knoxburg

I saw Wade Davis speak at a Libary Foundation event in San Antonio. Among the many interesting things he said, one really caught my attention. He said, as a Canadian, one of the greatest symbols of American democracy is our library system. We have tremedous access to information here. Any man on the street can walk into a specialized library in Washington (the Library of Agriculture, for instance), ask a question, and immediately have a staff of several people doing research for him. Where else can this happen?

Recently I saw a movie about German-born photographer Hansel Mieth. She did a lot of work on social injustice and had pictures of a WWII internment camp for Japanese Americans. It reminded me of someone I once met.

When I was 17, I spent a month or so in San Miguel de Allende. I stayed at the Hotel Vista Hermosa, near the Jardin. There were several semi-permanent residents and we ate most of our meals there in the courtyard. At that time many of the foreigners in San Miguel were dropouts or runaways of some kind. All ages. I met a woman there of Japanese descent who, although she was born American, had spent part of her childhood in an intern camp. I had never heard of the interns and was fascinated by her story.

I now read about how bitter those people are about what happened. This woman was not bitter, and, looking back, she thought it all made sense in wartime and wasn’t so bad.

We watched the first moon landing there. After lunch, we all piled into the hotel owner's apartment because he had a TV (color).

CRM suggested some of the really old stories be told. I wish I knew more of them; I mostly remember snippets. One small one comes to mind.

Several stories involve pulling the leg of Yankee visitors to the area. Once, Daddy Edmund (or someone like him) was on Caddo Lake with a visitor. As they rowed along the bayou, the visitor asked if there were any Indians in the area.

"Sure there are."
Daddy Edmund pointed at a black man standing on a nearby pier. "There's one right there."
"That's an Indian?"
"Sure is. Let's go say hello. They are friendly and I know a few words of the language."

As they rowed past, Daddy Edmund raised his right hand in the intergalactic 'we come in peace' sign and said, "Wha' He".
The man returned the gesture and replied, "Wha' who?"

A wild-west adventure for the visitor.

That chicken story reminded me of a thrilling experience I had on the way home from Seattle on that trip.

Looking for a present to bring home for my wife, I bought a stuffed animal that was an emperor penguin and about three feet tall and very realistic. I couldn't put it in my luggage so I would have to carry it on. Feeling quite foolish, I entered the airport carrying the penguin. The results were sudden and unexpected.

Every single person I passed smiled, made eye contact, said hello, waved. All the girls wanted to talk to me and fondle the penguin and know its name. Groups of skipping children trailed in my wake. Every employee at every counter treated me like a king with smiling service. I have never felt anything like it in my life. This continued right onto the airplane and into the airport at home. I hated to leave. I was in a convertible and strapped the bird into the passenger seat. All the way home, more smiles and waves. When I walked in the house, more glee.

I don't know why I don't take that penguin everywhere.

A few years back I went to Seattle to take a one-week course at MSU. Having never been there, I decided to go up on Friday and see some sights before school on Monday. I threw a small tent and sleeping bag in my kit just in case.

On Saturday afternoon I decided to drive up to Cascades National Park, take a look, and find a place to throw down my bag. I stopped at Nordstom’s on the way and picked up a blazer and a couple of suits along with some hushpuppie-like shoes to wear at the park instead of my tassel-loafers.

As I neared the park I picked up a box of Kentucky Fried for my wilderness supper and arrived late afternoon. There was about an hour or so of daylight and the map showed a campsite away from the hubbub about two or three miles up an easy trail. I have had my share of outdoor experiences, backpacking, mountain climbing and the like, so I had little trepidation. The worst that could happen would be to curl up under a tree for the balmy August night.

Lacking a backpack, I set out alongside the stream with the tent and sleeping bag in one hand and a water bottle and the chicken in the other. In wool slacks, a button-down shirt, and my new hush-puppies I was ready for anything. With no contour lines on the map, I was not aware that the short hike involved about a half mile vertical rise. No problem. So maybe I’d have to feel my way along in dim light the last few minutes.

By the time I got to where I thought the campsite must be, it was pitch-black like a cave. As I groped around, taking very small steps to avoid walking off a cliff or running into a tree too hard, I heard the unmistakable ‘thoing’ of my foot tripping over a tent line. With no light, I stopped to consider things. A man’s voice, no less than three feet away, barked, “Hey! We’re already camped here. Find another spot.” “Oh. Sorry.”, I replied. A light came on inside the tent pressing against my leg. Zipping sounds. His head popped out and there was a long pause as his flashlight slowly panned from my head to my feet to my sleeping bag to my box of chicken.

“Don’t you have a light?”
“No. I was expecting to get here before dark.”
“Where are you from?”
“Texas”
In the dark I felt the look on his face that said, “That figures.”
"You can use my light. No, I'll help you find a spot. Hang on a second."
A female inside the tent, “Who the hell is that?”
“Some guy…(mutter, mutter).”

We found a spot and he agreed to hold the light for me while I set up the tent. I tossed the bag, the water, and the chicken in and said, “Well, thanks. I guess I’m all set now.”

A few moments later, he hollered back from the darkness and asked, “Have you ever been anywhere with bears around?”
“No.”
“Well, you’ll want to get that chicken out of there.”
“Oh, I’m going to eat the chicken.”
Exasperated, he added, “Then you’ll want to get the box out of there.”

When I awoke, my new pals were gone; I broke camp and sauntered down the mountain with another glorious wilderness experience under my belt.

I am certain that man is still telling his version of this story and I would give anything to hear it.

I like this blogging. I haven't quite figured out how to get it to flow. It is interesting to squeeze and see what comes out.

It seems much easier to complain, rant, flame, make fun of, or whatever, rather that think of something interesting or useful to say. Is this just a reflection of my own attitude? Just laziness? For instance, what I mostly remember about yesterday was trying to park on the Drag and having two girsl on bikes scream at me for being in their way. "Out of the way, a******!" "This is a bike lane, jerk!"

One answer for me might be to try to put some of my stories to pen. I have lots of them. They are all kind of like Uncle Wiggley stories. Uncle Wiggley and the Airship, Uncle Wiggley and the Balloons, etc. You know, Knox and the Cave, Knox and the Pickpocket, Knox and the Woman in Africa, Knox and the Fried Chicken, Knox and the Man with a Spear. Anyway, I'll try to find something. Life can't be that boring.

Downtown after lunch, I stood on the corner, looked up at the sun and let the overwhelming warmth of the world wash over me.
Of course, I was soon accosted by a lunatic and the spell was broken.
I know goodness is horribly boring, but sometimes it must be acknowledged.

For someone who rarely leaves the house, blog content takes some thought. I may have to start making things up, but real-life (when you can get it) is usually more entertaining if put in the proper context.

I did go out for a lunch burger at Waterloo. After, I strolled next door to Waterloo records where I stumbled onto the echoset CD I didn't know existed. Always eager to support he local yokels, I picked it up, paid, and left. I am checking out that CD now. Sounds a lot like the Sisters to me, but not so oppressive. Impressive.

I am thinking one thing a blog is good for is to solicit free information. For instance, can anyone tell me why some people feel compelled to shout into cellphones? At lunch, a couple was quietly chatting in the adjacent booth. Her phone rang and she began shouting as if it were a tin-can telephone. Appropriate for saying something like, "We're pinned down. Send in the napalm!"

Oh, well.

Last night I went to let the dog out about 1am and it was snowing up a storm. Big wet clumps and lots of it for about an hour or so. I walked out into the street to watch it fall in the streetlight. Surreal in these parts. The black dog got covered and shook it off every few minutes. I drove around and went to Deep Eddy for a beer to see how the natives would react to the phenom; wasn't disappointed.

Before retiring, I made a small snowman on the porch rail. The little man is now melting on this beautiful sunny day.

It sleeted for an hour and a half this morning. Winter precip is a rarity here. City will be paralyzed. Employees that went to work will be let off at noon. The almost-blind dog woke me up barking at the noise of the sleet. Dog doesn't like new things.

I had my first T'ai Chi lesson day before yesterday. As part of my New Year's special I was issued a uniform of black pajamas. On Monday, if I am worthy, I may commit to earning the coveted black sash.

The piano tuner came today. It is always a pleasure. He knows everything about pianos and music and you can tell he loves our piano.

The best is when, on days like today, he has to take the piano apart to make a repair. I watch and ask a lot of questions and always learn a few new things. He seems to enjoy laying the piano lore on me. Today, I learned what all the pedals do. I have never seen anyone use any pedal but the one on the right, which sustains all notes that are played while it is depressed.

On a grand piano, the middle pedal serves as a selective damper or sostenuto pedal. That means it sustains only notes that are being held down at the time the pedal is pressed. This pedal is almost never used. Because people expect a piano to have three pedals, some pianos have a pedal with a spring so you can push it, but it doesn't do anything.

The left pedal, on a grand piano, moves the keyboard slightly to one side. This allows the hammer to strike using some felt that hasn't been mashed down and made hard over time. It softens the note and changes its quality slightly. No one uses this pedal either.

I also learned that grand pianos have a repetition lever in the works of the key. This allows a note to be repeated without completely releasing the key first. Chopin was the first major composer to have this technology at his disposal.

...More about piano tuning.

It's a soggy, rainy day here in the Kingdom. The construction crews are quiet. The dogs are in their houses.

hello world