We gathered on the beach, south of Crescent City. It was 1969 and as a Cub Scout I was one of the few to attend. It’s where Kitty Harriman, a Redwood Empire Council leader, and native Tolowa, taught us how to make acorn cakes. She had with her a large burlap sack filled with shelled and dried acorns, ready for grinding and leaching and number of large woven baskets and several boards.

First we crushed, then ground the acorns to a powder, then put it in the baskets. Next, she showed us how to remove the bitter taste, using water taken from the nearby ocean. This took some time, but once done and while the acorn meal was moist, we formed our cakes.

Meanwhile, she cleared an area in the bottom of fire we’d built earlier, laid large leaves down, placed our patties on them, covering them with more leaves, followed by hot coals. A few minutes later, we retrieved them and ate.

Since then I’ve made cakes while camping, using pine nuts instead. While pine nuts don’t require leaching, do take time to shell and dry. This is my recipe, which works for both the field and kitchen:

2/3 cup finely ground pine nut meal
1/3 cup flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
1 egg, beaten
¾ cup milk (more for batter)
1 tablespoon honey (more if you like them sweeter)
3-4 tablespoons melted unsalted butter

Fold the dry ingredients together. Mix in the egg, milk, and honey, then beat, while pouring in melted butter. If you like your mixture to be the consistency of pancake batter, add more milk. Spoon or pour the batter into a hot, greased pan or griddle. Bacon grease and a cast iron pan are my favorite. Cook each cake until brown on both sides. Eat them plain or with your favorite syrup or jelly. Personally, I love blackberry jam.

Don’t forget the coffee!

It was January 1986, and Doug Tracht, better known as ‘The Greaseman,’ while working at  WWDC-FM in Washington, D.C., created an uproar by telling an on-air joke regarding the new federal holiday, Martin Luther King Day.

“Why don’t we shoot four more and get the whole week off?” Tracht said, “Come on, now, you know I don’t mean nothin’!”

Not even the free speech guaranteed by the US Constitution, could protect the disc jockey. He was suspended from the station for five days, publicly apologized, and later donated money to create a scholarship at Howard University in honor of Dr. King.

Herman Krakatoa is a profuse bleeder.
An massive eruption every minute.
He leaves puddles of sticky redness everywhere.
Everyone thinks him disgusting.
Herman bleeds so much he fills up city buses.
He bleeds all over the office.
He even bleeds on dogs, chicken and children.

Herman likes to go swimming.
The ocean is his playground.
Drives the sharkies insane.
They bite everybody.

Elon Musk bought Herman a Tesla.
Herman filled it with blood.
The millionaire built a rocket ship.
He sent Herman into outer space.
Now Herman bleeds on the stars.
He bleeds on other worlds too.
Drives the aliens insane.
They visit Elon often.

the sky is dirty gray
wind breezing a winter cold
birds are hiding

A friend of mine lives in a house that she technically no longer owns. A squatter. She worked for me at one time and when I left that job, we lost contact. Since then she worked several jobs and after being fired one final time, she’s never found another.

To be honest, I think she made some bad choices. Drugs. Men. Roommates. She was depressed and alone. But thanks to social media we reconnected.

Soon she asked for help; a ride into town to donate her plasma, to which I agreed. During our short weekly trip into town, we discussed getting her out of her situation. Finding a job. New digs. Transportation. Even had her over for Thanksgiving one year and a couple of backyard cookouts that following summer.

Soon that single weekly trip turned into two and so on. Her cash flow very tight, I never asked for gas money. Ever. For nearly two years this continued. The more I assisted the more she depended upon that assistance. Point is, she did not help herself and I finally said enough and stopped helping her.

A heart wrenching decision for me. Contrary to my tough outward persona, inwardly I’m a big softy with a genuine love for the common man or woman down of their fortune. Tough love they call it. I am still not sure who it’s tougher on – the person it is aimed at helping or myself.

That’s been five-years ago and we again have lost touch. I think about her, concerned for her welfare; mental and physical, and I talk to God about her from time-to-time. I’ve been assured in my heart-of-hearts that there are times when it is okay to look away, that assistance it meant to be temporary and not permanent.

Still…

Since paying to add ‘followers,’ is out of the question, would adding a cute cat picture to every post, even if the post has nothing to do with felines, increase readership?  Asking for a friend.

My friend is from Southampton, England. She’s against Great Britain leaving the European Union and though she’s tried to explain her position on this to me, I’m still lost as I jus’ don’t know enough about UK politics.

She recently asked me where I stood on the subject and I answered, “It doesn’t matter much to me as I’m not a British citizen.”

“True, but I still want to know your opinion.”

“Didn’t they jus’ hold a referendum on this where the majority voted to leave the EU?”

“Yes, but don’t avoid the question, please.”

“Okay, but you have to understand that I’m a citizen of a country that went to war to establish their right to self-governance. The original Brexit plan, if you will.”

“Yes, yes, Great Britain – but that was a long time ago. Besides, I don’t think the two equate.”

“Time doesn’t really matter when I comes to freedom. And, yes they do equate.”

“So you’re for Brexit.”

“Yes and the fact that not a shot was fired to achieve England’s exit from the EU makes it all the more sweeter.”

“You Americans have a strange sense of self.”

“Yeah – it’s called ‘Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. ”

“Okay,  now your simply being a wanker, so let’s talk about something else before you piss me off.”

“Sure. How’s about the War of 1812?”

“Go shag yourself!”

It began when Tom had a ‘run in’ with a ‘Southern-Born’ program director, who wanted a box for listeners to place their names in for an on-air give away that evening. Tom politely explained that it couldn’t be done because a corporate rule demanding a two week period of on-air announcements prior to any giveaway.

“Sorry, but those are the rules,” Tom said as Southern-Born stomped off.

Minutes later Southern-Born returned, this time with a box of his own. With Tom seated, back to the doorway, Southern-Born bounced it off Tom’s head, demanding the box be ready in half-an-hour.

Tom stood up, “I’m not your nigger and I won’t be treated as such! The answer is still NO!”

That was Friday night, after everyone but himself, Southern-Born and a couple of disc jocks had gone home for the weekend. On Monday, Tom was called into the Station Managers office and told that ‘name calling wouldn’t be tolerated.”

“Who’d I call a name?” Tom asked.

“You used the n-word on ‘Southern-Born’ man,” the manager stated.

“No, I didn’t,” Tom corrected him, “I used it on myself, after he hit me in the head with a box.”

And though he successfully pled that he hadn’t called Southern-born the n-word, he was still written up and threatened with firing. Southern-Born however, was never disciplined for the assault or trying to circumvent corporation rules.

He walked Katy every day. As for the shepherd dog, she tugged at her leash, nose to the pavement, head swaying back and forth, tail up, wagging happily.

She had her favorite spot, an old tree at the edge of a nearby abandoned cemetery that she liked to snuffle. One of its thick roots had fractured the sidewalk and the recent Fall wind had stripped it of its leaves.

James Ryan was looking up at the bare branches, when Katy nosed his hand, “Ready, girl?”

As he turned and with Katy’s leash twisted around his legs, he fell, head bouncing off the edge of the sidewalk, bright stars exploding in his eyes. Laying in the grass between two headstone, he felt something bind his legs and wrap around his chest.

Katy, barked ferociously and snarled wildly. A fat tendril tried to subdue her, but she was quicker and she retreated to the other side of the street.

Jame’s tried to scream, but the thick stem about his chest constricted. Then the now helpless man was dragged slowly towards the darkened crack of the broken sidewalk.

Katy, whined and growled as the tree pulled James through the fracture until only bits of his torn up tennis shoes remained. As the last of him disappeared, a hesitant Katy turned and started for home.

Overhead the thunderous crash of a thunderstorm rumbled, bringing with it torrents of rain, flushing clean the bloodied gutters.

A few years ago Tom quit his promotions job at a large multi-signal radio station. His boss called him the following day, asking what had happened to cause him to quit so suddenly?”

“Nothing happened,” Tom answered.

“Well, if nothing happened, why are you quitting?”

“Nothing happened. That’s why I left.” Tom replied.

“I don’t understand.”

“Never a lunch, a coffee, or dinner, never a birthday card, never an acknowledgement of a job well-done, never a pat-on-the-back and further, you either refused or failed to stand up for me when I did nothing wrong.  So, like I said — nothing happened.”