Month: July 2018

Leaving Alaska, My Heart Hung Low

(Click on each photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

It has been seven years and 11 months since I boarded a ferry in Haines, Alaska, and bid farewell to the Great Land. I had spent six years there and knew I had to move on to another stage of my life, back in the Lower 48. That was a very difficult decision. Upon leaving, on the ferry, I wrote this poem. I hope you enjoy it and these photos of Haines and stunningly beautiful Lynn Canal.

Missing Alaska
(August 23, 2010)

Waves of sadness, tears of sorrow
Emotions tapped, I fear tomorrow
Leaving Alaska, heart hangs low
A land of rawness, joy, and woe
Mountains strong and beauty sweeping
Oceans teaming, rivers streaming
The bears and wolves I loved the most
Cruelly hunted, I heard their ghosts
Ketchikan, Kodiak, Kaktovik
Kotzebue, Barrow, Anchorage
Skiing trails pure perfection
Running Arctic, path to heaven
Moose abounding, daily sitings
Ravens, eagles, seagulls fighting
Running races, feet alighting
Found my stride, crashed, time abiding
Then life aquatic, laps and polo
Westchester walks, though mostly solo
Missing dearly Chugach mountains
Always lovely, next to heaven
Sharp memories that still cut deep
I’ll guard them close, forever keep

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A World Cup final to remember!

(Click on each photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

At last, the World Cup drew to a close with a brilliant final game between tournament favorite France and scrappy but talented Croatia on July 15, 2018. It was the most exciting final World Cup match I’ve ever seen, and I haven’t missed one since 1982.

Both sides attacked, though France had far less possession, and for much of the game it seemed as if Croatia was the dominant team. In the end, France broke the Croatian defense on two fast-break attacks that saw superstars Paul Pogba and the new wunderkind, 19-year-old Kylian Mbappé, each score nice goals in the second half.

The best goal of the match, beyond question, was the 1-1 equalizer by Ivan Parisec, shortly after France went up 1-0 after an own goal by Croatian star Mario Mandzukic. The Juventus player, Mandzukic, redeemed himself brilliantly sneaking in a goal due to terrible goalkeeping clearance by the French keeper Hugo Lloris that put the score at 4-2.

Putin Can Claim Victory too

The entire proceedings went oddly off-track when members of the Russian protest music group Pussy Riot invaded the pitch in the second half, causing looks of confusion by everyone. They were dragged off the field with no comment from the broadcasters, who were mostly tongue-tied.

The protest was seen by easily more than a billion people, putting a measurable chink in the tournament that Russian president Vladimir Putin organized to show the world his style of authoritarianism is a preferred alternative to democratic nations in Europe and North America. In many ways, Putin’s Russia was the real winner of the 2018 World Cup, having earned favorable press from the international media and visitors since mid-June.

The BBC noted two days before the final game, “A successful World Cup does not change the trend: in recent years democracy, human rights and freedom of speech in Russia have been under attack. An increasingly belligerent Russia annexed Crimea and has intervened militarily in eastern Ukraine. Russia stands accused of cyber attacks, of meddling in western elections and of carrying out the Novichok nerve agent attack in Salisbury.”

My Month-long Cup Indulgence Ends

Since mid-June, I have enjoyed many great games during the cup at the Toffee Club, which is where these shots were taken. They closed a block of SE 10th Street, created a beer garden for morning drinkers, put up a big screen TV, and replicated what most of Europe and other parts of the world do when the World Cup is playing.

I joined a work colleague, his French wife, and friend. Most of the fan base was leaning French. We had a blast, and the game offered plenty of reasons to celebrate both teams.

I found many of the French fans there a little too pretty and too precious. It may have been a class issue? Maybe they spent their summer holidays in France? But they likely have nothing in common with the mostly poor and scrappy French players who trace origins to Africa and who grew up in the poorer Parisian suburbs.

Personally, I missed the vitality I always have found with Brazilians, Argentines, Mexicans, and other nationalities of the Americas that I have watched cup finals with. There were no drums. There were no whistles. There was no dancing.

It’s sad to see it end, but the Women’s World Cup is only a year away. That should be great too.

Back to where it all began, in Detroit

(Click on each photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

Last month, I visited my birth city, Detroit. I was born here and lived in the city less than a year. My family moved to Boston and later to St. Louis. Despite that short period of time, I am forever connected to the Motor City. I was, quite literally, made in Detroit.

I also was relinquished for adoption in Detroit, a topic that I explore in my new memoir on the American adoption experience. More specifically, I was born in Crittenton General Hospital, a facility that was created to serve single mothers in 1929. By the 1940s it had transformed into a maternity hospital that promoted adoption as the most suitable plan for single mothers. Like thousands of other babies born at the hospital, I was surrendered to an adoption agency, placed in foster care, and eventually adopted by my family.

Crittenton General Hospital opened in 1929 to serve the maternal health needs of mostly single women.

My birthplace was torn down in 1975. I examine the legacy of my birth place on the website for my book. The hospital location in central Detroit, a few blocks off of the John Lodge Freeway in central Detroit, is now the location of the Detroit Jobs Center and a nursing home. There is no memorial or marking indicating the building that stood on the property for decades earlier, serving literally thousands of patients, mostly mothers and infants. If a person did not know the story of the hospital and its role in promoting adoption, they would never know the history of this place.

The surrounding area today shows the economic distress that still is prevalent throughout greater Detroit. Some homes are kept tidy, while many others, as well as apartments, are showing decay.

I wrote about my feelings returning to the place where I came into this world more than five decades ago. I felt a mixture of exuberance and also sadness seeing the place on earth when I came into being.

One cannot undo one’s past. It is the foundation upon which one build’s an identity and place in the world. I am glad I have reconnected with my roots after all of these years.