The Leaf Party

Yesterday, Peggy and I decided we'd rake the front yard, today. It's not a duty I will ever happily perform. It has nothing to do with any slothful male genes. Peggy thinks it is being a good neighbor, so I go along with it every year.





[Of course it comes with a compromise I'll get into later.]




It is not a happy duty for me because I just happen to like leaves, especially those who've fallen to earth forming rustling works of art.








Isn't it odd we run to the woods to get a glimpse of nature's pallet? But only AFTER we've raked the yard?

But anyway, I wasn't going to rake a bunch of leaves up without getting some pictures? So while I'm taking them? I espy the woman in the neighborhood we all suspect is an evil member of the HOA gestapo. She is staring at me with such ferocity I can feel her virtual daggers pierce my thick hide.

"So what's this all about?," I'm thinking.




The wonderful thing about blogging, as opposed to journalisticating, is you can openly speculate. So here is what I'm thinking. Either she sees some interloper moving in on her "rat on the neighbors" role. Or, she recognizes me, and by getting ready to rake, I am blowing the complaint she plans to file on Monday.


Well the leaves are all raked now, but I've made a decision.




I am going to run for political office in 2012. I am going to run on the "Leaf" party ticket. Our driving slogan will be "LEAF" us alone.



I know that is stealing some of the "Libertarian" thunder. But here is something you libertarians might want to think about before deciding to once again just be "also rans" in the political process.


Sure, we might seem to be a small , disorganized, single issue party. "But LOOK!" (That's clearly the new political cliche of the season, isn't it? And frankly I'll look when I damn well FEEL like LOOKING!)



We in the LEAF party have strength in numbers.

A few years ago? I did a leaf count, using a formula I used estimating crowds while a working ( I got paid) journalist. I discovered, to my amazement, that in the front yard alone, there were close to 20 th0usand leaves lying in piles on the lawn. Well, I'll just leave it to you to do the math.

The Leaf party will have to be taken seriously. So you Libertarians might want to think about throwing in with us. With numbers like these, the rest of the country is going to have to take us seriously.

THE COMPROMISE?

I told Peggy I'd rake up my constituents one more time, but only if she agreed to leave the leaves left in nature's above ground cleft (in the evergreens and bushes) alone.

[I DON'T THINK THE HOA COVENANT COMMITTEE COVERS ABOVE GROUND LEAVES YET. BUT IF THEY EVER DO, I'M READY!]

So let me LEAVE you with this. LEAF through this brief MAN/WOMAN/IFESTO. Give it some thought. Don't be LEFT out. In LIEF of Libertarians, the LEAF Party may be just what you're looking for.

Say, I've already voted. Can I get some alternative programming on the TV and the internet? ( I'm even tired of Obama Girl) And may I just temporarily put a seal on my mailbox? Can I get one of those devices that sets off a siren in my phone's mouthpiece when it senses political flim flam is about to be generated?

Stick with the LEAF party, and when I'm elected head LEAF, we'll turn those requests into the LEAF LAW OF THE LAND!

Get out there and turn over a new _____? Fill in the blank.

It's Not Easy

Being Green!

On the surface the word evergreen seems so clear, so unambiguous. It's a tree or shrub that's always what? Green?

In a newsroom, "evergreen" is one term used to describe a story that in theory will last forever. You can save it and run it anytime.

Evergreen stories are like old growth Redwoods, or Giant Sequoias. They'll always be there. You can depend on them. They are time tested and reliable.

But you know what helps us not get tired of green?

Yellow!

Blue and Brown!

Red and Ecru!

Beige and Orange!

FALL!

GROW UP!

"NOT GONNA HAPPEN!"

Of course that depends on what you mean by "Grow Up!"

Geanna up top. That's Michaela up there on the piano. She and I have the same piano teacher, Ms. Rogers. I think Michaela might be a little bit ahead of me. She's not grown up, and so why should I have to be.

I'll take responsibility for my actions. I'll try to obey all the adult laws we've agreed to manage ourselves by.

I'll recognize appropriate authority. I'll make a concerted effort to respect and appreciate every human being I meet.

BUT, if growing up means behaving like 98.2 percent of the political candidates this season? Count me out.

Oh, I'll vote because it is one of those grown up things you ought to do. But I really can't feel good about the idiotic way in which we go about picking our political representatives. Please tell me this isn't grown up behavior.

I have my own little parable to share with you what I think of the process.

Tenth grade. Bell High School. 1957. Me and George Dehlmar out by the school gym. We've just finished either football or track practice and with pumped up testosterone levels...we are "friendly like" pushing each other around. Somebody standing nearby shouts something like, "HEY GEORGE you going to let him do that to you?"

"NO!," George says. He looks at me and says, "I'll meet you after school over on Flora. You better be there."

So the stage is set and the whispered announcement explodes through the school.

"Fight after school. Flora! Reinertson and Dehlmar."

Now we have to show up and fight.

[ Just a little personal background. George is tall, thin, very long muscular arms. He's an end (wide receiver) on the football team. He is a pole vaulter back when they used bamboo poles. I'm a few inches shorter and heavier. I'm a lineman (right tackle) on the football team. I'm a very poor shot putter on the track team.]

So I'm thinking about a hundred guys show up after school to see George and I bloody each other. We are in the middle of a cheering angry circle. (You've seen this in the movies fifty times.)

"Hit him. Come on you guys fight."

From the description I gave you above you can imagine George certainly has the reach and coordination on me. And, indeed, it seems like only seconds he has me on ground whaling at my head. Oddly, it is my salvation. With arms that long, he is mostly hitting the ground. And from my position I can occasionally reach up and pop him on the chin. I think the two of us think we've been at it for a half hour. It is likely more like ten minutes.

And to the crowds disappointment, instead of blood?

George: "I'm beat."

Paul: "Yeah, me too!"

George: "Wanna quit?"

Paul: "You?"

George: "I think so."

Paul: "Me too!"

So Paul and George walk off talking about fishing or swimming or something, leaving an angry crowd behind us. They want more. They want blood. They vicariously want somebody to get hurt.

Here's a prediction. Sometime within the next six months? Barack Obama and John Mc Cain will sneak in the back door of some DC hangout, sally up to some adjoining bar stools and sip some beers together. ( I think Mc Cain will insist it be beer.)

Outside the bar, furious picketers who'd lined up behind the two candidates during the campaign, will still be spewing the venom we are all wallowing in as "Vote Day" approaches.

I've been hanging out with young people lately, infants to early teens. They are openly curious about the world, they appear to like each other, they seem to be finding ways to resolve their differences peacefully. They play instruments, they sing, they hug. I REALLY like it that they've let me into their world for a while.

"GROW UP PAUL!"

NOT GONNA HAPPEN.

Go Long!

Go long, and cut towards the goal post.

So I've been reading this John Grisham book, "Playing for Pizza."

I've not always loved Grisham's work, but I've always admired his attention to detail.

I've been to Memphis, I've been to New Orleans, and I've been to D.C. And it is clear from other novels he has also been to those places.

I have lawyers in the family and it is pretty clear he must know some of them.

But "Playing for Pizza" may be the most convincing evidence Grisham does his homework.

Playing for Pizza is about a washed up NFL quarterback recruited to go play the game in Parma, Italy for virtually nothing.

But this is not a book review, rather a bizarre trip down memory lane.

You see in the last one third of the novel Grisham introduces a character, "Rat Mullins. "Rat" is described as this little high energy football coach that revels in offense, and defense be "damned."

And as Grisham gets on with his description of the man and his style of play, I'm saying, "hey, I know this guy." Except his name isn't "Rat!" It is "MOUSE."

Mouse Davis is his name. And at least for a short period of time he revolutionized the game. He built everything around a scrambling quarterback with a thousand gimmicks to make just about everybody on the field eligible to catch the football.

Every once in a while you'll see an NFL team spread the offensive line to cover the field nearly side to side?

Mouse DOES spread it out side to side, and he does it on every play. It makes it really exciting to watch. It really does. But MOUSE, when I knew him, was not coaching in the NFL.

Heard of the USFL, the United States Football League? How about the Denver Gold? The Chicago fire? Well for a while we had year round football in this country. (It was a total of three years) Denver's contribution, despite recruiting a former Denver Bronco's coach (Red Miller, and then a famous quarterback, Craig Morton,to try his hand at the helm, the win-loss scale had the wins fighting gravity. So why not give this "Mouse Davis" guy a shot at it. And so they did in 1984 to get ready for the the 1985 season.

Well Mouse, if nothing else, knew how to get attention. For that scrambling quarterback position? The coach holds OPEN TRY OUTS.

So here I am, well into my 40's, saying "why not?"

MOUSE TO PAUL

"Okay, Paul. Here is what I want you to do. You'll take the snap from the shotgun position, and then you'll retreat another 6 steps and then curl in the direction of your throwing arm and start looking for a target."

It's a good thing they didn't have any linemen rushing me or I'd be dead. I followed instructions and since nobody was rushing me I got the pass off. It fell about ten feet short of the receiver.

"Want me to try it again coach?"

"Nah, Paul, that's good. Thanks for coming out."

It's a pretty good thing MOUSE didn't give me another shot at it because, as it was? I tore the heck out something and suffered nerve damage that didn't resolve itself for another 20 years.

I've decided to post this BLOG because I always tell my students, "don't ever give up on your dreams."


But, hey, no regrets. It wasn't my dream to Make the team, just to try out. So I sure lived the dream of giving it a shot.

I know John Grisham is still writing books, but I'm curious about Mouse Davis. I'm going to go see if he is still around and I'll get back to you.

If you like football, you'll enjoy "Playing for Pizza."

[ POSTSCRIPT]

I checked on Mouse Davis. At age 75 he is the offensive coordinator at Portland State University where he was head coach back in the 70s. His "run and shoot" offenses are still cranking out more than 340 yards passing a game. Last year Portland State led the nation in passing and offensive yards overall.

"Go Mouse!"

Funny Fall, "ha-ha"

In this part of the World you know WHEN fall arrives. It comes in a colorful way here in Colorado. That's our Marshall's Ash up there. If we don't get a nasty storm it will look like that for a couple of weeks before we have to rake all those leaves up.

This Fall adds some interesting characteristics as we suffer through this economic whirlwind.

Used to be this time of year some burly guy comes banging on our front door telling me it's time to AERATE and fertilize my yard. He has just got two or three little red markers in his hand to mark your sprinkler heads so his 'guys' won't destroy them with their monster machine.

"We're here doing all you're neighbor's yards. You'd better get on board before I run out of these markers. Aeration and fertilize for just 60 bucks."

About five years ago...this burly guy is banging on our door like we are about to be invaded by a bounty hunter. The fact that Peggy is sick at the time sort of gets my ire up? By the time I get to the door he's moved on to the next house...and I run after him, get in his face, use language most of you didn't know I knew. He finds some vocabulary of his own, and we do a two minute eye contact stare down.

By then quite a few neighbors have opened their curtains to see "what the heck" is going on. I kind of toss out a vain threat of what I'd do if he ever came back to my house. (Vain as it may have been, he has never been back.....until...)

This Fall? Tight economy? Burly aerator comes to the door. Both of his hands are FULL of those little flags, and there are not any of them sticking out of sprinkler heads on our block. Clearly tight budgets put aeration on the budget back burner.

And the man is reborn! Gentle ring from the door bell, and light tap on the surface of the front door.

"Good afternoon sir. We are in the neighborhood with our aeration machines. We'd love to aerate your lawn for you. We are running a special this season, aeration and fertilizer, twenty bucks?"

"Nah, still too much. Twenty bucks is a loaf of bread, two half gallons of soy milk, a loaf of whole grain bread, and a pound of butter substitute."

"I understand sir. Maybe next fall?"

"Yeah, maybe."

When it hits home, it really hits home. But this fall aeration is going to have to take a back seat.

So I hear the doorbell. Peggy is asleep and not feeling well. You already know how touchy I can be about that issue. So I race to the front door ready to lay into some aggressive sales person. You don't always get what you expect.

Facing me is this incredibly built and coiffed woman. She is dressed all in black. And I'm pretty sure I saw her on the cover of Vogue at the grocery store.

"Good afternoon sir. I'm "blah-blah" and I'm representing "blah-blah" automotive. Have you heard of us?"

"Uh-huh," which I'd have said even if I hadn't heard of them.

"Well tell me sir, what would you be willing to pay for a fall oil change, a new filter, rotation of all your tires, and a car wash?"

"I have no idea."

"Well I have a coupon here that will get you all those services for just seventy nine dollars."

Ah, the new economic reality sets in.

"Whoa, I don't have that kind of money."

Listen to this one!

"Well what kind of money do you have? I mean would you pay thirty dollars for all those services."

"Tempting!"

"I'm authorized to go that low, honest!"

"No, I'm sorry. That is about the size of my 401-k right now. Thanks anyway."

But certainly other neighbors would take advantage of this fall bargain. I fake a trip to the mail box to see how she is doing. She is already at the end of the block meaning there is no waiting for an oil change at "blah-blah" automotive today.

You know what would really be sad for the economy and HER? What if she really IS that model I saw on the cover of VOGUE?

Just a thought.

Reverie

TEACH YOUR CHILDREN?]

(Crosby, Stills and Nash)

"You, who are on the road,"

What a week! I'll spare you and leave all the gunk out. That gunk was fully overshadowed by the good stuff anyway.

"Must have a code that you can live by."

So one of my perpetual class sermons says, "don't ever give up your dreams. Sure, let them evolve, but don't give them up. And death is the only thing that should stop you from pursuing those dreams. Try your best to leave the planet without any regrets."

"And so become yourself, because the past is just a goodbye."

It is so fulfilling to see someone of any age take those words to heart.

"Teach your children well, the father's help did slowly go by."

This past weekend I took in the campus production of "A Chorus Line." It puts about 25 people on stage with an expectation the actors have had some dance lessons in their lives.

And it is clear in this production many of the performers have been hanging out in tights and tu tus most of their lives. That is certainly true of Kathryn Overturf, one of my former students. ( She tells me 14 years of ballet, etal.)

Too often I've seen Kathryn working back stage during school productions. She is a great organizer and leader. And I know she makes great contributions in those roles. But she is so stately, so poised, SO FUNNY!

"And feed them on your dreams, the one they picks, the one you'll know by."

So I hope it was her "DREAM" to get out front for this show. I'm biased, but I think she nailed the role and the dancing.

And here comes the "Teach Your Parents Well" poster child. If you know the production "Chorus Line, " you know the choreographer has an assistant who puts the dancers through their paces.

"Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you will cry."

The assistant character is played by another former student, Chris Russell. I'm no dance critic, but Chris looks to me like he knows exactly what he is doing. I wonder how many plies he's done in his 22 years.

"So just look at them and sigh, and know they love you."

When the show is over, I hug Kathryn, and shake Chris' hand.

"So Chris how many years have you been studying dance?"

"None! Zip! Zero! Nada!"

"WOW!"

This weekend I've had? It could have easily been the inspiration for the Crosby, Stills and Nash lyrics for "Teach Your Children."

"And you, of tender years, can't know the fears that your elders grew by."

(I have a special affinity for this song. It is the only piece of work I learned on the guitar where I can actually sing along.)

"And so please help them with your youth, they seek the truth before they can die."

Okay, that's Friday night. Saturday night? Well off to the Mercury Cafe, an arsty little spot on the edge of downtown. On this Saturday night food is followed by two sets of jazz and blues from a sextet that includes Nancy Taylor, office manager of the Communications and Arts Department on campus. Playing his alto sax near Nancy, is speech professor Kwesi Curry.

"Teach your parents well, their children's help will slowly go by."

They were just plain having fun. You could see the joy of their hearts in their eyes. I've politely never asked, but I'm guessing Nancy and Kwesi are about my age. And that is important here, because that is my sketch up there. That is one of my dreams pursued later in life.

"And feed them on your dreams, the one they picks, the one you'll know by."

I'm also learning to play the piano, something I've wanted to do since my piano teacher left town 50 years ago. (I only got in two lessons.) (Gee, I noticed they didn't have anybody on keyboard.)

Well, now, following a year of teaching myself, I've found this wonderful teacher (Rosemary Rogers) who totally understands there is no perfect time in life to get going on your dreams. And while I'm only playing in rudimentary form, my fingers have produced the works of Beethoven, Grieg, Mendelssohn, and those two prolific artists Anonymous and Traditional.

"Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry, so just look at them and sigh, and know they love you."

[OKAY, JUST ONE PIECE OF GUNK. AOL HAS INFORMED ME IT IS GETTING OUT OF THE BLOGGING BUSINESS THE END OF THIS MONTH. SO I'VE GOT 29 DAYS TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO MOVE ALL THIS LITERATURE TO ANOTHER SITE. ANY THOUGHTS FROM YOU CHILDREN?]