Tag: Life

Do I miss the goddess Caffeina?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Mugs of coffee laced with sugar and cream have accompanied me from high school on, especially while sitting at a desk writing or editing. Cutting back from my five or so big mugs a day did become an annual health goal, not that I ever pressed that hard. Working the night shift didn’t help, either.

Alas, since retiring from the newsroom, I’ve had to eliminate caffeine altogether from my diet. Doctor’s orders. My favorite drug of choice, it turns out, counteracts a daily medicine prescribed to me.

Here are a few related considerations.

  1. Tea may be the first caffeinated beverage, from 2737 B.C.E., according to one line of argument, but I’ve never found it satisfying. Sorry if you feel a need to object.
  2. Coffee beans are not really beans but the pit of a red or purple Coffea fruit. The leading producers are Brazil, Colombia, Vietnam, and Venuzuela.
  3. Was the first usage of coffee by an Ethiopian goat herder named Kaldi in 850 C.E. after he noticed his goats had extra energy after eating the fruits?
  4. Today an estimated 80 percent of the world’s population imbibes a caffeinated product daily – a number that rises to 90 percent of adults in North America.
  5. It’s also found in some soft drinks and in chocolate.
  6. Add to that cold, allergy, pain, and weight-control medications.
  7. One study found that two to three cups of caffeine coffee linked to a 45 percent drop in suicides.
  8. Significant daily consumption of caffeine in coffee or tea may also greatly reduce the likelihood of Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases. Other health benefits are reported.
  9. The United States is the leading consumer of coffee. I doubt, though, that we can blame that on the Boston Tea Party, which was a tax protest.
  10. Decaf does contain a residual amount of caffeine. Not enough, apparently, to keep me awake.

It’s not like I’m suffering, though. I must say I’ve found some good decafs for my morning ritual, sometimes abetted by French chicory. Still, there are some dull days I would really like that jolt of bitter stimulant to the nervous system.

How relative is time, anyway?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Let’s consider fourth place, as far as length in time. That is, realizing that I’ve been dwelling in Eastport four years now strikes me as a bit of a shock. I’m finding it difficult to make sense of the fact, at least in light of earlier landings.

Quite simply, I’m still settling in here, even if it’s in my so-called sunset years. And, yes, I’m still feeling this is it, a very suitable end of my road, even if I am being greeted by name by people I don’t recall knowing, this is in sharp contrast to earlier locales.

For perspective, those shorter spans were in my early adulthood: Bloomington, Indiana (four years in two parts); Binghamton, New York (1½ years, in two parts and three addresses); the Poconos of Pennsylvania (1½ years); the town in northwest Ohio I call Prairie Depot (1½ years); Yakima, Washington (four years); a Mississippi River landing in Iowa (six months); Rust Belt in the northeast corner of Ohio (3½ years); and Baltimore, my big-city turn and turning point (three years). You’ve likely met many of them in my novels and poems.

Looking back, each of those addresses was filled with challenging turmoil and discovery, soul-searching yearning as well as glimmers of something more concrete and fulfilling just ahead.

In contrast, my longest period of living anywhere was Dover, New Hampshire (21 years), my native Dayton, Ohio (20 years), and Manchester, New Hampshire (13 years).

For better or for verse, here are more lodes I’ve also mined  

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

By the standards of many, I’ve been a prolific poet, though if you consider that just one new poem a week would come to more than three thousand now.

Sounds about right, even with the arduous revisions they underwent, pressing the original inspiration into something quite different, always in an “experimental” rather than traditional vein. Add in all the hours of submitting the results to journals and small press openings, and all the rejection slips that followed, it was an obsessive amount of time – I had been warned that even “successful” poets averaged 20 rejections for every published poem. And beyond that, simply preparing a “clean” page for those submissions back in the days of typewriters pressed the limits of patience.

Still, poetry could be done in shorter spurts than fiction in my free days and nights while I was engaged working fulltime in a newsroom. As a minus, it did divert my attention from the local news scene and related gossip, but it did sharpen my editing and writing skills, both of which chafed at the limitations of newspaper style.

Many of my early poems sprang from my journals, something that changed over the years, especially as I got into Deep Image and related techniques. While more than a thousand of my poems were published in journals around the globe, book-length collections remained elusive. Now, however, some are available as ebooks, allowing you a chance to sample my evolution over six decades.

Here’s a lineup:

American Olympus: This longpoem is also a mythopoem set in a single week of camping on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state. The book came close to being published by a prestigious letterpress imprint but fate intervened, sending me spiraling back eastward. Many other nature and landscape poems reflecting my experiences from one end of the continent to the other and back in my early adult years await full collection. Please stay tuned for future appearances of those works.

The volume has a new cover, one that’s a departure from my usual design style. I do find the leap rather exciting, and suitably unconventional.

Braided Double-Cross: Intense attraction, sexual ecstasy, and long-term dreams ignite this set of contemporary American love sonnets that reflect the conflicting emotions and unspoken expectations that surface in the eruption of breakdown and breakup. The set, my first run of poems composed as a series, explores passions that sugarcoat realities and betrayals. Sometimes something so truly hot leaves a lover branded for life.

Blue Rock: Continuing in the conflicted passions line, these poems reflect attraction, romance, and the aftermath in today’s society. Just groove to their beat.

Trumpet of the Coming Storm: Admittedly polemic, these are brimming with buried anger erupting at last. Sometimes you just can’t ignore politics, even in a historical perspective.

Hamlet, a Village of Gargoyles: This playful investigation of human identities alternates between gossipy and confessional, set within the context of close community. The collection now hits me as somehow prescient, considering that I’m now living in a real village with characters I hadn’t considered. The tone is contemporary with nods to Shakespeare and Chaucer.

Ebook formatting does limit the visual array of what you would otherwise find on a defined page of paper, but it does make my daring work available inexpensively around the world. I can live with that and so can you, especially if you’re reading on a smart phone.

I promise, there will be more.

You can find these in the digital platform of your choice at Smashwords, the Apple Store, Barnes & Noble’s Nook, Scribd, Sony’s Kobo, and other fine ebook retailers. Or you can ask your local library to obtain them.

About neighboring Campobello Island

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

It’s less than two miles away from our house. We even see it from our upstairs windows. But it’s in New Brunswick, Canada, and we’re in Maine, USA, separated by some serious ocean currents. As I proclaim when fog kicks and obliterates that view, “We lost Canada again.”

Before the border restrictions that resulted from 9/11 in 2001, visitation both ways was common. Just hop in a boat and land over there or over here. Families, employment, and shopping often spread across both sides of the border. At least one previous owner of our house was born on Campobello, a long time before Covid really shut things down.

Here are some details.

  1. The international bridge to Lubec, Maine, is Campobello’s only direct route to the mainland. Tiny Lubec then serves as their closest retail center. You need a passport to go either way. Before the bridge opened in 1962, much of the traffic went by ferry connecting to Eastport, Maine.
  2. The island is 8.7 miles long and 3.1 wide, covers 15.3 square miles, and has a population of 949. Half of the island runs along the spectacular Bay of Fundy. In fact, it’s the second-largest of the Fundy Islands.
  3. The island has one school, which serves all grades.
  4. At the end of the 1800s, the island became a summer resort colony for wealthy Canadian and Americans, including the parents of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. At their summer home, the future president learned to sail and explored the wild and, later, as an adult, tragically contracted polio. For Eleanor, the cottage was her favorite place to be, and she returned often, usually through Eastport. Today the residences are the core of Roosevelt Campobello International Park, with tours and programs administered jointly by Canadian and U.S. authorities.
  5. Combining its 2,800-acre natural preserve with an adjacent provincial park, the attraction extends to pristine cobble beaches, trails for hiking and cycling, breathtaking panoramas, rocky headlands, and several garden-like Arctic sphagnum moss peat bogs, one with an extensive interpretive boardwalk. The interior roads are, by the way, unpaved.
  6. Also within the park is Friar’s Head and its related trails, one down to a beach. On the Maine-facing side of the island, its views present the lower stretch of Passamaquoddy Bay and the beginning of Cobscook Bay. The highland sits above a landmark monolith outcropping dubbed the Old Friar for a presumed resemblance that has apparently faded, in part due to artillery practice from nearby crews in time of war. The waterway between Campobello and Eastport is known as Friar’s Road. (Now you know.)
  7. A small car-and-truck ferry connects Campobello and one end of Deer Island; from the other end, a second ferry runs to mainland New Brunswick.
  8. Campobello’s mail delivery comes through the U.S. There have been controversies over U.S. Border Patrol searches of the posts.
  9. Harbour Head Light, first built in 1829, is perhaps the most photographed lighthouse in Canada. Pedestrians who wish to climb to its beacon room can visit it only at low tide, but it is visible from other points.
  10. The island shelters us from heavy surf of the open Atlantic in Fundy Bay, as well as its fierce storm winds.
The Old Friar stands above the tide at the Roosevelt Campobello International Park in Canada.

 

Suicides along my trail

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

I’m reflecting on the list – a best friend ever, a lover who was more passionate about me than I was of her, a woman I dated once and then backed off, the leading anthrax researcher who stayed with us for a weekend or week, the PhD naturalist from my high school (and brother of my first real girlfriend), even my ex- fiancée’s scarred wrists. Add to that the LSD physicist attending our Quaker Meeting or the French-Canadian Catholic up the road in Gonic, and the list of suicides along my life pathway has more examples than I would have expected even without getting into the many people I’ve known along the way but who vanished after.

It’s a dark side that’s usually overlooked but probably more common than anyone admits.

More and more my curiosity involves the question of life itself rather than matters after death.

I’m taking one mystery at a time, as it happens.

On my own, I was writing contemporary literature, except that it turned into underground history

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

When I was starting out in my career and sitting at the edge of the semi-circular copy desk, one broad story I kept seeing in the headlines didn’t reflect what I was finding in daily life. It was the hippie experience, told one the public side as drug busts, antiwar protests, and rock concerts, while the personal side I sensed something much broader and transformative, which was largely ignored.

Tom Wolfe, who had come to prominence as a newspaper columnist, was right in saying that the great hippie-era novel needed to be written, though he was wrong in thinking a single book could cover it.

From my perspective, a traditional facts-and-quotes approach couldn’t touch the emotional reality, pro or con. Interviewing celebrities posing as leaders wouldn’t work, either – they largely betrayed us, maybe like never-a-hippie Trump would do later. Hippie was a grassroots movement on many fronts, many of them outside of the big media headquarters in the biggest cities.

In previous Red Barn posts, I’ve touched on many of the hippie movement’s continuing influences, things our kids and grandkids take for granted, but so much – especially of the broadest nature – remains to be examined and presented. I’ll leave that to someone else who can give it full and fresh attention.

For my part, I leave four novels as foundations for others to build on.

I’ve looked hard for work by others but found little yet faithfully left reviews online where I’ve could. Those works are, alas, slowly vanishing. Yes, we are passing.

I am haunted by a definitely hippie copy editor from the year I interned as what we called the rim, but he was gone when I returned a year later, perhaps after pressing for union organization. A lot had changed in those nine months. I wish I knew more about him, other than the ticket for Woodstock that I couldn’t accept, considering the scheduling and my bicycle as my only transportation.

~*~

The core of my perceptions remains in four novels to my credit.

 Daffodil Uprising: I was on campus when the repressive constraints of institutional America blew apart in the late 1960s. Crucially, many of the radical currents emerging on both coasts began connecting in academic nerve centers in the Midwest – places like Daffodil, Indiana, where furious confrontations exposed positions that later generations now take for granted. My novel revisits the upheaval and challenge, both personal and public, triumphant and tragic. As I still humbly proclaim.

Pit-a-Pat High Jinks: The hippie movement that is usually thought of as the Sixties actually appeared most fully during the Nixon administration, 1969-74, and brought changes that younger generations now take for granted. Yes, the ‘70s. In my case, that was Upstate New York where I lived in bohemian circles near the downtown and then on a rundown farm out in the hills where a grubby assembly split the rent and a bit more. My, we were so green and so wild-eyed.

Subway Visions: There were good reasons so many of my freaky housemates and new friends came from the Big Apple. My jaunts to The City, as they called it, provided high-voltage flashes of inspiration that ranged from grubby to psychedelic. It was a whole new world to me, even as a frequent visitor.

What’s Left: So much remained unvoiced and unexamined in the aftermath. I drafted a series of essays that came together as a creative non-fiction volume, but that went nowhere. But then I had the flash to reshape it from the encounters of the hippie protagonist of the previous three books but explored by his curious and snarky daughter. My intention for a big book about the revolution of peace and love turned into one asking what is family, primarily. Hers was quite the colorful circus.

~*~

I still believe there’s much in these that’s “still news” despite the dated surfaces that usually pass for the era.

This year, though, I’m finally saying good-bye to maintaining an effort to engage in an awareness. It’s ultimately in others’ hands.

You can find my novels in the digital platform of your choice at Smashwords, the Apple Store, Barnes & Noble’s Nook, Scribd, Sony’s Kobo, and other fine ebook retailers. They’re also available in paper and Kindle at Amazon, or you can ask your local library to obtain them.

It’s not just ‘Amazing Grace,’ either

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

With Robert Burns Day coming up Saturday, attention turns to things Scottish, and that includes bagpipes, not that you need them when singing his songs.

Here are ten related notes.

  1. Though best known as Great Highland bagpipes, related reservoir wind bag woodwind instruments have long traditions throughout Europe, Northern Africa, Western Asia, the Persian Gulf, and South Asia.
  2. Pipers usually refer to the instrument as “the pipes,” “stand of pipes,” or “set of pipes.”
  3. A bagpipe has one chanter pipe (played with both hands) and one or more drone pipes. The melody is played on the chanter while the drone holds a single – distinctive – lower tone as harmony.
  4. Most blowpipes into the wind reservoir have a non-return valve that keeps the bags inflated. Otherwise, the tongue has to do the job.
  5. Bellows applied to some bagpipes beginning in the 16th or 17th century supply air to the bag for a more even tone than would happen with the warmer and moister human breath. The modification allows for more delicate reeds and smaller instruments, such as those found in the Lowlands, Ireland, Northumbria, France, and Poland.
  6. Airflow to the reeds is controlled by the player’s arm pressure.
  7. The air bags are commonly made with the skins of goats, sheep, cows, or even dogs, though synthetic materials like Gore-Tex are advancing. The bags do need periodic cleaning to prevent fungal colonies from developing as a result of condensation.
  8. There’s no easy way to stop the sound once it’s started in most instruments. That’s why bagpipe music is heard as one long legato until the air runs out.
  9. The British Empire placed Highland pipers at the head of its military processions, spreading the sound worldwide. Leading the units into battle, however, resulted in a high mortality rate. The quip, “Shoot the player,” didn’t always refer to a pianist.
  10. Bagpipes have become features of funerals and memorials for police, fire, and military personnel throughout the English-speaking world. They’re also the official instrument of the World Curling Federation, should you be feeling sporty.

If only I could have come out as a bloody liberal

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Or maybe that should be, “bloodied.” The experience has been bruising, even without physical violence.

For the record, half of the newspapers where I worked had Republican identities on the editorial page. Of the remainder, one was liberal, one was neutral, and two did not endorse political candidates, period. And in the ‘80s, when I was presenting editors with a range of political columnists, the only ones that sold were conservative.

Early on in my career, I learned that as a true journalist I had to put personal feelings aside and attempt to listen to both sides of an issue. Much later, in Quaker decision-making I saw how that could lead to a third, and much better, solution to a problem before us, not that the general public seems open to that these days.

As for critical neutrality, the critical lesson came the time I was an intern and wore a Nelson Rockefeller button sticker into the newsroom after our paper endorsed him for president. I was told to remove it, and I did. Remember, he was a Republican and this was a Republican newspaper in a town that still had two – the other one was pro-labor and Democratic and had the bigger circulation. And this was during the period presented in the TV series Mad Men. My daughters are still aghast and intrigued by the outrages and great fashion style of that period the series presented. They’re still appalled by the hippie influences that followed, the very ones I found liberating.

As a journalist, the point I learned was that to listen to people, I had to be neutral, all ears. Unlike Fox TV, still far off in the future. It’s still not news in any vein I respect. But I come from a camp that abhors sleeping with your sources, OK?

Apart from that, the reporters and editors I knew weren’t paid enough to identify with the rich? Our incomes were an embarrassment, even to the local Catholic priest the first time I married. As well as my-then wife’s uncle. If we identified with the poor at a gut level, we had good reason. And, across the nation, most of our newsrooms were non-union – trying to organize in the face of national conglomerates was suicidal, since they could outsource at a moment’s notice. Do note the party divide here.

For much of my career, newspapers were incredibly lucrative. Period. Not that pay levels reflected that. But then the business model, sustained by advertising far surpassing the newsstand or subscription price, came crashing down. Somebody has to pay the bills of covering a community. Walmart definitely wasn’t, nor were the other Big Box stores and their colorful inserts didn’t match the rates of those local ads abutting the news.

So, even apart from that, I’m not surprised American newspapers are in crisis. In my four decades as a professional journalist, I saw news coverage under attack – not just from the outside, but more crucially from owners who first bled billions from its renewed growth and vitality and then started giving the product away online without a viable business model in sight. My novel, Hometown News, paid homage to the battle and what could have been, along with journalists’ role in the survival of communities across the continent and democracy itself. In the book, it was like Richard Brautigan and Molly Ivins met Dilbert and Kafka in an industrial city vaguely in the Midwest, even when their names, sex, and races were changed.

My career as a journalist placed me in enough decaying Rust Belt industrial cities to shape one novel of high-level global investor intrigue, though it will likely remain in unpublished draft. It definitely rambles.

What is available for you to read begins as a factual distillation of some of the communities and newsrooms where I labored, but it soon turns surreal in the face of corporate management (make that mismanagement) and global conglomerates that step-by-step decimate the local economy and very existence.

While the initial draft of the book was completed in the mid-80s, revisions took time, and the work failed into fall into a marketable genre. Publishers saw it as too much of a risk and then, as newspapers lost their power and prestige on the public stage, reader interest in what really happens in newspapers dropped sharply. We are in trouble.

Let me emphasize, though, I never saw political arguments sway the development or placement of developing news stories. The decisions were made on other factors, like is it interesting? Does it have impact? Oh, really?

If we true journalists do have a bias, it’s for factual truth. We hate being lied to or being used as unwitting dupes. The consequences to that, unfortunately, have been diluted under the right-wing deluge.

For local perspective, let me recall a candidate for the board of education telling me point blank, for the record, that he wouldn’t be moving away after winning reelection and renewing the contract of a controversial school superintendent – and then he did precisely that, It still leaves a dirty taste in my mouth, may he rot in hell, no matter his professions. We ran his quote, that much was exactly what he said. But he lied, on behalf of a Republican majority on the board. Would that affect how I saw the rest of them? You betcha. And it wasn’t the first time, even back then.

But they would still get a fair hearing, even if I hadn’t moved on.

Something similar went on elsewhere with a maverick sheriff who got elected to Congress as a Democrat while being investigated for Mob connections and a host of corruption charges. Somehow I’m recalling that an undercover agent fell from above the ceiling and onto the restaurant booth table where our suspect was dining – or whatever. We pursued that story and more, not that it didn’t keep him from winning and being reelected. For details, look up Jim Traficant’s wild record.

For that matter, he could have been an inspiration for Trump.

~*~

Leap ahead to the current polarization in the political spectrum. My decision to subtitle the novel “Reports from Trump Country,” seems prescient, given the array of Blue states as metropolitan centers with a sense of vibrancy and a future – largely on the East and West coasts – while the Red states are more rural and stagnant in between.

The hometown in my novel wound up on the rocks and, from what I’ve seen since, that hasn’t changed.

What I am finding disturbing is the rampant spread of patently false stories. It appears that way too many people don’t want to face verifiable facts, like half-empty arenas. As journalists, we knew all too well that some seemingly great stories proved baseless once we made “one phone call to many.” Do note the unsupported delusions being repeated by people with very definite biases.

Maybe I’m shouting in vain to the wind, but I’ll leave that up to you to determine.

You can find Hometown News in the digital platform of your choice at Smashwords, the Apple Store, Barnes & Noble’s Nook, Scribd, Sony’s Kobo, and other fine ebook retailers. It’s also available in paper and Kindle at Amazon, or you can ask your local library to obtain it.

Lithium, in case you were wondering

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

It used to be considered a rare element, though as a budding young scientist I had a sample that arrived inside a blue box the size of cigarette pack that arrived in the mail one month. Included was a small yellow booklet with suggested experiments, not that I remember any of them. Gee, that was back in the ‘50s!

Today, of course, lithium has become a household name due to its special applications.

Here are ten considerations:

  1. In its pure state, it’s a soft, silvery-white metal, highly reactive and flammable, requiring careful storage. The lightest of metals, No. 3 on the periodical table of the elements, it can float on water, a quality it shares with sodium and potassium.
  2. It’s highly corrosive, tarnishes rapidly, and is hazardous to the touch.
  3. It’s soft enough to be cut with a knife and has a density comparable to pine wood.
  4. Lithium compounds are the heart of rechargeable batteries for laptops, cell phones, electric cars, and cameras, as well as non-rechargeable batteries.
  5. Industrial applications include lubricants, heat-resistant glass and ceramics, and iron, steel, and aluminum production.
  6. Medically, it’s used as a mood stabilizer, an antidepressant, and other mental health issues.
  7. It serves as a fusion fuel in thermonuclear weapons and is critical to the operation of many nuclear reactors. It’s also used in rocket and torpedo propellants.
  8. It colors some red fireworks and flares and is also used as an air purifier.
  9. Although found in rocks and brines in low concentrations, lithium has few deposits of commercial value. The largest reserves are in Australia, Chile, China, Argentina, Boliva, the Czech Republic, and Afghanistan. Maine is also optimistic about potential mining sites. As for economic value? Think of the next Saudi Arabia.
  10. It was an ingredient in the original 7 Up recipe.