Saturday, February 20, 2016


A few snips taken from today's Scouting Leadership training that the boys attended with Troop 324.

Thursday, February 18, 2016


In the summer of 1952 my father, James F. Tidd, served as a Boy Scout counselor (for the second time) at Camp Paharaqurra on the Delaware River. His primary responsibility was as a rifle range assistant. He was obviously not that enthusiastic a counselor, as we can observe him here sitting on the concrete bricks with his chin in his palm. The identity of the shooters is unknown. I find it interesting that the boys had long-bladed hunting knives back then, and that a couple of the boys look like they may have been sea scouts (in the darker uniforms).

Dad posing at the range. You can see his Eagle Scout award.

Obviously too, Dad wasn't as keen on range security it seems. Here are two of his friends, Jeff Myler (left) and his best friend in high school and scouting, Herb Wahl (right), acting out the gunfight at PQ Corral. Wahl accidentally strangled in a weird garage mishap, or so he was told.

Identified as Doug Hawke, fishing on the west bank of the Delaware River, looking east to the camp.

Note the unkempt cots! Herewith a group of counselors are playing cards. The scout without the hat is identified as Jeff Myler.

Dad also appears to have served in the same capacity at the camp in 1951. Herewith three very small photos of dad on the range while boys are shooting or listening to instructions. Dad is standing, wearing a checkered shirt.

In July of 1991 my dad hiked through the old camp area. Here is a picture of Poxono Island from the old waterfront area.

The remaining stone foundation for their old mess hall building.

See also

Wednesday, February 17, 2016


Here is a pic I don't think I ever posted, from three years back, the three Tidd guys mugging for the camera while Paul was taking a picture.


My favorite dog was a rescued greyhound named Mikey (his racing name was Michigan Mike). A gorgeous brindle, tall and fast, he had a decent record. But he was a beautiful soul, a loving pup that I got to know for a few years. What seems amazing to me is that it was about twenty years ago. Here are a few pictures I discovered recently:


Around 1983 my Aunt Marijka and two of my cousins, Anastasia (Anya) and Peter, visited my tiny little duplex in Tampa. Herewith two shot of them perusing a photo album.

Friday, February 12, 2016


My father was moved into an assisted living facility this year, as he struggles with Alzheimer's. Although no diseases are easy to deal with, this one seems particularly cruel, especially when it attacks a friendly, funny. vibrant man. His wife Sharon deserves every bit of credit for having shouldered the burdens of helping Dad along over the past few years. He's always been lucky in the women who loved him. This picture comes from (I think) the wedding of Oxana, Paul's daughter, last year. It is a good one that I like and wanted to share.

Thursday, February 11, 2016

CUT-OFF (flash fiction)

I’ve been dead for a bit, although likely I may still be a ghost on the other side. I wonder if I still have a cabin on the starship Maru, silently traversing inky space, tiny diamonds blinking in the distance through my window; do my former crewmates even miss me? Is my favorite seat near the fire on the island of nude beaches now occupied by a buff simulation or some giggling teenie bopper. Surely I have been deleted from many friend lists. It bothers me that my many outfits go unworn, combinations I never would be seen with in real life. I miss my daily meditation in the Japanese temple, perched high on a rugged peak; I loved listening to the small waterfall outside and the soft chimes, while clad in my bright red kimono. Hardly anyone ever came in while I was there, so it was a quiet treat. I didn’t often visit the sparkling fairy worlds, Celtic lands with impressive castles, or dark post-apocalyptic worlds, though they all could be interesting. No, I’ve been confined to my little room, alone, ever since my tablet stopped working.

Friday, February 5, 2016


One of my all-time favorite albums is Maurice White's 1985 offering which included the wonderful tracks "Stand By Me," "I Need You," and "Lady is Love," and I played them repeated on the cd and on my mp3. Of course, he first came to my attention as one of the founders of the awesome band Earth, Wind, & Fire. That group left a huge legacy and people will be listening to them, well, likely forever. "Serpentine Fire" is one of my favorite tunes. He wrote another fave, the Emotion's "Best of My Love." A lot of great musicians have left us this past few weeks, but his passing is especially painful for me. May he rest in peace.

Thursday, February 4, 2016


Modern art, as well as other contemporary endeavors, has often deeply bothered me. Yes, quite often I view a modern painting or sculpture, even the most abstract, and will like the look and appreciate it for some reaction in causes in me. But frequently I am convinced that there is a lot of deception going on, some unholy collusion among artists, critics, and brokers designed to promote work that is not worthy so that money flows into pockets of the conspirators. There doesn't seem to be many masters about any more, and realists are shunned as too traditional, despite the fact that they often produce beautiful work. My favorites include Hopper, the Wyeths, Mary Whyte and a host of others (Audubon, Chuck Close, Copley, Homer, O'Keeffe, Rockwell, Tanner, Whistler), and I can enjoy even Pollocks and Harings (and many other styles and pieces). I often love primitive art. But many I don't admire as much, such as Motherwell, Warhol, Nagel. It often depended on the piece. If there is no visual evidence of strenuous work or thought, at least relatively available to the viewer, then I suspect a con is afoot. A canvas painted a single color or inexplicable weirdness (concept pieces), then I am not amused. Often the most-interesting things about some art is the unusual title given it.

One of the most troubling for me was Jean-Michel Basquait, who was the same age as me, though he tragically passed at 27. He was basically a bright young soul swamped by fame, a hustler and conman swept up in the New York avante garde (that used him and helped destroy him, though ultimately one can only blame Basquait). Clearly his appealing physicality and sexuality attracted many admirers of both genders(fellow artists, dealers, and the in crowd), eager to advance his fame. It didn't hurt to associate with major stars, such as Madonna and Warhol. Most of his work I don't like much, but I admit many pieces draw me in, their cartoonish and jarring imagery amazing, their compositions engaging, almost hypnotic. Much of it seems hokey, using text and references to historical events and people, but in a way that feels superficial and fraudulent, as if he were hoping to make it more significant than it warranted as just a piece of art. His style was childish even, though some pieces just knock you over. I wonder how much of his work will be applauded two hundred years from now. Perhaps some, because of his impact and popularity historically. I love Obnoxious Liberals (1982) and Riding With Death (1988), and many others. Surely there is a lot in his paintings for the intellectuals to ruminate on.