My life was scrambled in August and early September. Now begins the task of putting it back together into something more coherent. My COVID-19 symptoms departed. The rest of my turbulent life settled into stability. Perhaps I have a platform to go through a neglected inbox, and my multiple to-do lists, to put a plan together. It seems clear I will need a nap or two as I go through my days. That is likely related to getting older and not a long-term effect of having had COVID-19.
My maternal grandmother had a heck of a time when she was my age, plagued by heart disease and adult onset diabetes. We are lucky she lived, mostly on her own, until age 92. Compared to her, my early seventies have been a cake walk. My health status begs the question, what shall be done with this gift of time? I will continue to write.
Hopefully regular visitors to this site will find something worth reading.
On Friday I put the cost of printing 25 copies of my memoir on my credit card and uploaded my manuscript and photo. My team contact said it will take about eight days to get the copyright and printing will follow soon thereafter. The cost included copyright, International Standard Book Number and Library of Congress registration. Things moved very quickly from the time I contacted Prime Publishing online. I was ready.
I know one other author who used Prime to make his books and he was very satisfied. In my case, I am publishing privately with no plan for commercial sales. The cost is much less than taking it to a local print shop.
So that’s that.
I need to organize my files for storage. After Labor Day, I pick up work on the second volume. I had 65,000 words written when I left part two to finish part one. It needs a better outline and eventually a re-write. Publishing the first volume is a turning point. I’m closing the door on that part of my life. It already feels different.
On Wednesday I finished formatting part one of my autobiography for printing. The story ends with finishing my education as I turned 30 years old. Not all of my education was formal schooling by design. I accumulated many experiences in diverse social settings, including work, military service, and travel. With formatting done, I must go through the entire document one last time for content, spelling and language. Whatever deficiencies in the story must be addressed, although I think I’m there before I begin. The process of printing the book is a matter of a couple weeks, so meeting my end of year deadline should be doable.
On Thursday my hand held device died. While reading an email it went into a continuous loop of reboot, failing to restart each time. I figured out how to turn it off manually. I set the device aside for 30 minutes and tried again. I got a message there was a problem with the software. Because of the way it failed, I lost all my saved text messages, most of my files stored on the device, and most of my contacts. Like it or not, I’m getting a fresh start. As I told the technician at the phone store, “I’m ready to walk away from it.”
August 9 is a day for personal remembrance. It is the 79th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, Japan. That bombing was not necessary to end World War II, and arguably, neither was the Hiroshima bombing. There were needless lives lost in Nagasaki.
Today is also the day Richard Nixon resigned from the presidency, having announced it on national television the previous evening.
Richard Nixon announced his resignation from the presidency on Aug. 8, 1974. I had no idea who Gerald Ford was, or what kind of leader he would be. The next day he said, “My fellow Americans, our long national nightmare is over.”
I felt a strong sense of social responsibility and the moral outrage of youth in what I believed were the deception and lies of a man in whom the country had put its trust. Hearing Nixon’s address that night, in our small apartment, was catharsis. I remember this feeling as I typed here in Big Grove Township tonight. I was relieved that Nixon was leaving. More importantly, I felt that the many protests and demonstrations during the Vietnam war had finally borne fruit. Direct action to support a just cause could accomplish things, even force out a sitting president. It was a heady feeling.
Even with many experiences by the time I reached age 22, it was that moment of seeing Nixon resign on television that opened the possibilities of the world. I became aware that direct action, in concert with others I did not know, could engender change in society. I also learned that the people, places, and things we read about can be grounded in a reality that is not that distant from where we live. We are connected to each other in unlikely ways.
I refused to purchase a copy of Nixon’s memoirs until after his death. I did not want him to benefit from my interest in his presidency. In a way, Richard Nixon, with his deceit, arrogance, and imperial presidency, contributed to my political awakening. This led me to understand what I had studied in school was grounded. It was an unlikely connection for which, in retrospect, I am thankful. I wasn’t sure what would be next yet felt that I could take a couple of months and find out what else was in the world. (An Iowa Life, The Memoir of Paul Deaton, unpublished).
Now that part one of the memoir is finished, I look forward to finishing the rest. It is work to be taken up once harvest is finished.
July was a tough month in so many ways. Yes, I’m still on that. What was supposed to be an escape from the digital world turned into a constant search to understand what was happening and then write about it for the blogs. I’m taking a couple days off after this one. If that’s possible.
Couple of thoughts:
If you can’t feel the excitement behind the Kamala Harris campaign for president, you may be an igneous rock. A constant meme in the Obama campaign was “Fired up. Ready to go!” The Harris crowd won’t need, doesn’t have time for memes. The energy is infectious. It is less that 100 days until the election, so let’s stick to fundamentals and go elect her!
The vice presidential pick is imminent since the campaign announced they would make a joint appearance in Pennsylvania on Tuesday, August 6. Whoever she picks is fine with me. I have my faves yet they don’t matter in this calculation.
Did not know Trump would do us a solid by selecting J.D. Vance as his vice presidential pick. Based on his book, I’m not even sure Vance’s mother liked him. He is the product of an ivy league education and campaign contributions from the likes of Peter Thiel, David Sacks, and the crypto currency crowd. It seems like there is nothing behind the mask, and that should benefit Harris. Factoid: Vance is Pence with the first two letters changed.
The rain in Big Grove has been abundant. I watered the garden one time since July 1. Even though two plots lay fallow, the rain is boosting yield in an amazing way.
Importantly, my spouse has returned to the Grove from helping her sister all of July. It is good to be reunited.
With constant rain, it’s been difficult to mow the yard. In the tall grass there are depressions that appear to be nesting or sleeping spots for deer. Providing habitat is more important that manicuring a lawn. That’s who I’ve become and I’m good with it.
Time to do some self care and get ready for the sprint to finish. Will need all the energy and creativeness I can muster. So, shall we all.
Lieutenant William Calley mugshot at his arrest for charges involving the My Lai Massacre. Photo Credit – Wikimedia Commons.
The Washington Post reported Monday that William Calley died at age 80 on April 28 in a Florida hospice. It is fitting he died in obscurity. He will not be missed.
More than anything else about the Vietnam War, the My Lai Massacre, for which he was found personally guilty of murdering 20 people, epitomized my view of what was wrong with the war. In all, U.S. estimates place the number of dead in the operation between 347 and 504 unarmed civilians, most of whom were women, children, or elderly men. My Lai had a profound influence on me, leading me to protest the war in the streets as information about it slowly became public.
I wrote about Calley in my memoir of entering the military:
The combination of willingness to serve and the end of the Vietnam war led me to seek out the Army recruiter and set aside concerns about risking my life by saying it was better for peace lovers to join the military and lead, rather than leave it to the likes of Lieutenant William Calley, the convicted war criminal who was responsible for the 1968 My Lai Massacre.
Calley was an example of what was worst about the military during the Vietnam era. The March 16, 1968, My Lai Massacre of more than 500 people, including young girls and women who were raped and mutilated before being killed, was particularly on my mind. We could do better than that. I believed the only way to address problems like My Lai was for people like me, who valued non-violent means of conflict resolution and common decency, to enter the military and do a better job of leading it. Later, in 1976, while I was stationed at Fort Benning, William Calley was locked up in the stockade.
Father’s military service played a role in my decision, as did the opportunity of youth and being single. I have no regrets in following Father’s footsteps and joining the Army. Why did I enlist? I felt the U.S. Army at the end of the Vietnam War was a despicable mess. (An Iowa Life, Unpublished Memoir of Paul Deaton)
The Washington Post story is a reasonable history of that time and Calley’s role in Vietnam. I recommend reading it here. This passage from the article rings true.
Almost from the very beginning, Mr. Calley polarized Americans who variously deemed him a war criminal or a scapegoat, a mass murderer or an inexperienced officer made to take the fall for the actions of his superiors. Defenders argued that he had been forced into a brutal conflict with an often invisible enemy, then blamed for the horrors of the war. (William Calley, Army officer and face of My Lai Massacre, is dead at 80, by Harrison Smith, Emily Langer, Brian Murphy, and Adam Bernstein. Washington Post, July 29, 2024).
While I was attending Officer Candidate School at Fort Benning in 1976, Calley was across base in the stockade. I had conversations in my quarters with other officer candidates who felt Calley was a scapegoat. I maintained he was an incompetent murderer. May he burn in hell for all eternity.
The smell of garlic pulled from the ground is unique. It marks the beginning of high summer.
We continue to pick leafy greens, herbs, zucchini, summer squash, and cucumbers while we wait for tomatoes to form and ripen. Our best gardening days are right in front of us.
This is one of my favorite explanations about Independence Day from National Geographic Kids: “Also called the Fourth of July, Independence Day marks the historic date in 1776 when the Declaration of Independence was approved by the Continental Congress. The written declaration stated that the American colonies were tired of being ruled by Great Britain.” That word “tired” really hits home.
Have a happy Independence Day! Cut back on the fireworks, moderate consumption of stuff you know you should, and rest up for the campaign of a lifetime as we head into the November election!
Tomato plot is planted and fenced on June 21, 2024.
Using the rough reckoning of my life, I am about three weeks behind in the garden this summer. I did finish the tomato plot Friday, and while there are a couple items left in the greenhouse, planting can be called done. I picked the first zucchini, and cucumbers won’t be far behind. As mentioned previously, two plots will remain fallow this year. As soon as I clear the greenhouse, I’ll put it into storage and focus on other yard work besides gardening. It has been something of a slog to bring the garden in.
Trail walk conversation
Sometimes I meet someone with whom I have a long history on the state park trail, as I did this week. The conversation covered these topics: The rain/hot temperatures were good for the garden, tomatoes especially. How the Iowa political climate changed since 1993 when I moved here. Prospects for Christina Bohannan, candidate for U.S. Congress, and for our state senate candidate Ed Chabal, and house candidate Jay Gorsh. How did education fall from its pedestal in Iowa? No answers. Need for septuagenarians to get out of the heat and humidity. It’s not the heat but the humidity.
Hand cramps and tomato patch.
Friday was a big day in the garden. Mainly, I finished putting in the tomato plot. That involved laying the rest of the ground cover, attaching the outside row tomato cages to their stakes, and installing deer fence around the rows. After an unsuccessful experiment in growing tomatoes last year, I returned to the method I had previously developed. It took about four hours to get that done. I cooled down and then took a nap. When I woke, both hands and my right leg cramped, causing some pain. I worked through it, yet I don’t recall that kind of work creating such cramping before. By the next morning cramping subsided.
Saturday was a lost day
On Saturday I drove to Williamsburg for a political meeting at 8 a.m., went grocery shopping for the soon to be arriving house guests, lay down, and slept a solid several hours. I ended up skipping dinner and went back to bed, having a more normal night’s sleep. Missing days like that is not the best. I finally feel rested, yet I’ll never get the day back.
This week I felt moments of creativity coupled with moments of physical exhaustion. It was not the worst of weeks. It was a time of pushing my limits and acknowledging they exist. Something as the male of the species I am not enthusiastic about doing.
Stonehenge with orange powder paint applied by vandals on June 19, 2024. Photo Credit: BBC.
In the first place, it is difficult to recognize this gathering of large rocks in the photo as Stonehenge. Mostly, the significance of an act of vandalism may have been more prominent in the minds of two vandals than in anyone else. I get it. Summer was about to begin. That’s a big day for some. Just Stop Oil, the organization behind the vandalism, said their motivation was to demand the next UK government end extraction and burning of oil, gas and coal by 2030. Whatever. Apparently it took an oversized hair dryer to blow the powder paint from the rock surfaces without harming colonies of lichen that developed there. If people know about the incident, it’s been forgotten by now.
Having done my tour of duty on the Salisbury Plain, my memories are scant. I stayed at a youth hostel, and made visits to Salisbury, Bath and Stonehenge. Another traveler, who spent the previous few weeks wandering about the moorland of southwest England, invited me to accompany him. I declined. It sounded too much like Iowa, and a bit dreary. I bought a post card at the Stonehenge gift shop and worked my way from the chalky plateau to the chalk cliffs of Dover and then to Calais, where my journal of Salisbury and England was pinched with my backpack after crossing the channel in a hovercraft.
I never looked back on England, and don’t understand the fascination with Stonehenge at solstice. It is an old thing, shrouded in lost history. I’m more thankful the days start getting shorter, and planning for autumn can begin in earnest.
One surviving account of my visit to Stonehenge remains.
Very sunny here today near Stonehenge, and other ancient ruins. Stonehenge yesterday brought to attention the very tourist like notions of seeing something only to tell your friends about it when you get back. It may be that these days this is the notion you should have or at least most common, but it is also a notion of which I refuse to partake. It is only a very insensitive person who will go look and come back in one hour as the tour bus takes, but then there’s hours and barb wire fence to keep you from doing it any other way. Yet here too comes the notion that since there are so many books and pictures and articles about Stonehenge why even bother the few minutes to even see the thing.
On the way from the rocks to the return bus, the drivers were talking and one said to another, “It’s too bad it started to rain. It spoiled their trip.”
Here it seems that there is such a “holiday” preconception among these drivers (and all Britons as well) that it prevents them from seeing what is really, actually there: some rocks with barb wire about them with people crowded within these premises. At any rate, I was no different from the others when I paid my 65p and walked, took some photographs, and bought some postcards which I today mailed to the states.
Journals, Winston Churchill Gardens, Salisbury, England, 11:45 a.m. on Aug. 27, 1974
In the 5,000-year history of Stonehenge, Wednesday’s protest is less enduring than the lichen that over millennia colonized the massive stones. I don’t wish ill on the two vandals. I just hope they receive their just desserts. I’m sure the ancient druids could care less about this week’s events.
This week was one of existential errands: meeting a technician at home for washing machine repairs, getting the automobile oil changed, a planning meeting for our upcoming high school class reunion, grocery shopping at the wholesale club, and chauffeuring my spouse to an appointment. It is the stuff that keeps our operation going.
I spent time in the garden to finish the tomato patch. There are squash and cucumber blossoms in rows I planted. What I managed to plant seems to be taking as expected. Nothing very exciting happened this week in the garden or elsewhere in my life.
Working with My Cohort
Two meetings remain for the planning committee of our 50th-ish high school class reunion. The six people on our regular video call are no-malarkey do-gooders committed to bringing this thing in on time and on budget. I’ve known them all since high school which ended in 1970. Our long, if intermittent acquaintance makes working together easy and enjoyable. Among the topics I raised:
Polish fathers of the bride counting dinner plates and instructing reception attendees to use the same plate for seconds.
The craziness of feeding 78 billion farm animals but not being able to feed 7.8 billion humans.
Explaining how vegetarians seek to be identified as people versus adherents to a cult.
Part of aging in America is sorting these things out. Then you just have to tell someone!
The reunion happens in a month.
Gardening Reached Apogee
This year I couldn’t get caught up with the garden. A few days remain before summer begins, and at least two plots will lie fallow this year. That’s not all bad, yet I envision a future with a much smaller garden. It’s complicated, yet it’s not. We simply don’t eat as much food as I can grow. I made a very large plot by combining two of the older plots. It has been impossible to keep critters who enjoy the garden as much as I do out of that growing space.
Once I clear out the greenhouse, I will prepare the two plots to lie fallow the rest of this year. Last year’s garden is likely as good as it gets and an apogee in the arc of a gardener’s life.
Quick Bean Soup
I made a “quick bean” soup for dinner of all organic ingredients. That means I used canned beans — a prepared 3-bean mix plus canellini — medium dice of carrot, celery and Vidalia onion, bay leaf, Herbes de Provence, salt, and sliced pac choi, stem and all. For liquid I used home made vegetable broth. When the vegetables were tender, I blitzed about a third with a stick blender, stirred, and there was supper.
I’ve been feeling kind of punk the last few days. My blood pressure has been elevated above normal and I’m having trouble sleeping. I spent much of Saturday in bed. I’m reading Annie Jacobsen’s Nuclear War: A Scenario which is likely contributing to difficulties in sleeping. I have been free of headaches, chest pain and difficulty breathing, so I’ll ride it out for a few more days and hope for the best. If I didn’t take my blood pressure at home, I may not have noticed anything different. Information can be both a blessing and a curse. (Update: My blood pressure returned to normal range by Monday morning. The spell passed).
Journey Home 
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