Underwood

Composite, IR typewriter keys, island on lake, old script letter

The sun is rising through a light haze probably from the Canadian forest fires. Hummingbirds are swooping about and the fountain is making that wonderful falling water sound. (Which also makes me want to pee.) I should start my morning walk but maybe today, just today, I’ll sit and watch and think a bit.

  A week ago I was walking in an antique “mall” and saw an old typewriter in one of the dealer stalls. I stopped to look, and like a puppy, a typewriter called out for me to take it home. After some discussion with the owner regarding today’s outrageous prices, inflation, old broken stuff, etc., the dealer and I agreed that the typewriter would only be safe going home with me.

  I am now the proud owner of a mostly functional 1927 Underwood 4 Bank Portable Typewriter. I rolled a piece of paper into this wonderful little machine, happily banged on the keys and saw the typeface magically appear on the paper. I won’t actually use the thing as a typewriter but rather as an icon of what I’ve really wanted to do all my life…write. And perhaps as a memorial to that goal since I don’t seem to have the drive to make the writing consistently happen. But I digress.

  The Underwood came with a ribbon, a sad thing, well used and looking tired from all of its beatings. I thought of the previous owners and all the ideas they might have typed on the machine, the intellect, the love, the hate, life’s happenings that the ribbon captured and transferred to paper and then someone else’s mind. I don’t believe thoughts like this are relevant in today’s younger generation…the thought of an inter-generational connection through touching…I am pretty sure that concept is no longer in vogue. My generation may have been the start of that disconnect.

  “Back in the day” people passed their treasures to the next generation. Sterling silver and “fine” china were probably at the top of the list. Heirloom furniture, jewelry, knick knacks, too were worthy. But life changes and the values of generations don’t always match. I distinctly remember my grandparents getting ready for holiday dinners. I was the one who polished the silver that had been in the fabric-lined drawer for 11 months…since the last time I polished it. When I was quite young I was always admonished to “take care” when handling the dishes because it was fine “china.” Those are fond memories of the tradition carried on by my parents who inherited the silver and the china. When my parents passed my sister and I split up the things. And things evolved.

  For a few years my family used the silverware and the china at Thanksgiving and Christmas, the same as my parents, the same as my grandparents, the same as their parents. But then, well, things changed and the traditions we were building didn’t need “things” to succeed. And so the china stayed in the cabinet with the silver until we moved.

When we moved it was time to downsize. Kids not interested in china or silver. Time to sell the heirlooms. Not so fast. The pandemic was still ongoing. And the “market” for silver and china had fizzled, years before the pandemic. The value of the silver was in the melted ounce, not in the wonder of its making. And most of the stuff I had was silver plate with no value. Gone. Except for one little bit of stuff.

My grandfather was a printer by trade, a woodworker by avocation. He loved the smell of freshly lathed wood and turned simple boards into objects of functional beauty. When I was three years old he made me a wooden desk with a matching wooden bench and wooden toolbox. It was “child sized,” painted fire engine red with decals of bears on the desktop. I’m told I used it for years. When I was older, it was stored in my closet. When I joined the Air Force it moved with me to Texas, Utah, and Virginia with periods of storage. In Virginia it moved with us from Arlington to Alexandria to Springfield to Richmond. It’s rich with memories of my grandfather…not so much in the desk itself, I don’t remember those early years, but I do remember being with my grandfather in his shop where he taught me to use the lathe and the other power tools that scared the hell out of my mom.

Our seven month old granddaughter is now the owner of the red desk. Of course, she won’t have memories or direct stories of my grandfather to give her clues about his love of woodwork or his skills with a linotype. But she might imagine his hands crafting the wood, painting it red, and putting the stencils on, with love for his grandson. The mystery of the heirloom is the imagination it inspires.

And that’s the way I am with this typewriter.

The Underwood

Sunrise

We’ve had several days of storms, some severe, although not as bad as those in Texas. Fortunately for me, the weather at sunrise has been peaceful, all without storms and some without clouds. I say fortunately, because I’ve started waking up early, between 4:30 and 5 and I’d forgotten what a great time of day this is.

The typical summer day here is hot and humid, very humid, and I hate humidity. But at my advanced chronological achievement, I need to walk or I’ll freeze in place. And so off I go just as the sun is rising. I don’t walk too far, just far enough to feel good and loosen up. I walk to a house down the road that has chickens, goats, and dogs. If I hit the time right, right at sunrise, the rooster begins to crow. I love that sound, a sound that will definitely wake you up. Better than reveille which startled me awake in AFROTC summer camp some 50 plus years ago. A brain cell exists in my head that is holding that bugle’s blare to this day. So I don’t mind the rooster. I’m guessing his neighbors don’t necessarily agree with me.

I love sitting on the porch listening to the birds just after daybreak. They call each other in greeting, in search of food, in awakening. Pretty cool. I thought about tuning in a meditation channel but then reconsidered because I’m pretty sure the sound of birds in the morning is a meditation recording somewhere. The hummingbirds buzz about and feed on our flowers on the porch; they are fun to watch as they dive, swoop and attack their competitors.

A couple of mornings ago, I launched my drone right over the house so as not to bother anyone closeby. This is the view to the east, our rural neighborhood is slowly disappearing and the signs of metropolis getting closer and closer. The hill off in the distance is a trash hill.

Cancer Flashback

Everything is fine. My wife and I whizzed around town for routine follow up medical visits during the last few days. Since we moved, Diane has only seen an oncologist but he suggested she also see a surgeon and have some tests done to ensure everything was still A-OK. And it is. A relief. But always a worry no matter how routine…it was 6 years between diagnosis the last time and so there is always tension. I go with her to each appointment and treatment, we tell them we come in pairs.

We visited an oncology clinic and a cancer imaging center. While we were waiting, I watched women, young and old, come in, sit down, wait and go in. I tried to imagine what they were thinking. Most were deep in thought, few were on their phones. Some with wigs, some without, some with canes most without. Some with no signs of cancer.

I sensed their determination and their strength. I knew they were fighting fear and uncertainty as well as the cancer. I silently wished them well. Diane is still cancer free, it’s like winning the lottery.

The image above is of Fairfax Hospital the night of surgery in July 2019. Chemo and surgery over…radiation a month away.

Water on Water

I went out yesterday in the rain. I know. I know. The risk of melting is ever present but then I did retire my broom decades ago so feeling quite invulnerable now. I was lucky, the rain was intermittent and I stumbled into one of the lulls; not raining, but a heavy mist. Raindrops. Not good for my camera, no matter how small they might be, but, soothing to the soul. At least at this rate of saturation. Few people were about when I walked from Tredegar to Brown’s Island.

I am in a George Nobechi workshop and our task this week is to find far-to-near photos, called En-kin-ho. This method of perspective is based on calligraphy and wants the viewer to see the near, the mid, and far scenes as each having value and that value is what takes the viewers eye into the image…not necessarily leading lines or other traditional methods of perspective. I don’t completely understand the concept but will keep shooting until there’s a click in my brain that automatically might drive the shutter.

Today, the sun comes and goes and so does the rain. Sometimes together! And me, well, I sit typing and looking at the bluebirds building a nest in the birdhouse just a few yards from my window. And smile.

Kim Who?

In a writing workshop earlier this week we were given a writing prompt Challenge. Here it was: You just won a trip to Paris with Kim Kardashian. Write about the experience. Fifteen minutes…no editing.

****************

I’d never been to Paris. I think I wanted to go but it wasn’t anything to die for. I’ve never seen a Kardashian episode so that certainly wasn’t anything to cry for. I hadn’t registered in any contest that might win me a trip to anywhere with anyone so that wasn’t something to sigh for. And then what happens next I can’t think of a lie for.! Holy crap. Free trip with Kim K to Paris dropped on me from an alien somewhere.

I went to Paris. On her private plane. She was sitting in a luxurious seat across the aisle. She smiled at me. No words.

  We landed at deGaulle Airport. I grabbed my luggage at the foot of the jetway steps and followed Kim K to the Black Mercedes G. I slid in beside her in the backseat. I wondered if I’d packed enough. I wondered if I’d remembered my bag from the plane. Oh. Yeah. I had. I threw my bag over the seat into the space behind.

We stopped at the Drawing House Hotel and were surrounded by people in tuxedos opening doors and grabbing our luggage. She looked at them then at me. Then she looked at my shoes. No words.

I followed a Clark Gable kind of guy as he ordered others to take my bag and follow him. She looked at me as she got onto the Penthouse elevator and I stood at the door to the lower floors. No words.

  The room was magnificent. A corner with views of Paris, the Eiffel Tower, The Seine, and the clear blue sky above. I waited, never leaving the room. For four days. No words.

A knock at the door, Clark Gable again. He scooped up my bag and took me to the G-car waiting at the door. Kim K was out minutes later. She looked into my eyes and then my shoes. No words.

 Time seemed to stop on the way back home, I couldn’t quite wrap my head around that I’d been to Paris and never left my room. I wanted to ask Kim K what she’d done. I had no words.

 I’m home. I’m not sure if it really happened. No words.

Forest Bath

Ginter Garden Stream

Broiling, steaming heat
falls away in soft shadows…
swirling, dancing leaves

I’ve always believed trees could communicate with one another…I’m not sure how I reached such a conclusion since trees were a scarcity where I grew up. I’ve read somewhere science has proven tree roots carry nature’s danger signals to other trees. I wonder about trees that stand all by themselves.

My photo workshop project this week from George Nobechi’s “Japanese Sensibility In Photographic Practice” had me searching to find examples of “Komorebi,” a Japanese word not directly translating to a single English word. Komorebi is a sense, an emotion, a feeling about walking in the forest. If you walk slowly, the sunlight seems to dance on the forest floor with the cool shadows of the leaves.

I think Komorebi is one element or could be one element of a “Forest Bath.” The Forest Bath, or the Japanese medicine of Shinrin-yoku (Forest Therapy) is walking in the forest, taking your time, breathing deeply, and immersing yourself into the experience. All of this can bring you peace and calm. You don’t need an entire forest, or even a grove, a single tree will do. Go out to your tree or trees, stand in the shade and watch the shadows of the leaves. Take a deep breath and think of your dancing leaf shadows spreading calm onto the chaos. If your mind starts to wander, concentrate on your breath and pick out the best dancing leaf in the shadows. Leaves, sunshine, a light breeze and you.

Komorebi.

I wrote the leading haiku yesterday after walking in the heat across a long field in the sunshine and entering the line of trees at the end of the field, next to the river. Not only did the heat go away, I sensed the calm. Pretty cool.

Morning sunshine

Butterfly Wings

Ginter Garden Butterfly

I imagine that if I listen closely, I’ll be able to hear the butterfly’s wings flapping. I’m sure the sound is small, like a distant whisper, an unfinished sentence. If I could, I’d ask the rest of the world to quiet down a bit as I aim my ears at the zigzagging, colorful little beast. Unbelievable aerial acrobatics and seemingly impossible flight paths belie the delicacy of the wings.

But, of course, decades of thundering jet engines and booming Fender amplifiers have left my ears constantly buzzing with the sounds of those careless years. Still…I watch and imagine the soft rustle of the creature’s wings calming the chaos of my internal roar.

Morning Air

From Park in High Point, NC

I was up early this morning. At sunrise. Except the sky was overcast. The air was cool and quiet…well, mostly quiet. Everything was quiet except for the water falling onto the rocks in our fountain. Then the birds started to call out and it was a different kind of quiet.

Cool morning. Bluebirds,
Geese, killdeer, singing, calling.
Crows on the lookout.

We have birdhouses here and there in the yard but only one had birds this year. The bluebird chicks flew off a couple of weeks ago but now we have another batch hatching soon. Perhaps it’s the same family. We also have a nest of baby finches in the wreath on our front door. We try not to use the door but have taken pix of the chix being fed by the parents. They are not so quiet when the parents are around and they are hungry. Which is apparently most of the time. I wonder what the Amazon person thinks, but they probably don’t notice, we’re just another door step.

Crows are ever present but not in our yard…just off to the house to the east. They have tried to invade some of our neighbors space, dive bombing their pets and even the people. The murder must have a nest or food source close by the neighbor’s house.

Memorial Day

Arlington National Cemetery

Whenever I visit Arlington or one of the other cemeteries for fallen soldiers, sailors, and airmen, I whisper, ”thank you.” Please pause for a moment this weekend and remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice for all of us.

My Uncle Bob “Stretch” Brandt was in the Navy during World War II on a ship called an LST, “Landing Ship, Tank.” He participated in two amphibious assaults, first in Sicily and then at Normandy where he landed on Omaha Beach. He survived but said the carnage was unbelievable, thousands upon thousands died. Years later he and my aunt returned to Normandy for an emotional visit. They stopped by a small museum in a village close to his landing point. He told the museum folks that he’d landed on Omaha Beach and they got to story telling. (My Uncle Bob was an awesome storyteller) Turned out Uncle Bob still had his Navy uniform from the war days, the museum didn’t have one like it and Bob offered his, they said “Absolutely.” They mounted it on a mannaquin with his name as the donor. I wonder if it’s still there.

Uncle Bob is resting in Miramar National Cemetery. Thank you.

Time Changes

Live Music @ Spring Run Vineyards

Yesterday afternoon we spent a couple of hours with our oldest daughter, our son-in-law, granddaughter Mae, and dog-in-law Simba. They met us at the Spring Run Vineyard after they’d put in a long day’s work. The Vineyard is only five minutes from their house!!! We sat on the deck overlooking the actual vineyard and the stage. Every Wednesday through June, the vineyard has Wine Down Wednesday with a food truck and live music; yesterday was Latino Night! The weather was perfect, 75 degrees, no wind, clear skies. I used to say, “A perfect day to fly.”

When I was young I would go to a place like Spring Run to “consume.” That is, to take in the music, the sites, the beverages, the companionship, the whatever, as fast as I could because I knew that in just a short bit I’d be back in the saddle chasing dragons again…back in the cockpit, or the IT sales, or IT management, or the kitchen, or whatever. I had to enjoy quickly and then downshift to work life. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the fun times, they were just jam packed with unthrottled input. I know I missed things, things perhaps more important than the things I noticed.

Yesterday I had the immense pleasure of sensory immersion…sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch…all with great conversation to make my 6th sense, the mind slowly take it all in. We weren’t in a hurry, it was, after all Mae’s schedule. The music was great, the wine and food were okay. It was like a mental spa date. A slow motion medley of pleasure and fun. I think I’ll do it more often.