If we let them, current day events could be quite depressing. Everywhere we look, there are fires, hurricanes, the battle for turf between blue and red, and tiny little foreign dictators with a big hat and few cattle. Congress is about as effective as a PayDay candy bar solving world hunger. I remarked to a young man watching a football game that it bothered me when a highly compensated quarterback failed to stand for the National Anthem, and he replied, “What do we have to be proud of? In my short time on earth, what do we have to be proud of? We are going backwards in so many things…” Out of the mouths of millennial “babes.”
Everyone I talk to seems to have come down from their post-ecliptic high and are in a deep, dark funk. So in my never-ending quest to remain an optimistic happy to have a half-full glass, I will not talk about my urge to slap Kim Jong Un or the 15-year old jerk-face who started the Eagle Creek fire. I won’t go there.
But I will talk about J.J. Watt, the all-universe Greek God specimen of a man who is defensive end for the Houston Texan NFL football team. He wanted to help those slammed by Hurricane Harvey, hammering the Texas coast and inland with winds and rain and flooding seldom seen by mankind. So he decided to raise funds for the victims through social media. He set a goal of $200,000 just two weeks ago. It went over $30 million this weekend in time for the Texan’s season home opener. I don’t care if they won or not. What a winner he is. When interviewed by the media about his new status as a hero outside of football, he simply said, in effect, “The first responders – they saved lives. Firefighters, police officers, medical professionals, they are the heroes. The people who are fighting through this – they are the heroes. The people who donated $30 million to strangers, they are the heroes. It shows that even in tough times, there is still good in the world.” God bless that football gladiator on the field and gentle giant off it. I hope Houston wins the Super Bowl and J.J. is the MVP. What a man.
God bless our firefighters and the volunteers who support them. While our gorgeous forests burn and fellow citizens evacuate, and temperamental Mother Nature gives us scorching heat with high winds then a little rain, then more heat, they are deployed by the thousands across the West. Imagine 100 degree heat, long pants, long-sleeved shirts, digging fire lines and trying to avert more disaster. On steep slopes no less. Imagine the fire departments in the small towns and cities across the west, decimated while their small work forces send firefighters and paramedics and EMTs into the danger zones like Eagle Creek and Brookings. And now the firefighting funds at the Federal level are gone. I hope Washington remembers us as a state and a region comprised of Americans, not blue or progressive. But you have to tip your hat and aim your garden hose at those brave men and women trying to keep Oregon green while putting their lives on the line. Be safe, my friends.
As the Oregon State Beaver football team was getting pummelled by the Minnesota Gophers Sept. 9, the action was stopped for a timeout and the announcer introduced a 92-year-old World War II veteteran who survived the Battle of the Bulge. The handsome gentleman in his original uniform, with a ton of medals on his chest, walked out to the 50-yard line with his wife of 75 years! 35,000 fans stood up with a thunderous applause. It was absolutely touching to see his wall-to-wall grin and the thanks of a grateful audience.
And here is a fun story that will cheer up the grumpiest doomsayers – three Texans, one well into her octogenarian years, were dining with Gloria Goodman (of Mount Angel) at Creekside Grill in Silverton. They came to visit their friend, and stopped off at Crater Lake for a once-in-a-lifetime viewing. It was not visible due to forest fire smoke. They are from Houston and had to fly back on the day their home town was hardest hit by Hurricane Harvey. But what will they remember most? The elderly lady who now uses a cane gave it to her daughter, who leaned it up against the slotted railing on Creekside’s beautiful deck, overlooking gorgeous Silver Creek that now has 2.3 gallons of clear, pure water flowing past the covered bridge every day. The brand new $40 cane was inadvertently knocked into a slot on the deck and flew off into “raging” Silver Creek. In steps a soon-to-be iconic figure we will call Sean Daugherty (because that’s his real name), an employee of Creekside. The almost 20-something server who recently arrived from Montana and currently attends Chemeketa CC pulled on his super hero cape, went into the restaurant, and came out with a fishing pole with a loop fastened onto the end. The young man could not secure the heavy cane with the unimpressive loop, so he went back into the restaurant and came back with an even longer fishing pole. My assumption is this is common equipment, as when I dine out my expectations are that fishing poles should be at the ready. It didn’t work, either. So since there is no creek side access from Creekside Grill and the Grotto Martini Bar (owned by Manny and Lori Rodriguez), Sean went up to the Main Street Bridge, got down to the water, and through a series of power moves and strategic/tactical planning, he maneuvered through dangerous rocks and water to retrieve the cane. He was rewarded with the thanks of a grateful nation, three impressed Texans, and a $30 tip.
Don’t you feel better? My work is done.
