Editorial

It seems to me unseemly that our leaders object so strenuously to the State of California wanting to charge $8 for visiting the State Beaches along our magnificent coast while at the same time saying it makes sense for the County of Sonoma to charge a $7 fee for visiting its own parks.

I was glad to see my friend and colleague George Snyder go out in style last week. His memorial in Occidental last Saturday drew a mob of his friends and family who packed St. Philip the Apostle Church as everyone knew they would.

“Where’s my Evita?” That’s the question on the mind of John DeGaetano, who will direct the famous musical at the Raven Performing Arts Theater this summer.

Dressing in my sweats, high-top shoes, hooded jersey and cap, I leave the house to meet the morning  cold. As my father would say, “No one is tougher than the weather!” I am going to meet an old friend— wild, steep, dense stands of redwood, oak and madrone— the forested path of the Fitch mountain fire trail. Hiking it brings understanding and awareness of life’s connectedness, of oneness with the Earth.

The Russian River Watershed Association through its member agencies strives to inform community members about our watershed. This series of articles serves as a tool to educate the community in ways to promote and maintain healthy watersheds.

December 25 is, of course, Christmas Day, the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. Christians believe that this birth is the turning point, the very center of human history. From it we count the years forward and backward, B.C., before Christ, and A.D., Anno Domini, Year of our Lord. We believe that the baby born in Bethlehem is Emmanuel, God with us, fully human from the flesh of His Mother Mary, and fully God by the power of the Holy Spirit. We also know, along with this and because of this, that every birth is sacred. Carl Sandburg, in his uniquely down to earth way, said that a baby is God’s opinion that life should go on. When my older brother’s first child was born he called me in the middle of the night to tell me that his son’s birth, at which he was present, was the closest thing to a miracle he had ever seen. I had the joy of witnessing the births of my five children and I agree with Carl Sandburg and my brother and certainly with Mary and Joseph. Birth is a miracle, it is God’s opinion, it is God with us.

Like every parent, I struggled to cope after hearing about the mass shooting at an elementary school in Connecticut last week.

It felt a little, I don’t know, discomfiting reading about the Santa Rosa Press Democrat’s recent coverage of its change of ownership. It was like stumbling into someone’s private party that I wasn’t invited to and wondering “What am I doing here?”

After Thanksgiving dinner at my brother-in-law’s, the conversation turned to politics. It had been proposed earlier in the day by someone who doesn’t particularly like a ruckus that this year we avoid talking about politics. It’s not as if someone says, OK, we are now going to talk about politics. Around the table were extended families members from Amador County (where we gathered), Sonoma County, Kern County, and Shasta County. We were talking about how disparate parts of California see themselves and each, about sports, schools, the environment, agriculture, jobs, churches. Having gotten that far down the road, the next step into politics was probably inevitable. My brother-in-law said, “No offense, Marvin, but the religious right scare the bleep out of me.” Someone else said, “Marvin’s not that conservative.” He said, “He is about some things.” The other person said, “He’s liberal about some things.” I didn’t have to say anything, and so I didn’t. The conversation continued on its way without me.

After reading Shonnie Brown’s article about Joel and Renee Kiff I just have to comment on what Joel Kiff means to me. We moved to Healdsburg in September of 2006. I was helping out with the HFM annual pumpkin race when someone called my name. I turn to see an older gentleman who I didn’t recognize staring at me. I took a closer look and then said “Mr. Kiff?” He gave me a broad smile as I was coming out of my initial shock. It was not only fifty years since I had seen him how could he not only remember me but also recognize me after having taught hundreds, if not thousands, of students.