Wannaskan Almanac

The Divided States of America Pride in our flag Our anthem Our accomplishments Our freedoms Our constitution Division My hurts My needs My path My morals Rigid Democrat thoughts Republican ideals Black lives Media lies Fractured Eyes focused Ears plugged Faces hardened Minds made up Maybe the clock has already struck midnight

Sometimes a short poem says in a few words what a long poem can only hope to accomplish. Today’s post contains such a poem. The poem is not a Zen Koan, but it is close to that form. The entries are called cases and there are one hundred such cases in The Blue Cliff Record . This volume was first compiled between the late tenth century and the mid-eleventh century during the Sung Dynasty in China. In case you are wondering, the title of the book comes from the name of the residence of Yuan Wu, a Ch’an master. In Japanese, Cha’an roughly translate as Zen. One of the more intriguing facts about The Blue Cliff Record is that it contains no fixed teachings, but rather the one hundred cases that themselves invite much commentary, and what the author calls “pointers,” and accompanied by verses and translator notes, including, “What are they worth? (meaning the monks). Phony Cha’an followers are as plentiful as hemp and millet.” Please accept my modest contribution to the body of Buddhist li...

How many current technologies are like the eight track tape player? Here for a day then suddenly gone; missed by no one.  My palate is not so debased that it  cannot distinguish between a meal from Burger King and one from a Michelin starred restaurant. My shame is that I prefer the Whopper.  I finally got a haircut.  Pro: use less shampoo Con: need more sunscreen The secret of friendship: knowing which friends want to hear from us and which would prefer we wait a bit.  Statues don’t mind being toppled. Because no more birdshit.  On some of these days to my bed I am keeping. If I don’t wake up happy I just keep on sleeping.  Chairman Joe  

Hello and welcome to the last Saturday in June. Today is June 27th. Okay, I get it. People are tired. It’s been one month since the death of George Floyd set into motion a national upheaval. It’s been a steady drum beat of Black lives matter! All lives matter! All lives matter when Black lives matter!  Aunt Jemima was removed from the syrup bottle, something in there about NASCAR and a noose?, and an annexation in Seattle for crying out loud. And let’s not forget the latest news: an uptick in confirmed COVID-19 cases in 36 of our united states.  Even my older kids said, “Mom, it’s too much. Stop.” Or in teenspeak: “Maaaahm.” This week I’ve been thinking about power. As a parent, I’m constantly thinking about the power structure. As in: I’m a parent, you’re the child; do as I tell you. Anyone who’s been either a child and/or a parent will find this assertion of power incredibly comedic and downright ironic. Just yesterday, I relinquished my second (and last) key t...

I lusted after my landlord's machete, or bolo knife, as machetes are called in the Philippines. There was always a bolo lying about to cut one's way through the lush undergrowth, or open a coconut, or butcher a goat. I loved the long sinuous curve of the blade and the feel of the handle carved from the black horn of a water buffalo. It was a knife with heft, with gravitas. A weapon to warn off pesky salesmen. I was told a Filipino bolo would never rust because it was made from iron mined near the surface. But I could not find a bolo knife in the local stores. My landlord Adring said I would have to wait till the feast day of St. Anthony to buy a bolo knife. What? The nearest town was named San Antonio. They held their annual festival on St. Anthony's feast day, when itinerant merchants would make their way to San Antonio. That wouldn't happen for a few months, but Adring said I could borrow his. He also promised to go to the festival with me to make sure I got a go...

    My sister Ann Marie turned ninety years old in May. Her birthday celebration, originally scheduled in January for late June, was cancelled due the coronavirus pandemic as well as was everything else in the world we’ve come to take for granted, so family and friends got together using Zoom instead and wished Ann a virtual happy birthday that way.       Still, I had to comb my hair and beard for that one. My wife encouraged me to put on a nicer shirt. I think that’s the day too she ridiculed my comfortable pants selection, saying something in the order of the plaids not matching or something. Really? Who would see me? Oh yeah, her .       I haven’t been down to Iowa since our sister Ginger’s funeral in Des Moines, four years ago. Ginger was two years younger than Ann. Funerals, however untimely, are family reunions of a type that a person strives to attend; strangely birthdays, not so much, until a person gets into the higher nu...

And here is the Wannaskan Almanac for Word-Wednesday, June 24, 2020, the 26th Wednesday of the year, the first Wednesday of summer, the 176th day of the year, with 190 days remaining. Wannaska Nature Update for June 24, 2020 We have mosquitoes! Nordhem Lunch: Closed. Earth/Moon Almanac for June 24, 2020 Sunrise: 5:21am; Sunset: 9:31pm; 21 seconds less daylight today Moonrise: 8:43apm; Moonset: tomorrow; waning crescent Temperature Almanac for June 24, 2020                 Average            Record               Today High             75                     91                  ...

It was way back, November 3rd in 1908 to be exact, when the little town of Rainy River, Ontario welcomed its most famous child.  Bronko Nagurski was the oldest of four children.  He was born to Eastern European immigrants of Ukrainian and Polish descent.  His family moved to International Falls when Nagurski was 5 years old.  He worked hard as a youngster.  He delivered groceries from his parent's store, helped work on their farm, and labored in the timber industry.  Rainy River in the early 1900's In International Falls Nagurski played both football and basketball.  He transferred to Bemidji as a senior but was declared ineligible for football.  He did play high school basketball there.   Nagurski was "discovered" by University of Minnesota football coach Clarence Spears.  It was reported that Spears saw him plowing in a field, and that when he asked for directions Nagurski picked up the plow and pointed it the way that Spe...

If you don’t recognize the name Allen Ginsberg, you probably either not a reader, or more likely, under forty-five years old. Ginsberg was one of the literary and life deities of the 1960s, that unforgettable period for those of us over age forty-five or so. This post presents “Howl,” one of the most highly acclaimed and reviled poems of the 20th Century.  The title Howl indicates protest as cry, cry for all exploitation, repression, and subjugation. The poet asks people to cry against these and against capitalism. “Howl” stands as the celebration of mid-20th Century counter culture Beat movement. The context of the poem is given in the “Background” section below. All the usual pieces of Mondays poetry posts are presented first, followed by the poem, itself. Background Allen Ginsberg (1926 – 1997) was born in Newark, New Jersey of Jewish parents who were members of the New York literary counterculture of the 1920. Such an auspicious beginning for a writer! In high school, Ginsber...