sonora2sonoma

  • 72675236_10215072229187392_521706421859909632_n

    The idea of donald trump, as president, has always hinged on the suspension of disbelief. So wrote Lucas Mann in this morning’s Washington Post. But perhaps never in his administration’s history has this discipline been more necessary than in the last few days, where, between the “confession” of his press secretary, Mick Mulvaney, coupled with the second worst strategic blunder* in our country’s history—the pullout from Syria—with his lawless decision, later rescinded, to host next year’s G7 at his Doral resort, the bindings piecing that construct together have been frayed to the breaking point.

    Stretched to the max, the question for many of us now becomes, how much longer can those bonds hold before they part ways entirely? For his republican enablers in the houses of Congress, that question should be keeping them up at night, pondering their future prospects much as the leaders of the Vichy government in France must have in the waning days of WWII. I say “should be” because, so far, they have shown little resistance to the increasingly erratic bumbling of the toddler-in-chief.

    So, listen up, Republicans: For those of us who remain unscourged by the taint of Fox Views and Sinclair Broadcasting, it’s past time you provided us a little clarity on a few issues–

    Does it bother you that your boy withdrew our forces from Syria without consulting anyone who has a stake in the matter, save Erdogan?

    Do you believe that, minus guardrails, he might do something similar in the future?

    If the answer to either of these questions is “no,” then what on earth are you thinking? If the answer is “yes,” then what in the world is keeping you from speaking out?

    Perhaps a better question, judging by your silence thus far, would be what do you think you have to gain by not speaking up? You must realize by now that your boy remains unchecked because your continued silence allows him to be so.  What you should be thinking about is what you have to lose if you continue to allow this travesty to stand.

    The leader of the Vichy Government during WWII, Marshall Pétain, proclaimed a national hero for his valor and leadership in the first World War, nonetheless spent his waning days in imprisonment as punishment for collaborating with the Nazis. Please explain to us, Republicans, how your misplaced fealty to mr trump should be rewarded any differently once our country is finally rid of this menace.

    We all know you folks want desperately for your party to retain control of the White House; what you don’t seem to realize is, with this loose tool in the Oval Office, that bus departed the station some time ago; your dreams of controlling him are just that—dreams!

    The normal and prudent response to behavior such as that evinced by the current occupant of the White House is to reprimand the child and send him to his room until he calms down and behaves appropriately. The Constitution provides an equivalent solution to apply when that behavior manifests in a Chief Executive. It’s called impeachment!

    Tim Konrad

    October 20, 2019

    *the worst being Bush’s invasion of Iraq.

  • 3d88ce8a-68cb-4524-902a-2c47a1e49901

    The Greatest . . . Mistake

    Being an American who is accustomed to feeling pride in my country, I have a natural tendency to want to look up to my president. I have always felt this way in spite of the fact there have been more Republican administrations in my adult lifetime than Democratic ones. Over the years, I have felt varying levels of disappointment in our leaders; more often as a result of the actions of Republican presidents than Democratic ones.

    I came of age during the Kennedy administration but, truth be told, I was a rather slow learner in the beginning. It took me time to appreciate JFK’s contributions to the American discourse. Although he was no saint, he presided over a time in which great things were in the air. Were it not for his guidance, and perhaps more than a little bit of luck, we might all have sailed away in a nuclear Armageddon!

    The Johnson administration taxed my ability to feel allegiance; on the one hand, there was the compelling, grandfatherly way President Johnson had of addressing the nation that elicited my admiration and respect, but then there was the other side—the one that, fueled by deception, led to the loss of so many lives—and not just American ones—in the Vietnam debacle.

    Nixon’s time in office was marked by shameful events that tainted the office in ways it from which it has never fully recovered.

    The election of Jimmy Carter brought hope back into the White House after a period of darkness. Perhaps the most genuine person to occupy the office in modern times, he approached his task with sincerity, humility and fairness—qualities that, paradoxically, did not ultimately serve him well. That failure speaks more to the structural deficiencies and limitations of the office than it does to the man who held it. Nonetheless, there were times during his administration when I felt embarrassment for my country, principally concerning the failed rescue of the Americans being held by the Khomeini regime in Iran. But I never lost respect for the man. President Carter embodied then, as he continues to embody today,  the principles that have guided him through all these years. He is a living, breathing example of the best of what humanity has to offer, and an inspiration to everyone he meets.

    Reagan, adulated though he was by his minions, was at the helm when the country began its long slow decline into kleptocracy; the working class that idolized him still doesn’t realize the role he played in their economic decline, yet there were moments when even Reagan, who knew well how to work a camera, could elicit my admiration, if not my support. It is arguable that his best acting took place when he occupied the White House.

    The “thousand points of light” heralded by the elder Bush during his administration turned out to shine disproportionately brighter on the ultra-rich than they did on the middle class, whose economic prospects continued their downward slide under his oversight. Though well-meaning, and certainly more astute than his son, his mishandling ultimately contributed to his defeat in his re-election bid.

    Bill Clinton survived his impeachment not only because his transgressions were personal in nature and didn’t concern matters of national security, but also because of his popularity. Though far more moderate than I thought he should have been, the economy improved under his watch; unfortunately, it improved more for the wealthy than it did for the working classes. I didn’t always agree with Clinton’s decisions, but his likeability and charisma were impossible to ignore.

    We can thank the presidency of George W. Bush for the chaotic state in which the Middle East finds itself today. The invasion of Iraq and subsequent overthrow of Saddam Hussein is directly responsible for the current instability in the region, despite what Bush’s apologists would like us to believe. But, even with “W,” he seemed likeable at times. The image of “W” as a guy one could go have a beer with had a saleable ring to it.

    To say President Obama improved the Mid-East situation would be inaccurate. The loss of American influence and clout in the region that began with the mishandling of the invasion of Iraq continued under Obama’s administration through a series of ill-informed missteps, principal among them being his failure to enforce his “red line” ultimatum in Syria in the face of Syrian intransigence.  But as much as I was frustrated by President Obama’s foreign policy blunders, I never ceased to admire him. You can disagree with the man, but you can’t question his loyalty, intelligence and ability to lead, nor can you deny his dignity and grace or his embodiment of the “family values” promulgated by his opponents. A good father and a faithful husband, Obama is all that trump is not. The comparison is stark and sobering!

    Returning to Nixon, there was little of redemptive value about his administration, save the opening of dialogue with China and his founding of the EPA, yet, even after he resigned in disgrace, I continued to view him through a split lens—mostly as an exposed and disgraced villain—but still, there was a tiny place inside me that wanted to see him in a redemptive way. I can’t say I’m one of those people who strives to see the best in everyone, although I wish I were; but, to some extent, I do when it comes to presidents. Or at least I did until mr trump came along.

    Mr trump stands out above the rest in any conceivable metric; his love of flattering superlatives, in which he extolls his virtues with unparalleled promiscuity, is self-confirming in at least one respect: he is without doubt the most brazen, undignified, incuriously myopic, coarse and abrasive buffoon ever to occupy the White House. There is absolutely nothing about this man that is praiseworthy. Nothing! To look into his eyes is, borrowing from the news, to stare into the abyss!

    In short, trump is the greatest mistake the electorate has made in the history of the republic.

    Presidents are, after all, imperfect; just like you and me, they’re human and they make mistakes. The difference between someone like donald trump and most of his predecessors in the Oval Office is that the others were capable of recognizing their mistakes and deriving benefit  from that recognition—in other words, learning from their mistakes. With trump, apparently, there are no lessons to be learned from his mistakes because, when you’re a stable genius, none are made.

    Tim Konrad

    October 18, 2019

     

     

  • Like pus from an untreated abscess, new details about trump’s fetid administration keep seeping out and poisoning the national discourse. What began as a trickle just weeks ago has now grown to a steady stream as more and more alarmed officials are joining the chorus of the disaffected, disillusioned and dismayed. Public servants lining their pockets with public funds is nothing new, but the latest revelations concerning trump’s envoy to the EU, Gordon Sondland, are particularly disgusting. While the ranks of the homeless grow daily here at home, this paragon of dubious virtue saw nothing wrong with using public funds to the tune of  over half a million dollars in order that he and his family might enjoy a few home improvements to make his stay in Brussells more bearable. Thanks to the largess of American taxpayers, Mr Sondland was able to renovate his kitchen to the tune of $400,000. And for just $30,000.00 more, he was able to install a new sound system, while it only cost us another $95,000.00 so he could add an outdoor “living pod” with a pergola, electric heating, LED lighting strips and a remote-control system. Oh, and he was allocated an additional $100,000.00 from the public coffers to defray the expenses incurred in securing an alternate residence for the two months it would take to complete the renovations.

    Just think how many mouths that money could have fed!

    It’s tempting to wonder how someone could misappropriate public funds to this degree while managing to escape the sense that what they’re doing is at least inappropriate if not outright wrong. Normal people could not behave in this manner without feeling some sense of guilt. But
    Gordon Sondland, and those like him, defy such categorization. Their sense of duty is supplanted by a sense of self-entitlement that allows them to act with impunity. For these people, normal guidelines don’t apply. Regulations become mere impediments to be overcome.

    Birds of a feather, goes the old adage, fly together. trump appears to attract narcissistic opportunists the way feculence draws flies.

    Tim Konrad

    October 16, 2019

  • It seems every week these days
    what is happening in our country
    is more unbelievable
    than what happened the week before.
    There has to be a breaking point
    doesn’t there?

    Moscow Mitch found one
    in a way he least suspected.
    If not necessarily karmic,
    the irony is inescapable.

    But as to the breaking point
    for our current societal downspin into darkness
    wrought by all the wondrous things
    the orange man has introduced
    to the mix . . .

    Is there some grand point at which
    the people wearing their MAGA hats
    will awaken and somehow comprehend
    that they’ve been hoodwinked?

    Is there any hope the grand illusion
    proffered, promulgated and perpetrated
    by all the president’s men
    will somehow yield to the sunlight
    to reveal its cancerous underbelly?

    What is it going to take
    for the 45% to realize that their guy
    is toxic . . . a corrosive rot eating away at the very fabric of society?

    It defies reason, karma and sensibility
    to accept that such outright evil
    should be met with such passive acceptance
    and acquiescence
    yet, look what’s happened?

    Fake reality has taken root
    and now competes with actual reality
    on an equal footing,
    in the minds of those in thrall
    with the president’s pseudo-charisma.

    And when those whose trust is to defend the constitution
    and thus, us,
    from those who would exploit their positions
    for personal gain, at our expense,
    turn out to be the same people . . .

    What are we to do?

    What can we do
    when the ears of our representatives
    are so stuffed with corporate contributions
    they cannot, or will not hear our pleas?

    It is said that civilized behavior
    is what separates society
    from the jungle.

    When uncivilized behavior
    is celebrated in the Oval Office
    and defended in the halls of Congress
    what does that say
    about the state of civility in America today?

    And
    when the intolerable
    becomes tolerable,
    what does that say
    about us?

    Tim Konrad

    August 4, 2019

    Petaluma

     

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    The day Doris died

    People were reminded

    of a pretty and charming woman

    with a great smile

    and a command of song

    equal to Sinatra’s.

     

    Called today

    the “biggest Hollywood box office star in history,”

    She starred in

    more silly bedroom farces

    than serious dramatic works

    belying genuine talent

    unrecognized by many.

     

    She said she loved working

    and just

    “did what they told me to do.”

    And those movies

    were fun, weren’t they?

     

    Her luck abandoned her

    when it came to husbands;

    it took her several–

    and a gamut of adversity–

    before she came into her own person

    and found peace

    through looking after the welfare

    of abused animals.

     

    Que sera, Doris!

    You didn’t think that song fit the movie you sang it in,

    and it doesn’t really fit here either,

    but it’s quite catchy, don’t you think?

     

    So, Que sera, Doris!

    You were an iconic part of my world view

    when I was coming of age

    and, with your parting,

    a little piece of me has gone with you . . .

    as is true with the passing of anyone

    whose life has touched mine

    in some meaningful way.

     

    Que sera, Doris!

    Thanks for the memories!

    You brought joy to many.

    You will not be soon forgotten!

     

    Que Sera Sera . . .

     

    Tim Konrad

    May 14, 2019

     

     

     

     

     

    Virus-free. www.avast.com

     

  • In California, buildings are made of wood and collapse to the ground with age and neglect. In Ireland, they are made of stone and remain standing long after the roofs have vanished.

    In Sonoma County, as the old chicken sheds slowly decay and return to the earth, nothing remains beyond a certain point, owing to the perishable nature of the building materials employed in their construction. In Ireland, the wooden parts of the buildings decay, but the stone portions endure for centuries. Were the builders of these Irish edifices longer thinkers, or were they merely utilizing the most readily available building materials at their disposal? In the big picture, I wonder if that really matters? The history revealed by the way these monuments inhabit their environments invigorates the senses in a way that no words could replicate.

    And the implications concerning the relative impermanence of things American is difficult to ignore.

    A guide on our tour of Ireland explained the particulars of one of the ancient sites we visited, at one juncture pointing out that, as he said, “the ancient people lived outdoors and sheltered inside, while today the people live indoors and journey outside.”

    Not only do the buildings remain as silent testimony to Ireland’s history, but the songs of the Irish people represent a living history of their own, a record of what’s happened in the past that strongly resounds to the present day. If these folk persist in singing them, which there is every reason to expect they will, their songs will endure well into a future in which the digital age will be but a distant memory.

    The people of Ireland are, by and large, friendly and possessed of a joyful disposition. Their history lives on in song, grounding them in rich tradition and with a deep and abiding respect for their ancestors and the travails they endured. They lived under harsh conditions, and this is reflected in their faces, which display, in some instances, a deep character seldom seen in our country.

    There is something to be said for the richness of culture encountered in traveling to foreign lands. To be in a place with so much history, by which comparison our past here in America seems so shallow, is to become awakened to what really deep history feels  like: The comparison is sobering!

  • On Death

    It’s always shocking when someone you know dies. Death, after all, is a normal process, part of the great mystery we call life, so it’s odd that we react like we do when it comes around. And yet, it remains a signature event, something instantly memorable that grips our attention like nothing else. Whether it’s the finality of death that gives it so much of its power, or the way it reminds us all that our time will come too, it elicits the most powerful emotions in ways that stop us dead in our tracks, forcing us to reckon with feelings that in many instances, we were only dimly aware we had beforehand.

    When someone close to us passes, the impact on those who remain is all the more profound; it leaves big holes in the lives of the survivors. When children are among them, the impact can be immeasurable.

    Amid the disruption and displacement that surrounds someone’s passing, it’s good to take note of the clarity such an event provides concerning what is truly important, freed of all the distractions in which we daily immerse ourselves. Beneath all the fluff, beyond all the din and clamor, lie those qualities that give life its meaning–things like love of family,  goodness of heart and care for our brethren. As the world changes, these things will never fall out of style, and are always waiting as silent reminders to give us strength in our time of need.

    Tim Konrad, Petaluma, CA

    May 2, 2019

     

  • Having grown up in the foothills of California’s Gold Country, where the summers are hot, I find myself ill-suited to living near the coast, where the weather is noticeably cooler on almost any given day. This places me somewhat at odds with my neighbors, most of who are acclimated to the cooler conditions that prevail here. Just this afternoon, I chatted with a neighbor who shared with me that she found the pleasant 74 degree temperature unpleasantly warm  while, to my taste, things were finally coming around to temperatures I consider tolerable.

    And this evening, as I was thinking I could be happy here if this evening’s pleasant 75 degrees were a more common occurrence, another neighbor opined, along with his evening greeting, about hoping   “this crazy hot April weather isn’t going to be the new normal.”

    The cognitive dissonance of finding that my neighbors suffer when temperatures begin to approach my comfort zone makes me feel like a Rhodes Scholar at a trump rally. Feeling like a crawdad at a crap game was not a sensation I often encounter, and one I was ill-equipped to deal with at first. Eventually, however, my dismay turned into acceptance, and finally to resignation, but I will never be able to embrace coastal temps the way my wife, who was raised in San Rafael, has done.

    On our first trip to Hawaii, as we stepped off the plane and into the warm embrace of the low 80s, I exclaimed “I could live here,” to which Michelle responded, “Not me!”

    I admit to considerable envy of our friends Ziggy and Diane, who have arranged their lives such that they are able to enjoy perpetually warm weather as they traverse the hemispheres twice annually in order to experience not one, but two springs and summers each revolution of the sun. It was a dream of mine as a young man to live in the tropics, where the chill of frost would be the stuff of memory and my winter clothes would become artifacts left over from a former life.

    But alas, owing to a combination of lack of vision, planning and execution, my redoubt from colder climes got me no further than Sonoma County, a place where the pipes seldom freeze but the heat rarely penetrates deeply enough to  warm the chill in my bones.

    This evening I will not complain, however. The temperature couldn’t be more to my liking for this early in the season. So, with the tinge of guilt that naturally accompanies the enjoyment of something  not everyone is happy about, and without extensive reflection concerning the  implications for global warming contained therein, I can say with conviction/feeling that the weather is lovely this evening.

    Tim Konrad

    Petaluma, CA

    April 22, 2019

  • I used to think I was unfeeling:

    When, at age nine, my grandfather passed away,

    I felt inadequate as I sat at his funeral

    Unable to cry

    While those around me were weeping.

     

    Naturally,

    As children are wont to do,

    I assumed responsibility.

    I felt inadequate,

    Like something was wrong with me

    Because, while others I knew were capable of expressing their emotions

    I thought, based on my inability to express mine

    That I had none,

    Not realizing

    That it wasn’t that I had no feelings to feel

    But that I didn’t know how to feel  them,

    That, in effect, I had lost touch with my feelings.

     

    Many years would pass before I learned

    This wasn’t true

    That I did have feelings

    And that, if allowed, they could announce themselves

    In the most inappropriate moments

    Without warning

    Sometimes to my utter delight

    Regardless of their timing

    Or lack thereof.

     

    So it is that

    When the tears start flowing

    As they did yesterday, over breakfast,

    While reading about the burning of the Notre Dame Cathedral

    At a local breakfast hangout

    I take passing interest

    In how my tearful response

    Might appear to others,

    As I, full of gratitude, give thanks for the gift of tears

    That connects me

    Through our common humanity

    With my fellow travelers

    On this great blue orb

    As it courses its path through the heavens.

    Tim Konrad

    April 19, 2019

    Petaluma, CA

     

     

  • IMG_8925An old cardboard box

    Yellowed with age, dust-covered and disheveled

    Consigned to a corner of an all but forgotten garage

    Three counties, two regions and a world away from home

    Filled with notes on paper, newspaper clippings, song scraps

     

    Old letters from friends of yore, some forgotten,

    Others unforgettable

     

    Tickets from the Beatles concert I attended with my first wife in 1966.

     

    Missives, memos, epistles, epithets, curated for a future viewing

    Songs sung of foolish youthful things

    And things not so foolish

    From a time when the promise of a lifetime lay sparkling in the bright sunshine

    Like a carpet spreading thither leading the way to countless tomorrows.

     

    *****

     

    An old cardboard box

     

    Bursting with old quotes & secret messages

    Some so secret the recorder has forgotten their meaning

     

    If history is written by its survivors,

    It would seem these artifacts have plenty to say

    And if it’s wrong, who’s to question it?

    The dead have forgotten their voices!

     

    Random nameless images frozen on forgotten film strips

    Ferreted away in friendly colored but unlabeled film canisters

     

    Slides of Elvin Bishop tearing it up at Avery Ranch, circa 1989

     

    A slide viewer emerges from the depths of the box

    Complete with corroded batteries.

    A little sandpaper, some fresh power, and

    A window to the past emerges, a glimpse back to 1989

    And, suddenly, it’s Sarah’s birthday party again!

    Just like it happened yesterday

     

    Except everyone looks, well, older!

    sarah campbell birthday party

    If history is written by the survivors . . .

    The admixture is bound to be colored thereby.

    The loudest voices are not always the ones that persist,

    The ones whose refrains echo down through the ages.

     

    But nobody’s words or deeds can stem the inexorable tide of aging

    Not even, and especially not

    Michael Jackson’s plastic surgeon.

     

    *****

    IMG_8917

    An old cardboard box

     

    Sentence fragments scrawled on aging paper

     

    Notes on how to live

    Reminders–“forget yourself”

     

    Bits of poetry

    “Soul food–a beautiful morning sandwich and a glass of rain”

     

    Bits of nonsense

    “Aunt Geronimo’s mayonnaise-flavored syrup”

     

    Happy thoughts

    “It was such a beautiful morning I made a sandwich of it

    and took it to a friend”

     

    Song bits

    “Well, I’m from a small town, true and real

    If a neighbor farts, it’s a great big deal.

    The sheriff’s related to half the town

    And maybe even to Edmund Brown.”

     

    A different verse from a poem ends with “and my life has hardly begun . . . ”

     

    *****

     

    An old cardboard box

     

    Stuffed with the flotsam and jetsam of emergence,

    Of a young mind’s yearning

    To know itself, to make sense of that which wasn’t

    Making any sense at all!

    Which at the time was practically everything.

     

    *****

     

    An old cardboard box

    An interruption from another time

    Full of sage words and youthful nonsense

    Information without structure

    Memorabilia minus meaning

    Trifling trivia, mysterious memes and obstreperous optics

     

    A conundrum of half-built constructions

    Sidelined by distractions

    And left forgotten along the way

     

    All carefully placed

    Within a cardboard cache, a curious keep

    A confusion of a time capsule

    Whose contents unveil more questions than answers

     

    Just as it was when the box was loaded . . .

     

    Only now,

    At this juncture,

    I am supplied with a better set of questions.

     

    Tim Konrad

    April 16, 2019

    Sonora, CA