There we were on New Year’s Day, discussing over coffee a finer point of the Constitution, since the Constitution is under siege by people who have never read it, when neither Dad or I could recall the precise language we needed to make a point, The language of the Constitution is sometimes incredibly vague, (see 2^nd Amendment) or absurdly outdated, and in fact, much of it needs a total rewrite with some major cuts (see Electoral College). I think Dad and I were talking about the definition of treason and how it requires the testimony of two people in open court to the same overt act or by confession for a conviction. If you define the enemy of the United States as the corona virus, then did the President provide aid and comfort to the enemy by his statements and decisions? If so, then you have a lot more than two witnesses. You have 400 million.

We needed a Constitution to consult and I didn’t want to dial one up on my phone or tablet. Dad then mentioned he had one at the ready and he got up and retrieved one from his desk. Just like that! It also included the Declaration of Independence and was a handsomely bound pocket edition with a faux leather cover! I asked him where in the world he had purchased it. He told me he saw it for sale in a Plaid Pantry years ago when he was with my stepmother and she bought it for him as a gift! A Constitution for sale in a Plaid Pantry! It was an utterly preposterous story and made me laugh but soon enough I was looking in the index for words we needed.

After talking about the treason provision in the Constitution we moved onto the 25^th Amendment and tried to make sense of that mess of a law for Presidential succession. To think that the drafters of this Amendment in the wake of the Kennedy assassination believed that a President’s cabinet would put nation ahead of President if the President went insane was naïve to say the least. It might one day prove fatal.

Next topic was Sylvia Plath as I reviewed a new biography of the tragic poet. Dad launched into some lines from her poetry and we worked through her moods.

I love having these kind of discussions with my father and I will be having a lot more in the future as I assist with his transition after losing his beloved wife and my incredible stepmother.

Not too long ago I was hunting around a bookstore and found a collection of old movie black and white promo stills.

When I saw the one for Foxes, I grabbed it.

It occurred to me at that moment that I had seen the movie back in the early 80s as a teenager and may have taken a date to it (I saw most movies in high school alone) and that certainly I had reviewed it for Oregon City High School’s newspaper, The Elevator. I can’t recall if I liked it or panned it.

It also occurred to me that I could go home and Google the film but I wanted my memory to prevail.

Here’s what I remember: it was set in LA and is a coming of age story for four senior girls. I can’t recall a single person of color in the film. Donna Summer’s “On the Radio” is the opening song, and it is a killer track and not one of her more widely popular tunes. I recall nothing of the plot. Nothing. I don’t recall its rating and the promo still doesn’t say.

It has never streamed to my knowledge and I have never seen it on TV. Is it worth looking up as a cultural artifact or is it one of those things that just doesn’t matter anymore?

It was Christmas Day and I was on my way to visit my mother and step dad for a drive-by celebration when it struck me that I had some time to kill before my scheduled arrival. I stopped at Clackamette Park in Oregon City to spend a half hour. There, I admired the rushing brown rivers and leafless black cottonwoods. My mind and heart were heavy with the recent loss of my step mom and I speculated on what the future would bring to me and my father. I knew one thing for sure, I’d be spending a lot of time in Portland with my father in the coming days and weeks and I wouldn’t enjoy my daily interaction with the ocean, which is so critical to my spiritual and creative well being.

High water from heavy rain had deposited all manner of driftwood on the banks of the park and being the driftwood aficionado that I am, I had to inspect the various specimens flowing down the Willamette River Watershed.

In recent years, I have amassed perhaps the greatest collection of beaverwood in the world and never fail to hunt for choice cuts whenever I prowl Oregon’s beaches, rivers and streams. There is nothing like finding a great piece! That pretty much passes for my recreational life at the Oregon Coast. I’ll take it. It’s entirely free, too.

As I said, it was Christmas Day and I was meandering through the driftwood when I saw it. A glorious choice cut and all for my taking! I picked it up and beheld the splendor. What a gift from the Oregon gods to alleviate my angst. I kept walking and kept finding more choice cuts……I was like, well, a kid on Christmas morning.

Since my stepmother passed away, I have been living with my father and we’ve had many interesting discussions about his long life. I have learned many new things about his past. Among them:

At his 1949 high school football banquet in Searcy, Arkansas, coaches and players feasted on squirrel stew and pecan pie.

He saw High Noon while serving as a combat Marine in Korea. It was screened outdoors to his company near the front while it was snowing and the soldiers had their rifles slung over their shoulders.

When he was discharged from the Marines, he burned his dress uniform because he was never going back to that life.

He smuggled a revolver into Brazil during his tenure as a missionary. The revolver was sold to a rich industrialist to raise funds for the ministry.

His 1/32^th share in an oil well that he inherited from his mother is worth more than I thought.

He once was a salesmen for JC Penney.

His real name is Carl Love Jr.

I discovered the origin of the saying he occasionally employs, “slicker than eel snot.” I thought it had originated with him, but I was wrong.

He is one of the few Americans who understands how the 25^th Amendment is supposed to work.