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One can gather considerable evidence and build a pretty sound argument that the income gap between wealthy Americans and the rest of us is greater now than at any other time in the last 100 years – even greater than it was during the Depression or in the early 1900s when Teddy Roosevelt took on the Robber Barons.
Well friends, we have another crazy damned bunch of hellions stomping around in the Middle East. (This being a family newspaper, I’m not allowed to use more colorful and appropriate descriptive terms.)
Far back in ancient times, the Druids and wizards of the Celtic region held an annual drunken orgy and harvest festival on Oct. 31.
You might remember seeing a chainsaw sculpture of Sasquatch at Enumclaw’s sidewalk sale last summer. It’s not that the work exhibits any special skill or innovative techniques, but rather it makes an impression simply because it’s so big – maybe 10 feet tall.
Way back in the 1920s, Enumclaw had an informal, intimate kind of up-front, small-town personal charm. The line between right and wrong was sharply and easily drawn, social intimacy promoted more trust and crime of a felonious nature – except for bootlegging – was almost nonexistent.
You may have seen him walking along state Route 410 between Buckley and Bonney Lake or on SR 169 between McHugh Avenue and the Stop an’ Shop corner.
I’m not sure when Fred Nolte, of Deep Lake fame, originally built the Cumberland saloon. Suffice to say, he opened it as a hotel sometime before 190
A few weeks ago, Art Pohlot died. He was a good friend – and that, of course, is one of the highest compliments I can pay him or anyone else.
My property borders the old Wohlman horse stable, located on 400th Street Southeast, a block or two from the Krain restaurant.
The high-tech world that’s inundated all of us since the turn of the century has divided the whole of civilization into two parts: the Pre-Digital Age and the Post-Digital Age.
So, before concluding my befuddled discussion about addiction and states of consciousness, I want to pay some attention to the actual drugs.
Last week we explored our innate desire to experience new states of consciousness; that is, when we’re dissatisfied with our present state of mind, we change it by ingesting various drugs. So, we drink coffee because we want to be more alert.
During the next few days, legal pot stores will start popping up all over King and Pierce counties. However, our cautious, duly-elected, local officials have, diplomatically and politically, decided to slap a moratorium on legal pot within the Enumclaw city limits.
Though it may be difficult for us Baby Boomers to imagine, we’re getting old. Whoever thought such a thing would happen? This is the generation of hell-raisers who didn’t trust anyone over 30 – and suddenly we’re turning 65. In droves. Like, 10,000 of us cross that threshold every day.
People sometimes ask me about my tastes in music, literature, movies, etc. Generally speaking, I’ll freely discuss such subjects without hesitation or reservations. In fact, I’ve openly pursued these matters in several columns.
When I was a little kid, the Pacific Telephone Company owned the phone service within the greater Enumclaw region.
In case you haven’t heard, let this jolly columnist keep you informed: American newspapers are in big trouble. Many have disappeared during the past 40 years, including several large, really first-class operations like the Seattle Post Intelligencer. Home deliveries and the number of advertisers are all down and, consequently, so are the profits.
For the benefit of those who have just arrived in our mossy corner of the planet, you take a left on the other side of downtown Buckley, then an immediate right onto state Route 165 and continue for another five or six miles; drive through Burnett and Wilkeson and eventually you’ll end up in Carbonado, population 650, give or take a few.
The other day I sat in the middle of my living room floor and started sorting through some 33 rpm records that have survived the last 40 or 50 years in fair, if not surprisingly, good condition.
Ginger “Mama” Passarelli is a warm, effervescent and happy, middle-aged ex-hippie who decided, if she was ever going to have children and a home, she’d have to forsake her life in a teepee on a communal, organic farm and get a job or start a business. So, 10 years ago she opened Mama Passarelli’s Italian restaurant in Black Diamond.