. We chatted briefly and went our ways and that was that. Later, much later and still, I wonder: Was he GM of the Rangers when Bush was an owner? Were they buddies? Did Tommy like music (his father had been a music teacher and band leader)? Did he remember the bushy eyebrows of coach Lyons and the damp cement smell of the dirt floor dugout at Demming Park field where we played? Where is he now?

I still stay up too late to listen to West Coast games, and will probably do the same when the Playoffs and the Series starts, even if the Red Sox don’t seem to have it this year. Such is the influence of youth – I’ll have to remember that for Merlin…

This is a test - this is a test - this is a test

When is enough, enough?

A few days ago I watched "Network" again. I do that about every other year, and every time after doing so I ask ""When will we reach that point"? When will we throw open the windows and shout, "We're mad as hell and we're not going to take it any more"?

Apparently we have not gotten there, yet  - the reaction to the amazing performance in Washington has been tame except for one poor woman who lost it and ended up dead in her car with her one year old strapped in a car seat behind her, and she might have lost it for other reasons. Why are we so passive? How can we accept this lack of governance, lack of seriousness, lack of substantive action on the part of our elected leaders (using the word with no conviction)?

Part of the reason may be that mainstream media has lost its soul to the corporate devil; part of the reason may be fear; part of the reason may be habit; part of the reason may be not having the time because we are all too engrossed in trying to get by. Or it may be that we have forgotten what is really important, become anesthetized by lack of challenge, thoughtful discourse and empathetic action.

Whatever the reasons, it is time to take a close look at what's going on, ask the hard questions, and act. Start personal, go local and get moving, now.  So MaineStreams relaunches. Join the fray.
    

2013 - New Year and still here

Dropped this ball - Too much going on and little discipline. It seems worth rekindling, and perhaps breathing life into, getting it to flame. No promises, no regrets. Get on with it.

This fiscal cliff show is like an 8th grade play - bad script, bad lines, bad acting before an audience that is captive in the auditorium until lunch. All semblance of good governance has been exposed and shown vacant.  

In an interesting little book I was reading today, "Opting Out of War", by Mary Anderson and Marshall Wallace, they posited that successful leaders were able to help their communities from falling into conflict when that were accessible, listening, consultative and accountable. I am afraid we have become so distanced from leadership, and leaders so impotent in the face of corporate power and individual wealth, that Democracy waivers on the edge of failure, and perhaps conflict is where we are headed.

Hope lies in local, where neighbor helps neighbor to live as best as they can, and we tune out the chatter and the banality, even as it encircles and imposes.

More soon.

10 July

For the past week I have been subbing for Mandoline on a poetry blog in which she participates -http://yourbestbeachbody.blogspot.com - which is worth checking out. It's been fun, and the dailiness of it easier in poetry than in prose. Here's the stuff of it:

immersion

daughter pushed me in,
he said between coughs, belching sea water
sitting on the sand wrapped in aluminum foil
surrounded by buff saviors proud of the day's catch,
ready to grill.
coulda drowned but here I am - fish outta water.
not in the slot though -
better throw me back.


day's heat done

The air turns petal soft and even,
tree wings hum,
downy arms cuddle me in evening -
I settle into the night and slow to sleep.


7 'n 7
Sweet and cheap, easy toxicity not too halitosogenic, almost legal
discovered in Bermuda one Spring when little 50s
buzzed us half buzzed
up and down the hills
between beach and banter lusting for love
or at least a semblance to recount
when back in between pale green New Hampshire walls
waiting for summer.
Where are they now?


heat

my glasses itch,
droplets weep, roll into rivulets, pool in my navel, overflow into the pond beyond the willow.
All cloth is excess, useless adornment, imposed.
Cats drape on shadow shoulders, dogs find cool rock pedestals legs splayed, wet tongued hunting trophies with relentless steam drives.
L I f e s l o w s
Listen…..the corn is growing.
Listen….. the Cool Cavalry is coming to give pause, allow sleep.


5 July

Give us this day
Sometimes you hunger and all of you knows it
and sometimes you lack elements
and your body doesn’t tell you
and sometimes you
just don’t care.
Our daily bread


4 July

The ell goes West from the old cape
sun pouring into morning coffee long cold.
love, loss, life - furled paint
on peeling shakes - new homes, different wasps
above a daytime sea of celebrating trefoils
orange over yellow and green

re-beginning, July 2010.

After a long layoff, I am restarting this blog with a on a week pace. Join me if you will.

There is something magical, physical that happens when the wind turns to the Northwest and the sodden air moves on, slowly at first, clinging to the earth, then more and more rapidly as the dry edge of rising millibars cleans the sky like a broom. Things become clear. The crisp green line of the treetops against blue sky appears from grey fuzz. Thoughts unscramble and become more linear. Goals seem more within reach, and the reach seems to extend. It’s a good time to take things on. John Cole, who somehow introduced me to Maine, said: “of all the winds that blow, I like the Northwest the best” and he had, as with many things, good reason.

There is an energy that rides this wind, too, that begs tapping. It pulls you from bed and on through the day as if a charge of unknown source had entered the system, cleaned all the pipes and tightened all the fittings. The force still wants direction and discipline, though, and whether they too are in the wind is a question that remains. I’ll ride it back to MaineStreams and see where it takes me, and you?

Funds for Haiti

Extend a Hand to Haiti

The devastation and death inflicted on the people of Haiti by the recent earthquake has been overwhelming. Humanitarian organizations are doing tremendous work, accompanied by governments, military units and volunteers to try to save those who can be saved: to provide shelter, food, water and emergency medical assistance in circumstances that are dire. Port au Prince was a chaotic, impoverished, sprawling slum before the quake, and now lies in shambles. Aid is getting there, with great difficulty, and resources for the immediate seem to be being made available through governments and a huge outpouring of donations from around the world. The ability of the system to use resources to best advantage is a challenge.

So how can we do something meaningful, something more personal that could make a real difference for Haitians? Interpeace, the organization I work with, does not have an active program in Haiti, but we have been exploring how best to have an impact on peace in the country for some time. Through that process we met and have been working with Guerda Prévilon, who runs IDEJEN (Initiative pour le Développement des Jeunes), an NGO working with youth who on the margin in Port au Prince and elsewhere in the country. I met her in San Salvador when I was there last week for a workshop, and was incredibly impressed by her commitment, intelligence and compassion. She left after the first day to return to Haiti, and so I did not get to know her as well as I would have liked, but I have been in contact with her since (she and her family were spared by the quake, but colleagues and many of the youth engaged with the organization are lost.) While IDEJEN is well resourced generally for its work (including through USAID as well as IOM, the organization with which I worked for 13 years) it is now faced with incredible challenges and demands that far exceed its mandate and capacity.


I have asked Guerda if she received a small, totally unencumbered contribution, she could apply it completely to a compelling need for which there are no other resources, and she replied immediately that “there are so many youths now who are victims of the quake that the are totally vulnerable and at risk” that any donation to help them would be most appreciated and used immediately. So, I am starting a fund and will transfer it 100% to Guerda in early February though the Interpeace office working on Haiti (Regional Office for Latin America and the Caribbean, Martin Arévalo - program officer). She will identify the best use for the contribution, and will report back as to its use in due course.


Such a contribution should not preclude any contribution that you wish to make to the Red Cross, Partners in Health, MSF etc, but if you would like to participate in a more direct and personal contribution to the people of Haiti, please join me. You can send me a check made out to me or to “Haiti Fund”, and I will provide a full accounting.


Thanks for your consideration,
David
182 Ridge Road, Bowdoinham, ME 04008
+1 207 522-4118