My Place of Peace and Healing

 

Image © 2020 by Ralph F. Couey

"Be Still.

Be Quiet.

Just...Be."

--Unknown

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

I think for many of us, when life just gets too much, there is a place; a quiet place, of peace and beauty to which we can retreat and for a precious space of time, shut the world out.  We all need such a place, and such a time, especially in a time when angst seems to consume the world around us.  It is necessary to take time to put space between us and the rest of the world because the constant assault of negativity takes a toll on our minds, our emotions, and our spirit.  This place of refuge will be different for each person. I'd like to tell you a bit about mine.

On O'ahu, there are a lot of beaches.  Some, like Waikiki, Ala Moana, and Sunset are well known.  But there are others that aren't as well known, or populated.  On the north shore is a stretch of state beach park named for the nearby town, Hale'iwa.  I'm told that the translation means "House of the Frigate Bird."  It is a short stretch of beach between the road and the water, mainly because in 1964 when the state built Magic Island adjacent to Ala Moana beach, they took a lot of sand from the north shore beaches.  As a result, not only is it a narrow beach, but just a few feet into the water, rocks from an ancient lava flow cover the shallow sea floor, making it kinda iffy for swimming.  At one time, this was a wonderful beach, plenty of sand, and no rocks. Not now.

Anyway, it is an area of some historical note.  Just a bit up the coast is an abandoned airfield from which two pilots, Lieutenants Welch and Taylor, took to the air on December 7, 1941 and were two of the very few pilots who scored aerial victories against the Japanese Navy that day.  I've been there, not much to it, just a lonely strip of asphalt surrounded by trees.  

Hale'iwa is a place where Cheryl and I used to go to watch the sunset.  Not many people go there, so its always quiet and peaceful.  And in Hawai'i, there's never a bad sunset.

Poets, Love, and Death

Columbia Records, Inc.

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

Like many of you, the gift of 21st century tech allows me to carry my music collection around on my phone.  It's more convenient than toting around an iPod or similar device.  One can only have so many pockets.  The collection is an eclectic mix of rock, religion, jazz, traditional Irish, classical, and even some country and western.  The music makes my long walks better by helping establish a good pace, and when I'm in the car and there's nothing worth listening to on the radio, I can fill the time with something that is worth listening to.  Some of the songs are relatively new, some are hundreds of years old.  And there is that music which was associated with the protest movements in the '60's.  Among these are songs by Dylan, Peter, Paul & Mary, and Simon and Garfunkel.  These songs were the soundtrack of my youth, and bring back some good memories.  Once in a while, I'll be listening to a particular song, a familiar one, that suddenly opens a door into new understanding; a context formed over the years.

In September 1966, Simon & Garfunkel debuted a new single from their third album, "Parsely, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme."  The tune, entitled "The Dangling Conversation" at first glance was the retelling of yet another gritty New York romance gone south.  The song didn't chart well, only climbing to number 25.  Simon later remarked that the lyrics were "above the kids."  But that day, for the first time, I listened -- really listened -- to the lyrics.

Paul Simon has a gift for creating images in his words that are deeply textured, creating not just a scene, but a piece of life itself, something not so much seen as felt.

"It's a still-life watercolor

of a now-late afternoon

As the sun shines through the curtain lace

And shadows wash the room" 

Taking Shelter Within a Game

Tyreek Hill

from Kansascity.com

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

I am thrilled to have the NFL back, even with all the atypical caveats that attach during these difficult times.  With the abbreviated MLB schedule, and the uncertainty regarding the other pro and college sports, it is for me an important touchstone towards that nebulous state we used to call "normal."

I am a Kansas City Chiefs fan.  Have been as long as there has been a Kansas City Chiefs.  I was eleven years old when the first Super Bowl occurred, and 14 when they won their first championship in 1970.  Between then and that scintillating victory last February, there lay 50 years of disastrous outcomes that at times could only have been crafted by Stephen King.  The victory in Miami was so much more than just a football game.  It was a moment when the past was finally buried.

Along with all the other members of Chiefs Nation, I awaited with great glee the approach of the new season.  Because of some brilliant wheeling and dealing by GM Brett Veach, the Chiefs returned almost the same roster for the new season, led by an inhumanly good quarterback and a brilliant head coach.  All the experts (a term to be used advisedly) predict that this team will repeat as Super Bowl victors, and we were all lined up and ready to watch the parade.

This NFL season is unlike any other in its history.  The Pandemic has hung on stubbornly, and effectively changed the paradigm of all our lives.  The protest movement growing out of the deaths of African-Americans at the hands of police officers has moved front and center.  

9/11: What Have We Learned?

 

Flight 93 National Memorial

Image © 2011

by Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

I won't bore you by telling you where I was and what I was doing when the news came through.  I won't expend the words recounting the events of that dark day.  I won't even try to articulate how that day impacted that circle of friends and acquaintances that surrounded me at that time.  But as we are upon the 19th anniversary of September 11, 2001, there are some things that need to occupy our thoughts.

It's hard to believe the speed at which the intervening time has seemingly passed, and the miles we have traveled as a country since then.  Times have certainly changed.  The world is an entirely different place.  But we are still deeply, irredeemably divided, standing on either side of a political and social chasm that widens noticeably each day.  The lesson about unity which was so harshly taught that day has been swept aside by a seeming competition as to who can hate more intensely.  In 2011, it took an attack; a disaster unprecedented in our history to drop the walls of separation, at least for a time.  I think if an attack of that magnitude happened again today, we might come completely apart in the spasm of blame which would surely follow.

So, the question begs:  What have we learned?

The passage of years has largely healed the pain of the wound America suffered that day.  There will be ceremonies of remembrance and commemoration in Manhattan, Arlington, and outside of Shanksville.  There will be smaller events scattered across the country.  The media will cover the events locally, but I haven't heard if the Big Five will carry them nationally in their entirety.  I doubt that most Americans will consider it must-see TV.

In a sense, this reduced awareness is a sign that America is healing.  In another sense, it is a sign that what has been a painful memory to many is about to become history for all.

Seasons

Autumn in the Shenandoah

Image © 2015 by Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

For as long as I can remember, I have looked forward to the coming of autumn.  Part of that arose from living in Missouri and after enduring the heat and humidity of summer, how wonderful was the arrival of much cooler and drier air.  But always the best experience was the turning of the leaves.

For about three weeks, the world became a bright cacophony of color as the trees turned from green to spectacular reds and golds.  As the leaves began to fall, there came that remarkable smell that arose from the ground as I walked through the forest, kicking up the leaves.  Fall was always a time when my spirits rose and joy returned.  One strong memory lives, a day when I took my motorcycle and rode along western Pennsylvania's twisty, windy roads dappled in sunlight and leaves.  Towards evening, the light from the setting sun slanted through the trees and made the already vivid colors even more spectacular.  I remember the cool, scented air flowing past as I negotiated the tight curves.  It was one of those singular moments when I felt amazingly intensively alive.

Along with the change of seasons came the change of wardrobe.  Shorts and t-shirts were packed away to be replaced by jeans and sweaters.  I loved wearing a sweater while being outside in autumn.  The nights grew chillier until the first frost.  Those mornings saw the early sunlight illuminating that silvery patina on the grass.  There was a snap to the air that pulled energy from deep inside and planted a smile on my face.  The best time was in late October when the leaves were at peak.  For about two glorious weeks, the world became beautiful and exciting.  Of course, that never lasted as long as I would have liked.  Once the leaves lost their colors and dropped to the ground, we had a few weeks where the world became shrouded in a kind of noir, consumed in brown and black.  Then came that interminable wait until the snow began to fly, covering the dead landscape with a blanket of white lit by jewel-like ice crystals by the sheer brilliance of the winter sunlight.

The Kansas City Chiefs and the Winds of Change

 

VectorStock #1462503

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

The winds of change blow wildly these days, particularly where ethnic symbology exists.  Sports teams who have used Native American symbols and names, some for more than a century, are just now becoming sensitive to how those portrayals are perceived by those who hold that real life heritage.  The Washington DC football team has shed its controversial "Redskins" moniker, but as a replacement is still being debated, will be known this year as...the Washington Football Team.  Practical, if not particularly inspirational.  The Cleveland Indians have stated that they will be considering a change to another name as soon as one is nominated that everybody can agree upon.  Other teams are feeling the pressure as well.  

The Kansas City Chiefs were not named after Native Americans, but rather a former mayor H. Roe Bartle, whose nickname was "Chief."  But the symbology adopted by the team after their move from Dallas to KC has reflected the Indian motif.  The association went beyond the helmet symbol, the touchdown flag, and the stadium name to include a horse named "Warpaint," who galloped around the field after every touchdown, rode by a team employee wearing a ceremonial headdress.  Fans as well chose costumes such as the headdress, painted faces, and one Arrowhead legend known as "Arrow Man," who showed up at games wearing the opponent's jersey liberally perforated by arrows.  But as cultural awareness has started to mature, even this team is looking at alternatives.

One of the choices, the most popular, as I'm given to understand, would be the Kansas City Fire Chiefs.  Firefighters are some of the most universally loved public servants in America, but this new association dates back to a tragedy that happened almost 32 years ago.

"All I Wanted Was a Darn Refrigerator"

LG Industries

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

We're all trading stories these days as to how life has changed with the Pandemic.  To this point, I've been focused on the obvious things, such as masks, distancing, large gatherings, and the daily drumbeat of statistics.  But there are other ways in which the influence has been felt.

A few days ago, the power went out in Pearl City about 2:30 in the morning.  I was awakened by the sudden silence from the grumbly air conditioner in our bedroom.  The power was down for about four hours.  Now, this happened back in January or February and the result was a fried thermostat in one of the refrigerators (the one in the rec room).  We lost a couple hundred dollars of food from that episode.  For some reason, I had allowed myself to forget that particular outcome.  It was two days later when I opened the freezer door, and realized what had happened.  In my defense, I had spent a good portion of those days trying to get all of the electronics back up and running, and interfacing with the cable company about a recalcitrant DVR.  (And let me tell you how much fun THAT was...)  This power outage was different than the last.  All our devices -- computers, modems, routers, external drives, the television, and those pesky microwave clocks -- had to be restarted, reset, and rebooted not once, but multiple times before they became fully functional.  Most modern electronics are supposed to be protected from events like this, but for whatever reason, it took extra effort this time.  Not to mention the aggravation.  

I called the appliance repair folks and was told that he couldn't come out for another three days.  I moved as much of the expensive food (is there any other kind?) into the kitchen freezer.  I managed to save a lot of it, but we still ended up trashing about $300 of defrosted food.   Thankfully, this happened the eve of trash day.

Fast forward to today.  Cheryl and I discussed the situation and decided that perhaps the best solution would be to purchase a new fridge, one that perhaps wouldn't be as susceptible to power outages.  The closest place is Home Depot, where we found a unit (pictured above) for a really good price that fit the hole in which the current one sits.  Since there are no water lines for either fridge, there was no reason to get one with an ice maker or water spigot.  A very basic, simple refrigerator.  Easy, right?

Now, the bad news.