Saturday, January 28, 2017

Real men; Natural and unnatural order of things; More unnatural

Real Men

As I sat down one evening, twas in a small cafe,
A forty year old waitress, to me these words did say:

"I see you are a logger, and not just a common bum,
'Cause no one but a logger stirs his coffee with his thumb.

My lover was a logger, there's none like him today;
If you poured whisky on it, he'd eat a bale of hay

He never shaved his whiskers from off of his horny hide;
He hammered in the bristles, and bit them off inside.

My logger came to see me, twas on a winter's day;
He held me in his fond embrace, which broke three vertebrae.

He kissed me when we parted, so hard it broke my jaw;
I could not speak to tell him, he'd forgot his mackinaw.

I saw my logger lover, go striding through the snow,
Going gaily homeward, at forty-eight below.

The weather it tried to freeze him, it did its very best;
At a hundred degrees below zero, he buttoned up his vest.

It froze clear down to China, it froze to the stars above;
At a thousand degrees below zero, it froze my logger love.

They tried in vain to thaw him, and if you believe it, sir
They made him into axe blades, to cut the Douglas fir.

And so I lost my lover, and to this cafe I've come,
And here I wait till someone, stirs his coffee with his thumb." 

a 1969 John Wayne movie
will remember the scene.

Wayne as Rooster Cogburn
confronts his outlaw adversaries
- the bad guys -
from a birch-treed rise.

He calls them out offering them a quick death by bullet
or a ritual hanging per the law.

The killer of Rooster's client father
and his three armed companions in arms
scoff at the growled threat

whereupon Cogburn does his famous cocking of his rifle
by twirling it in one hand by the trigger ring
and charges down the rise, rifle and handgun blazing,

horse reins clamped in his teeth
to free up his shooting.

Rent the movie sometime if you have on seen it
in a while (or ever).

View this trailer:


IN THE 1920s
 a real man plied his photography trade
in Waukesha
shooting from the lower wing of a new-fangled

The Schoenknecht story was in the Freeman 1-27-17.

O'Brien got out of he way of the propellor draft
and spattering oil from the engine

standing, holding a wing strut and shooting
his heavy Graphlex camera
at target views below and behind the aircraft.

Thus situated he minimized the propellor draft
and flying oil.

(Pick up John's article at the Freeman lobby.)


said he'd like to punch DeNiro in the face.

DeNiro publically said, "Oh Yeah? Well, I'd like
to punch HIM in the face!"



If Janboree is here
can spring be far away?

melting ice
awakening moss

I do believe it
I do believe it's true


the City of Waukesha Forestry Department
has hung its red ribbon of death 
on the Gingko tree right in front of the Putney/Odd Fellows.

In the coming redo of South St - in order to conform
with the new plan - some Gingko trees will be removed.
 Our heavily photographed tree, from which we have
gathered the lovely leaves in autumn
is going to be quickly cut down by a city speed machine.

As a downtown stakeholder 2nd class
~ a mere tenant ~  though now a seven year long one,
we can only lament our soon departed tree.

These South Street Gingko trees have been beautiful
while they lasted.

As the city enhances the downtown
streets per their long-range and unavoidable plan,
one thinks of these tree cuttings - and replacements -
as their being merely houseplants that can be easily rearranged.

But what of the attachments downtown residents form for them?

When Main Street construction began, I was frankly hurt
when the trees across the street at the Clarke were bulldozed down
and  splintered for easier hauling.  Too brusk, no feeling.

Some attribute spirits to these fragile but hoped-for
long-term investments these trees make of themselves
for beauty.

I am one of those.


More unnatural

Sisters March DC 1-21-17

Saturday, January 21, 2017

But soft, what light...?;Ribbit; What ails you; Red-eyed tree frog; God Bless America; At the wheel

The frog swallows the Xmas light;
makes big thing of it


But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. 
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief, 
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious; 
Her vestal livery is but sick and green 
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. (2.2.3-10)


Green frogs dance in Odd Fellows window -
lights flicker

Son David has mischievous thoughts about his frog and sister Laurie circa 1962

Frog swimming in Duffy Bruning's fancy relish bowl
is still a frog

Trinketry ~ a toy poem

A piece of pretty wood
Taken up by an Un-American artisan
Is shaped into a frog

The gathering height of the back ridges
When the accompanying stick
Is rubbed

Creates the quieter volume
Gathering to a loud RIBB-IT !

A child performs this -
then gives a swift hard and equally loud 
knock to froggy's head!

Resonant for so little a thing.



After Second Shift
by Lowell Jaeger

Listen Online

She’s stopped to shop for groceries.
Her snow boots sloshing
up and down the aisles, the store
deserted: couple stock boys
droning through cases of canned goods,
one sleepy checker at the till.
In the parking lot, an elderly man
stands mumbling outside his sedan,
all four doors wide to gusting sleet
and ice. She asks him, Are you okay?
He’s wearing pajama pants, torn slippers,
rumpled sport coat, knit wool hat.
Says he’s waiting for his wife.
I just talked to her on the payphone
over there. He’s pointing at
the Coke machine. What payphone?
she says. That one, he says.
It's cold, she says, and escorts him inside.
Don’t come with lights
and sirens, she tells the 9-1-1
dispatcher. You’ll scare him.
They stand together. The checker
brings him a cup of coffee.
They talk about the snow.
So much snow.
They watch for the cop.
This night, black as any night,
or a bit less so.

"After Second Shift" by Lowell Jaeger from Or Maybe I Drift Off Alone. © Shabda Press, 2016


English Class
by Robin Chapman

Listen Online

Twelfth grade reading lists stretched out
as endless as the sentences we diagrammed,
as orderly as the outlines for our senior essays-
"Humanism in England in the Fourteenth Century"
I think I wrote about, cobbling facts together
about Erasmus and the Church, forgetting
those were plague years, and Henry David
Thoreau’s pithy quotes, marching to a different
drummer, hooked me for a solitary ramble
of Walden, not knowing he’d dined every night
with Emerson and Alcott; and our teacher
always turned to us with hope, searching
for some sign that we’d found a spark,
an engaged liveliness, in all those endless
marching words-her eyes lit up, her thin hair
frizzed, her faith in us fixed, misplaced,
stirring fugitive regret in our adolescent gaze,
preoccupied with who to ask to the Swankette Ball
and who to sit with at the Friday football game
(whom, she’d certainly have made us say).

"English Class" by Robin Chapman from Six True Things. © Tebot Bach Books, 2016


God Bless America

Not the plague of frogs


We Cannot Wait for History to Judge. We Need the Truth About Trump and Russia Now.

By Bill Moyers and Michael Winship, Moyers & Company

19 January 17

For the sake of democracy, an independent commission or special prosecutor must be appointed to investigate Russian influence
Over the holidays, John Farrell, author of an upcoming biography of Richard Nixon, wrote an op-ed piece in The New York Times confirming what many of us have known for nearly 50 years: In the fall of 1968, Nixon, the Republican candidate for president, deliberately torpedoed President Lyndon Johnson’s efforts to cease the bombing of North Vietnam and begin peace talks to end the Vietnam war.Johnson was not running for re-election, but his vice president, Hubert Humphrey, was the Democratic candidate for the White House — and Nixon was determined to keep Humphrey from reaping the benefits of good news from Southeast Asia.  In the course of researching his Nixon book, Farrell found a cache of notes from Nixon aide H.R. Haldeman showing “that Nixon directed his campaign’s efforts to scuttle the peace talks… On Oct. 22, 1968, he ordered Haldeman to ‘monkey wrench’ the initiative.”

Nixon won the election and until the end of his life denied he had interfered. But, Farrell notes, “Nixon had cause to lie. His actions appear to violate federal law, which prohibits private citizens from trying to ‘defeat the measures of the United States.’”Johnson believed Nixon had committed treason, but at the time he and his aides decided they lacked sufficient proof. History has since provided the evidence.

Now we face another electoral crisis of perhaps even greater significance. As the former diplomat James Bruno sums it up in Washington Monthly, “The United States has just endured a carefully planned, well-orchestrated assault against its democratic form of government in the form of a grand cyber-theft of information and targeted release of that information.” More specifically, Bruno quotes from the report in which 17 US intelligence agencies unanimously concluded, “Russian President Vladimir Putin ordered an influence campaign in 2016 aimed at the US presidential election. Russia’s goals were to undermine public faith in the US democratic process, denigrate Secretary Clinton, and harm her electability and potential presidency. We further assess Putin and the Russian government developed a clear preference for President-elect Trump. We have high confidence in these judgments.”
Read that again slowly and carefully: The intelligence community is saying that a foreign country, Russia, deliberately interfered with and corrupted our electoral process to favor the election of Donald Trump. Further, aides to Trump are said to have been in contact with Russian officials throughout the campaign and the presidential transition. (In the Jan. 12 Washington Postcolumnist David Ignatius reported, “According to a senior US government official, [national security adviser Michael] Flynn phoned Russian Ambassador Sergey Kislyak several times on Dec. 29, the day the Obama administration announced the expulsion of 35 Russian officials as well as other measures in retaliation for the hacking. What did Flynn say, and did it undercut the US sanctions?”)
Of course, Trump and his allies say the intelligence community not only is wrong but should not be trusted. Nevertheless, the die is cast: Either Trump and friends have engaged in treasonous acts or America’s intelligence officials are guilty of a colossal lapse in judgment — or worse, a conspiracy against Trump. Either way — whether any of these allegations are true or false — the entire matter must be investigated thoroughly and immediately. The dark clouds hovering over American politics must be cleared up. Left unresolved, the allegations present a clear and present danger, a ticking time bomb that could explode and bring an end to America’s nearly 250-year experiment in self-government.
While there have been plans announced for Senate and House hearings into this constitutional crisis, these easily can be stalled and manipulated for partisan purposes. Given the Republican Party’s hardcore will to power and that it will soon exercise monopoly control over all three branches of government — not to mention their track record over the past eight years — it is hard to identify which GOP members of Congress are likely to put country ahead of party and let an investigation go where the facts lead. In addition, with some notable exceptions, the minority Democratic Party appears dispirited and disorganized, if not feckless, and unable to thwart Republicans determined to bulldoze a serious investigation.
No, this crisis requires a more thorough, bipartisan and select committee or commission — not unlike the 9/11 Commission — that has adequate staff, funding and subpoena power to conduct as thorough a probe as possible.
Perhaps even better, before Friday’s inauguration, there is still time for Attorney General Loretta Lynch to appoint a special prosecutor. Fordham legal historian Jed Shugerman notes, “A special prosecutor’s term does not end with an administration. It is open-ended, so the special prosecutor would continue to serve during the Trump administration… unless the new Attorney General fired him or her, [but] only for ‘good cause.’”
In whatever form it takes, said investigation also must include a careful examination of action — or inaction — by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The Justice Department’s inspector general has begun a probe but it also should be within the purview of a select committee, commission or special prosecutor.
Why did the FBI seem to favor pursuing Hillary Clinton’s emails over tracking down whatever could be learned about Russia’s involvement in our election? Why did it drag its feet when it had evidence that the Democratic National Committee was being hacked — was it the agency’s fault or the DNC’s? How the FBI notified the DNC in the first place — with a phone call to an outside tech vendor — is right out of a Marx Brothers comedy. And why did FBI Director Comey fail to take action when he had in his hands the dossier ex-MI6 intelligence operative Christopher Steele had assembled on rumors that Russia possessed incriminating evidence on Trump’s business dealings and private life?
If real, they could be used to pressure — blackmail — Trump into obeisance. If not real, was Russia deliberately feeding Steele false information – “a carefully constructed attempt,” in the words of conservative journalist and Russia expert David Satter in National Review, “to disrupt American political life for years to come.”
Trump’s tax returns should be included in the investigation as well. He can no longer use the flimsy excuse of an audit. They must be subpoenaed and released, for within them may be evidence of whether or not the president-elect’s company has sizable debt with Russian banks and investors that could be used as leverage against him. Trump denies Russian investments but as his son, Donald Jr., famously told a 2008 real estate conference, “Russians make up a pretty disproportionate cross-section of a lot of our assets… We see a lot of money pouring in from Russia.”
What’s more, Megan Twohey and Steve Eder at The New York Times reported late Monday, “Mr. Trump repeatedly sought business in Russia as far back as 1987, when he traveled there to explore building a hotel. He applied for his trademark in the country as early as 1996. And his children and associates have appeared in Moscow over and over in search of joint ventures, meeting with developers and government officials.” Trump told biographer Michael D’Antonio, “I know the Russians better than anybody.”
Common sense suggests one reason Trump has so doggedly and furiously attacked the intelligence community — and persisted in flattering Vladimir Putin — is that he doesn’t want known the extent to which he is financially embroiled with Russian oligarchs. Or perhaps he really is serious about wanting to draw the Russians into a closer embrace so that they cease and desist from efforts to disrupt the Western alliance.
Yet how are we ever going to know without an independent investigation? We may never learn the complete truth, but if allegations are proven false, the inquiry may help clear Trump and his associates of the taint that has marked his election and transition and which certainly will be the elephant in the Oval Office once Trump occupies it.
Then it will need to be determined who set out to smear his record and why. Someone — perhaps among his Republican opponents in the primaries, or among Democrats eager to cripple him once he got the nomination — went to great lengths to tie Trump to some nasty stuff.
But what if much that has been claimed is true? Then we will have in the White House a president who has betrayed the American people and whose every motive and action must be challenged. Impeachment is not out of the question.
This is deadly serious business. It is a heinous threat not only to America’s future but to other Western democracies, fragile as they are just now. Putin and his kleptocrat cronies aren’t limiting their cyberwarfare and other meddling to the United States but encouraging right-wing populism that actively undermines member nations of the European Union and the NATO alliance as well. So far, Trump seems to be acquiescing to this and to other Russian encroachments around the world. And several people around him — close aides such as Gen. Mike Flynn, his national security adviser; and “The King of K Street,” Paul Manafort, his onetime campaign manager — are reported to have had business ties to Putin’s world.
The truth must be known. Left to fester in the dark, lingering suspicions will hang over our politics like a poisonous smog. We will become a society marked by permanent and penetrating distrust, by whispered allegations and rumors, by ill will and a lust for unbridled power. We do not exaggerate when we say this is the most critical moment for the United States since politics failed in the 1850s and the thunderclouds of civil war spread north and south until the nation was engulfed and split asunder.
We cannot wait for history’s judgment. We must find out now. Who in Washington today are the men and women of courage who will rise above partisanship and join as patriots in calling for a thorough and honorable public scrutiny of these disturbing events?


Bless you!


Composed by Irving Berlin in 1918, revised by him in 1938

Kate Smith wildly popularized this anthem
during WW II.

It was sung by us elementary school kids
in our classrooms before dismissal,
 as America faced the German
and Japanese foes.  It was sung in our churches.
It was played at the end of radio shows
and at the end of stage performances, everywhere,
as a grand final note upon which to end the event.

That's where the saying arose:
It ain't over till the fat lady sings.

Somehow the Raccoon can't get a salute up for the 
 arcade folly 'president'.

I think he's over before he begins.
Or soon thereafter.

'At the wheel!"


Saturday, January 14, 2017

Active meditation; Taking down the tree; By trinketry, charmed; Maybe then I could drum like Dad; First 100 hours vigil; No snail to speak of; Bell signals


Taking Down the Tree
by Jane Kenyon

Listen Online

“Give me some light!” cries Hamlet’s
uncle midway through the murder
of Gonzago. “Light! Light!” cry scattering
courtesans. Here, as in Denmark,
it’s dark at four, and even the moon
shines with only half a heart.
The ornaments go down into the box:
the silver spaniel, My Darling
on its collar, from Mother’s childhood
in Illinois; the balsa jumping jack
my brother and I fought over,
pulling limb from limb. Mother
drew it together again with thread
while I watched, feeling depraved
at the age of ten.
With something more than caution
I handle them, and the lights, with their
tin star-shaped reflectors, brought along
from house to house, their pasteboard
toy suitcase increasingly flimsy.
Tick, tick, the desiccated needles drop.
By suppertime all that remains is the scent
of balsam fir. If it’s darkness
we’re having, let it be extravagant.

"Taking Down the Tree" by Jane Kenyon from Collected Poems. © Graywolf Press, 2005


By trinketry, charmed, I'm sure!

the 1940s and up
my mother Ruth and aunt Frances
and a lot of  other women across the land
wore trendy charm bracelets.

Dee advised they still are worn.
I remember enjoying playing with the charms
that had moving parts, like water wheels, ferris wheels,
bear traps, little lawn mowers, pliers, etc.

As the trend continued into the 1950s and 1960s
they seemed to faze-out by my experience;
the charms became intricater and intricater

and some lucky charmers had hefty bracelets
on their laden wrists
more and more of these trinkets
end-to-end and even overlapping in their linkages sometimes

and some were made of sterling Silver!
The better off braceleteers who wore fur coats
and fancy gloves had ALL Sterling charms
around their cocked wrists.

Don't notice, but please do.

For more info check the Wiki link:

As the Raccoon editor is known as a trinket lover
(ask son Leland about that)
I found myself in the 70s buying
a Mexican rosewood cross

encrusted on the front surface
with tiny copper charms
on topics seemingly unrelated
at least at first glance

tacked onto the cross with very small brads
also of copper.

A closer view shown below
how the craftsman must have shorn the
linkage bracelet fittings to allow for the
smoother brad cross mounting.

There would have been much work -
a lot of fine filing involved:

The Old Rugged Cross
On a hill far away, stood an old rugged Cross
The emblem of suff'ring and shame
And I love that old Cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain
So I'll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown
Oh, that old rugged Cross so despised by the world
Has a wondrous attraction for me
For the dear Lamb of God, left his Glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary
So I'll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown

Emerson Helt on Christmas drum
(drums a matter of time only)

Young Emerson Helt, grandson of John and Cindy Helt
found a St. Vinny's real snare drum under the tree.

Previous Emerson pix in the Raccoon:

Mom, Granny Helt and Emerson
(named after Granny's father)


First 100 Hour Vigil Milwaukee

Where: City Hall Rotunda
When: January 20th  Noon -1pm

"During the first 100 hours of the new US administration,
it's vital that people of faith show our love for the Earth,
and our commitment to people, planet, and communities. Around the country, people are organizing vigils - with diverse faith communities and people of good will - to show our care and commitment publicly.”  
Our local vigil is Noon City Hall Rotunda on the 20th!

Religious Leaders from the interfaith community will be present
to implore the new Administration:
Keep Good Faith On Our Climate Commitments

Green Faith and Interfaith Power & Light, as part of the People’s Climate Movement are encouraging these vigils.  


Ed. side note - Our incoming sage confers the title of over-rated on Meryl Streep.
This from the 'master' of self-over-ratedness.




In late November
we sent out twenty-two letters
each stamped with our mark:
'Send More Snail (SRN)'

Then we sat back to see how many would heed
the request.

Of the 22 letters
we got zero (0) replies
conforming to the snail request.

There were a few Email acknowledgments
per the preferred cheaper method of the day.

Nobody sends postage-stamp invested
mail anymore, it seems.

But wait a minute:
there is one since 1960 correspondent, Bob Heeschen
of St. Paul who still sends  snail.

Below is his latest here, with paper clippings
of items he found interesting.

Bob, who like me is eighty (80),
has a reverence for the postal service like mine, I think.

Ray S. Dix

(Below from our Raccoon archives)

The warnings of coming diminished postal service is sad news.

In my early days, the daily post office trip was a ceremony for my Grandfather Ray Dix.
When visiting him in Cedar Falls Iowa I would get to ride down to the mail 'temple' - to Ray it was that - in the family jitney, where Grandpa in his insurance man attire of white shirt, hat, tie and Union Central tie clip, and clean creased trousers would descend from the running board of his car with me in tow, at the post office. It was a columned structure Grandpa held in high reverence. So I thought, at least.

Grandpa would withdraw his P.O. box 'password' on his important looking pocket key chain he wore clipped to his waist. He would smilingly find the small brass key, insert it in the lock, slowly turn it, working the mystical mechanism, while looking significantly at me.

I would wonder what the important mail would be inside.

Grandpa would gather all of it up and without looking at it, take it in a bundle under his arm to drive it back home. Then he would carefully study each envelope before opening them at his desk in the big dining room at 2009 Clay Street.

He carefully, slowly handled his Union Central Life Insurance letter opener like a scalpel, sharp and sure. Each letter got the attention it deserved, for Grandpa was seriously at work there in his workplace, the dining room.

He had a glass-topped desk and a swivel chair. His shirt sleeves were worn with rubber bands around his elbows. He smoked a pipe almost all the time.

In the post-Depression years Grandpa was a hero to many, including Iowa farmers around Cedar Falls, for whom' he delivered the goods', the good news; he made his customers aware that they had insurance he had sold them that had cash value that could be borrowed-upon.

Checks would come to him via the post office temple and he would promptly deliver them personally. When I was down in Cedar Falls I got to ride with Grandpa on some of those check delivery visits to appreciative farmsteads. " Look, here comes Ray Dix down our drive! Maybe he got something in the mail!"

I was little, but I knew then my Grandpa was a life-saver.


Bell signals

Image from Tom  and Lenore Bentz' Xmas card this year

Bell Signals

The church bell lodged in ancient timbers
At the steepletop
Rung by rope knotted into a gigantic wooden pulley wheel
- mechanical advantage -
Strung down through air and pigeon leavings
Emerging cleanly in the vestibule   
A strong Sunday-dressed child can ring it

Doves lodged in ancient timbers
Flutter in and out through louvers
Chicken-wired but time-worn
Keeping their high watches over the town
From coved and linteled archways
Cooing mildly   feather-cuddling  silent

Generations of doves nestled
In sanctuary at this height
Lived with the sleeping giant
Awakened only on Sunday mornings to summon
The attention of the worshipers gathered below
An under-used instrument
Calling not because of fire, death,
Disaster or rebellion

Struck in a foreign foundry over a century ago
Freighted to this town to be hoisted aloft
To be rung sedately by Congregationalists
A ton of bronze lodged in ancient timbers
With peaceful quiet doves
Might be sounding greater attentions
 in times like these

Might be rung in shifts 24 hours a day
With all bells everywhere
Across the world ringing out   
its own ton of bronze
With thousands more might speak out
In mad clamor to the heavens
Our ancient dusty megaphone
Oiled for Sunday use only

Treasured mighty bell
Voice above us though out of our sight;
The news from The Holy Land
makes me think we should ring you
Until we lose consciousness


'Congo' steeple bell in Waukesha