Happy birthday, baby brother

Tuesday, Aug. 25, is my brother Dean's birthday.

The year Dean was born was an eventful one for our little branch of the West Family Tree. As my mom was getting ready for labor, my dad was buying a business in the thriving metropolis of Echo, Ore.

About a month after Dean was born, my dad piled all of our belongings into a moving truck in Western Nebraska and then he piled my mom, brother Ron, me and newborn Dean into a small plane and flew us to our new home in Oregon. We landed literally right outside our new backdoor. Our new home, on a small private airstrip out in the country, was also the home base for my dad's new business.

I doubt my brother remembers the trip. I was about a month shy of my 8th birthday. I can't say I remember a lot of it myself either.

It's hard to believe all of that was 36 years ago.

I was trying to figure out what to do for my brother for his birthday. My first thought was to shave part of his head, so he was a hairstyle more like the ones sported by my dad, brother Ron and I. But since I won't actually see my brother on his birthday, I opted instead to embarrass him long distance with a few photos from his recent past.

Happy Birthday Dean!

Waking up from a long slumber

Life had gotten boring. I didn't realize how boring until things turned around. And when it turned, it turned dramatically.

I'm not quite sure where to begin. A big project at work has resulted in long days and long weeks. And it the midst of all that, I almost moved to Portland. Twice.

There are many things about the prospect of becoming a commuter and the living arrangements being considered that were a cause for concern. I didn't know if my old truck could take a 90-mile round trip every day. Plus, I've lived alone for 5 years, and I came very close to becoming the roommate of my two young nieces and their mother in a two bedroom apartment.

It would have been a major lifestyle change. And I have to admit, I was excited about it. Most of my friends who live anywhere close live and work in the greater Portland area.

Unfortunately, the move fell through, not once but twice. But the prospect of the move got me excited again. It got me looking forward to a new life. The project at work, the launch of a new website, though taxing and sometimes frustrating, also revitalized me.

The pace of life accelerated rapidly. I now realized I had not been moving toward or working toward anything in some time. I'd merely been hanging on and trying to get by. That's no way to live.

I don't know yet what that next goal, that next objective is, or even what the next project might be. But I know I need to have something to work toward, to climb for, rather than hanging here trying to maintain a grip on a life that is not all I want and need it to be.

I wasn't ready to start my day yet

I was awakened at 3:30 a.m. by a nose bleed. It's not unusual. I get them a lot and often in the middle of the night. The unusual part is that I was not able to go back to sleep. So now, two hours later, I realize a return to sleep is hopeless. It is morning now, the alarm will go off soon and it will be time to start the day.

This one just started way too early.

Now who will tell us the way it is?

One of my earliest memories is of sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a black-and-white console TV watching Walter Cronkite's coverage of one of the Apollo moon missions. I was too young to understand the complexity of the science in sending men to the moon, but I knew that this was a big deal. There was something about Cronkite's coverage of the event that told even a young boy that this was a big deal.

My parents still have the console TV I watched the broadcast on. It hasn't functioned as a TV or a radio or a record player in decades. Now it's mostly a long, extremely heavy side table along a wall in my parents living room. But, sadly, Walter Cronkite is now gone.

For much of my youth, the three major networks were all the TV we had, but when it came time for the evening news, like many American families, there was only one channel to watch -- Walter Cronkite on CBS.

Cronkite retired before I pursued my education and a career in journalism. As a print journalist, I don't know that I consciously considered Cronkite an influence, but I know he was a huge influence on my early knowledge and understanding of the world. TV news and journalism have changed a lot since Cronkite retired from the daily media stage in 1981.

I learned about Cronkite's death, not from the evening news, but from the Internet, specifically Twitter, and then read the story on the Wall Street Journal website.

I'll be curious to see how the media world covers Cronkite and his passing. We've been bombarded with all the minutia surrounding Michael Jackson's death for more than three weeks now. By all rights, coverage of Cronkite's death should eclipse coverage of Jackson's death based on the role Cronkite played in generation's of lives. But I know it won't. By Monday morning the media world will largely have moved on to other things, including more trivia about Jackson's life and death. It's a different world than it was in Cronkite's heyday.

At my current job, I have been consumed for more than a week with preparing for the launch of a new website. It's an exciting time and an exciting world. I love the conveniences of modern technology and the speed with which information can be shared with the world. But part of me missed the time when the world was as black and white as that old television set and we could tell the most important issues of the day affecting the world by where they ranked in Cronkite's broadcast and how much time the segment commanded.

So long Walter, and thanks for keeping the issues of the day in perspective.

Scenes from the Waterfront Blues Festival

Photos from Friday, July 3, at the Waterfront Blues Festival in Portland, Ore.