Black As Night

"I wanna see it painted, painted black

Black as night, black as coal

I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky

I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black"

(Rolling Stones, 1966)

It was two months before the 7/11 birth of Tyler Thomas Campbell.

Mid-May of 1980. A beautiful weekend day on the South Hill of Spokane, Washington.

It was an old area of town, covered with small custom homes... something you might imagine pictured in Good Housekeeping.

A few friends were gathering for a neighborhood picnic.They were momentarily positioned between two homes, laden with food supplies and heading for one of the back yards. The western sky was at their back when they noticed the light dimming.

They circled the home to face the sky and saw what appeared to be a black wall carried by the prevailing wind and heading straight in their direction. Picnic plans were immediately cancelled and all returned to their homes to switch on their televisions and see if there was news of the event.

Within minutes it went from sunny spring day to black as night. During those moments absolutely everything that was exposed to the sky was covered with a half-inch or so of battleship grey material that seemed like talcum power in it's consistency.

News reports were quick and effective."Mt St. Helens has erupted. Stay calm. Stay inside. The storm is volcanic ash. We don't know how harmful it may be."

The next morning, they peered out their windows and wondered at the surreal landscape. Homes, autos, yards and roads were totally draped in a mask of grey. He opened the door slightly and their Old English Sheepdog, Gypsy bolted out into the yard. With her mix of white and grey hair it was as if someone had deliberately color matched her with her surroundings.

As he ran to catch her, she ran onto the empty street. Each time one of her paws touched down a cloud of ash would erupt. It was a spectacular and totally unearthly sight.

Another day passed and news came that it might be okay to go outside "but wear face masks just in case the ash is toxic". Water hoses came out all over the neighborhood and people began rinsing the ash off things.

He snapped a photo (I will post it as soon as I locate it) of 7-months pregnant Julieann Marie Campbell while she was outside hosing down the ash. It was quite a site... a little round person with a hat and mask and a hose.

They would later learn that a couple of their neighbor friends, both geologists, had been on an aerial single-engine plane tour of the mountain when it erupted and they had narrowly escaped being caught in it. (He had given his wife the tour as a birthday present.) Dorothy and Keith Stoffel snapped a lot of photos and later included them in a book, "Volcanic Eruptionsof Mount St. Helens, the First 100 Days".

It would go down as the deadliest and most economically destructive volcanic eruption in the history of the United States.

Sometimes life is just bigger than, well, life itself...

Bentley

So I am at the gas station.

I notice a new Bentley.

Pulled in to refuel.

Out pops this gorgeous blonde.

With a perfect figure.

I'm thinking, "Daughter Samantha! You redid your hair!"

But then noticed it was not her.

I then thought, "Son Tyler's future wife?

Mother of my future grandchildren?!"

I guess I can accept that...

The End... Is Near

This is a delicate story.

It's about preparing to say goodbye to a dear old friend.

In a way it is also about saying hello to a new one.

This morning, at 4:22 AM I heard the familiar "thud"...

Of our newspaper hitting our front porch.

Our bedroom is close to our front door.

It is not an annoying sound.

It just wakes me up more often than not.

And almost just as often I am ready to get up.

The "Thud" used to be louder.

You see, the pages were of heavier weight.

The pages were also larger.

Finally, the paper was also thicker with news and, mostly ads.

With all those changes, the "thuds" have become quieter.

This is a crossroads in history when 150 year old papers...

Are closing their doors.

We are in transition to news on demand.

It's becoming instantaneous... with all the knee-jerk speculation and sensational wrong turns that might imply.

It's becoming the web.

It's Google that knows everything.

It's the Huffington Post.

The Wall Street Journal of Damn Fine Watch ads on-line...

And others of course.

A good two-thirds of the annual days here in Sacramento find us enjoying great morning weather.

On those days, and in anticipation, I grab that first cup of coffee, the ever thinning paper and dog Molly.

We all go outside where I enjoy the paper while the morning light turns brighter and Molly takes care of business.

This is the way it is supposed to be.

But my time on the patio is getting shorter.

Because there is less paper.

And there is less substance in the paper.

Less substance in the news and in the simple handling of the object.

It has become almost as delicate as tissue paper.

Susceptible to the slightest Delta breeze.

Difficult at times to manipulate.

On the other hand,

This gets me back into the home office quicker.

And on the Internet to catch up on all the morning emails.

And Facebook, and MySpace, and my Blogs,

And on-line news articles that are so fresh... printed papers cannot possibly keep up.

I am having great fun with it all, but I am taking in less glory in the morning.

Does that make sense?

Blacklick

Now humor me for a moment if you will...

Say this reeeaaalll slow,

Maybe three times.

Blacklick.

Blacklick.

Blacklick.

It rolls off the tongue really nice doesn't it?!

Black...lick.

Someone from Blacklick Ohio visited this blog today.

That person has made me think of other names that have a ring to them.

Buzzard's Breath, Wyoming

Tombstone, Arizona

Blacklick, Ohio

Yup, I think it is worthy of that group.

So here's his story:

They said he was from Blacklick, Ohio

That he handled a whip better than Lash Larue ever dreamed.

(If you don't remember Lash, just Google him... Wickipedia will make you a fast expert)

In fact, he could well have been the inspiration for the famous movie character.

His name was (you fill this in)...

He first came to notoriety when he captured a vicious murderer named (you fill this in)

Word had it that the two battled all night with whips first, then knives, then fists until

(you fill in the name) had prevailed midst the broken furniture and flying blood.

Then he realized he had to travel the country... reach out from Blacklick

to rid the land of blackhearted (yeah, I know a little redundant) bandits

who robbed, pillaged and rode Harleys (yeah, I am pretending they had Harleys back in the day).

So he strode forth, and when he had his horse he rode forth, into the near wilderness that was known as... "Cincinnati" (okay, so he didn't have a Harley).

He knew he could help there as "Cincinnati" wasn't near as mean sounding as "Blacklick"

It was in fact, real easy.

So much so that he thought of it as a proverbial "walk in the park".

Even though they hadn't invented the phrase back then.

After that he retired to Blacklick and stayed there.

In his fertile yet pitiful mind, there were no challenges that remained.

So, (and I am asking you to say this reeeaaalll slow... with emphasis on the consonants - sorta like John Wayne style)

He Parked his Black Boots on a Porch in Blacklick and Leashed his Black horse by Bridle and Bit to the Last Black Lamp post along with his Last Black Lash... because he didn't think he needed that stuff anymore.

I may have to do a video news report on this to do it justice....

"Ine" Baby!

Yes, I'm back at it.

I am digging into another of Ayn Rand's works.

This time, its "The Fountainhead"

First published in 1943, it preceded "Atlas Shrugged" by fourteen years.

So here's the deal, I'm about a hundred pages into this mini-opus.

The main character, Roark, is an architect of sorts.

This guy is no namby pamby... no Sir!

He is a bad-ass of the first degree.

I just saw that Cooper played him in a movie of the same name.

I will have to check it out but yea, the "Coop" could probably pull it off.

Through the first hundred pages,

I have to say I have been immersed in the finest dialogue I have ever read.

"Ine" hit this one out of the park...

To think she did it almost sixty years ago!

I wish she was still alive and writing today.

We would all be on pins and needles awaiting her next magnificent work.

It won't be long, you will be able to find it in large boxes in the book section...

for sale at Costco for $15.79 - mark my words on this.

Peanut Butter and Jelly

My wife of forty years left me.
Two nights ago.

She went to a party.
Where friends invite other friends.

As true friends are wont, they sell things to each other.
You know, like Tupperware.

I was home alone.
Left to my own devices.

So I cooked up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
On fresh wheat bread... the jelly was strawberry.

Copious amounts of each ingredient.
Backed by a pile of salty, greasy Lays wavy chips.

I had a large glass of damn fine Syrah to wash it all down.
I was in heaven.

The sandwich reminded me of my brother.
When he was little, he called them "whowho, jehjeh, petabutter".

That is exactly what I had.
Two nights ago.
When my wife left me.

It would be nice if she left me once a week.
Of course I would have to stock up.
On Whowho, jehjeh, petabutter.

When she reads this I'm a Dead Man Walking.