Those of us of age recently remembered where we were at the moment we heard the news of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination on Nov. 22, 1963. Before that shocking day, I remember older people telling me where they were when they heard the news of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Unfortunately, 911 since has been added to the list of dark days remembered. But I do not want to overlook Pearl Harbor Day, today – “a date,” said President Franklin D. Roosevelt, “which will live in infamy.”
This brass vase, brought home by my grandfather from his missionary days in 1930s China, reminds me of Pearl Harbor. Far, as we called him, was listening to the radio in the basement of the white house on Main Street in Granville, Ohio, when the news came. He rested his pipes in this vase. I’m sure it was near him on Dec. 7, 1941. It’s hard to imagine horror streaking his kindly face, but I’m guessing that’s what happened when the basement radio crackled that morning with the report of the Japanese attack.
This guy can play the harmonica, and this is a real American classic dating back more than 100 years. Stumbled across Charlie McCoy performing “Oh, Shenandoah” on an old Hee Haw (RFD TV). Feel like I should be watching a big, rolling river on a warm summer evening or the sun setting beyond broad pastures, but glad I found this version even on a snowy November night.
We all struggled to understand what couldn’t be understood. Beyond the images of a young president’s vibrant life and sudden death, the framework of our lives had been shaken, our leader taken from us.
Batting on a window on the south side of the house is the first thing I hear as Mountain Standard Time light wakes me at 6 a.m. I get up to investigate. It turns out to be an anxious gray flycatcher, trying to get in. I don’t know why. I turn from the flycatcher to the mountain and notice a shower lifting as clouds redden to the east. I think maybe I’ll return to bed but encounter a rainbow to the north. This is all too interesting to go back to sleep.
Always good to see the sun light the tree after topping the eastern ridge — from the safe quiet of my home. But I am reminded by the news how dangerous every morning is for the folks in law enforcement. Good luck and best wishes to all on this bright Sunday.
I can always stop to listen to this John Williams piece. It’s called “Air and Simple Gifts,” and you will recognize it from the first Obama inauguration. This performance is by Anthony McGill (clarinet), Itzhak Perlman (violin), Yo-Yo Ma (cello) and Gabriela Montero (piano)
For all the boys and girls in Congress, here’s some alternative perspective for today’s negotiations on the shutdown and debt-ceiling stuff.
And while I know many human issues are at stake, I want to point out this story by Journal science writer John Fleck about the effect of the shutdown on migrating Sandhill cranes.
Marla Brose/Journal
In my “monarch of all I survey” mode, I tend to think of myself as the first to hear — after my dog — the cranes coming down river. But apparently I missed them this weekend. Someone Tweeted their flight.
My late Sadie, a St. Bernard and perhaps bird dog mix, was particularly good at alerting me to the cranes coming to the north end of the Sandias to catch a late afternoon thermal for the ride down to the Bosque del Apache. Cooper has been just as good, but, heh, it’s the digital revolution and we’ve been beaten to the punch on Twitter. Just more help in knowing when to look up, I guess.
So far, it’s a day of recovery after another week in the newspaper biz.
Check Twitter for what’s on my radar: that cyclone approaching India, for one thing. And I am still moved by this story about Malala Yousafzai in the Washington Post, particularly her words: “I am proud to be a girl, and I know that girls can change the world.” The White House moved this photograph of her meeting with the Obamas on Oc.t 11.
I’m having trouble paying attention to the rhetorical back-and-forth in Washington. Jay Carney used the word “constructive” after the president and speaker spoke on the phone Friday. That seemed to have resonance for all of a few hours. John Harwood said on a recent Gwen Ifill show on PBS that the brinkmanship and pouting would go on right up to Oct. 17. I guess I’ll take a deep breath today and try to start taking it seriously again tomorrow.
Meanwhile, the iPhone shot in the upper left hand corner is what I’m seeing in my unfocused gaze from home in the hills: nothing but blue.
And now, I think I’ll take some time to read some Alice Munro.
Cooper, after our morning stroll, is already stretched out for a Saturday nap.
