Professional struggles in the greater scheme of life

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

The year 1979 opened with more unsettlement than I’ve recalled.

11 Jan

All-day session yesterday in the downstairs conference room. I’m feeling depressed as a result. The day news editor situation hasn’t been working out as well as I had hoped. JMack’s feeling overworked, night rim’s complaining about all the copy, everybody’s p.o.’d about my “planning time. In addition, Wallace is upset about “lines of authority,” i.e. I don’t speak to Spuler and my use of the artist to do TV mag covers. If we took an attitude survey right now, we’d be in trouble on the news desk.

So much of what we — not just me? — do these days is divorced from any larger context: meaningless work for corporations or other exploiters: no character or expression of the divine: no wholeness.

Are articles unnecessary baggage? Belcher’s “the weather” reduced to “wear,” after taking all the “the” out.

Whiz, over beers after work:

“You think you and Kitty would be happier in Seattle?”

And then: “You shouldn’t be in the slot or working on the daily. You should be doing long-range projects. Your best job is just thinking.”

Almost as pointedly, with a laugh, after hearing of my bumping into GS: “You ever been able to talk to your hero?” Followed by his own attempts in real life.

Last week and this, all office — 50-55 hours … Gayman off, I’m so damn exhausted … [apparently, was in charge at night and still had my other responsibilities to fulfill] …

Asked about the Real Work: “Can you Quake in Newspaper?”

Ace reporter Nick Provenza noting how the editorial page would take stans on his series exactly the opposite of the way he feels about the encounter.

Isn’t there an honest way to get rich fast?

Or what later shows up as smuggling? What New Englanders call opportunity …

20:VI:79 (Wednesday)

As I said to Whiz over brunch, “The trouble is, this isn’t isn’t fun anymore — not for you, for Roger, or for me.” The news biz, that was.

A long day of employment: rush off to work, come home, have dinner, go to bed. Get up again and repeat.

Had a super applicant we wanted to hire as Purdy’s replacement — strong graphics, good headlines, Louisville Courier-Journal experience. Tried calling Friday and Saturday, no answer. Monday he phoned us, saying Friday was his last day, he took a job in Spokane.

31:VII:79

At the office, a session with Kent and JET on “what I want to be when I grown up.” JET asked about the ashram, surprised about Quakers. Some things cannot be discussed fully.

Essential concepts so common, like brand names, you don’t even notice them: stars in daylight at full eclipse: they’ve been there all along.

 

Cloud-caps like this one on Mount Adams were common on the stratocone mountains. Photo at Pexels by Blue Ox Studio. Glacier-clad Adams dominated the western horizon of the valley, peering over 6,000-foot-ridges of the Cascades, though it was more than 50 miles away. I saw it nearly every day as I drove to or from the office. The summit was, however, much harder to approach than Mount Rainier, which was some 2,000 or so feet taller.

Monday, 10 sept 79

Weekend, UPI meetings at Yakima Holiday Inn — sallow-faced, burned-out looking editors, lower-middle-class seedy … [where stood I among them?] … do I want to be there in 30 years? And these are the folks who make this a how many billion-dollar a year industry and the reason we’re in trouble?

Mrs. Stone’s “overtime” despite two-hour lunches and hair appointments. Per instructions, I took time off her timecard. “Today’s an unfavorable day,” according to my Astro Calendar.

19 sept 79, Wednesday, personal day off work — had to get it in by Oct 1 or lose it. Thought my parents would be here. Shot, though, something about the office — ANXIETY. Yesterday, was 6:30 before I could spring free, a special Energy Section: the photos didn’t even come up till after 5, quitting time. Next week, an AgMag and a supervisors’ meeting.

[Much of my “time off” was ultimately “comp time.”]

Business-side changes: Jay White, Pat Carey, Jean Downs promoted (advertising, marketing, circulation) under Craig Moon. Strange, cut-throat vibes. John Lamphiere, offered a position cut, quit. Steve Macke, nearly the same. Surprises, until you detect the brown-nosing. Moon aping Jack Williams, becoming his “best friend.” Jeane sticks close to HR chief. What happens when Tonkin steps down? Neither Whiz nor I like what we’re seeing. I pray we be wrong: wait for proof.

GRAND PLAN REDESIGN

The Big Decision came down Thursday and I found myself left in a lurch. No more italic headlines, for starters. Me, already hog-tied in layout, it’s no fukkin’ fun anymore, just two basic layouts as it is. The 3-column picture versus the 4. Italic was my trademark after high school because we didn’t have the option. (I won’t enter the Harte-Hanks contest next year; no individuality, no mo’ pride, son.) — and stuck with the damn AP “stylebook” on names of plays, opera, etc. — AP has no style, doesn’t follow its own rulebook anyway. Another contradiction, like Postal Service. … Now one-point rule goes on boxes but two-point on photos. I don’t even know what column logos I’ll have by Wednesday a.m.

21:XII:79

Saturday night dinner at the Kents’ after a day of company activity at the Holiday Inn, one that began with breakfast there before a Media Law seminar, where Kent showed up and then began trying to pick out our guest, Dan Rivera, the P-I’s attorney, among the strangers. A good presentation, candid and entertaining Including a luncheon, on the company. As we left, new snow falling, a slick drive home. Over b’fast,Kent filling me in on Jim Tonkin’s decision to retire April 1 or so.

Back to town that night, slickest roads, cars in ditches, we show up late but alive. Leave at midnight, the roads already improving.

[Frank] Gayman surprisingly informative about sheep and firewood, his working the latter with Lou Witkin (we’d bought our first firewood from him) …

~*~

So, in a nutshell, that’s how my professional career year would go.

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

Digging in at the shack  

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

 Never met an ex-farmer who left the land by choice.

I think it’s the taxes, ultimately, that swayed their decision. Or more likely, offers too good to turn down from developers.

 So many places sell expensive recordings or stereo gear but no needles or other support items …

Ear of Oats, from Book of Signs. Which I now read as Earl of Oats.

Saturday, starting to install plastic around doors and windows on the back porch — our new winter room, with plastic under the rug, too …

Calling for a blessing

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

If you enter the woods reverentially

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

 Even a small grove or a well-maintained city park can deliver, but the full experience occurs once you get far enough away from the road that you’re beyond the litter.

Here are ten voices that reflect the wonder.

  1. “And into the forest I go to lose my mind and find my soul.” … “In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.” — John Muir
  2. “Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.” — Hal Borland
  3. “If you walk into a forest, you hear all kinds of subtle sounds, but underneath there is an all-pervasive silence.” — Eckhart Tolle
  4. “It is said that the forest has a certain limit if you look straight ahead, but the sides are boundless.” — Riccardo Bozzi
  5. “All forests have their own personality.” — Charles de Lint
  6. “I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees.” — Henry David Thoreau
  7. “Anywhere which is in a forest, that’s my Zen place.” — Raveena Tandon
  8. “For in the true nature of things, if we rightly consider, every green tree is far more glorious than if it were made of gold and silver.” — Martin Luther King Jr.
  9. “It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men’s hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.” — Robert Louis Stevenson
  10. “The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Something more like what others would see as a real vacation

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Early Sept … Came over today, my first vacation travel with Kitty and me only. We were off for British Columbia, meaning Canada.

Lunch at the Tumwater Café, German reminding me of good Ohio farm cooking — Grandma Hodson’s yet, as Kitty asserted, “But not Mom Moran!”

Yakima Fruit Stand, “Your canning headquarters,” on U.S. 2, Snohomish, on way to Everett

And our luck today, arriving at Keystone ferry as the boat’s in dock, nearly loaded. Expecting to see it pull out, instead the ticket seller said, “Congratulations, you made it — with a minute and a half to spare.”

[That was the state ferry across Puget Sound, getting us to Port Townsend.]

Spent $40 at Imprint bookstore, on poetry, mostly, and the owner called Sam Hamill and told me how to get out to the Copper Canyon Press to be there at 9 the next morning. (Good luck, again.0

That, after (good luck) we had taken the next-to-last room at the Tides Inn, with a room overlooking Puget Sound …

Saw my first seal on my trip, a dog-head in the water until a real dog started barking.

~*~

12 Sept, met Sam at the press, Fort Warden State Park for the arts, beautiful old wooden structures pleasantly restored (wood heat in the print shop) as he set type by hand while I watched. Word of a fine-sounding symposium coming up April 9-13 — Snyder, perhaps.

Sez send him the mss in Oct or Nov … he, too, has had a busy summer. Has an earring, hard wrinkles, tattoos MOM …

luck again … boarded MV Cobo from waiting line, Port Angeles-Victoria. Any later, we would have missed it and had to wait five hours. As it was, a 45-minute wait. Ferry rocking, side to side, hard to walk, even read.

Couples playing cards.

Native next to us: no ear, just a nub of scar tissue. Enough to hold his glasses up.

Outside, sky clears. Coastal clouds low on the mountains.

Seagulls, how can I miss them?

Porpoises.
Whitecap followed
by black shining streak.

Brentwood Inn on Brentwood Bay — $26 for a suite w/ kitchenette

Something so purely out of the early ’50s or even ‘30s.

[In my memories, it’s an inland pond.]

In our room: TV ads remade for Canadian audiences: new accents and no Blacks. On radio, hearing familiar CBC nighttime programs plus daytime classical.

Butchart Gardens, in former limestone quarries ($4/person)

Almost too beautiful, though overwhelmed by blue-haired women and equally stout and frail dim-witted men.

BEGONIAS, ESP. THOUGH ROSES MUST BE SOMETHING IN PRIME.

The English/Scottish traditions so obvious here: everything relatively safe: motels windows unlocked, acceptance of cashiers’ cheques and credit cards with no hassle. But when Kitty dashes ahead through oldsters at the gardens, we hear a mumbled “rudeness” behind us and I thought of the veiled violence of Britain (the righteous or self-righteous stiffness coming down on nonconformists).

“PLEASE LEAVE UMBRELLAS OUTSIDE”

 

 

Though most visitors seem to be most impressed by the formal gardens or fully blooming flower beds. which could be located just about anywhere, what I found most stunning was the reclaimed quarry.  Photos by Bill Wilson via Wikimedia Commons.

~*~

Missed HIGH TEA SERVICE at the gardens by five minutes ($4/person: “JUST ENOUGH TO SPOIL YOUR DINNER” tea/sandwiches/crumpets) and debated about $8/per buffet later, deciding even with cold turkey, salmon, beef it’s still cafeteria, so rather than wait another 3 hours for the famed lights splaying the quarry and fountains, off we went off to downtown, nosed around (including opening restaurant doors, taking a sniff or two, and returning to the sidewalk. After narrowing our choices to two, we settled on a tiny [modest, dimly lighted, dark red interior] French restaurant — I stayed in English, to not embarrass myself, my tongue tightening up too much even on the menu. [Forget grammar and tenses.] We even ordered a bottle of wine but were served another but excellent label — Ackerman? — food unbelievably fine: salmon for me, lamb for her [what I remember most, though, was her stewed tomato — something I never, ever would have thought could be heavenly] — then mousse au chocolat and good black coffee. Over the meal, her quizzing me about what if she’d have an affair — one of those impossible conversations. [Looking back over these entries, I realize it wasn’t about if but rather resolving the recent past.]

[I suppose this could be rendered as an intense short story or even a chapter, but the development no longer appeals to me. Too much work? Let me file it away under Missed Opportunities.]

Afterward, strolling the street again, I see a tall ridge in the Cascades behind downtown Victoria — not Baker’s profile but high the same way. Back in the orchard again, looking at maps, I’ll see it must be the elusive Mount Glacier. It conforms to configuration. Everything so amazing.

Had wondered earlier in the year about spending time in British Columbia [with my mountaineering focus, meaning the Canadian Rockies] but now, by accident, I’ve done it, except on the coastal side.

Later, viewing a James Crockett Victory Garden visit in the gardens — “nearly perfect” — so enjoyable to see where we’ve been.

13 Sept. — Wednesday, noon

Toured the Provincial Museum on the waterfront today — magnificent presentation, 3 floors: totem poles 4 stories high outside, or cur in half inside — some viewed best from the escalators.

Lodge houses inside with interior totem poles.

So many redheads and blue eyes, the Scottish factor, methinks. Within the museum, bump into a Japanese woman, “Excuse me.”

“You are very welcome.”

(Berlitz embarrassment.)

Mining display has detailing so realistic: cold air blowing in, a dim-lighted air shaft, a rocky passage like a prospector’s worked vein …

Ubiquitous Japanese visitors with cameras, waiting for the ferry. This time, a small one that without a full load, sails tilted on the cabin side.

COASTAL SCENE

A scone, with her tea.
Salmon sandwich, cookie, tea for me.
Clouds. Wet haze. Evergreens. Light gray.

With a yellow Volkswagen
microbus down the ramp
a ferry floats out, away.

And then a Canadian ferry trip from Victoria to Vancouver.

Buffet chattering dishes.

Yet too much to eat, $4.50.

God won’t let you in to Heaven
if you pile up treasures
a single charred mask
in a glass case
stands as an offering

At the beach house tonight, Tulalip Reservation, Turtle Island declaration, so many thick memories for Kitty

Another ten years will Californians be as detested as New Yorkers overrunning so many other states? Loud, obnoxious, insensitive?

LA center of the universe projection:

The world as backlots
even before TV’s
Walton’s Mountain
back before Walmart

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.

 

‘Oh, sigh!’ as she used to say

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

As I immersed myself in preparing excerpts from my early journals for serialization at the Red Barn this year, I found myself delving online for tidbits relating to what-happened-to-so-so in the years since. In many cases I was stymied because I didn’t know or hadn’t recorded their surnames, and finding anything from the early ‘70s could be elusive. Remember, that was well before the Worldwide Web appeared in 1995. Yes, that recently. As you’ll find, there are gaps in the online archives covering that period.

Yakima was a little less problematic, in part because I lived there longer and noted a bit more, but also because more of the figures lived long enough to receive online obituaries. I’m still surprised, and also shocked, by how many have fallen into that category. Well, this is a half-century later.

One character who has been rattling around in my brain was the “society editor” when I came onboard. Daphne, as I’ll call her here, was among the established old-timers who were less-than-enthusiastic about the more competitive, more contemporary direction the new managing editor envisioned. I, on the other hand, was a key in his thorough reorganization and refocusing of the newspaper. The situation came to a head with the creation of a photo editor position and the arrival of a whiz-boy of excellence in charge of the visual appearance of our daily editions. Despite her grumbling, or maybe because of it, her department soon lost its independence within the newsroom and its staff of three or four was reassigned to the copy desk, where I was moving up, or to the reporting staff under the city editor. Quite simply, Daphne soon found herself responsible to me on the organizational chart, and those pages, especially the Sunday section now known as Femme, were shifting from “women’s news” to more inclusive lifestyles topics, things like Taste, Style, Health, Relationships, Personal Finance.

I never knew quite how to take her. I assumed she had been brought up in the Happy Valley, since she had that locals-versus-outsiders attitude, but was surprised to see in her obit that she was born in Los Angeles and had arrived only a few years before I did. She was always fashionably dressed with a breezy flair, and rather flitted about the room, often with “Oh, sigh!” as her signature retort. (Can you handle these stories, please? “Oh, sigh!”)

She did trigger me to explode in the newsroom one time, something I wish to apologize for. I would hate to see the replay. But somehow after that, we got into a working groove. Don’t cross me, OK?

Like many workplace relationships, there was much I didn’t know about her. It turns out that she wasn’t simply older than me, she was 22 years older – making her senior to the managing editor and the city editor, too.

She had a kind of style that suggested a comfortable upbringing, which I found confirmed in her undergrad degree from the University of Southern California and membership in Chi Omega sorority (or women’s fraternity, as it’s now called). From there, here background story is one you wouldn’t believe as fiction or, for that, reality.

While working as a stewardess, back when they were known as such, on a regional airline, she was filling in on an extra shift when she was charmed by a male passenger from Colorado. Evidently, sparks flew. They married a month later and settled in the Seattle area. Apparently, it wasn’t a frivolous flash; they were married 60 years, till the death-do-us-part part kicked in. He had served as an Army-Air Force pilot in World War II and would eventually retire from the Reserve as a lieutenant colonel. After their marriage, returned to college to become a civil engineer. To round out the picture, he was a deep fan of Wagnerian opera and eventually sailed a small craft from New Zealand to Hawaii. He also was flexible enough to relocate inland after she was hired in Yakima. Upon her retirement, the resettled on a houseboat back in Seattle.

What I didn’t expect to find was her identification as antiwar, feminist, Episcopalian, Democratic precinct captain – all pluses in my book, although journalists generally stay clear of political party activity. Nor did I have a clue about her own passion for theater and music, including opera.

As one of her longtime friends summed it up, “She had a theatrical flair for costume and loved to dress up. She was among the first women who dared to wear pantsuits – albeit very elegant ones – to one of Seattle’s big formal events. We called her Brenda Starr after the then-popular fashionista/reporter of the comic strip.” Yes, I know about the comic strip, which could be rather racy – I later represented it for the Chicago Tribune’s syndicate.

Some big holes in her story do intrigue me, though. Her parents are not named in the obituary or related stories. Was there some scandal or big breakup? What emotions did she carry from that? How did it lead to the cavalier or chirpy mask she so often wore?

Nor do I quite see her as a mother, despite the one son.

Oh, sigh.

Passing through autumn

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

On Labor Day weekend, I noted:

Summer almost gone, haven’t really been to the mountains this year — is it Kitty (together only on the weekends, and thus me reluctant to take off without her?) or the fact I’m working so long and hard I just want to collapse on my time off, making hiking/camping/travel too much (circuit overload) or that my days off now coincide with everyone else’s meaning the mountains are crowded? I wish I knew for sure. Or even so much rain in the mountains on weekends, each one at least cloudy?

But this has been a good summer of reading, novels, mostly.

~*~

Somehow, every time I suggested we head off into the mountains, her answer was, “What for?” meaning no interest on her part. It always put me in a bind.

As she said on Tuesday: “Hope today was better than yesterday.”

“Jesus, did it!”

“Well, cheer up. I just checked your horoscope and Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday will be as bad as Monday.”

And were they!

 

While the Canyon Highway was slightly shorter, the alternative route between Yakima and Ellensburg (and on to Seattle), Interstate 82, took a higher elevation course to the east but was faster though less dramatic as it ran through largely sagebrush barrens. Still, returning to the valley on either end felt like landing in the cockpit of an airplane, especially after dark when layer after layer of dazzling arrays of civilization lights unfolded. Sorry I haven’t found images of that, though I’m sure nothing could match what I remember.

~*~

Pixaby image. The ground along the interstate was seldom this green (the photo was likely taken at the prime of spring). The green in the Kittitas Valley below was irrigated hayfields and orchards, mostly. Forests on the ridge in the distance grew far enough up the slope to be sustained by lingering snow and wet clouds.

Kitty called me at work to tell me she had found a new apartment for the upcoming semester.

“Expensive,” said she.

“How expensive?”

“$110 a month, with utilities. But at least I won’t be embarrassed to have you over.” Adding, “Since you like my friends, you may want to spend some weekends up here.”

And, for once, we talked about Mark. [Or was it Michael?]

“Well, maybe the new place will help you keep out of trouble.”

“That’s over, anyway. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to get a situation that brings me down, and he only brought me down.”

“You realize this is the most we’ve ever talked about that?”

“I know, Jnana. I love you.”

“I love you, too. That’s about the first time in eight months I’ve told you that.”

“I know, but I mean it. I sure enjoyed your visit Sunday.”

“Me, too.”

7:IX

Jupiter entered Leo on Wednesday, “personal relationships will be much improved.” Also, “You will meet very interesting new people and find success working with a partner.” Also, tomorrow, “Venus enters Scorpio, where it will remain the rest of the year. This is your Business House and indicates that your relationship with business associates will go smoothly. You may receive favors from influential people.”

But Saturday? “You may spend the day with a group or organization, but do not get along with the group’s leader. You resent people’s telling you what to do.” Huh, the UPI meeting?

And Sunday, when our Friends circle resumes: “Mercury enters Virgo, your eighth house. Your mind is once again focused on hidden or spiritual matters. You are eager to explore occult ideas.”

~*~

Journaling 11 September, [Monday] Port Townsend again, first day out on vacation. Half-moon.

[Note that the UPI trip took a day out of my vacation] …

~*~

15 Sept / Friday (wait, a full Friday off?)

What a lazy, wasted day!

Tonight, watch the Ali-Spinks rematch. [Was it with anybody else?]

Apples picked and gone once again / circles, circles with a bullseye wide as the universe

~*~

1 Oct / First-day, after Mtg

in the morning like, Adams and Rainier as corral pink as the conch shell vulva

my only tranquil moment within a long day

mushroom growing in our shower stall

11:XI

Hit with my annual flu-symptoms

2:XII

Kitty wondering why people don’t like her.

Call at the office from a friend from high school Her husband has taken a pastorate in Grandview, moving up from California.

~*~

From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.