Things are so rarely black and white. Senator Harris is not black, although she has referred to herself that way, just as my skin is not white. We seem to have a great need for things to be one way or the other. They rarely are.

Certainly, she is a woman of color and ticks a lot of boxes and has already been called a number of names by people who are often named Bubba. The “C” word. The “N” word. The “B” word. She’s got Bubba running scared.

But here’s the truth: Starting from now, no one is going to change his mind about how he will vote. The one truth we know for sure that POTUS uttered was when he said he could go out on Fifth Avenue and shoot someone it wouldn’t make any difference.

Most of us learned in kindergarten — if not at our mothers’ feet — not to call people names. Not only is it not nice, it makes us, not them, look bad. And weak. And scared.

We are all terrified about the upcoming Biden-Trump debates. Biden is a gentleman with a quiet, sometimes hesitant pattern of speech. He tends to think and then speak. I hope whoever is coaching him will teach him to use that to his advantage. After being irrationally lambasted, I hope he will pause and say, “I am not here to be insulting or rude. I am here to answer the question that was put to me which I believe we may have lost sight of.” I know. I’m a dreamer.

If all else fails, de-fund the United States Post Office and scare people that their votes won’t count. I continue to wonder why POTUS thinks making voting easier and safer would work to his disadvantage and not to his advantage.

Things are not black and white. Things are mostly gray.

Mother’s 97th birthday and, I believe, her 155 day without visitors. Somehow, Terri was able to get in some cheese cake and balloons and these flowers came from Katherine and MM and Ari. Picture taken through the window by Joannie:

Hard to cheer up thinking about her situation, so I headed downtown to River Front Park for Roxie’s walk today. When I moved here, you couldn’t walk along the high cliff above the river for all the blackberry brambles. Now you can walk six miles in total along beautiful brick pathways if you use the two new pedestrian bridge from West Salem to Minto Brown.

Spanning the river, the old railroad bridge has been converted to a pedestrian/bicycle bridge. Looking down from there, I can see the tents of the homeless “community.”

Walking back, I could see a little red kayak putting in on the boat ramp across the river. How many times have I put in there? I am so tempted, but I have made a pact with myself not to risk life and limb until my knee is back to full strength.

On down the way, I saw that a lot of progress is being made toward the construction of a huge amphitheater, sponsored by the Rotary Club, and spearheaded by my dear friend Barry.

People who grew up here and are raising families here continue to promote such projects for the future of Salem. Old folks like me sort of like this old stage right next door.

Saw this interesting little sign on the way back to the car:

Made me think back to the years I spent collecting water samples from the river and doing a bunch of tests with the samples before sending the results off to the EPA. Then, it was learned that the EPA wasn’t using our test results for anything. Disheartening.

In case you’re wondering, the Willamette is now, relatively speaking, a very clean river. Manufacturing mills along the banks have been largely removed, with a few exceptions which are strictly regulated by the EPA. Occasionally, in the rainy winter months, you will hear about an overflow of untreated sewage which quickly disperses down stream. In the summertime, sometimes swimmers are warned about high bacteria levels in certain locations caused by bird droppings, mostly Canada geese.

I would never recommend swimming in the Willamette. Much too often I read that someone has drowned. Great for kayaking, though. Dave and I paddled the entire Willamette from its source at the MacKenzie all the way into the Columbia. In segments, of course. That was a dream of mine. Dave didn’t much care for the Willamette but indulged me.

Later, I drove out to the Indian School so Dolly could run through the unused athletic fields out there. Watered and mowed. No games scheduled.

Absolutely no information can be found on line as to when or if the school will open. I could see outside the dorms that all the mattresses — looked like all 400 of them — had been pulled outside in big piles that had toppled over. That was sort of my observation when I taught there. Big projects would start off with no end plan in place. And that is pretty much my opinion of Indian schools altogether.

My surgeon writes down everything. Actually, he records everything and somebody else writes it down.

When I was in his office for diagnosis and planning, we discussed everything. Then while I was still there, he orally recorded everything we had said. He then asked if I wanted to make any changes or additions. He then altered his report accordingly.

I have not seen him since except for a couple of minutes when he greeted me in pre-op and we both wrote our initials on the appropriate knee.

Actually, I am glad that surgeons spend every minute they can doing surgery and hire other people to do other stuff. I have always observed that anesthesiologists have the best bedside manner.

Today, I had my post-op appointment with the PA. I can see from the very comprehensive report I was given that my surgeon did, in fact, show up shortly after I had counted back from 100 by 7 a few times, and I’m really grateful that I slept through the whole thing.

I wasn’t awake to go over this with Dr. Coen when he recorded it. I’m trusting that it is accurate. The PA went over the entire thing with me and had me look at the photo album that was created during the procedure.

TMI

Cognitive test for the elderly? POTUS reports that he recently aced one.

I believe everyone on Medicare is required to respond to a little quiz when going in for annual checkups after the age of 75. This year, I was asked to tell the PA where I was and what the date was. I am a smart ass and said, “The 45th parallel north.” Thank god, he didn’t ask for the day of the week. No one has a clue about that these days. Name as many animals as I could in 15 seconds. Remember five or six things the tester said which we came back to later. Count backwards from 100 by 7’s. Oh, actually, that last might have been what the anesthesiologist asked me to do last week before a little surgery. I forget.

POTUS has managed to conceal all his report cards, which I actually think is okay. Big confession here: I once made a C in college on a required course, Texas History. I re-took that class to get that embarrassing mark expunged from my record. Interesting question which didn’t occur to me at the time: Why was Texas History a required class?

POTUS has referred to himself as a “stable genius.”

To me that sounds like a really smart horse.

He has also alluded to a having a really high IQ.

It used to be a standard procedure, for some unknown reason, to administer IQ tests at certain points during one’s educational career. When I was teaching I made it a point never to look at my students’ IQ scores. That information can really color a teacher’s expectations.

The last time I took an IQ test was in graduate school. I think at that point it was an optional freebie and I was curious. I never thought of myself as particularly clever, but for some reason, I tended to do really well on standardized tests. Let me just say, shortly after that, I was invited to join Mensa. Shocking! I declined. I mean, what’s the point in life of scoring well on a standardized test or joining a club of others who also did.

On the other hand, being “stable” seems huge to me. I think there are tests for that. I’ve never taken one. I do think “personality quizzes” are fun. You know, like Myers-Briggs.

I really wish candidates for high office were required to take some mental health tests.

So much more important than self-proclaimed genius or stability would be a diagnosis of narcissistic personality disorder.

Today, Dave headed out for his next best adventure. 3000 miles with two kayaks, a motorcycle, and a cat. He is undoubtedly the dearest, sweetest, kindest man I have ever met and possibly my best friend ever.

We met about fifteen years ago when I spotted a notice he posted on a local kayakers site. He was graduating from whitewater paddling with the big boys to runs more age appropriate. I took him up on that plan immediately and met up with him at the put-in at Wallace Marine Park on the Willamette in West Salem.

If I tried to recall all our paddles, I imagine there would be over 100 in the past fifteen years. Every suitable waterway appropriate for our boats and skills and clearly some that were not. Those were possibly the most fun.

He didn’t love the Willamette, preferring faster rivers and secluded lakes where that former science teacher could look for obscure fauna. Salamanders were a particular find. He showed me things I never would have seen without him. And a Mexican restaurant in Molalla.

He taught middle-school science in Molalla for most of his career, commuting daily from Salem on all the country roads between here and there. His students were very lucky.

As for the Willamette, he humored me and supported my goal to paddle every bit of it from the source at the MacKenzie all the way into the Columbia, bit by bit.

We explored fast and sleepy places, always driving there on country roads which were Dave’s preference.

He knew about places I’d never even heard of. And now I am wondering whether there are places one might paddle in Ohio. I do love a good road trip.

A devoted husband and the world’s most generous and loving grandfather, Dave’s beloved Diana died last year, so he has packed up to move nearer his children and grand children. I hope they know how lucky they are.

He called late yesterday to say goodbye. The last thing he said was that he hoped I’d find another paddling buddy. I will. But every time I put-in, I will smile remembering Dave.

Looks like the only pictures I have are of quiet moments. You just can’t snap pictures when you’re splashing through rapids!