Dylan had it right... Memoir Monday, pondering elections

 And I am speaking of Bob, not Thomas here, though perhaps there is some odd connection between them.

Fifty five years ago I'd recently registered to vote for the first time. It was exciting and I took it seriously from that day on. I think I have only missed one major election in all those decades, 1968  when I was in college at Flagstaff and so caught up in a mess of personal issues that I forgot to change my registration from the Verde Valley precinct I had lived in. 

I cannot recall the 1964 election being too contentious. LBJ was running to be elected in his own right after taking over from the fallen JFK just over a year earlier. Challenging him was Barry Goldwater, then a senator from Arizona. For the most part, Arizona has been a conservative state almost from the first. The only recent Democrat they went for was President Clinton. Not sure what this year holds.

Barry was supported and favored by the John Birch Society, many notches less given to violence than say The Proud Boys but still staunchly supporting the US Constitution and the "American Way"--whatever in hell that is!! In my rather enmeshed family, dad was determined Democrat and mom a Republican though she seldom said much about that. She'd followed the lead of her own father who was Republican even if a railroad man and union supporter.  I voted Democrat that year FWIW and have changed back and forth a number of times since. Now I go mainly Libertarian although some will call that wasting my vote. Still I do that to make a statement; I do not trust or really support either of the major parties and believe they are all "crooks" and much more interested in amassing wealth and power, both personally and for their close circles than governing by and for the people. 

There were protests and riots and such in the 60s. The Vietnam War was going on and a very disputed matter that was. The younger folks were well into "rock" which was becoming the anthem and music of protest and revolution for that time. Rodney King happened and Kent State and for awhile one might think real change was coming--but it really didn't, not much and not yet. Things settled back to a dull me first keeping on mode instead. 

Of course Bob Dylan and the earlier folk singers he emulated for a start such as Pete Segar,. Arlo Guthrie and others were about protest and justice and many ideas that resonate today. He sang, "The times they are a changin'." He was at least partly right; they were but not in one huge leap. Barriers fall in the 1960s that could never be erected again. Rules were wiped away and many were no longer intimiidated by the idea of challenging authority, whoever or whatever that might be. 

I was far from an activist but once out by myself in college and life I drifted a few notches in that direction. A very liberal or progressive professor influenced me there for a couple of years. After my marriage I found myself,  really for the first time, in a much more conservative environment and absorbed that to some degree. Now I live under a peculiar crazy quilt of ideology and follow issues and sometimes people much more than party or label. 

I am horrified by the degree of raw virulent hatred I see in almost every direction. This is NOT how we make the world or any lives better. Looking back some five plus decades I can see no other time when the divisions were so enormous that it seems no one can bridge or start to heal them. This is frightening. For myself I really do not care; I will be out of here and this in due time, probably another decade or even less. But for my kids and grandkids and great grands coming along, I am very concerned. I fear they will not know the America and the life I knew. It was not perfect but it was always looking ahead, building on the past while working to be better--for everyone. 

My life was often hard, growing up in a one family depression where we were considered and treated like  the same kind of trash as anyone else who was poor and insignificant; race or color etc. really had very little bearing. You were part of the Upper Strata or you were shit. That is wrong; I agree and I see that, but it is sad to realize most do not recognize this is a class war and only partly about race or other labelable characteristic.  "Identity politics" is a wonderful method to divide and conquer, to keep the dissident masses fghting among themselves instead of going after the real enemy--that ubiquitous Power Structure. Would that all of us "Deplorables" could see how much better off we'd be to play us versus them on a much broader scale and cease to fight among ourselves over unreal differences that many are conned, misled or even brainwashed into falling for. 

We need some more voices like Bob Dylan to point a way and challenge everyone; he is old now like me and not reaching the millenials and later generations very well. Maybe somone will emerge but unless a third or other party hatches an amazing new leader who captures us with his/her charisma, passion and dauntless drive, I doubt I will see this. Will I be able to vote in aother election come 2024? My crystal ball is very clouded but I see nothing bright and alluring. Progress is not possible without change but sad to say, all change is NOT progress. 

Celebrating my favorite season in verse

 Over the years I often wrote poems about fall. September and October have been my favorite months since I was probably a 'tween, in that space between child and young adult.The wind somehow is less abrasive then, the blaze of sumemr is over and until I moved to Colorado, I really did not dread winter much. Along the southwestern border area, fall usually lingered at least until mid to late November. Halloween was rarely too cold to go trick or treating in your costume--mine were always home made--without a coat to  hide it! Some of my poems were dark but others full of the golden light that I associate with the Solstice to Equinox period of the year.  So enjoy if you will. 

These are all copyrighted, of course but if one touches you,  it can be shared with credit given. They span Arizona to Colorado and California, even to Colorado and New Mexico.  And some random photos from my collection, only the first is mine. The second either my dad's or late brother's and in Arizona.

September in Colorado        

September in the mountains

Comes in gold and brightest blue

to hold a potlatch for the lucky few.

     Brief the aspens golden dance

     Underneath the turquoise sky

     As if they knew the end was nigh.

Dance and be merry today

For too soon snowflakes will fly;

Dance and be happy, tomorrow we die.

   Wearing the sacred turquoise

    To celebrate the season

    The air is joyful, needing no reason.

To skip across the hillsides

Scattering leaves and flowers,

Cooling and drying, chasing the showers.

    September in the mountains,

    Dressed for a festive fling

    Remembers winter is followed by spring.

                        GMW, 24 Sep 1974

Fall Reflection

Golden haze of autumn days

That lead the heart in peaceful ways

And hold the winter’s roars at bay, 

Above the mountains, far away.

Wandering by lazy streams

Where drifting leaves echo the dreams

Of happy past and future sure

With summer’s bounty stored, secure.

A time to savor and reflect,

Enjoy what one must oft neglect—

The sense that when all’s said and done,

One is all and all are one.    

                        GMW, 1982

Summer’s End

Winter comes, but not here yet,

   she slyly lures us to forget

with these balmily lazy days

   of Indian Summer, her harsh ways.

Forget the snow, the wind, the cold,

   growing careless, getting bold--

grasshoppers dancing in the sun,

   heedless of tasks that lie, undone.

 

Forget October is not spring,

   manana's drowsy tune to sing.

Watching a scatter of golden leaves

   awaiting the end of their reprieves,

I am tempted, though I know

   how soon the wintery winds can blow;

How they chill me to the bone

   and make me fear and feel alone.

Anticipating harsher days

   and dreading winter's grinding ways

I yet enjoy this restful time--

   summer's last fling, a gift sublime.

                        GMW, C: 1994

Autumn at Huachuca          

Slowly summer fades to fall  

In little changes after all

Comes age or death or fall of night.

Only if you tune your sight

And other senses can you tell.           

Nature keeps her secrets well,            

But there are many subtle clues         

Appearing now to break the news.

Summer slowly slips away,

Bit by bit and day by day—

A hint of coolness in the air,

Leaves gone dusty everywhere.         

Clouds remain, but not the same       

Even birds have changed their game,

Now in flocks instead of pairs,

Singing different, sadder airs.           

                        GMW, 1992   

Autumn Gold

Gold is the color of autumn

   The flowers, the leaves and the light.

As green is the color of summer

   And blue is the color of night.

Pink is the color of springtime;

   The color of winter is gray;

But I love the gold of autumn

   And wish the color would stay.      

                        18 Oct 63

 

                        I

The aspens march in golden ranks

encircling the mountain's flanks

and wait in martial silent rows

while overhead the fall sun glows,

washing with gold, in wild excess,

aspens' parade in autumn dress.

 

                        II

Within a haze of golden trees

  a stream sang golden songs

I dreamed and hoped that I had found

  the spot my soul belongs.

The cliffs were rust, the sky was blue

  and gold was bridged between

to fill the air and fill the earth,

  for me, their Golden Queen.

 

                        III

I walk beside the golden stream,

     sad that it is just a dream.

How cool that flowing gold appears,

     and how serene, unmarked by tears.

If leaves were coins I would be

     in wealth for all eternity...

From bondage I could buy my soul

     and free again, I would be whole.

 

                        I-III C: 1990 

Absolutely Arizona--The Airplane Patch

I missed a week. Took on a new volunteer job and it is kinda eating my lunch but we'll make it. Anyway here is one more thing that is Absolutely Arizona. 

Unless you  have been interested in aviation or around or affiliated with the Air Force in some way you probably have not heard of the "boneyard" in the Arizona desert near Tucson, part of the Davis-Monthan AFB complex. On quite a few acres of bare desert land, hundreds of old airplanes are lined up in neat rows--for almost as far as you can see. 

The dry mild climate is an ideal place to store these relics where heavy humidity and very cold tempratures are almost never endured. Rust is no big hazard and if any plastic is covered against the UV rays which will deteriorate it, these planes can sit there for decades and some have. Models and sizes are generally lined up togther, WWII fighters and bombers and now retired planes from more recent conflicts. 

Why keep them?  There are many reasons. Often some can be 'canabalized' to rehabilitate others of that model in better shape to make a number air worthy again. Our government has repaired and sold many planes to other nations who make good use of them, or so we at least hope. Some private organizations like The Confederate Air Firce--no I do not think they fly that now disdained flag-- and other groups that do shows and exhibitions have bought some to create their own fleets. A few collectors may actually haul off a choice specimen at times. Even some have been repurposed for aerial fire fighting and other uses. In a pinch we might actually need to use some of the more recent models again. While nobody envisions another Pearl Harbor or even 9/11 where we'd need to get a lot of defense into the air, it cannot be ruled totally impossible. 

I worked briefly at David Monthan in 1983-84 and although I did not support the units directly  responsible for managing the storage yard, I drove by parts of it daily and am still impressed at the sheer size and variety of the craft there. I once had a weird dream in which some undefined scenario was unfolding and I watched as hundreds upon hundresd of airplanes flew over my home continuing all day. I suspect  memories of the 'boneyard' were partly to blame. What if--maybe that was my writer's warped brain asking--all those planes were able to fly and one by one rolled out to the end of a runway and took off, just as fast as traffic control could get them moving?  I think it just might take all day!

Adjacent to the Air Force Base is the related Pima Air and Space Museum. What it might lack in sheer numbers, it more than makes up in the incredible variety of aircraft and air-related memorabilia that it houses. It is well worth a visit simply for the historcal and truly impressive collection you can view with some very knowledgable tour guides. While it has been limited durong the pandemic, I think one can still get a ticket and  take a look, socially distanced and properly masked as the guide will be. 

While other desert areas could be equally qualified to house both these faciliteis, the fact the Air Base and its controlled land was right thre and had been established since the days when the Air Force was still the Army Air Corps in WWII,  this site to be chosen. Thus it is Absolutely Arizona.

At the bottom I shared a couple of photos--not mine--to give you a small idea of what the 'boneyard' is like. The scale is boggling!

Here are a few links to learn more: 

https://www.airplaneboneyards.com/davis-monthan-afb-amarg-airplane-boneyard.htm

https://pimaair.org/

https://www.facebook.com/PimaAirAndSpace/