Dogs, Blackberries, and Homeless Men

While walking back from taking our dog ,Harley, to his weekly playgroup, I spied a neglected blackberry bush to he side of our local school and found several ripe ones--and was reminded once again of what a bizarre relationship I have with nature, money, and my own history.

We had a succession of dogs and plenty of blackberries when I was growing up in the late 1950s through the mid-1970s in rural Clatsop County.  Most of our dogs wandered off.  One was hit and killed by a logging truck.  They all got plenty of exercise without us sending them to a play group, so their social skills were rough, and their lives weren't exactly sheltered.  (Come to think of it, this description also fits the boys of that time and place, one of whom hanged himself, and two of whom were soon sent to Maclaren's School for Boys.  But most of the rest of us took care of ourselves pretty well.)

As for the blackberries, some of my earliest memories are of spending hours at our extensive blackberry bushes, filling silver buckets and my belly with the dark fruits.  You could sell the berries to a buyer at Miles Crossing for what even then seemed like a small amount of money for all the work it took.  Now, unless I find a neglected bush, I pay what probably amounts to a dime a berry at our hip little local grocery story.

Outside New Seasons Grocers, homeless men sell newspapers for $1.00 each, the price of about 10 frozen blackberries, or the equivalent of about 10 minutes of Harley's play time at his doggy day care.

When I ponder these incongruities, I think there is a very good chance I'll be spending eternity in hell.  And I wonder what the grandmother I never met, who left school in 4th grade and died young, in the 1920s, would make of this life.

Reflections on the World Cup in Ghana and the U.S.

Ghana and the U.S. have very different reactions to how their national teams did in the World Cup.

For Ghana, the "Black Stars" are the source of great pride.  Two years ago a very deferential university student became expansive when our conversation shifted to soccer.  "In that sport, we are the big brother, and you are the little brother," he enthused.  "We always beat you."  In school yards all over Ghana, like the one picture here, boys dream of leading the Black Stars to international glory.

Of course that didn't happen this time around, as the Black Stars compounded poor performances against the U.S. and Portugal with bickering with the coach and reports of corruption off the pitch.  Several opinion makers have identified "indiscipline" as the key problem, which commentators link to the broader failings of youth in general and politicians in particular.  The national team's shortcomings prompt a sort of national soul searching.

The U.S. not only beat Ghana; it advanced out of the group stage and put up a good fight against two teams that were clearly much better--Germany and Belgium.  People who follow the U.S. team closely are generally pleased.  But more casual fans are irritated that the U.S. is still so far behind so many teams.  Why is it, they wonder, that the U.S. can field a military about the size of the rest of the world put together, dominate sports such as basketball and American football, then be such a minor player in the world's most celebrated sports event?

I am sure that this irony is not lost on Latin Americans.  I have been especially intrigued by the American fan who goes to matches in Brazil dressed up like Teddy Roosevelt, the quintessential racist and vulgar American expansionist.  Given the wide gap between the state of soccer in Brazil and the U.S., I suspect that  if the actual TR were somehow pulled out of the grave and restored to life he would stay away from soccer.  As a commentator on a sports radio station put it: soccer can't be that important if we aren't much good at it.  The rest of the world cannot help but smile.