The first time I remember having heard of Nicaragua was during an evening newscast sometime in the autumn of 1980.  The first time I had the opportunity to vote in a presidential election was November, 1980.  Most of the students I knew at that time were somehow very certain about what was right and wrong in general, about what would be best for Nicaragua, about who could best lead the United States, and about lots of other things. And most seemed to have similar views to one another. Some days I was impressed by the coherence and consistency, others nauseated.

It was the nausea, in the end, that motivated me.  That sickening feeling was not the result of judging people around me, but of realizing that I did not have sufficient experience to have such strong viewpoints.  That was why I left college (the ad below, which I did not see until a few years after graduating college, summed up in 30 seconds what I had been looking for).

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Some time between 1980 and 1981,  when I first became aware of Nicaragua, I started leafing through this book that I saw many fellow students carrying around with them.  It was the text for a course I was not taking, but maybe that was for the better.  The short bursts of exposure to the explication of “the new” in art were probably all I could handle while being shocked by everything else, all new too.

By the summer of 1981 I had dropped out of college, and away from all that other too new stuff, and began apprenticing with a blacksmith.  It was a reaction to the news about Nicaragua, in part.  Today’s news reminded me that in the ensuing 30 years answers have not gotten any clearer, or easier.

I do not have any photographs from my time as would-be artisan, which was short-lived.  I have visual and sensory recollections of it, including my first listening to Blood On The Tracks and long motorcycle rides through the blue grass hills of northern Kentucky and southern Indiana.  And through my nose I can recall the smithy coal fire and grunting leather bellows, food cooked over a wood fire, and Sunday morning folks in clean clothes on church pews. Continue reading →

That bumper sticker activated my reflective reflex.  36 hours later I was going back, trying to find an article I had read (but when?) that quite artfully illuminated “things” for me.  Things related to that bumper sticker and the recent visit to New York City.  I found the article, re-read it, and recommend it.

At the same time I had photos and correspondence with Tal (he is the one looking at his camera in the photo below that Milo took) in the mix.  That all seemed related too (but how?).

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