the last day of 2008. slightly fewer (NOT "less") than 12 hours until midnight. i doubt i'll even be awake for the transition, unless the neighbors are particularly rowdy. no local friends or romantic interest with whom to share the evening, unless you count two part-siamese cats. that's okay, i enjoy my own company, and theirs. have a safe new year's eve, everyone. cheers to us all.
31 December 2008
29 December 2008
STEADY PROGRESS
i've made it a priority to accomplish something positive each day, vis-a-vis the job search. so far, so good. tell you what, though -- today i'm glad not to be out in the wide world. it is snowing steadily, with much more on the way. beautiful. the temp is hovering just below freezing, the most treacherous range for driving around, since that snow turns to slush, then re-freezes at night to create a city-wide skating rink. ai caramba. it may sound perverse to say it, but i'll be glad when daytime temps return to below 20 dF. at least then outdoor surfaces remain solid, more predictable.
and HEY! readers of this blog (all four of you) are invited, encouraged, and begged to leave comments. how else will i know how i'm doing? just click on the "comments" icon at the bottom of each entry, and tell me what you think. i'm interested, really.
really really.
oh yeah, you might also consider passing the blog link (or just the name) around to others. i would like to expand my readership geometrically, and would be glad for your help. thanks.
and HEY! readers of this blog (all four of you) are invited, encouraged, and begged to leave comments. how else will i know how i'm doing? just click on the "comments" icon at the bottom of each entry, and tell me what you think. i'm interested, really.
really really.
oh yeah, you might also consider passing the blog link (or just the name) around to others. i would like to expand my readership geometrically, and would be glad for your help. thanks.
28 December 2008
IT'S ALL RELATIVE
yesterday my son called, and during our conversation he mentioned having read my Veterans Day piece. he was blown away, in that he didn't know i'd experienced such things. i've never intentionally not told him, so it was my turn to be surprised. it seems we have some catching up to do.
just now i went back and re-read that entry. whew. it puts my current worries over being jobless in a new light. things could be much, much worse.
and also much, much better. it feels important to keep both realities in mind in the days ahead. thank you, Ian, for your sensitivity and support. no one could ask for a finer son. i'm so very proud of you.
just now i went back and re-read that entry. whew. it puts my current worries over being jobless in a new light. things could be much, much worse.
and also much, much better. it feels important to keep both realities in mind in the days ahead. thank you, Ian, for your sensitivity and support. no one could ask for a finer son. i'm so very proud of you.
24 December 2008
THE TWO FACES OF BEING JOBLESS
face one: degrees of panic over the sudden absence of income and health insurance. taking stock of resources -- financial, institutional, emotional. encountering the ego shock of being fired for the first time in nearly a half century of work. learning to cope with uncertainty, loss, the illusion of failure or fault.
face two: taking a deep breath and noting that physical stress is diminished. sleeping soundly and long. feeling freer, less encumbered by the expectations of others. discovering that as these layers fall away. i'm getting back in touch with myself -- who i am at the core, what are my dreams, which direction do i want to choose. noticing who my friends are by their quick response and encouragement. feeling so much gratitude for their being in my life. having more time to be with my cats. they care, too.
one door closes, another door opens.
face two: taking a deep breath and noting that physical stress is diminished. sleeping soundly and long. feeling freer, less encumbered by the expectations of others. discovering that as these layers fall away. i'm getting back in touch with myself -- who i am at the core, what are my dreams, which direction do i want to choose. noticing who my friends are by their quick response and encouragement. feeling so much gratitude for their being in my life. having more time to be with my cats. they care, too.
one door closes, another door opens.
21 December 2008
AN EXPERIMENT
Okay, deep breath. I'm about to try inserting a link to another website, using a self-created link rather than inserting the entire URL. It is a NASA website which daily posts an astronomy or earth weather image. And (drum roll, please) here it is.
Whew. Does this make me a computer programmer now?
Whew. Does this make me a computer programmer now?
BUT IT'S A DRY COLD .....
Whatever. For the past week and a half, Missoula has experienced on-again, off-again Arctic conditions, thanks to an easterly wind off the cold Montana prairie, funnelled through Hellgate Canyon. Night temps have been consistently below zero, with wind chills down to minus 30 or 40 dF.
All fine and dandy if one lives and works cozily indoors (ahem, Bill). But when you have to get up at oh-dark-thirty to be on the road before 6 A.M., with over two hours before the sun comes up, to these aging bones it feels like Dante's sixth circle of hell. Which is to say, not as bad as my growing-up winters on the northern prairie itself, but close enough.
Paradoxically, in one regard the extreme cold makes driving safer. With the passage of car traffic, roads are less likely to turn to ice or slush. Rather, they remain mostly packed snow, making driving more predictable. This part can become fun, as one can drift into a controlled skid around corners (at safe speeds, of course), or plow through a modest snow drift if your vehicle is large enough. Which mine is.
And I have to admit that once cold is controlled for with warm layers of clothing, I find the beauty of valleys and mountainsides clad in white to be far preferable to the drabber tans of summer. Now, if only we could get these Other Drivers off the road (the ones who insist on driving at a snail's pace on roads where it is perfectly safe to go the speed limit -- hey morons, get a clue, this is Montana, learn to drive or park it!!) ... oh well. I grew up here, many of the crawlers didn't, I suppose. I remember coming home for my first Christmas home from college, car-pooling with other WSU Montanans in an old '54 Ford with aging street tires, crossing Rogers Pass and laughing as we outpaced (again, at safe speeds) cars and trucks equipped with chains. It's all about technique, and respect for the true limits of the environment.
And I have to brag a little here. At WSU (Washington State), friends and friends of friends would often seek me out in winter, when their vehicles became stuck in the snow, or they ran off the road into a ditch. I was pretty handy at getting them out. It didn't hurt that it was I behind the wheel, and they who were pushing at my command at the right moment. Let'm sweat.
So, this winter will be real, unlike last year. Not as much snowfall as in the Pacific Northwest or near the Great Lakes, but that's okay. So long as my truck's battery holds out, I'm in fat city.
[Note: in deference to a dear friend's request, I am experimenting with actually using capital letters, in contrast to my usual e.e. cummings approach. Jeanne, I hope you've noticed.]
Cheers, everyone. Only a month until inauguration day, and the beginning of better times for all.
All fine and dandy if one lives and works cozily indoors (ahem, Bill). But when you have to get up at oh-dark-thirty to be on the road before 6 A.M., with over two hours before the sun comes up, to these aging bones it feels like Dante's sixth circle of hell. Which is to say, not as bad as my growing-up winters on the northern prairie itself, but close enough.
Paradoxically, in one regard the extreme cold makes driving safer. With the passage of car traffic, roads are less likely to turn to ice or slush. Rather, they remain mostly packed snow, making driving more predictable. This part can become fun, as one can drift into a controlled skid around corners (at safe speeds, of course), or plow through a modest snow drift if your vehicle is large enough. Which mine is.
And I have to admit that once cold is controlled for with warm layers of clothing, I find the beauty of valleys and mountainsides clad in white to be far preferable to the drabber tans of summer. Now, if only we could get these Other Drivers off the road (the ones who insist on driving at a snail's pace on roads where it is perfectly safe to go the speed limit -- hey morons, get a clue, this is Montana, learn to drive or park it!!) ... oh well. I grew up here, many of the crawlers didn't, I suppose. I remember coming home for my first Christmas home from college, car-pooling with other WSU Montanans in an old '54 Ford with aging street tires, crossing Rogers Pass and laughing as we outpaced (again, at safe speeds) cars and trucks equipped with chains. It's all about technique, and respect for the true limits of the environment.
And I have to brag a little here. At WSU (Washington State), friends and friends of friends would often seek me out in winter, when their vehicles became stuck in the snow, or they ran off the road into a ditch. I was pretty handy at getting them out. It didn't hurt that it was I behind the wheel, and they who were pushing at my command at the right moment. Let'm sweat.
So, this winter will be real, unlike last year. Not as much snowfall as in the Pacific Northwest or near the Great Lakes, but that's okay. So long as my truck's battery holds out, I'm in fat city.
[Note: in deference to a dear friend's request, I am experimenting with actually using capital letters, in contrast to my usual e.e. cummings approach. Jeanne, I hope you've noticed.]
Cheers, everyone. Only a month until inauguration day, and the beginning of better times for all.
23 November 2008
THE FARM, GONE
i spent my childhood as something of a nomad. my parents seemed to move every few years, from town to farm, farm to town along the northern Rocky Mountain Front. it wasn't until i was a teenager that we settled into a house my dad built himself, within two blocks of what would become my high school. (i trace my inherent shyness, always feeling like the new kid, to those days, but that's another story.)
my family remained in that house in town after i graduated from high school -- i was 18, my brother was 10, my sister was 5. through two years of college, then two years in the military, i always knew where home was. shortly after i moved out on my own, a young adult entering the migratory pattern south to tucson, arizona, my parents bought a small farm just outside of town. twenty acres of land along the county irrigation canal, with a scenic view of town to the east, and the magnificent ranks of the Rockies marching down the western horizon. the farmhouse was two stories with a full basement, shielded from arctic winds by a nice grove of trees, with a huge garden and an array of aging outbuildings. what struck you first, last and always was the quiet. the only sounds that claimed your thoughts were birds (western meadowlark, red-winged blackbird, pheasant, house sparrows), and the wind. you'd swear you could hear the planet breathe beneath that limitless dome of sky.
even though i had never had my own bedroom in that farmhouse, it became home for me, in the ancestral, family sense. i had my own home in tucson, but my parents' place would always feel like the more fundamental Home, the place where you can always walk in the door and know that you'll be welcome, part of the family. it remained so for 35 years, persisting through the seismic shifts of a struggling parental marriage.
this past spring, their marriage underwent a sea change. nominally "separated", my mom moved into her own apartment in town, leaving my dad at the farm. their long-range plan was to clean the place up, sell it, split the proceeds, and my dad would find his own place in town. though not exactly a surprise, given the strained atmosphere between them for decades, this move was decidedly a paradigm shift. it gave me insight into what my own son must have gone through, when his mother and i parted ways. except my son was only five, while i'm sixty-one.
the difference being that in my parents' case, parting ways ultimately seems like it will be a healthy and healing experience for all concerned. there are no discernible traces of the internecine warfare that my son had to try to understand at so young an age.
last sunday, i received a call from my dad, letting me know that a tentative buyer had firmed up plans, and they had signed the necessary papers to transfer the property. my dad now has until mid-december to pack, clean, and move a lifetime's accumulation of stuff to storage, and to find a place of his own in town to live. seems like he should have insisted on more lead time, but it's not my decision.
here's what's surprising about the news of the sale -- i'm feeling suddenly adrift, homeless, uprooted. it isn't a rational response, i know, but there it is. there'll never again be a single, discreet family home to return to. it all feels abrupt, and disquieting, as though the world has become an unreliable, unsafe place. i suppose the feeling will pass. millions have gone through something similar. still, this is new to me, and it all feels vaguely threatening. as though one sunny day, someone suddenly repealed the law of gravity.
well, i've been through much worse in this colorful life of mine. i'm glad that my mother is, and always has been, so resourceful and assertive and looking out for the future. and i'm glad that my father will soon be relieved of the burden of trying to keep up with a house and acreage that have become too demanding for a man in his 80s. within a few months, all the legal and financial details will have been resolved, and each of them will have settled into their new reality.
as for me .... i miss the farm.
my family remained in that house in town after i graduated from high school -- i was 18, my brother was 10, my sister was 5. through two years of college, then two years in the military, i always knew where home was. shortly after i moved out on my own, a young adult entering the migratory pattern south to tucson, arizona, my parents bought a small farm just outside of town. twenty acres of land along the county irrigation canal, with a scenic view of town to the east, and the magnificent ranks of the Rockies marching down the western horizon. the farmhouse was two stories with a full basement, shielded from arctic winds by a nice grove of trees, with a huge garden and an array of aging outbuildings. what struck you first, last and always was the quiet. the only sounds that claimed your thoughts were birds (western meadowlark, red-winged blackbird, pheasant, house sparrows), and the wind. you'd swear you could hear the planet breathe beneath that limitless dome of sky.
even though i had never had my own bedroom in that farmhouse, it became home for me, in the ancestral, family sense. i had my own home in tucson, but my parents' place would always feel like the more fundamental Home, the place where you can always walk in the door and know that you'll be welcome, part of the family. it remained so for 35 years, persisting through the seismic shifts of a struggling parental marriage.
this past spring, their marriage underwent a sea change. nominally "separated", my mom moved into her own apartment in town, leaving my dad at the farm. their long-range plan was to clean the place up, sell it, split the proceeds, and my dad would find his own place in town. though not exactly a surprise, given the strained atmosphere between them for decades, this move was decidedly a paradigm shift. it gave me insight into what my own son must have gone through, when his mother and i parted ways. except my son was only five, while i'm sixty-one.
the difference being that in my parents' case, parting ways ultimately seems like it will be a healthy and healing experience for all concerned. there are no discernible traces of the internecine warfare that my son had to try to understand at so young an age.
last sunday, i received a call from my dad, letting me know that a tentative buyer had firmed up plans, and they had signed the necessary papers to transfer the property. my dad now has until mid-december to pack, clean, and move a lifetime's accumulation of stuff to storage, and to find a place of his own in town to live. seems like he should have insisted on more lead time, but it's not my decision.
here's what's surprising about the news of the sale -- i'm feeling suddenly adrift, homeless, uprooted. it isn't a rational response, i know, but there it is. there'll never again be a single, discreet family home to return to. it all feels abrupt, and disquieting, as though the world has become an unreliable, unsafe place. i suppose the feeling will pass. millions have gone through something similar. still, this is new to me, and it all feels vaguely threatening. as though one sunny day, someone suddenly repealed the law of gravity.
well, i've been through much worse in this colorful life of mine. i'm glad that my mother is, and always has been, so resourceful and assertive and looking out for the future. and i'm glad that my father will soon be relieved of the burden of trying to keep up with a house and acreage that have become too demanding for a man in his 80s. within a few months, all the legal and financial details will have been resolved, and each of them will have settled into their new reality.
as for me .... i miss the farm.
16 November 2008
SUNDAY MORNING
sleep in. (it's all relative -- for someone whose alarm goes off at 4:30 a.m., sleeping in means 7 or 8.) wake up slowly, leisurely. rise, turn up the heat a bit, put on my casual sweats. feed the by-now-ravenous-but-polite cats. enjoy the quiet. check my email, the comics at the Washington Post online, the NYTimes online, the astronomy photo site, the online dating sites. am waking up by now. turn on the tv to see if anything worthwhile is on Meet The Press. if not, off. sometimes a light breakfast (a toasted bagel, or an almond-and-poppyseed muffin, or some cereal with fresh fruit). sometimes not. eventually, shower and shave and dress. hmm, what to do with the day? few plans, which is nice. do a couple of loads of laundry, read a book or an aviation magazine, make a blog entry. play with the cats, who don't receive nearly enough attention since i'm gone so much of the time. go for a walk, maybe drop in at Barnes & Noble and browse.
at intervals, think about my life -- what i enjoy, what i would like to change, whom i would like to call or email. most of all, relax, allow my body to heal from the abuses of the workweek, allow my mind to refresh itself. i look forward to this.
at intervals, think about my life -- what i enjoy, what i would like to change, whom i would like to call or email. most of all, relax, allow my body to heal from the abuses of the workweek, allow my mind to refresh itself. i look forward to this.
11 November 2008
VETERANS DAY 2008
(note: as background, please read my entry for Memorial Day, 26 may 2008.)
what follows isn't pretty. then again, neither is war. war is rarely what one is shown at a movie, or on tv. it is personal, and the experience is different for each participant. what i want to share has nothing to do with sweeping battles or calculated strategies or clashing armies. at its foundation, war isn't about patriotism or noble ideology. it is about you, and those few who are near to you in moments of violence, or tedium, or terror far from home.
my war was vietnam. these are only a few of the vivid memory snapshots i carry with me every day. they represent the randomness, the absurdity, the waste which jar any expectation of glory or patriotism. small moments. important moments. i share them as a way of recognizing, honoring those whom i knew in country, especially those who didn't make it back.
~ it is midday. after leaving travis AFB in california, with stops in hawaii, guam and the philippines, the airliner transporting me has touched down at Bien Hoa airbase. i reach the door at the top of the ramp, and am smacked senseless by a wall of heat. wherever there isn't pavement, there is fine red dust, six inches thick. i'm instantly dehydrated. how am i going to survive an entire year here?
~ it is sunset. after only a few weeks of OJT in country, at my base camp in Phu Loi, i've been sent to the field. we are at a fire support base somewhere in the mekong delta, occupied by the troops of a 155mm artillery battery, and guarded by a company of infantry. the perimeter is a scant enclosure of barbed wire and too few bunkers. all around lie jungle, and heat, and humidity. the hush of twilight is shattered by the unexpected sound of M16 fire being sprayed across the camp, from one of the perimeter bunkers. friendly fire, intentional fire. everyone hits the dirt or finds something to hide behind. the shooter is screaming words, but they make no sense. his firing pauses as he runs out of ammo, reloads. the dusk deepens, concealing a handful of MPs as they take up positions surrounding the bunker. CRACK CRACK CRACK. silence. we learn later that the shooter was a grunt who'd apparently seen too much, and lost it. he had shot his buddy in the bunker before opening up on the camp. his reward: assassination.
~ it is afternoon. we are setting up a temporary fire support base in a paddy near a temple in Cholon, the Chinese district of Saigon. a miniature settlement of camp followers materializes along the road -- a barber, a souvenir shop, a whorehouse. the resident vietnamese mingle with curious GIs. a blind boy walks across our compound, led by a smaller boy. we learn later that the blind boy was counting his paces, measuring distances and vectors to our artillery pieces, command post and my communications truck for targetting by VC mortars. children at war.
~ it is night. we are camped next to a highway and an ARVN (south vietnamese army, our allies) compound, back in the delta. we arrived late in the afternoon, and while crews prepare the 155s for fire missions, the rest of us are told to fill sandbags for individual bunkers in the event of mortar or rocket attack. my fellow radioteletype (RTT) operator and i are the only ones who do. for an hour or so after sunset, a searchlight from the ARVN has illuminated us, and (what a coincidence) during that time, every ten minutes or so a harrassing mortar round has landed in our camp from somewhere in the dark jungle all around. eventually a round gets lucky, exploding amid four foolish GIs who have been standing around talking. two are killed instantly. one has both legs blown off. the fourth is peppered with shrapnel. a medevac chopper is called in. this is what the VC have been waiting for. when the chopper arrives, mortar rounds start raining in on us. impossible noise and confusion, lit from all sides by explosions. the VC want that chopper, and the cluster of soldiers who are trying to onload the wounded. i am among those who ran to become stretcher-bearers, ducking and weaving in the mud and chaos. the man i'm carrying is our medic, a black dude from detroit who had only three weeks left in country, and a wife and two kids waiting for him at home. everyone likes him. amid the confusion the first sergeant running around like a headless chicken, looking for the medical files of the injured soldiers, getting in the way (a feat for which he is later awarded the Silver Star). finally the wounded are aboard, and the chopper (miraculously unhit) lifts off into the night sky. we later hear that Doc -- all medics are called Doc -- didn't survive the flight to the hospital. we mourn.
~ it is morning. we are set up on the western perimeter of a base camp west of Tay Ninh, near the Cambodian border. the perimeter is manned by ARVN soldiers, not Gis. my RTT rig, looking like a pickup camper with a thyroid condition, sits near a small, one-man perimeter bunker. the ARVN occupying it has a puppy. yesterday he became furious with the animal, and started to beat it. i was furious and intervened. he couldn't understand English, but he knew from my voice and gestures what i meant, and assumed a placating attitude. this morning, the same performance, only this time he is throwing the puppy down hard on the ground, like a football. i literally see red. against all reason, since he had an M16 handy and i only had my bayonet in its belt sheath, i stormed over and seized the dog from him, then returned with it to my rig. he in turn was incensed, picked up his rifle, then put it down again and followed me, yelling at me. my commo sergeant was visiting and backed me up, and the ARVN had to retreat, losing face. i kept the dog, named it Sooner, and brought it back to my own base camp at Phu Loi when i returned from the field. Sooner became our commo mascot, and was still there when i left the country months later.
~ it is twilight. same base camp. near my tent a small group of GIs has set up a crude table, and a rowdy poker game is going on. i'm trying to catch a nap on a cot, miserable in the heat and dust. last shower was thirty days ago. i'm snapped awake by the crack of a single shot, very close by. i jump up to a crouch and peek outside. the poker table is deserted, everyone has scattered. leaving the tent, i walk past the table, noticing a wet gray mass on the ground. nearby a small group has gathered on the porch of a hootch. one GI is raving, being restrained by others. turns out that he was one of those standing around watching the card game, next to his best friend who was one of the card players. holding his M16, which for some absurd reason went off, six inches from his friend's head. the entry wound was as big around as your finger. the exit wound was as big as your fist, and as the player's body slumped to the side, his brains fell out onto the ground. the accidental shooter is taken out by medevac chopper, senseless with grief and horror and guilt. he's sent to a psych hospital in japan the next day, a casualty of a landscape where everyone carries a gun.
~ it is night. we are back in the delta. some enterprising souls have erected a shoulder-high sleeping bunker made from dirt-filled wooden ammo crates, roofed over with PSP and sandbags. inside are a dozen wall-to-wall cots. you have to crawl over bodies to find an empty cot, if you want to sleep in that protected space. we are all awakened in the same instant by the distinctive sound of incoming rockets -- pssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhBOOM. the first one impacts some distance away, but each one gets a little closer. they are being walked in our direction. somehow, by some sleight-of-hand, every single bunker occupant has managed to rotate his cot sideways to burrow closer to mother earth. an amazing feat that could not be duplicated in daylight. all the rockets explode harmlessly, hurting no one, destroying nothing. in the surreal silence which follows, a lizard scoots across my legs, and i barely notice.
~ it is morning. DEROS. date eligible for return from overseas. i'm returning to the World (as we call home). two of my commo mates escort me on the jeep drive from Phu Loi to Bien Hoa. joking around, roiling mixed feelings. i spend the night at the 90th replacement battalion, pretending to be hardcore for all the green troops arriving for their year in paradise. i leave vietnam at 11 p.m. on 8 march 1968, and 24 hours later, after fueling stops in japan and alaska, arrive at travis air force base in california at 11 p.m. on 8 march 1968 -- a beam-me-up trick caused by crossing the international dateline eastbound. a few hours of out-processing and i'm set loose from oakland army base, honorable discharge papers in hand. no decompression, no counseling, no preparation for the jolting culture shock to come.
but that's another story.
epilogue: here's a link to a NYTimes article on Veterans Day, as it is observed both here and in other countries. (i've carried a buddy poppy attached to the rear view mirror of any vehicle i've owned, all my adult life.)
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/11/opinion/11watson.html?ei=5070&emc=eta1
if you know a veteran, please tell him/her "thank you". many of us never heard the words.
what follows isn't pretty. then again, neither is war. war is rarely what one is shown at a movie, or on tv. it is personal, and the experience is different for each participant. what i want to share has nothing to do with sweeping battles or calculated strategies or clashing armies. at its foundation, war isn't about patriotism or noble ideology. it is about you, and those few who are near to you in moments of violence, or tedium, or terror far from home.
my war was vietnam. these are only a few of the vivid memory snapshots i carry with me every day. they represent the randomness, the absurdity, the waste which jar any expectation of glory or patriotism. small moments. important moments. i share them as a way of recognizing, honoring those whom i knew in country, especially those who didn't make it back.
~ it is midday. after leaving travis AFB in california, with stops in hawaii, guam and the philippines, the airliner transporting me has touched down at Bien Hoa airbase. i reach the door at the top of the ramp, and am smacked senseless by a wall of heat. wherever there isn't pavement, there is fine red dust, six inches thick. i'm instantly dehydrated. how am i going to survive an entire year here?
~ it is sunset. after only a few weeks of OJT in country, at my base camp in Phu Loi, i've been sent to the field. we are at a fire support base somewhere in the mekong delta, occupied by the troops of a 155mm artillery battery, and guarded by a company of infantry. the perimeter is a scant enclosure of barbed wire and too few bunkers. all around lie jungle, and heat, and humidity. the hush of twilight is shattered by the unexpected sound of M16 fire being sprayed across the camp, from one of the perimeter bunkers. friendly fire, intentional fire. everyone hits the dirt or finds something to hide behind. the shooter is screaming words, but they make no sense. his firing pauses as he runs out of ammo, reloads. the dusk deepens, concealing a handful of MPs as they take up positions surrounding the bunker. CRACK CRACK CRACK. silence. we learn later that the shooter was a grunt who'd apparently seen too much, and lost it. he had shot his buddy in the bunker before opening up on the camp. his reward: assassination.
~ it is afternoon. we are setting up a temporary fire support base in a paddy near a temple in Cholon, the Chinese district of Saigon. a miniature settlement of camp followers materializes along the road -- a barber, a souvenir shop, a whorehouse. the resident vietnamese mingle with curious GIs. a blind boy walks across our compound, led by a smaller boy. we learn later that the blind boy was counting his paces, measuring distances and vectors to our artillery pieces, command post and my communications truck for targetting by VC mortars. children at war.
~ it is night. we are camped next to a highway and an ARVN (south vietnamese army, our allies) compound, back in the delta. we arrived late in the afternoon, and while crews prepare the 155s for fire missions, the rest of us are told to fill sandbags for individual bunkers in the event of mortar or rocket attack. my fellow radioteletype (RTT) operator and i are the only ones who do. for an hour or so after sunset, a searchlight from the ARVN has illuminated us, and (what a coincidence) during that time, every ten minutes or so a harrassing mortar round has landed in our camp from somewhere in the dark jungle all around. eventually a round gets lucky, exploding amid four foolish GIs who have been standing around talking. two are killed instantly. one has both legs blown off. the fourth is peppered with shrapnel. a medevac chopper is called in. this is what the VC have been waiting for. when the chopper arrives, mortar rounds start raining in on us. impossible noise and confusion, lit from all sides by explosions. the VC want that chopper, and the cluster of soldiers who are trying to onload the wounded. i am among those who ran to become stretcher-bearers, ducking and weaving in the mud and chaos. the man i'm carrying is our medic, a black dude from detroit who had only three weeks left in country, and a wife and two kids waiting for him at home. everyone likes him. amid the confusion the first sergeant running around like a headless chicken, looking for the medical files of the injured soldiers, getting in the way (a feat for which he is later awarded the Silver Star). finally the wounded are aboard, and the chopper (miraculously unhit) lifts off into the night sky. we later hear that Doc -- all medics are called Doc -- didn't survive the flight to the hospital. we mourn.
~ it is morning. we are set up on the western perimeter of a base camp west of Tay Ninh, near the Cambodian border. the perimeter is manned by ARVN soldiers, not Gis. my RTT rig, looking like a pickup camper with a thyroid condition, sits near a small, one-man perimeter bunker. the ARVN occupying it has a puppy. yesterday he became furious with the animal, and started to beat it. i was furious and intervened. he couldn't understand English, but he knew from my voice and gestures what i meant, and assumed a placating attitude. this morning, the same performance, only this time he is throwing the puppy down hard on the ground, like a football. i literally see red. against all reason, since he had an M16 handy and i only had my bayonet in its belt sheath, i stormed over and seized the dog from him, then returned with it to my rig. he in turn was incensed, picked up his rifle, then put it down again and followed me, yelling at me. my commo sergeant was visiting and backed me up, and the ARVN had to retreat, losing face. i kept the dog, named it Sooner, and brought it back to my own base camp at Phu Loi when i returned from the field. Sooner became our commo mascot, and was still there when i left the country months later.
~ it is twilight. same base camp. near my tent a small group of GIs has set up a crude table, and a rowdy poker game is going on. i'm trying to catch a nap on a cot, miserable in the heat and dust. last shower was thirty days ago. i'm snapped awake by the crack of a single shot, very close by. i jump up to a crouch and peek outside. the poker table is deserted, everyone has scattered. leaving the tent, i walk past the table, noticing a wet gray mass on the ground. nearby a small group has gathered on the porch of a hootch. one GI is raving, being restrained by others. turns out that he was one of those standing around watching the card game, next to his best friend who was one of the card players. holding his M16, which for some absurd reason went off, six inches from his friend's head. the entry wound was as big around as your finger. the exit wound was as big as your fist, and as the player's body slumped to the side, his brains fell out onto the ground. the accidental shooter is taken out by medevac chopper, senseless with grief and horror and guilt. he's sent to a psych hospital in japan the next day, a casualty of a landscape where everyone carries a gun.
~ it is night. we are back in the delta. some enterprising souls have erected a shoulder-high sleeping bunker made from dirt-filled wooden ammo crates, roofed over with PSP and sandbags. inside are a dozen wall-to-wall cots. you have to crawl over bodies to find an empty cot, if you want to sleep in that protected space. we are all awakened in the same instant by the distinctive sound of incoming rockets -- pssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhBOOM. the first one impacts some distance away, but each one gets a little closer. they are being walked in our direction. somehow, by some sleight-of-hand, every single bunker occupant has managed to rotate his cot sideways to burrow closer to mother earth. an amazing feat that could not be duplicated in daylight. all the rockets explode harmlessly, hurting no one, destroying nothing. in the surreal silence which follows, a lizard scoots across my legs, and i barely notice.
~ it is morning. DEROS. date eligible for return from overseas. i'm returning to the World (as we call home). two of my commo mates escort me on the jeep drive from Phu Loi to Bien Hoa. joking around, roiling mixed feelings. i spend the night at the 90th replacement battalion, pretending to be hardcore for all the green troops arriving for their year in paradise. i leave vietnam at 11 p.m. on 8 march 1968, and 24 hours later, after fueling stops in japan and alaska, arrive at travis air force base in california at 11 p.m. on 8 march 1968 -- a beam-me-up trick caused by crossing the international dateline eastbound. a few hours of out-processing and i'm set loose from oakland army base, honorable discharge papers in hand. no decompression, no counseling, no preparation for the jolting culture shock to come.
but that's another story.
epilogue: here's a link to a NYTimes article on Veterans Day, as it is observed both here and in other countries. (i've carried a buddy poppy attached to the rear view mirror of any vehicle i've owned, all my adult life.)
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/11/opinion/11watson.html?ei=5070&emc=eta1
if you know a veteran, please tell him/her "thank you". many of us never heard the words.
09 November 2008
WHO WE ARE
as the presidential election results continue to resonate, spreading ripples of speculation and discussion, one fact remains remarkable to me. barack obama's winning majority was evenly distributed among nearly all voting groups -- whites, blacks, latinos, democrats, republicans, older voters, younger voters, gays, straights, men, women. about the only group he didn't fully penetrate (no surprise here) was unreconstructed white southern conservative males. if one looks at a map of the shift by voters toward democratic candidates nationally (see http://elections.nytimes.com/2008/results/president/map.html and click on the "voting shifts" tab), most of the nation reflects this change. except the bible belt, where red persists. i have a feeling that over time, these folks too will be dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. or failing that, they may disappear through attrition.
i digress. the numbers tell the story. obama, 364 electoral votes. mccain, 162 electoral votes. undecided, 12.
in actual voter numbers, obama, 65,431,995. mccain, 57,434,084. undecided, 1,159,079. (source: http://news.aol.com/elections/2008/president )
landslide? you betcha. mandate? well, yes.
as has been his pattern throughout his political career, obama appears to be acting "with all deliberate speed" in assembling his transition team, and soon his cabinet. he is drawing upon the proven talents of people he's worked with in the past, as well as upon the expertise of people who are familiar with the minefields of washington, dc, politics. in short, a coalition.
it is this which leads me to believe that neocon fears of a radical shift to the liberal left in policy and legislation, are only that: fears. my prediction is that obama will create a centrist administration which, while unmistakeably liberal in its philosophy, will seek to address the needs and desires of the populace as a whole. no small task. as abraham lincoln put it so memorably:
"The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew, and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country." -- Lincoln's Second Annual Message to Congress, December 1, 1862.
lincoln and obama have much in common: both represented the great state of illinois in washington. both are guided by an evolving, far-reaching vision. both are hopeful that the better side of our natures will prevail. both have been tempered by personal adversity. both are informed by an awareness of the greater good. and both are gifted, transcendant orators. lincoln surrounded himself with a cabinet made up of allies and adversaries, both. obama appears poised to do the same.
but one can carry such parallels only so far. we live in our own times, guided by our own angels, contesting with our own demons. today, more than i have been for many years, i am hopeful of the outcome.
i digress. the numbers tell the story. obama, 364 electoral votes. mccain, 162 electoral votes. undecided, 12.
in actual voter numbers, obama, 65,431,995. mccain, 57,434,084. undecided, 1,159,079. (source: http://news.aol.com/elections/2008/president )
landslide? you betcha. mandate? well, yes.
as has been his pattern throughout his political career, obama appears to be acting "with all deliberate speed" in assembling his transition team, and soon his cabinet. he is drawing upon the proven talents of people he's worked with in the past, as well as upon the expertise of people who are familiar with the minefields of washington, dc, politics. in short, a coalition.
it is this which leads me to believe that neocon fears of a radical shift to the liberal left in policy and legislation, are only that: fears. my prediction is that obama will create a centrist administration which, while unmistakeably liberal in its philosophy, will seek to address the needs and desires of the populace as a whole. no small task. as abraham lincoln put it so memorably:
"The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew, and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country." -- Lincoln's Second Annual Message to Congress, December 1, 1862.
lincoln and obama have much in common: both represented the great state of illinois in washington. both are guided by an evolving, far-reaching vision. both are hopeful that the better side of our natures will prevail. both have been tempered by personal adversity. both are informed by an awareness of the greater good. and both are gifted, transcendant orators. lincoln surrounded himself with a cabinet made up of allies and adversaries, both. obama appears poised to do the same.
but one can carry such parallels only so far. we live in our own times, guided by our own angels, contesting with our own demons. today, more than i have been for many years, i am hopeful of the outcome.
05 November 2008
AFTER THE TSUNAMI
last night (presidential election night), i wasn't able to stay up for more than the preliminary returns, since i faced an early wake-up for work. i went to bed around 8 p.m., with obama building a convincing and expected lead. but wouldn't you know, i woke up around 2 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. so i checked the tv, but election coverage had already ended. the NYTimes webpage gave me the news of obama's sweeping victory, and i was unable to fall back asleep after that.
this day has been so long in coming, on many fronts. in the more immediate context of the disgrace we charitably call the bush presidency, we've been saddled with eight years of needless war, the rape of the environment, the near destruction of the world economy, repeated injuries to our well-being and insults to our intelligence. (one might question the intelligence of an electorate that would prolong the agony for a second term, but apparently there are limits even for the party faithful, given how deeply bush's approval rating has tanked.)
throughout the primaries and the campaign, obama held a steady course, never lost his cool or his focus. he appears to be the genuine article, someone who legitimately places the needs of ALL the people he serves (not just the richest donors) first. which is what sets true liberals apart from conservatives, in my mind. he did not stoop to the smear tactics which the republicans, and even hillary clinton a few times, employed with relish. he held the high moral ground, and persisted in his message of hope, of finding common cause, of transcendant vision. his intelligence, diligence, eloquence and strength of character will, i believe, place him alongside lincoln, fdr, and jfk among our greatest and most inspiring leaders.
in a more historic context, going back decades to the struggles of the civil rights movement, obama's ascendancy to the presidency seems more like an impossible dream come true. i am proud beyond words that i've lived to see the day when a black man or woman will take the oath of office. so many good souls fought so hard, enduring tears and bloodshed and humiliation and death, to bring this day about. it is a culmination most devoutly to be wished. and someday (sooner rather than later, now that this threshold has been crossed), when our first latino or woman or jew or asian or native american is elected, the sweetness of the moment will only be enhanced.
i wish that bobby kennedy and dr. martin luther king, jr., could have lived to see this moment in history -- a moment when the majority of voters chose a candidate based "on the content of his character, not on the color of his skin." this is a defining moment in our national story.
obama is human, therefore imperfect, and he will make mistakes. but fewer mistakes, i think, than most would. he has inherited problems vaster in scope and in number than any of his predecessors (thank you, george. thank you, dick. thank you, donald. thank you, oil barons. thank you, wall street greed merchants.). he will need a crack team to advise and assist him, not unlike the kennedy brain trust. the talent is out there. the will is there. the need is there.
barack obama, step forward and meet your constituency -- the planet. i wish you well.
this day has been so long in coming, on many fronts. in the more immediate context of the disgrace we charitably call the bush presidency, we've been saddled with eight years of needless war, the rape of the environment, the near destruction of the world economy, repeated injuries to our well-being and insults to our intelligence. (one might question the intelligence of an electorate that would prolong the agony for a second term, but apparently there are limits even for the party faithful, given how deeply bush's approval rating has tanked.)
throughout the primaries and the campaign, obama held a steady course, never lost his cool or his focus. he appears to be the genuine article, someone who legitimately places the needs of ALL the people he serves (not just the richest donors) first. which is what sets true liberals apart from conservatives, in my mind. he did not stoop to the smear tactics which the republicans, and even hillary clinton a few times, employed with relish. he held the high moral ground, and persisted in his message of hope, of finding common cause, of transcendant vision. his intelligence, diligence, eloquence and strength of character will, i believe, place him alongside lincoln, fdr, and jfk among our greatest and most inspiring leaders.
in a more historic context, going back decades to the struggles of the civil rights movement, obama's ascendancy to the presidency seems more like an impossible dream come true. i am proud beyond words that i've lived to see the day when a black man or woman will take the oath of office. so many good souls fought so hard, enduring tears and bloodshed and humiliation and death, to bring this day about. it is a culmination most devoutly to be wished. and someday (sooner rather than later, now that this threshold has been crossed), when our first latino or woman or jew or asian or native american is elected, the sweetness of the moment will only be enhanced.
i wish that bobby kennedy and dr. martin luther king, jr., could have lived to see this moment in history -- a moment when the majority of voters chose a candidate based "on the content of his character, not on the color of his skin." this is a defining moment in our national story.
obama is human, therefore imperfect, and he will make mistakes. but fewer mistakes, i think, than most would. he has inherited problems vaster in scope and in number than any of his predecessors (thank you, george. thank you, dick. thank you, donald. thank you, oil barons. thank you, wall street greed merchants.). he will need a crack team to advise and assist him, not unlike the kennedy brain trust. the talent is out there. the will is there. the need is there.
barack obama, step forward and meet your constituency -- the planet. i wish you well.
29 October 2008
VANITY WEBSITES
above is my personal term for sites which you can visit, input info as you please, and save the results for either public or private viewing. so far i've limited myself to four:
~ google earth. this surfable, 3D depiction of the globe is nothing short of fabulous. you can vary the magnification down to where you can see individual buildings, you can actually slant the view to see the height and dimensions of places as varied as manhattan and the grand canyon, and (here's where the vanity part comes in) you can tag personally significant locations -- places lived, events, whatever. it's a lot of fun.
~ google maps. similar to the above, but 2D, and with certain features like roads and streets in more detail.
~ facebook. yes, the one, the only, the ubiquitous, the paradigm of vanity sites. you get to reveal as much or as little of yourself as you wish to anyone who views your profile -- disgusting habits, tastes in movies and books, and oh yes, the names and faces of those who consent to be listed as your "friends". guilt by association. i'm still not sure of the value of this site, since there's little actual, meaningful communication going on, mostly preening. maybe i'm missing something.
~ my barnes & noble. i haven't opened this up to public view yet. it's simply a fun compendium of my favorite books and authors, growing all the time. they may be forced to evict me, as during my lifetime i've read thousands of books. one can also include movies, but there's no convenient way i've found to partition the two categories.
~ well, in fairness i should include match.com and eharmony. you create your own profile, including those traits and interests which you hope a reader will find appealing. perhaps the ultimate vanity. or perhaps just a new version of the age-old dance of courtship.
my chicago buddy bill notes in his blog http://ciexinc.com/blogs/daily/ that these endeavors can be a serious time suck (not his words). extremely true. beware.
~ google earth. this surfable, 3D depiction of the globe is nothing short of fabulous. you can vary the magnification down to where you can see individual buildings, you can actually slant the view to see the height and dimensions of places as varied as manhattan and the grand canyon, and (here's where the vanity part comes in) you can tag personally significant locations -- places lived, events, whatever. it's a lot of fun.
~ google maps. similar to the above, but 2D, and with certain features like roads and streets in more detail.
~ facebook. yes, the one, the only, the ubiquitous, the paradigm of vanity sites. you get to reveal as much or as little of yourself as you wish to anyone who views your profile -- disgusting habits, tastes in movies and books, and oh yes, the names and faces of those who consent to be listed as your "friends". guilt by association. i'm still not sure of the value of this site, since there's little actual, meaningful communication going on, mostly preening. maybe i'm missing something.
~ my barnes & noble. i haven't opened this up to public view yet. it's simply a fun compendium of my favorite books and authors, growing all the time. they may be forced to evict me, as during my lifetime i've read thousands of books. one can also include movies, but there's no convenient way i've found to partition the two categories.
~ well, in fairness i should include match.com and eharmony. you create your own profile, including those traits and interests which you hope a reader will find appealing. perhaps the ultimate vanity. or perhaps just a new version of the age-old dance of courtship.
my chicago buddy bill notes in his blog http://ciexinc.com/blogs/daily/ that these endeavors can be a serious time suck (not his words). extremely true. beware.
28 October 2008
CATS....AND DOGS REVISITED
this time the title doesn't refer to actual animals, but to our uses of slang. when i was growing up, hip guys were cool cats, you dig? beatnik jargon. a new generation invented hip hop, and from the gangsta culture a different term of familiarity emerged -- dawg. yo dawg, wassup? it is my impression that at one point, the word was used only within either the Crip or the Blood gangs, and i'm not sure which. but it quickly generalized within the entire hip hop community to connote a friend or friendly acquaintance. and as with so much creativity that springs from black america (gospel, jazz, blues, r&b, rock 'n roll, rap), white kids adopted it too.
i wonder what my grandson's generation will come up with?
i wonder what my grandson's generation will come up with?
23 October 2008
FIRST HARD FROST
i'm up and out the door a few hours before the sun comes up. yesterday morning was the first time this season i had to scrape frost off my windows, as my vehicle warmed up. brrr.
my work takes me from midtown missoula to the city's periphery in all directions. there've been days when i drive up into the south hills when my ears have popped from the change in elevation. other days, especially in winter, the valley's riparian fog is so thick you can't see more than fifty feet, which, on icy roads, is a not-so-welcome thrill. and of course, whenever it rains or snows, drivers seem to lose their minds completely and behave like lunatics. city drivers, anyway. those of us raised in the country are more likely to take it all in stride.
this being the west, in a university town of modest population, there are still opportunities to see wildlife as one explores the edges. i've seen bald eagles and great blue herons and osprey, rocky mountain bighorn sheep and whitetail deer (the latter so numerous in some neighborhoods that they might as well be cockroaches), black bear and red fox and coyote. the sightings are always a thrill, and a reminder that it is possible to coexist with nature, given a willingness to share space and make allowances for the needs of these creatures who share our planet.
but if one insists on seeing nature as Other, in case of conflict, in my book nature takes priority, whether you live on a ranch or in a city. this world currently hosts about 6 billion humans, far too many to be sustainable, or compatible with the natural world. i would love to wave a magic wand and set the upper limit for humans at one tenth that number, maybe even one hundredth. most would gravitate to cities located on coastlines or waterways, as we did back in the day, leaving vast reaches of landscape and seascape available for recolonization by wildlife. it would be a far richer, more varied world for us, and for our descendants.
sadly, it may already be too late to reclaim such a dream world. we've already set in motion the engines of destruction and extinction. there are entire ecosystems which have vanished, just during my lifetime. humanity is a cancer. eventually we'll either have to move off world, transmitting our viral selves to other planets, or else we'll drive ourselves (fittingly) to the brink of extinction through war, famine and terminal, myopic stupidity. such is the nature of the beast.
my work takes me from midtown missoula to the city's periphery in all directions. there've been days when i drive up into the south hills when my ears have popped from the change in elevation. other days, especially in winter, the valley's riparian fog is so thick you can't see more than fifty feet, which, on icy roads, is a not-so-welcome thrill. and of course, whenever it rains or snows, drivers seem to lose their minds completely and behave like lunatics. city drivers, anyway. those of us raised in the country are more likely to take it all in stride.
this being the west, in a university town of modest population, there are still opportunities to see wildlife as one explores the edges. i've seen bald eagles and great blue herons and osprey, rocky mountain bighorn sheep and whitetail deer (the latter so numerous in some neighborhoods that they might as well be cockroaches), black bear and red fox and coyote. the sightings are always a thrill, and a reminder that it is possible to coexist with nature, given a willingness to share space and make allowances for the needs of these creatures who share our planet.
but if one insists on seeing nature as Other, in case of conflict, in my book nature takes priority, whether you live on a ranch or in a city. this world currently hosts about 6 billion humans, far too many to be sustainable, or compatible with the natural world. i would love to wave a magic wand and set the upper limit for humans at one tenth that number, maybe even one hundredth. most would gravitate to cities located on coastlines or waterways, as we did back in the day, leaving vast reaches of landscape and seascape available for recolonization by wildlife. it would be a far richer, more varied world for us, and for our descendants.
sadly, it may already be too late to reclaim such a dream world. we've already set in motion the engines of destruction and extinction. there are entire ecosystems which have vanished, just during my lifetime. humanity is a cancer. eventually we'll either have to move off world, transmitting our viral selves to other planets, or else we'll drive ourselves (fittingly) to the brink of extinction through war, famine and terminal, myopic stupidity. such is the nature of the beast.
17 October 2008
YOU GO, PAUL
my default resource on matters economic has won the Nobel prize in economics. paul krugman is a professor at princeton university, and writes a column and blog for the NYTimes. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Krugman his writing is highly accessible without being condescending. he manages to distill complex economic and political issues down to their essence, making concepts and connections easy to understand, therefore easy to form one's own opinions about.
now if only he were in charge of this country's economic policy.
now if only he were in charge of this country's economic policy.
09 October 2008
CATS....AND DOGS
so i've been exploring the possibilities in online dating/matching for well over a year now. lots of fodder for discussion there, but i want to narrow our focus to one topic -- pets. this being the west, a number of women online have horses, whether working or recreational. but the majority gravitate to the same animals that urban types favor: cats. and dogs. here in the northwestern u.s., cat owners like myself seem to be in the minority among pet owners. (we'll leave the discussion of whether it is the pets who own us, for another time).
which begs the question, are there human personalities that are drawn toward one animal or the other? you hear dog owners wax poetic about their animals' loyalty, faithfulness (as opposed to infidelity?), happy nature, always-glad-to-see-me, and most notably, their trainability (the dogs, not the owners). this, in spite of dogs' relative high maintenance demands: needing to be "walked" (euphemism for being taken outside to relieve themselves), creating a nuisance for neighbors by barking (shame on owners for not training properly), and unavoidably, their propensity to drool. editorial comment: yuck.
in counterpoise, you hear cat owners sing the praises of their animals' independence, the soothing effect of a happy cat purring on your lap, their own trainability (you just have to make the cats think it's their idea, not yours), and their low maintenace demands: cats instinctively use a litter box from kittenhood with no human training needed, they are very affectionate with humans they know and trust, and shedding can be minimized with daily brushing, a grooming routine which both humans and cats find nurturing.
the above assumes that all animals under discussion have been responsibly neutered. and, truth be told, a lot depends on the individual animal's personality, and how it interacts with the individual human's personality. but let's take an evolutionary step back, and look at a broader aspect of cats vs. dogs.
wild dogs (coyotes, wolves, dingos, hyenas, etc.) evolved as social animals, in hunting packs centered on a family group with an alpha (dominant) male and alpha female. they remain so in a human setting, subservient to their alpha human. cats, on the other hand, (with the exception of lions) are solitary creatures in the wild -- leopards, cheetahs, tigers, lynxes, ocelots, etc. they pair up temporarily to mate, then disperse. this behavior, too, carries over into a human setting, though it is somewhat arrested artificially, with adult cats in the role of kittens not yet weaned from their human "parents".
so what does this say about our human choices? i'm still sorting this out, and welcome any opinions or references from the reader. but as a starting point, it seems to me that dog owners are relatively insecure people who have a need to dominate and be admired, while cat owners are relatively secure people who have a tolerance for independence. all this is speculative and wildly influenced by my own preferences, of course. i know dog owners who are gentle, caring souls, and cat owners who are control freaks. but as a generalization, i think the contrast is a starting point for discussion.
a few tangential questions -- tentatively assuming for the sake of argument that my hypothesis is valid, what does this say about the respective humans' treatment of their own children? and what about people who own both dogs and cats? are they conflicted, confused, bipolar? or just door mats for any species that presents itself? (tarantulas and vampire bats and boa constrictors, take heart!!)
well, i'm a cat person. and you?
which begs the question, are there human personalities that are drawn toward one animal or the other? you hear dog owners wax poetic about their animals' loyalty, faithfulness (as opposed to infidelity?), happy nature, always-glad-to-see-me, and most notably, their trainability (the dogs, not the owners). this, in spite of dogs' relative high maintenance demands: needing to be "walked" (euphemism for being taken outside to relieve themselves), creating a nuisance for neighbors by barking (shame on owners for not training properly), and unavoidably, their propensity to drool. editorial comment: yuck.
in counterpoise, you hear cat owners sing the praises of their animals' independence, the soothing effect of a happy cat purring on your lap, their own trainability (you just have to make the cats think it's their idea, not yours), and their low maintenace demands: cats instinctively use a litter box from kittenhood with no human training needed, they are very affectionate with humans they know and trust, and shedding can be minimized with daily brushing, a grooming routine which both humans and cats find nurturing.
the above assumes that all animals under discussion have been responsibly neutered. and, truth be told, a lot depends on the individual animal's personality, and how it interacts with the individual human's personality. but let's take an evolutionary step back, and look at a broader aspect of cats vs. dogs.
wild dogs (coyotes, wolves, dingos, hyenas, etc.) evolved as social animals, in hunting packs centered on a family group with an alpha (dominant) male and alpha female. they remain so in a human setting, subservient to their alpha human. cats, on the other hand, (with the exception of lions) are solitary creatures in the wild -- leopards, cheetahs, tigers, lynxes, ocelots, etc. they pair up temporarily to mate, then disperse. this behavior, too, carries over into a human setting, though it is somewhat arrested artificially, with adult cats in the role of kittens not yet weaned from their human "parents".
so what does this say about our human choices? i'm still sorting this out, and welcome any opinions or references from the reader. but as a starting point, it seems to me that dog owners are relatively insecure people who have a need to dominate and be admired, while cat owners are relatively secure people who have a tolerance for independence. all this is speculative and wildly influenced by my own preferences, of course. i know dog owners who are gentle, caring souls, and cat owners who are control freaks. but as a generalization, i think the contrast is a starting point for discussion.
a few tangential questions -- tentatively assuming for the sake of argument that my hypothesis is valid, what does this say about the respective humans' treatment of their own children? and what about people who own both dogs and cats? are they conflicted, confused, bipolar? or just door mats for any species that presents itself? (tarantulas and vampire bats and boa constrictors, take heart!!)
well, i'm a cat person. and you?
03 October 2008
ASSUMPTIONS
during the night i came down with a bug that had me in and out of bed several times. i was reminded of all those things which we take for granted when they're functioning as we expect, but which gather our full attention when they break down. the list is impressive, when you think about it. our bodies -- affected by illness or injury. our vehicles -- increasingly complex systems (often computer governed) going on the fritz, or sustaining simple, unanticipated disruption like a flat tire or a key locked in the vehicle (i carry a spare in another pocket). our homes, our relationships, the air we breathe, all at the mercy of aging or accident or neglect or abuse.
there is another subset of expectations which i encountered earlier this evening, during the downtown First Friday art gallery stroll. a particular exhibit consisted of small, inconspicuous pieces which blended in so well with the merchandise and wall decor that, unless one chanced to notice the equally inconspicuous labels, one might miss the artist's creativity altogether. i was lucky, in that i know the artist and was on the lookout for her work. others breezed right by. we seem to assume that "art" is macro and attention-grabbing, often overlooking the micro, the subtle, modest in size but no less thought-provoking or enlightening.
we've managed over time to construct a visually and aurally busy world, full of color and clamor, and too often signifying little. what a wonderful surprise to pause, take a breath, and open one's senses to that which is only invisible because we take it for granted. my world is a little richer for that reminder.....
there is another subset of expectations which i encountered earlier this evening, during the downtown First Friday art gallery stroll. a particular exhibit consisted of small, inconspicuous pieces which blended in so well with the merchandise and wall decor that, unless one chanced to notice the equally inconspicuous labels, one might miss the artist's creativity altogether. i was lucky, in that i know the artist and was on the lookout for her work. others breezed right by. we seem to assume that "art" is macro and attention-grabbing, often overlooking the micro, the subtle, modest in size but no less thought-provoking or enlightening.
we've managed over time to construct a visually and aurally busy world, full of color and clamor, and too often signifying little. what a wonderful surprise to pause, take a breath, and open one's senses to that which is only invisible because we take it for granted. my world is a little richer for that reminder.....
01 October 2008
OWN IT
like the late paul newman, i proudly lay claim to being a progressive liberal. labels are always limiting and sometimes misleading, of course, but one has to begin somewhere. i don't understand why so many democrats cringe when they hear the "L" word. most of our founding fathers and greatest presidents were, to one degree or another, liberal. historically, progressives and liberals have advocated the advancement of labor rights, civil liberties and social justice. we were early proponents of anti-trust laws, the regulation of large corporations and monopolies, as well as government-sponsored environmentalism. this is a bad thing?
naturally, political views fall along a continuum, and aren't easily cast in black-and-white terms. still, i suggest that the legitimacy and importance of the liberal point of view, as exemplified by ted kennedy and barack obama, are an important counterpoint to the fiscal and military excesses of the neocon reagan-bush years. capitalism is not some holy touchstone -- it an economic system replete with deep flaws, including an inherent penchant for greed.
this ties in directly with conservatives' hijacking of the concept of patriotism. as in, if you're not for their jingoistic point of view, you are somehow unpatriotic. this is completely irrational and manipulative. i'm one liberal who loves his country too much to allow it to continue to be ruled by a hegemony of oil barons, arms manufacturers, conservative christian fundamentalists, and others who devalue and seek to destroy the very diversity which defines freedom.
what are they afraid of, this ranting, self-important mob? well, the light of day for one thing. they scatter like cockroaches when confronted by the inconsistencies of their own propaganda, and ultimately crumble when, as happened during the mccarthy hearings in the 1950s, their hypocrisy is exposed and the fundamental question is asked, "have you no shame?".
i stand for social responsibility over corporate/shareholder profits. i stand for preservation of the natural world over the rape of its resources. i stand for liberty, equality, and mutual respect among all races and cultures, including both genders. and ultimately, i stand for our continued evolution from family, tribe, town, state and nation, toward a world community which values and protects cultural diversity, while affording equal opportunity for access to education, health care, housing, and viable work.
and i stand firmly against those who would deprive others of these rights, for their own selfish pursuit of wealth or power. theirs is a criminal world, deserving of the consequences bestowed upon criminals by a responsible society. a world society.
naturally, political views fall along a continuum, and aren't easily cast in black-and-white terms. still, i suggest that the legitimacy and importance of the liberal point of view, as exemplified by ted kennedy and barack obama, are an important counterpoint to the fiscal and military excesses of the neocon reagan-bush years. capitalism is not some holy touchstone -- it an economic system replete with deep flaws, including an inherent penchant for greed.
this ties in directly with conservatives' hijacking of the concept of patriotism. as in, if you're not for their jingoistic point of view, you are somehow unpatriotic. this is completely irrational and manipulative. i'm one liberal who loves his country too much to allow it to continue to be ruled by a hegemony of oil barons, arms manufacturers, conservative christian fundamentalists, and others who devalue and seek to destroy the very diversity which defines freedom.
what are they afraid of, this ranting, self-important mob? well, the light of day for one thing. they scatter like cockroaches when confronted by the inconsistencies of their own propaganda, and ultimately crumble when, as happened during the mccarthy hearings in the 1950s, their hypocrisy is exposed and the fundamental question is asked, "have you no shame?".
i stand for social responsibility over corporate/shareholder profits. i stand for preservation of the natural world over the rape of its resources. i stand for liberty, equality, and mutual respect among all races and cultures, including both genders. and ultimately, i stand for our continued evolution from family, tribe, town, state and nation, toward a world community which values and protects cultural diversity, while affording equal opportunity for access to education, health care, housing, and viable work.
and i stand firmly against those who would deprive others of these rights, for their own selfish pursuit of wealth or power. theirs is a criminal world, deserving of the consequences bestowed upon criminals by a responsible society. a world society.
30 September 2008
THE DAYS GROW SHORTER
or at least, that's my excuse for neglecting these entries all month. playing catch-up:
~ paeans and sorrow for the passing of paul newman, an actor and director who lived his political and philanthropic beliefs offscreen, and who brought intensity, wit and genuine talent to his roles onscreen. he could say more with a glance or a quirked smile than most actors can manage in a lifetime. of his movies, my personal favorites include The Hustler, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Cool Hand Luke, Sometimes A Great Notion, The Sting, Nobody's Fool, and Road to Perdition.
~ praise and awe for the HBO series The Wire, which ran for five years. i just finished watching the last episode on DVD. though centered on baltimore homicide detectives, the show managed to vividly portray hundreds of characters, in layered settings ranging from the corridors of political power to crack corners in the ghetto, from the Sun newsroom to the waterfront. i loved the interwoven complexity and relevance of the issues presented, with grit and profanity and humor and violence and tenderness, and always a clear eye for the human frailties which drive us all to acts which we would hate to see on the evening news. no preaching to be found, but relentless insistence on authenticity and thought-provocation.
~ pleasure and a slower pace of life (I) in Conrad, MT, over the weekend. like many rural, agriculture-based towns, Conrad has shrunk by attrition as its youth have moved away, and local businesses have been forced to close or consolidate in response to the advent of big box stores in Great Falls. still, a core of energetic, determined and inventive residents has kept the community alive by creating an arts council, restoring to Art Deco glory the local movie theater, expanding the city library, and supporting local schools. i'm proud to call Conrad my home town (one of several, actually, but the one in which i lived the longest before adulthood.)
~ pleasure and a slower pace of life (II) in the countryside where i grew up, on the northern plains along the Rocky Mountain Front. the drive from Missoula along state route 200, over rogers pass and emerging through the foothills onto the great sea of prairie, never fails to take my breath away. it is here that you can understand that Montana's nickname, Big Sky Country, is literally true. only out on the open ocean can one view an expanse of sky so vast, through air so clear that you can see weather forming many miles away. i've lived all over this country of ours, and my heart dwells in many places, but the deepest of my taproots is here, where the stillness is so complete that you can hear birdsong half a mile away, and you would swear that you can feel and hear the earth breathe.
~ finally (as the reader heaves a sigh of relief), props and a big hug to my friend Jan in Casper, WY, with whom i've shared a number of long, wide-ranging phone conversations. she is a formidable scrabble player, as i've learned the hard way at an online site. she is also a viola player and general renaissance woman with a lively intellect and a sly talent for fun. Jan is a keeper on life's list of friendships, or relationships, or however we decide to fashion it.
cheers to one and all. welcome to fall ! !
~ paeans and sorrow for the passing of paul newman, an actor and director who lived his political and philanthropic beliefs offscreen, and who brought intensity, wit and genuine talent to his roles onscreen. he could say more with a glance or a quirked smile than most actors can manage in a lifetime. of his movies, my personal favorites include The Hustler, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Cool Hand Luke, Sometimes A Great Notion, The Sting, Nobody's Fool, and Road to Perdition.
~ praise and awe for the HBO series The Wire, which ran for five years. i just finished watching the last episode on DVD. though centered on baltimore homicide detectives, the show managed to vividly portray hundreds of characters, in layered settings ranging from the corridors of political power to crack corners in the ghetto, from the Sun newsroom to the waterfront. i loved the interwoven complexity and relevance of the issues presented, with grit and profanity and humor and violence and tenderness, and always a clear eye for the human frailties which drive us all to acts which we would hate to see on the evening news. no preaching to be found, but relentless insistence on authenticity and thought-provocation.
~ pleasure and a slower pace of life (I) in Conrad, MT, over the weekend. like many rural, agriculture-based towns, Conrad has shrunk by attrition as its youth have moved away, and local businesses have been forced to close or consolidate in response to the advent of big box stores in Great Falls. still, a core of energetic, determined and inventive residents has kept the community alive by creating an arts council, restoring to Art Deco glory the local movie theater, expanding the city library, and supporting local schools. i'm proud to call Conrad my home town (one of several, actually, but the one in which i lived the longest before adulthood.)
~ pleasure and a slower pace of life (II) in the countryside where i grew up, on the northern plains along the Rocky Mountain Front. the drive from Missoula along state route 200, over rogers pass and emerging through the foothills onto the great sea of prairie, never fails to take my breath away. it is here that you can understand that Montana's nickname, Big Sky Country, is literally true. only out on the open ocean can one view an expanse of sky so vast, through air so clear that you can see weather forming many miles away. i've lived all over this country of ours, and my heart dwells in many places, but the deepest of my taproots is here, where the stillness is so complete that you can hear birdsong half a mile away, and you would swear that you can feel and hear the earth breathe.
~ finally (as the reader heaves a sigh of relief), props and a big hug to my friend Jan in Casper, WY, with whom i've shared a number of long, wide-ranging phone conversations. she is a formidable scrabble player, as i've learned the hard way at an online site. she is also a viola player and general renaissance woman with a lively intellect and a sly talent for fun. Jan is a keeper on life's list of friendships, or relationships, or however we decide to fashion it.
cheers to one and all. welcome to fall ! !
08 September 2008
GET FUZZY
i'm an inveterate comic strip reader, dating from preschool days (i learned to read at a young age). these days when i scan the sunday washington post comics (a weekly ritual both sacred and irreverent), only a handful are on my must-read list. "get fuzzy" is one. like "the boondocks", the humor is sideways, provokes a little thought, and evokes an "uh-huh" along with a smile.
my favorite character is bucky, the acerbic, misanthropic iconoclast (not unlike myself in certain moments) ..... siamese cat. bucky takes no prisoners. consider the following exchange between bucky and his human, robert:
R - ok, so you don't like the summer olympics. what about the winter ones?
B - well...at least some of those sports can kill you...that's interesting. their names give 'em away...luge your life...slalom into a tree...and who invented ski jumping? dr. kervorkain? mental.
R - so you like the winter olympics?
B - robert...the winter olympics are like a liberal with a baseball bat: you may not like him, but you have to respect him.
there's a certain hunter s. thompson twisted logic going on there, deranged but still possessing substance. (this from a progressive liberal who owns a gun.)
many of my favorite comics are about animals ("mutts", "garfield") or about adolescence ("zitz", "foxtrot"), or take an unabashed liberal/radical view of the world ("doonesbury", "the boondocks"). it's an entertaing mix on a sunday morning.
my favorite character is bucky, the acerbic, misanthropic iconoclast (not unlike myself in certain moments) ..... siamese cat. bucky takes no prisoners. consider the following exchange between bucky and his human, robert:
R - ok, so you don't like the summer olympics. what about the winter ones?
B - well...at least some of those sports can kill you...that's interesting. their names give 'em away...luge your life...slalom into a tree...and who invented ski jumping? dr. kervorkain? mental.
R - so you like the winter olympics?
B - robert...the winter olympics are like a liberal with a baseball bat: you may not like him, but you have to respect him.
there's a certain hunter s. thompson twisted logic going on there, deranged but still possessing substance. (this from a progressive liberal who owns a gun.)
many of my favorite comics are about animals ("mutts", "garfield") or about adolescence ("zitz", "foxtrot"), or take an unabashed liberal/radical view of the world ("doonesbury", "the boondocks"). it's an entertaing mix on a sunday morning.
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