Cheryl's on 12th

Cheryl’s on 12th

Portland OR, in the Pearl District

I caught the Amtrak Cascades from Seattle (Tukwila) on a ‘once in a blue moon’ Friday July 29th with my friend Dave... It’s a 3 hour trip to Portland and the first thing on the to do list quickly became, “Let's get something to eat!” So as we’re walking from the train station I checked Yelp for good places nearby to eat.

This is my first time here at Cheryl’s and I liked the place the moment I walked in. It was quite busy when we arrived, a little after 11am, but we were seated in just a few minutes. I wanted something basic so I ordered the fried egg and bacon sandwich with rosemary red potatoes. It really hit the spot and the coffee was good too. Now I’m ready for our Pearl District adventure.

Though it’s peak tourist season, it seemed like a lot of locals were here. We heard a lot of chit chat and familiar hellos and goodbyes to the staff while we ate. That says a lot me. The service here is the best here, warm and friendly. The waitress was busy with several tables to attend but she took excellent care of us.

The location on the corner of 12th and Washington is a good one and it’s fun watching people through the windows walking by. I really enjoyed my stop here. I’ll be back on my next trip to Portland.

But the reason for getting here is books! Powell’s City of Books! Dave Hoskin and I went down once a year if not twice just cuz. I’d get on in Tukwila and he’d get on in Tacoma. I’d save him a seat when he got on then we’d head down to the cafe car and sit there if we could. We’d usually BS the whole 3 hours away getting there then either go to the book store when we got there or stop for eats, usually Deschutes Brewery Portland Public House. Every time we went down we’d explore the Pearl District and Old Town and usually eat and drink somewhere.

But the reason for getting here is books! Powell’s City of Books! Dave Hoskin and I went down once a year if not twice just cuz. I’d get on in Tukwila and he’d get on in Tacoma. I’d save him a seat when he got on then we’d head down to the cafe car and sit there if we could. We’d usually BS the whole 3 hours away getting there then either go to the book store when we got there or stop for eats, usually Deschutes Brewery Portland Public House. Every time we went down we’d explore the Pearl District and Old Town and usually eat and drink somewhere.

Usually we’d walk from The Yards at Union Station and plan different outings with a couple of hours at least at the book store. I miss doing that. We haven’t gone in about 4 or 5 years? We were getting close, I think, to doing it before I got sick first of the year. Well... I’m feeling better now so it’s time to bring it back up at one of our weekly meetings!

After a full day we’d jump back on the train for home around 6:30 or a little later. I usually made it home by 10 or 10:30. They were great adventures and we talked a lot.

Choices

This is my very first film score... I was at Green River Community College at the time and also working in Sumner, Washington with Tony Williams, Gary Baller, and Dan Nordblad recording original songs and making demos for record labels.

At the time I played numerous roles in the Green River Jazz Band playing guitar, bass, valve trombone and composed several charts for the group as we called them back then. Through my friend Steve Hamilton, trumpet player, I met his dad, Chuck Hamilton. Chuck did a stint at the Boeing Company in their film department and he and Art Day had started up Evocative Productions. One of their projects was a series of educational films aimed at high school students.

Chuck heard several of my compositions for Jazz Band, Pep Band, and Concert Band and asked me if I’d be interested in doing a score for a short film they were producing. Well, of course I would! I was a young guy in his mid 20’s ready willing and able to do just about anything for a shot at a cool project.

I created the score and recorded everything at Gary Baller’s home in Sumner in 1974/75 in his front room studio. I had a 4 track Sony reel to reel tape recorder and I played and overdubbed all the instruments; melodica, guitars, piano, bass, cymbals, chimes, and sound effects.

The film was shot, edited and in the can (as they say) when they asked me to do the music. It was an amazing learning event. It was all recorded on analog tape and everything needed to be storyboarded and timed to the second because I didn’t have the luxury of watching the visuals when I created the soundtrack.

It was created in 15, 20, 30, 45 second intervals at a time that were later synchronized to match the timeline on the film with the action. When we actually added the soundtrack to the film I was with Chuck in the production studio. It was done in the old school tradition of film called A B rolling... The soundtrack was applied by strips of audio back and forth, a to b.

I watched the film probably 1,000 times and made copious notes on the score and peppered it with notations indicating the time lines.

Like Michael Jackson once said, “That’s Bad!” Meaning it was damn good!. Looking back over 40 years, it’s “interesting” but not so groundbreaking. But, none the less, it was my first attempt at a film score. I was fortunate to discover a 16mm print of the film this last year and got it digitized.

It’s funny how you hold things over the years. I haven’t seen this since the very early 80’s. Naive, too serious, a little too Film Noir perhaps? Regardless, it happened. It was done and I was there.

Choices, if it’s not too over the top obvious, is about the decisions we make everyday to take the green pill or the red. Do you want the real or the illusion of the real?

I’ve lost track of all these people including Niles Brewster. He went on to be in television and movies. Chuck and Art both worked more here and did more art and both passed away. I’ve lost touch so much over the years.... It’s so 1975! I wonder what happened to Steve Hamilton?

I haven’t seen Steve Johnson for several years. I’ve been trying to find him, but no luck. His old wife Marylin Johnson passed away a view weeks ago. I miss Dan. That’s Dan Nordblad. I won’t see him again because he passed away about 20 years ago. Jo Nordblad passed away last year or was that two years ago? His brother passed away I haven’t seen Steve Johnson either. He’d give me a call once in a while and I’d send him an email. The online proper ownership for Jefferson County, Port Townsend says they still own their home there but Steve isn’t answering his phone or his mail.

On one of my trips to Alaska for First American Title I got to see Tony Williams. He and Shelly Ose (one of his step daughters) live in Anchorage.

After the Storm...

I was thinking how funny it is that last week I was in Orting on a beautiful warm autumn afternoon taking photos of Mt. Rainier and Halloween pumpkins and pink haystack piggies between visits with clients and today I turned on the heat for the first time to take the damp chill out of the air in my condo.

I’m such a fan of the seasons, all of them, and I’m no wimp when it comes to cooler temperatures. I say frugal perhaps to a fault, but that’s my upbringing in Renton. Where’s that well worn old comfy sweater I put away last spring?

Last weekend we had a pretty good storm blow through the area. It was our annual and usual autumn blast with lots of power outages as we pass the equinox. Our reminder, we’re headed for winter. The really big one I remember was way back in 1962 on Columbus Day (October 12, 1962).

Up until last Saturday the weather’s been still foggy mornings and sunny warm afternoons, one of the most beautiful Octobers I can remember, dry and very mild. Yet those of us who’ve from these parts know any day now the big dark gray wet will come thundering in from the Pacific.

The winds will have their rodeo and the rain will pelt recent relocators, especially from the southern reaches, into submission. They’ll whimper depressed in blankets before gas fireplaces.

As I walked out to my truck from our Kent office the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and the sun poked through to light this little ensemble of colors in the parking lot.

Enjoy the season...

1967 Homecoming March

It’s a crisp cool early October Friday evening. We’re forming lines outside the music department at Renton High School. Walt Wilson, our band director, is making sure we’re all occupying our proper positions while the percussion section is warming up for the drill.

There’s something magical that happens when they kick into cadence. I love the echoes off the side of the buildings as we prepare to start. We’ll marcIt’s a crisp cool early October Friday evening. We’re forming lines outside the music department at Renton High School. Walt Wilson, our band director, is making sure we’re all occupying our proper positions while the percussion section is warming up for the drill.

There’s something magical that happens when they kick into cadence. I love the echoes off the side of the buildings as we prepare to start. We’ll march out of the parking lot to head down Tobin Avenue then left up Logan Avenue across the Cedar River to Memorial Stadium.

As we leave the campus most of the neighbors are out in their front yards along Tobin to cheer us on. There’s Grandma, Grandpa, and Uncle George! Grandma has a big smile as she discovers me in line. I throw a quick glance and smile back in proud acknowledgement then quickly return return to our military forward gaze.

We had a huge marching band, over a hundred or so in 1967. I remember I was one of the short ones and my uniform was too big for me. Mom stitched up the big thick cuffs on the pants so I wouldn’t trip over them. I didn’t have white shoes. We got some white liquid shoe polish and plastered several layers over some old black loafers.

As we turn up Logan the cars are backed up bumper to bumper for several blocks. It’s a total Charles Ive’s moment as the cadence crossfades with honking horns and cars packed with kids cheering and yelling, “Go Indians!”

In the late Spring of that year I came down with mono, the kissing disease, and missed a lot of school. I dropped out that next Fall mainly because I’d have to repeat my Junior year and wouldn’t graduate until 1969. I think I was too embarrassed to do that and since I was playing in bands I decided to blaze a trail through rock and roll history. I never made it as ‘they’ say, but I did have some amazing times. In 1968/69 I did go a quarter or two to Seattle Community College to get my GED. I carpooled with our neighborhood family friend Don Hensley who was attending cooking school. It was an early start and because of that I did enjoy riding in his new 1968 Mustang.

I didn’t have my shit together at all here. I couldn’t focus and felt like a loser. Mom moved out and was going steady with Steve Ray. Dad was busy, drunk, and running wild. Terry was in the service, and Steve and I were kinda homeless on and off for a couple of years.

I was adopting a rather Bohemian philosophical take on life and reading a lot of Henry Miller, Thomas Mann, Franz Kafka, and the Russians, Dostoyevsky, Chekhov and Solzhenitsyn. I was also really into fantasy and science fiction so Frank Herbert, Isaac Asimov, and of course, JRR Tolkien were all must reads.

I dropped out of Seattle Community College and because I knew Pat Thompson via our local Renton Auburn 360 Musicians Union I ended up at Green River Community College as a music major in the fall of 1969. h out of the parking lot to head down Tobin Avenue then left up Logan Avenue across the Cedar River to Memorial Stadium.

As we leave the campus most of the neighbors are out in their front yards along Tobin to cheer us on. There’s Grandma, Grandpa, and Uncle George! Grandma has a big smile as she discovers me in line. I throw a quick glance and smile back in proud acknowledgement then quickly return return to our military forward gaze.

We had a huge marching band, over a hundred or so in 1967. I remember I was one of the short ones and my uniform was too big for me. Mom stitched up the big thick cuffs on the pants so I wouldn’t trip over them. I didn’t have white shoes. We got some white liquid shoe polish and plastered several layers over some old black loafers.

As we turn up Logan the cars are backed up bumper to bumper for several blocks. It’s a total Charles Ive’s moment as the cadence crossfades with honking horns and cars packed with kids cheering and yelling,“Go Indians!”

In the late Spring of that year I came down with mono, the kissing disease, and missed a lot of school. I dropped out that next Fall mainly because I’d have to repeat my Junior year and wouldn’t graduate until 1969. I think I was too embarrassed to do that and since I was playing in bands I decided to blaze a trail through rock and roll history. I never made it as ‘they’ say, but I did have some amazing times. In 1968/69 I did go a quarter or two to Seattle Community College to get my GED. I carpooled with our neighborhood family friend Don Hensley who was attending cooking school. It was an early start and because of that I did enjoy riding in his new 1968 Mustang.

I didn’t have my shit together at all here. I couldn’t focus and felt like a loser. Mom moved out and was going steady with Steve Ray. Dad was busy, drunk, and or running wild, and Steve and I were kinda homeless on and off for a couple of years.

I was adopting a rather Bohemian philosophical take on life and reading a lot of Henry Miller, Thomas Mann, Franz Kafka, and the Russians, Dostoyevsky, Chekhov and Solzhenitsyn. I was also really into fantasy and science fiction so Frank Herbert, Isaac Asimov, and of course, JRR Tolkien were all must reads.

I dropped out of Seattle Community College and because I knew Pat Thompson via our local Renton Auburn 360 Musicians Union I ended up at Green River Community College as a music major in the fall of 1969. The 2nd picture is drumer?, Me, and Rich Anarde. The 1st picture is our house.

Happy 4th of July

Congress created the first federal holidays in 1870. Chronologically speaking, it was January 1st, New Year’s Day, July 4th, as the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving Day, the fourth Thursday of November, and December 25th as Christmas Day. These holidays were originally only recognized as paid days off for federal employees within the District of Columbia.

Interestingly, via a little research, there is some ambiguity about the 4th. Though the “Fourth of July” was in use before 1800 we almost always refer to this holiday as the 4th of July, but history buffs will recall the more common use of Independence Day. Not as common, but also at the turn of the 18th century, it was also called Independent Day.

Funny, or perhaps ironically, the Continental Congress voted for independence from Great Britain on July 2, 1776. We were already at war with Britain since April 19, 1775. Later in his writings John Adams would note that July 2nd would be remembered in the annals of American history and be marked with celebration and fireworks.

It was 2 days later on July 4th that the Declaration was approved. After its initial purpose (declaring independence) was fulfilled, the document was somewhat ignored after the American Revolution. It would take a few years before we’d again pay attention to this amazing document and particular attention to that second sentence and its heartfelt declaration of individual human rights.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Hope you all are having a great holiday weekend and no matter what you call it, the 4th of July or Independence Day, give thanks and enjoy! Happy Birthday America!

Grandpa's Clock

When dad passed in November of 1998 I inherited his Elgin Grandfather wall clock. It’s been with me ever since. I’m at my desk in the back bedroom writing in my journal when I hear its iconic Westminster chime announcing 10:00 AM. I glance to the lower right of my laptop screen and see it’s actually 9:57 AM Stratum 1 NTP satellite time in Renton, Washington. So Grandpa’s Clock is running about three minutes fast.

From where I sit looking down the hallway I can see the pendulum swinging back and forth. It hangs on the wall between the sliding glass door to the deck on the left and the bay window to the right in the living room. I’ve known this old clock since the early 1970s. It was an inexpensive pseudo antique of sorts but today I realize it's a real antique and over 50 years old. It was gifted to dad from his dear friend Krista when they both worked at Cavallini's Restaurant in Cle Elum, Washington. It runs ever so slightly fast and gains about three minutes a year.  

Grandpa's Clock

This has me thinking about time. Both of my laptops, my iPhone, TV, and stereo all sink to satellite time via the internet and automatically adjust to Pacific Standard or Daylight Savings time. My stove, microwave, 2007 Ford Explorer, and this old clock do not. I imagine for a moment that I live in a kind of multiverse of time streams within the walls of my little condo. One is based on satellites the other on Grandpa’s Clock. Einstein once said in his 1905 Special Theory of Relativity that time isn’t an absolute and it can’t be observed by itself. An event simultaneous with another in one frame of reference may be in the past or the future of that same event depending on your frame of reference. 

I'm enjoying these thoughts today like a good metaphor for life. I’ve read about cyclical time, timeless time, and that time is just an artifact of the mind, like a Buddhist monk letting go of attachments. Grandpa’s Clock ignores the digitally synchronized world. It simply persists to ticktock that four note passage from Handel's Messiah that "I know that my redeemer liveth" at its very own analog quartz crystal pace. After all, it's dutifully swung that little pendulum and chimed Westminster for over 50 years, on the hour, every hour, even during power failures.

Now midway into my seventies I think I want to be more like Grandpa’s Clock. I want to keep to my own kind of internal quartz crystal time. I really don’t need to be in sync anymore. I’m wonderfully irrelevant now by choice so therefore free. I just need to do what I can, as I can, and to keep my batteries charged. After all, I’m Grandpa, in fact I’m Great Grandpa too.

René Fabre: Washington State Real Estate History, Story of Renton, Music. A Far Flung Conversation.

René Fabre: Washington State Real Estate History, Story of Renton, Music. A Far Flung Conversation.: René Fabre is my guest for this episode. René and I have known each other for over a decade During our conversation we cover a wide range of topics from …