Four months after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor 68 years ago today, a mostly symbolic bomb run was initiated over Japan. It bolstered the American spirit with a oh yeah in your eye reply and a promise that we'll be back and the Americans were, culminating with the birth of the atomic age in 1945.
December 7, 2009
December 5, 2009
This McCoy cartoon is right on the mark as far as I am concerned. His war stance, or to be more precise, his stated intentions were to get the troops out, and figure out another way to keep the bad guys in check, but no. The man listened instead to the military industrial complex, and signed up to further lenghten our longest war ever into another three years or so. What will change in three years? Not much I fear, except isn't that about election time again.
What is it that presidents hear that makes them all turn into Gen. Patton clones? One further question, is what they find out too horrendous to share it with the country. We might understand what is going on and maybe even agree.
December 1, 2009
Today was the day we visit the cemeteries and put wreaths on the graves of family members before the snow hits us hard. It was in the forties here today, but at the cemeteries it seems about forty degrees less. It is because there are very few windbreaks and it goes right through any jacket you may have thought would do the trick.
BRIDGE FROM A SNOWY PLACE
This cemetery is the oldest, largest, and, in a way, the nicest of several that we have in my town. Nicest cemetery sounds like an oxymoron, and maybe it is, but it has the least rules governing what you can or can't do, which results in a hodgepodge of sizes and shapes of the monuments. The roads meander over, around and through, with impossible U-turns thrown in here and there. It is a resting-place that doesn't take itself too seriously, except in the respect it shows it's permanent residences. The grass is mowed with regularity and kept trimmed. We have in our population of permanent residents, people of all races, religions and nationalities, distinctions they carried with them when they resided on the earth. And they still have separate burial sites for the different religions, a matter of importance to the living, it seems, but to the residents it doesn't really matter anymore. God, or by whatever name we on earth refer to him, accepts all of us equally in a brotherhood of love.
After visiting the graves of my wife Mary's parents, I decided to take a stroll as she tidied up around the marker. The day was sunny, yet brisk, in the fall of the year, and leaves were swirling around the markers. As I strolled, my eye caught an interruption in the symmetry where an area seemed to have no stones. I walked that way only to discover flat stone markers on the ground. No large monuments were here. A stone angel with one broken wing stood nearby, overlooking the area. I was drawn to one of the small markers. The name on the marker was Theodore Michael Hutchinson, with the date of February 15, 1944. As I looked around me, I saw I was in one of the areas set aside as a children's area. The residents here were either stillborn, or died soon after being born. The plainness of the markers, and the reality of a life unlived, touched me to the core.
I never forgot Theodore Michael Hutchinson's little stone, and the next time circumstances found me again in the cemetery, I was drawn to him. The time of year was autumn again, with winter not far away. Snow was definitely in the air. As I stood looking down at his simple, small marker with his long name and single date, I was compelled to speak to him.
"Theodore?"
What did I expect, for crying out loud? Did I expect him to answer? But for some reason, it didn't seem strange that I should be talking out loud to a stone on the ground.
"Do you mind if I call you Teddy? Theodore is quite a mouth full and a little too big for you, don't you think?"
"I want to talk to you Teddy, but you were only here for one day, and I don't know if you will understand what I'm talking about."
I stood there waiting. For what? If I saw someone else doing this, I would send for the boys in the white coats, but it seemed exactly right for me to be talking to a child dead now fifty six years, who lived a day. I felt almost a physical shove in the back to speak to this boy.
"We're going to have some snow soon, Teddy. I know you see it, but I don't think you know how it feels. Every little boy loves the snow Teddy, take my word for it; it's cold, but it's great. You're lucky you're here because we have a lot of hills for sled riding. The cold wind and snow blows in your face as you coast down the hill. It is something I wish you could have done, Teddy," I said, as a lump formed in my throat. "Hey, I know, I'll build you a little sled and bring it with me the next time I'm here. I'll leave it so you will know what I'm talking about. O.K.?"
I wonder if I'm working too hard?
Christmas was approaching and Mary and I were preparing for the big event, wrapping presents for our children who were no longer children. As we were putting some of the gifts in boxes to be mailed to the one's who lived too far away to come home each year, I smiled as I remembered Christmas's past. Invariably, pictures come to mind of our children growing into adults. Knowing the fine people they had become caused bittersweet feelings of warmth and pride to swell up in me. Christmas music from a CD was playing in the background as Mary and I looked at each other and smiled a small smile, reading each other's thoughts rambling back over many years. As I removed my finger from the middle of a bow in my role as helper, and Mary finished tying it into a fancy ribbon, she suggested a cup of hot chocolate. As we sat on the fringes of our clutter and sipped the chocolate, Mary asked, "You seemed miles away at times tonight. Were you thinking of the children?"
"Of course, how could I not be. Christmas's are for kids. If they weren't coming over, it just wouldn't be the same. You and I could have our Christmas, and you know I enjoy your company more than any other person on the earth, but it really is for kids, as they say."
"Is that all that's bothering you? You've seemed a little distant from time to time. I catch you with that far away look in your eye, when you think I'm not looking. There's nothing wrong with you, is there? Something you haven't told me? She asked, quite serious now.
I smiled, and assured her that I was fine. I then sat silently for a moment or two. "But there is something that I want to talk to you about. It's the strangest thing. I don't know if a few gray cells are leaking out of the old brain or what."
"Now you've really got me worried," Mary said. "Please tell me what's going on with you."
I proceeded to tell her of the two occasions at the cemetery, and my promise to the dead Theodore to bring him a sled.
"I can't explain any of this to you. I don't understand it myself. I sometimes think I'm going bats, that it's nothing but a bunch of silliness, but then it seems quite reasonable."
Mary sat there for a time and then asked, "Well, have you?"
"Have I what, for crying out loud, gone nuts? I hope not."
"Built him a sled?"
I sat there feeling even more love for this woman than I thought possible. She continues to surprise me with her compassion and understanding of me. When I think my cup is full to the brim, she adds a little more.
"Well yes," I said, drawing out the yes with a little uncertainty. "Yes I have."
"When do you plan to deliver it?" she asked very seriously.
Words could not form on my lips; I just smiled a smile of love and relief.
"Soon."
Christmas dinner was nearly over. The empty bowls, spilled gravy, and people sitting back but not leaving the table was proof that Mary had scored another success. The presents had all been distributed to the kids and our grandkids. The grandchildren were still hyped up and wished to leave the table. Remaining at the table were our children and their wives or husbands, and Mary and I. As we were finishing up our coffee, I glanced at Mary, and she nodded.
"I wish all you good folks would excuse me for just a little while. I promised someone I would stop and see them today and I had better get going before the weather worsens", I said as I stood up and Mary accompanied me to the front closet for my coat and gloves.
"Do you want to come along?" I asked.
"No sweets, I think you should go alone. Maybe I will another time," she said as she held my hands. "Do you have the sled?"
"Yes, it's in the car. I won't be long," I said.
"Take all the time you want, if you're too long, I'll make excuses for you."
I remembered to put a folding chair into the car beside the little wooden sled as I started the engine. "What the devil am I doing?" I asked myself as I backed out of the garage. "Well I've been over that enough and questioned my sanity until I didn't care anymore," I thought as I turned on the radio to hear the last of the Christmas songs for the year. Tomorrow they would put all the records away for another year, and the rock tunes would begin again. They were playing the same songs I had heard all my life, Bing Crosby singing White Christmas, I'll Be Home For Christmas, and the rest. I guess I'll never get tired of them. The heater in the car was blasting away, and it was quite comfortable. I was thinking, "When I get home I'll have to take a couple aspirins, I've got this darn ache in my arm. I must have pulled something in the workshop."
As I was pulling into the cemetery, I saw the sun shining down through the trees up ahead. The sunbeam looked like it came directly from heaven. It was beautiful. As I drove through its glow it seemed to light up the whole car, and I could feel its warmth. It made me feel peaceful and very happy to be here. It seemed to follow me on my short journey to Teddy. As I pulled up and stopped, I saw squirrels scampering through the children's markers, hunting any nuts they may have missed before. I took the folding chair and the sled out of the car and went to Teddy.
"Well old boy, here I am." I said, as I dusted the snow off his marker. "And I didn't forget. I brought you the sled."
I unfolded the chair and sat down with Teddy's marker at my feet. "Well my boy, I hope you've got a little time because I've got a lot to tell you. First, I don't know what happened to your Mom and Dad. Perhaps they're there with you, I hope so because little kids should not be alone on Christmas, and they should have a toy to play with. Sled riding is only one of a million fun things you missed, but maybe, if the words come just right, I can tell you what it is I hoped you could have seen and experienced yourself."
"It doesn't seem that many years ago since I was a little boy, although I guess it has been a long time. They say your life flashes by, and before you know it, you're my age. Well Teddy boy, it does go fast. That's one fact you can count on being true."
"Boyhood for you would have been a magical time. You would have learned to ride a bike and play ball. There is nothing more fun for a boy than getting a hit and sliding in the dirt with your friends cheering you on. Then going home and getting hugs from your mom. Your mom would have been a wonderful mom, I just know it. She would probably have spoiled you, but it's all right for children to be spoiled a little."
"Then one day you'd meet another girl you could love as much as your mom, but differently. Your mom would be a little jealous, but that's only natural because you were always just her own little boy, now she'd have to share you. That first kiss with your best girl, oh Teddy you missed so much."
Just then a gust of cold air blew some of the slowly falling snow in my face.
"I have just been reminded by Mother Nature Teddy, that I should tell you
about this beautiful part of the earth on which you would have lived. It is covered with green soft grass, blue oceans, and magnificent mountains. The seasons change from the brisk cold of winter to a clear sparkling spring, a season of a reawakening. Then summer, that magical season when the days are long and so gentle you could have lain down in the grass and dreamt impossible dreams until you dozed off. As a boy, you would have loved summer most of all. No school for three whole months, with time enough to play as much baseball as you wanted, or to explore your neighborhood on your bright red bicycle. It's so wonderful, you would have remembered it all your days as if it were yesterday."
"Then one fine day, perhaps a summer day, you would wed that wonderful girl of yours and if you were very lucky, she would become the mother of your children and the one person who would be with you until your final day on this earth. And it would have begun all over again with your children asking you questions and you would try to protect them all until the time came when your days on earth were over, and you would return to God's home."
I felt tears running down my face as I said these final words to little Teddy, "I feel so badly that you were not given an opportunity to live on this fine earth and feel all the happiness I know you would have found. I just wish there was some way.." Suddenly the ache that was in my arm shot into my head and chest. The pain was excruciating, but then as suddenly as it started it was over, and the cold winter Christmas day that was turning to night became a bright warm day, and I stood and started walking as if I knew exactly what to do and where to go. As I continued walking, the surroundings seemed unfamiliar and yet happily familiar. Feeling confused, I stopped for a moment, but then, a small hand took mine and I understood and was happy.
BRIDGE FROM A SNOWY PLACE
This cemetery is the oldest, largest, and, in a way, the nicest of several that we have in my town. Nicest cemetery sounds like an oxymoron, and maybe it is, but it has the least rules governing what you can or can't do, which results in a hodgepodge of sizes and shapes of the monuments. The roads meander over, around and through, with impossible U-turns thrown in here and there. It is a resting-place that doesn't take itself too seriously, except in the respect it shows it's permanent residences. The grass is mowed with regularity and kept trimmed. We have in our population of permanent residents, people of all races, religions and nationalities, distinctions they carried with them when they resided on the earth. And they still have separate burial sites for the different religions, a matter of importance to the living, it seems, but to the residents it doesn't really matter anymore. God, or by whatever name we on earth refer to him, accepts all of us equally in a brotherhood of love.
After visiting the graves of my wife Mary's parents, I decided to take a stroll as she tidied up around the marker. The day was sunny, yet brisk, in the fall of the year, and leaves were swirling around the markers. As I strolled, my eye caught an interruption in the symmetry where an area seemed to have no stones. I walked that way only to discover flat stone markers on the ground. No large monuments were here. A stone angel with one broken wing stood nearby, overlooking the area. I was drawn to one of the small markers. The name on the marker was Theodore Michael Hutchinson, with the date of February 15, 1944. As I looked around me, I saw I was in one of the areas set aside as a children's area. The residents here were either stillborn, or died soon after being born. The plainness of the markers, and the reality of a life unlived, touched me to the core.
I never forgot Theodore Michael Hutchinson's little stone, and the next time circumstances found me again in the cemetery, I was drawn to him. The time of year was autumn again, with winter not far away. Snow was definitely in the air. As I stood looking down at his simple, small marker with his long name and single date, I was compelled to speak to him.
"Theodore?"
What did I expect, for crying out loud? Did I expect him to answer? But for some reason, it didn't seem strange that I should be talking out loud to a stone on the ground.
"Do you mind if I call you Teddy? Theodore is quite a mouth full and a little too big for you, don't you think?"
"I want to talk to you Teddy, but you were only here for one day, and I don't know if you will understand what I'm talking about."
I stood there waiting. For what? If I saw someone else doing this, I would send for the boys in the white coats, but it seemed exactly right for me to be talking to a child dead now fifty six years, who lived a day. I felt almost a physical shove in the back to speak to this boy.
"We're going to have some snow soon, Teddy. I know you see it, but I don't think you know how it feels. Every little boy loves the snow Teddy, take my word for it; it's cold, but it's great. You're lucky you're here because we have a lot of hills for sled riding. The cold wind and snow blows in your face as you coast down the hill. It is something I wish you could have done, Teddy," I said, as a lump formed in my throat. "Hey, I know, I'll build you a little sled and bring it with me the next time I'm here. I'll leave it so you will know what I'm talking about. O.K.?"
I wonder if I'm working too hard?
Christmas was approaching and Mary and I were preparing for the big event, wrapping presents for our children who were no longer children. As we were putting some of the gifts in boxes to be mailed to the one's who lived too far away to come home each year, I smiled as I remembered Christmas's past. Invariably, pictures come to mind of our children growing into adults. Knowing the fine people they had become caused bittersweet feelings of warmth and pride to swell up in me. Christmas music from a CD was playing in the background as Mary and I looked at each other and smiled a small smile, reading each other's thoughts rambling back over many years. As I removed my finger from the middle of a bow in my role as helper, and Mary finished tying it into a fancy ribbon, she suggested a cup of hot chocolate. As we sat on the fringes of our clutter and sipped the chocolate, Mary asked, "You seemed miles away at times tonight. Were you thinking of the children?"
"Of course, how could I not be. Christmas's are for kids. If they weren't coming over, it just wouldn't be the same. You and I could have our Christmas, and you know I enjoy your company more than any other person on the earth, but it really is for kids, as they say."
"Is that all that's bothering you? You've seemed a little distant from time to time. I catch you with that far away look in your eye, when you think I'm not looking. There's nothing wrong with you, is there? Something you haven't told me? She asked, quite serious now.
I smiled, and assured her that I was fine. I then sat silently for a moment or two. "But there is something that I want to talk to you about. It's the strangest thing. I don't know if a few gray cells are leaking out of the old brain or what."
"Now you've really got me worried," Mary said. "Please tell me what's going on with you."
I proceeded to tell her of the two occasions at the cemetery, and my promise to the dead Theodore to bring him a sled.
"I can't explain any of this to you. I don't understand it myself. I sometimes think I'm going bats, that it's nothing but a bunch of silliness, but then it seems quite reasonable."
Mary sat there for a time and then asked, "Well, have you?"
"Have I what, for crying out loud, gone nuts? I hope not."
"Built him a sled?"
I sat there feeling even more love for this woman than I thought possible. She continues to surprise me with her compassion and understanding of me. When I think my cup is full to the brim, she adds a little more.
"Well yes," I said, drawing out the yes with a little uncertainty. "Yes I have."
"When do you plan to deliver it?" she asked very seriously.
Words could not form on my lips; I just smiled a smile of love and relief.
"Soon."
Christmas dinner was nearly over. The empty bowls, spilled gravy, and people sitting back but not leaving the table was proof that Mary had scored another success. The presents had all been distributed to the kids and our grandkids. The grandchildren were still hyped up and wished to leave the table. Remaining at the table were our children and their wives or husbands, and Mary and I. As we were finishing up our coffee, I glanced at Mary, and she nodded.
"I wish all you good folks would excuse me for just a little while. I promised someone I would stop and see them today and I had better get going before the weather worsens", I said as I stood up and Mary accompanied me to the front closet for my coat and gloves.
"Do you want to come along?" I asked.
"No sweets, I think you should go alone. Maybe I will another time," she said as she held my hands. "Do you have the sled?"
"Yes, it's in the car. I won't be long," I said.
"Take all the time you want, if you're too long, I'll make excuses for you."
I remembered to put a folding chair into the car beside the little wooden sled as I started the engine. "What the devil am I doing?" I asked myself as I backed out of the garage. "Well I've been over that enough and questioned my sanity until I didn't care anymore," I thought as I turned on the radio to hear the last of the Christmas songs for the year. Tomorrow they would put all the records away for another year, and the rock tunes would begin again. They were playing the same songs I had heard all my life, Bing Crosby singing White Christmas, I'll Be Home For Christmas, and the rest. I guess I'll never get tired of them. The heater in the car was blasting away, and it was quite comfortable. I was thinking, "When I get home I'll have to take a couple aspirins, I've got this darn ache in my arm. I must have pulled something in the workshop."
As I was pulling into the cemetery, I saw the sun shining down through the trees up ahead. The sunbeam looked like it came directly from heaven. It was beautiful. As I drove through its glow it seemed to light up the whole car, and I could feel its warmth. It made me feel peaceful and very happy to be here. It seemed to follow me on my short journey to Teddy. As I pulled up and stopped, I saw squirrels scampering through the children's markers, hunting any nuts they may have missed before. I took the folding chair and the sled out of the car and went to Teddy.
"Well old boy, here I am." I said, as I dusted the snow off his marker. "And I didn't forget. I brought you the sled."
I unfolded the chair and sat down with Teddy's marker at my feet. "Well my boy, I hope you've got a little time because I've got a lot to tell you. First, I don't know what happened to your Mom and Dad. Perhaps they're there with you, I hope so because little kids should not be alone on Christmas, and they should have a toy to play with. Sled riding is only one of a million fun things you missed, but maybe, if the words come just right, I can tell you what it is I hoped you could have seen and experienced yourself."
"It doesn't seem that many years ago since I was a little boy, although I guess it has been a long time. They say your life flashes by, and before you know it, you're my age. Well Teddy boy, it does go fast. That's one fact you can count on being true."
"Boyhood for you would have been a magical time. You would have learned to ride a bike and play ball. There is nothing more fun for a boy than getting a hit and sliding in the dirt with your friends cheering you on. Then going home and getting hugs from your mom. Your mom would have been a wonderful mom, I just know it. She would probably have spoiled you, but it's all right for children to be spoiled a little."
"Then one day you'd meet another girl you could love as much as your mom, but differently. Your mom would be a little jealous, but that's only natural because you were always just her own little boy, now she'd have to share you. That first kiss with your best girl, oh Teddy you missed so much."
Just then a gust of cold air blew some of the slowly falling snow in my face.
"I have just been reminded by Mother Nature Teddy, that I should tell you
about this beautiful part of the earth on which you would have lived. It is covered with green soft grass, blue oceans, and magnificent mountains. The seasons change from the brisk cold of winter to a clear sparkling spring, a season of a reawakening. Then summer, that magical season when the days are long and so gentle you could have lain down in the grass and dreamt impossible dreams until you dozed off. As a boy, you would have loved summer most of all. No school for three whole months, with time enough to play as much baseball as you wanted, or to explore your neighborhood on your bright red bicycle. It's so wonderful, you would have remembered it all your days as if it were yesterday."
"Then one fine day, perhaps a summer day, you would wed that wonderful girl of yours and if you were very lucky, she would become the mother of your children and the one person who would be with you until your final day on this earth. And it would have begun all over again with your children asking you questions and you would try to protect them all until the time came when your days on earth were over, and you would return to God's home."
I felt tears running down my face as I said these final words to little Teddy, "I feel so badly that you were not given an opportunity to live on this fine earth and feel all the happiness I know you would have found. I just wish there was some way.." Suddenly the ache that was in my arm shot into my head and chest. The pain was excruciating, but then as suddenly as it started it was over, and the cold winter Christmas day that was turning to night became a bright warm day, and I stood and started walking as if I knew exactly what to do and where to go. As I continued walking, the surroundings seemed unfamiliar and yet happily familiar. Feeling confused, I stopped for a moment, but then, a small hand took mine and I understood and was happy.
November 21, 2009
November 20, 2009
Books, books, books.
I love it when I run across some books that I can get into and lose myself for, in this case, seven hundred pages. It happens sometimes, and is a special bonus when I have found seven books at our annual book sale. It seems I may have a month or two of pleasurable reading in store.
Strange as it seems, when I go to my favorite book store Barnes and Noble and spend an hour browsing, I couldn't find that many if I tried hard. Of course finding seven books in a book store and paying for them seems like a mission impossible. Let's see seven times twenty-five dollars comes to hummmm one hundred seventy five bucks, yikes.
While in this imagine mode I probably could not find seven books very easily. I think I would be too particular in my selections. If you're paying 175 dollars it would take some serious musing. When I am at the book sale it is so great because if I see something that even looks like it might be good, into the bag it goes. Heck I throw them into the bag even if the cover looks good. But this year I think after a slower look through my picks think I got seven I will read through to the end.
Well I'm outta here, I left my good guys and bad guys in the Philippines in 1943. Everything is about to come to a conclusion, not necessarily a good conclusion but that's the way it was in those years.
November 19, 2009
November 18, 2009
November 15, 2009
November 14, 2009
I really enjoy watching Agatha Christie mysteries on PBS. I hardly ever follow it completely, probably not much at all if the truth be known. That does not though lessen my enjoyment of the mystery. Maybe I have a little Anglophile in me or I like to able to doze off and wake up without much loss of plot since I really didn't know what was happening before.
November 13, 2009
WATER FOUND ON THE MOON
This came across as a New York Time alert. True it really did, today, just now. WATER FOUND ON THE MOON. Now to me that brings up several questions. Is the planet in a stage similar to our prehistoric age, or perhaps in a post suicidal age after the bright politicians and scientists blew the planet up? Whew it kind of gives me shivers thinking that there could be another whole planet of us; and the moon is sort of our next door neighbor. Crank up the NASA lobby, I see a large bill being presented soon to the congress from the space ship garage. But on the other hand, new territory for McDonald's and the toy makers can start making the new Barbie and Ken's moon relatives. And then.......
Wait, this isn't a Friday the 13th joke is it? The venerable old Times from New York taking a page out of the MAD comic book? Hmmmm.
This came across as a New York Time alert. True it really did, today, just now. WATER FOUND ON THE MOON. Now to me that brings up several questions. Is the planet in a stage similar to our prehistoric age, or perhaps in a post suicidal age after the bright politicians and scientists blew the planet up? Whew it kind of gives me shivers thinking that there could be another whole planet of us; and the moon is sort of our next door neighbor. Crank up the NASA lobby, I see a large bill being presented soon to the congress from the space ship garage. But on the other hand, new territory for McDonald's and the toy makers can start making the new Barbie and Ken's moon relatives. And then.......
Wait, this isn't a Friday the 13th joke is it? The venerable old Times from New York taking a page out of the MAD comic book? Hmmmm.
Helen Thomas and Craig Crawford discuss their new book WHAT IT TAKES TO BE A GOOD PRESIDENT. Video runs about a half hour.
November 12, 2009
It's a little early maybe. But maybe not. I always loved Christmas when I was a kid, but all kid's love Christmas. I was glad to get Thanksgiving over with so I could concentrate full bore on THE day. What was I anxious for? Presents of course. I was a kid. But I still love Christmas, I still love going to church (CONFESSION)* usually my one day of the year I make it there. But for pure shivers up the spine I still find singing carols on Christmas eve night ultra great. Most preachers are pretty cool by not pointing out or asking 'and what is your name please'. So I say to you, maybe I'm the first, I hope you have a very Merry Christmas; and also get those presents you really want.
November 11, 2009
The question was asked: If you could wish, where would you wish to wake up tomorrow morning?
I thought about it a little and I believe I would like to wake up tomorrow in a bed next to my wife in a little apartment in Alexandria, Virginia when we were in our early thirties, and live it all over again.
Fifty People, One Question: Brooklyn from Fifty People, One Question on Vimeo.
I thought about it a little and I believe I would like to wake up tomorrow in a bed next to my wife in a little apartment in Alexandria, Virginia when we were in our early thirties, and live it all over again.
November 9, 2009
PRESIDENT OBAMA, DO NOT BE DETERRED:
There has been two pieces of social legislation that I would have been proud to have voted for. Those two are Social Security (FDR) and Medicare (LBJ). Without both of them I probably could not have retired or been able to enjoy my remaining years.
Medicare's benefits have probably kept me from out of bankruptcy court. If we live long enough, parts of our bodies wear out and must be replaced, and the costs of these inevitable visits to the parts department are not cheap.
These two programs, and I don't exaggerate, make life for the elderly worth continuing. The Health Care program (BHO) will be, when passed and implemented, the third and hardest fought for addition to the American Promise, a proud achievement that will declare to the rest of the world that for all our bickering and name calling, good things can be achieved.
How do we pay for the good intentions of our legislators? President Obama promised through the long election process to bring our military men and women home and end our direct involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan. Up to now it is an unkept promise, but if it was kept, the amount of money used to fund the military machine could be used for the home economy, perhaps the infrastructure, at the same time creating many jobs in the process.
The military industrial complex that President Eisenhower knew about first hand and warned us against knew that military hardware providers are not easily satisfied and must be continually fed by blood, sacrifice, and money. It is time for that to end.
There will come again a time when America will have to face others on the battlefield, but for now, enough is enough. It has taken us seven years to get to where we are now in Iraq. Afghanistan could match that. After that there is Iran, a nuclear power in case you forget, and then North Korea, a nuclear power. When and where does it end. If we remain in our present stance and take on all comers we most certainly will have to re-install the draft because as valiant as our volunteer army is, there are not enough for all the battlefields we may have to march into. Our volunteers need everything we can give them, and rest is one of the things they need.
President Obama knows that for each reason he feels is right for bringing home the troops, another special interest group will counter with all the resources they can muster, to remain and use all the military hardware they can sell the defense department. For each of the reasons to save the lives of our young military people, the CIA, the NSA, and other agencies will find never ending reasons to prevail.
The president will have to be strong to withstand these elements that wish to continue wars to feed their personal coffers, but he must. He does not want to follow John Fitzgerald Kennedy, and then Lyndon Johnson who were sucked into the tragic game of just a few more troops and everything will be fine until those few troops ended up being hundreds of thousands and a dispirited country learning the lesson that we cannot and should not become the policemen of the world.
Mr. President, do not emulate President Johnson and pass a landmark social program (medicare)and then lose your presidency by being pulled deeper and deeper into an unpopular war.
There has been two pieces of social legislation that I would have been proud to have voted for. Those two are Social Security (FDR) and Medicare (LBJ). Without both of them I probably could not have retired or been able to enjoy my remaining years.
Medicare's benefits have probably kept me from out of bankruptcy court. If we live long enough, parts of our bodies wear out and must be replaced, and the costs of these inevitable visits to the parts department are not cheap.
These two programs, and I don't exaggerate, make life for the elderly worth continuing. The Health Care program (BHO) will be, when passed and implemented, the third and hardest fought for addition to the American Promise, a proud achievement that will declare to the rest of the world that for all our bickering and name calling, good things can be achieved.
How do we pay for the good intentions of our legislators? President Obama promised through the long election process to bring our military men and women home and end our direct involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan. Up to now it is an unkept promise, but if it was kept, the amount of money used to fund the military machine could be used for the home economy, perhaps the infrastructure, at the same time creating many jobs in the process.
The military industrial complex that President Eisenhower knew about first hand and warned us against knew that military hardware providers are not easily satisfied and must be continually fed by blood, sacrifice, and money. It is time for that to end.
There will come again a time when America will have to face others on the battlefield, but for now, enough is enough. It has taken us seven years to get to where we are now in Iraq. Afghanistan could match that. After that there is Iran, a nuclear power in case you forget, and then North Korea, a nuclear power. When and where does it end. If we remain in our present stance and take on all comers we most certainly will have to re-install the draft because as valiant as our volunteer army is, there are not enough for all the battlefields we may have to march into. Our volunteers need everything we can give them, and rest is one of the things they need.
President Obama knows that for each reason he feels is right for bringing home the troops, another special interest group will counter with all the resources they can muster, to remain and use all the military hardware they can sell the defense department. For each of the reasons to save the lives of our young military people, the CIA, the NSA, and other agencies will find never ending reasons to prevail.
The president will have to be strong to withstand these elements that wish to continue wars to feed their personal coffers, but he must. He does not want to follow John Fitzgerald Kennedy, and then Lyndon Johnson who were sucked into the tragic game of just a few more troops and everything will be fine until those few troops ended up being hundreds of thousands and a dispirited country learning the lesson that we cannot and should not become the policemen of the world.
Mr. President, do not emulate President Johnson and pass a landmark social program (medicare)and then lose your presidency by being pulled deeper and deeper into an unpopular war.
November 8, 2009
ANDREW NEWELL WYETH, PAINTER, July 12, 1917-January 16, 2009
Is Andrew Wyeth a Realist? A Regionalist? A painter of Rural American Life? A painter of Naturalism?
Though he has been described as all of these, the artist continues to elude being classified neatly into any
one category.
Andrew Newell Wyeth III was born on July 12, 1917. The youngest of five children of N.C. and Carolyn
Wyeth, Andrew was named after N.C.'s great grandfather. He began drawing at an early age, but was not
formally taught by his father until he was 15. His father began teaching Andrew academic art skills by
having him draw white spheres and cubes on a neutral background with charcoal. Andrew did studies of
the geometric forms, complete with accurate tone and shadows, for many months. He then studied the
skeleton until he was able to draw the entire skeleton accurately from memory. Although most of the
studio time with his father consisted of traditional academic drawing, Andrew also spent much time
exploring, observing, and drawing the country around his Chadd's Ford home with pencil and watercolor.
The family spent the summers in Port Clyde, Maine, where Andrew painted watercolor studies of the rocky
coast and the sea.
Andrew achieved success in his 1920's with watercolor shows at the Macbeth Gallery in New York, and
was featured on the cover of American Artist by age 25. He married Betsy James in 1940. They spent the
summers with the Wyeth family in Port Clyde, Maine, and rented the old schoolhouse studio from N.C. in
Chadd's Ford. They have two children: Nicholas, a successful art dealer, and James, a well-known artist.
Andrew Wyeth continues to work everyday in his home in Pennsylvania.
Andrew mainly uses pencil, watercolor with drybrush, and tempera. He once stated, "With watercolor, you
can pick up the atmosphere, the temperature, the sound of snow shifting through the trees or over the ice
of a small pond or against a windowpane. Watercolor perfectly expresses the free side of my nature."
(Hoving, p. 33)
The use of drybrush is used on top of the watercolor—layer upon layer like a weaving process. The
drybrush builds tone and adds fine detail and texture to the work. The artist Peter Hurd, a former student
of N.C. Wyeth, introduced the traditional medium of egg tempera to Andrew. Andrew loved the dryness of
the paint and the earthiness of the dried pigments. "My temperas are very broadly painted in the very
beginning. Then I tighten down on them. Tempera is, in a sense, like building, really building in great
layers," (Hoving, p. 34) he stated.
Two areas, the Olson farm in Maine and the Kuerner farm in Chadd's Ford, provided inspiration for many
of Wyeth's works. "Kuerner's was right over the hill from where I was born. I was intrigued by the fact that
Karl Kuerner was a soldier who fought in the German army and came to America right after the war,
became a hired farmer, and finally owned a farm. The abstract, almost military quality of that farm
originally appealed to me and still does. Everything is utilized," he said (Hoving, p. 39-40).
"I went to Maine when I was a very young boy with my father and mother. Through the Olsons', Cristina
and Alvero and their house, I really began to see New England as it really was-just the opposite to the
Kuerners. The world of New England was in that house overlooking the mouth of the Georges River"
(Hoving, p. 42).
About his painting, Wyeth said, "I go beyond the subject. That's the summation of my art. Emotion is my
bulwark. I think that's the only thing that endures finally. If you are emotionally involved, you're not going to
be easily changed. But if it's purely a technical experience that's going to be very short-lived. Both
technical and emotional have got to be on even terms to be good" (Hoving, p. 185).
Is Andrew Wyeth a Realist? A Regionalist? A painter of Rural American Life? A painter of Naturalism?
Though he has been described as all of these, the artist continues to elude being classified neatly into any
one category.
Andrew Newell Wyeth III was born on July 12, 1917. The youngest of five children of N.C. and Carolyn
Wyeth, Andrew was named after N.C.'s great grandfather. He began drawing at an early age, but was not
formally taught by his father until he was 15. His father began teaching Andrew academic art skills by
having him draw white spheres and cubes on a neutral background with charcoal. Andrew did studies of
the geometric forms, complete with accurate tone and shadows, for many months. He then studied the
skeleton until he was able to draw the entire skeleton accurately from memory. Although most of the
studio time with his father consisted of traditional academic drawing, Andrew also spent much time
exploring, observing, and drawing the country around his Chadd's Ford home with pencil and watercolor.
The family spent the summers in Port Clyde, Maine, where Andrew painted watercolor studies of the rocky
coast and the sea.
Andrew achieved success in his 1920's with watercolor shows at the Macbeth Gallery in New York, and
was featured on the cover of American Artist by age 25. He married Betsy James in 1940. They spent the
summers with the Wyeth family in Port Clyde, Maine, and rented the old schoolhouse studio from N.C. in
Chadd's Ford. They have two children: Nicholas, a successful art dealer, and James, a well-known artist.
Andrew Wyeth continues to work everyday in his home in Pennsylvania.
Andrew mainly uses pencil, watercolor with drybrush, and tempera. He once stated, "With watercolor, you
can pick up the atmosphere, the temperature, the sound of snow shifting through the trees or over the ice
of a small pond or against a windowpane. Watercolor perfectly expresses the free side of my nature."
(Hoving, p. 33)
The use of drybrush is used on top of the watercolor—layer upon layer like a weaving process. The
drybrush builds tone and adds fine detail and texture to the work. The artist Peter Hurd, a former student
of N.C. Wyeth, introduced the traditional medium of egg tempera to Andrew. Andrew loved the dryness of
the paint and the earthiness of the dried pigments. "My temperas are very broadly painted in the very
beginning. Then I tighten down on them. Tempera is, in a sense, like building, really building in great
layers," (Hoving, p. 34) he stated.
Two areas, the Olson farm in Maine and the Kuerner farm in Chadd's Ford, provided inspiration for many
of Wyeth's works. "Kuerner's was right over the hill from where I was born. I was intrigued by the fact that
Karl Kuerner was a soldier who fought in the German army and came to America right after the war,
became a hired farmer, and finally owned a farm. The abstract, almost military quality of that farm
originally appealed to me and still does. Everything is utilized," he said (Hoving, p. 39-40).
"I went to Maine when I was a very young boy with my father and mother. Through the Olsons', Cristina
and Alvero and their house, I really began to see New England as it really was-just the opposite to the
Kuerners. The world of New England was in that house overlooking the mouth of the Georges River"
(Hoving, p. 42).
About his painting, Wyeth said, "I go beyond the subject. That's the summation of my art. Emotion is my
bulwark. I think that's the only thing that endures finally. If you are emotionally involved, you're not going to
be easily changed. But if it's purely a technical experience that's going to be very short-lived. Both
technical and emotional have got to be on even terms to be good" (Hoving, p. 185).
November 7, 2009
Like an awful lot of us, my wife and I say a short prayer before each meal. Here is my all-time favorite. It is not only a nice short prayer, but it is in my estimation a philosophy for life.
LET US RISE UP AND BE THANKFUL
Let us rise up and be thankful,
for if we didn't learn a lot today,
at least we learned a little,
and if we didn't learn a little,
at least we didn't get sick,
and if we got sick,
at least we didn't die;
so let us all be thankful.
The Buddha
LET US RISE UP AND BE THANKFUL
Let us rise up and be thankful,
for if we didn't learn a lot today,
at least we learned a little,
and if we didn't learn a little,
at least we didn't get sick,
and if we got sick,
at least we didn't die;
so let us all be thankful.
The Buddha
It's break time and you're in China. That means it's time for a little tea. Here's how it might be done.
November 6, 2009
THE GOOD SOLDIER
Bill Moyers, for Veterans Day, shows the horror of and the memories the soldiers carry with them the rest of their lives. Soldiers from WWII, Vietnam and Iraq share stories that expound the nitty gritty of war, not the John Wayne versions. Check out the short version here.
Bill Moyers, for Veterans Day, shows the horror of and the memories the soldiers carry with them the rest of their lives. Soldiers from WWII, Vietnam and Iraq share stories that expound the nitty gritty of war, not the John Wayne versions. Check out the short version here.
November 5, 2009
STOP THE WAR!
Need a good reason to end the US war in Iraq? How does one trillion dollars sound to you? That is the amount it has cost USA citizens thus far to keep it going. Isn't it time to end it?
Why don't we do that? President Obama as a candidate said he was going to end it. Surprise he didn't and looks like he won't in the future. What is it about Presidents and wars?
We have a sad economy to look after, we might if we use that trillion dollars here also might just get a chance to start paying back China and get about a thousand of our IOU's back from them if we start using our war money on the home front. Make me sleep better at night.
The only way a war ends is the President throwing all his chips in, forget about the next election, and end the damn thing. Forget about the senate and the house of representatives doing anything. They are a group who knows they've got it good, and would not want to jeopardize losing their job and have to cut ties with their great friends the lobbyists.
The onus, the absolute onus is on the President. He will lose his job by ending the war I am sure but it is better to be remembered for something than nothing at all.
You cannot keep shuttling our brave volunteer Army over there again and again, and again. If the war is continued, it seems necessary and apropos to start a draft and at least make it equitable in the sufferings of families having their sons, daughters and spouses put into harm's way.
President Obama did say over and over again during the electioneering that he would end the war didn't he? The only question was how soon. I believed him then, but on this issue I no longer believe he will. I think the only question he is considering is how many more beleaguered troops will he send over once again.
By the way, it occurs to me that we still have Iran and North Korea, both nuclear powers we will want to challenge in some armed conflict in the guise of world policemen. By the way is there still a foreign legion? Oh no no I'm sorry that's us isn't it.
Need a good reason to end the US war in Iraq? How does one trillion dollars sound to you? That is the amount it has cost USA citizens thus far to keep it going. Isn't it time to end it?
Why don't we do that? President Obama as a candidate said he was going to end it. Surprise he didn't and looks like he won't in the future. What is it about Presidents and wars?
We have a sad economy to look after, we might if we use that trillion dollars here also might just get a chance to start paying back China and get about a thousand of our IOU's back from them if we start using our war money on the home front. Make me sleep better at night.
The only way a war ends is the President throwing all his chips in, forget about the next election, and end the damn thing. Forget about the senate and the house of representatives doing anything. They are a group who knows they've got it good, and would not want to jeopardize losing their job and have to cut ties with their great friends the lobbyists.
The onus, the absolute onus is on the President. He will lose his job by ending the war I am sure but it is better to be remembered for something than nothing at all.
You cannot keep shuttling our brave volunteer Army over there again and again, and again. If the war is continued, it seems necessary and apropos to start a draft and at least make it equitable in the sufferings of families having their sons, daughters and spouses put into harm's way.
President Obama did say over and over again during the electioneering that he would end the war didn't he? The only question was how soon. I believed him then, but on this issue I no longer believe he will. I think the only question he is considering is how many more beleaguered troops will he send over once again.
By the way, it occurs to me that we still have Iran and North Korea, both nuclear powers we will want to challenge in some armed conflict in the guise of world policemen. By the way is there still a foreign legion? Oh no no I'm sorry that's us isn't it.
November 4, 2009
SINATRA HAS A COLD. I remember reading this article years ago. It didn't surprise me that Sinatra was cranky and out of sorts. Don't we all feel like we want to be left alone, and yet catered to with a little TLC? Yes, even we common folk wish for that, but I meander, we are talking about the Sinatra of monumental ego. The article is read to us on video by Mary Louise Parker (about three minutes). Enjoy.
November 3, 2009
Falling Man, Alberto Giacometti (1951) via Sotheby’s
I'm sitting here thinking I'm getting very hungry for supper. I feel I am wasting away like the falling man above from lack of victuals. Were it only that easy to lose some weight like being ten minutes late to the table. I feel the lack of food is making me delirious, as these last few lines indicate. Bye.
November 1, 2009
Masterpieces of the Universe
Masterpieces owned by banks, but never or seldom shown to the public. I have no opinion, except to say keeping great art hidden away in vaults seems wrong somehow.
Masterpieces owned by banks, but never or seldom shown to the public. I have no opinion, except to say keeping great art hidden away in vaults seems wrong somehow.
October 31, 2009
"Don't let it be forgot,
that once there was a spot
for one brief shining moment,
known as Camelot."
I remember it so clearly standing in line taking measured steps until we stood in front of the Mona Lisa in Washington D.C. on a cold January day in 1962; and the following year standing on the curbside on Pennsylvania Avenue waiting to see John Kennedy and President Betancourt of Argentina pass by. The draw this day for us was that Jackie was going to be with them in the open car. The two presidents were in the car, but alas no Jackie. A small disappointment indeed. But there would be other days, and other chances to see them together. These were heady days for our country and for us. We all thought we were living in a charmed time, in a charmed city, in a charmed country. We didn't know that the clock was ticking and soon those days, which would be compared to Camelot, would come to a tragic end, and the country would have to endure three murders that would change our country forever.
I remember how I felt then as if it were yesterday, I was young, I thought that it could only get better and better and anything was possible. When we as a country received those three body blows it knocked the breath out of us and an age of cynicism took it's place. It continues today, look around, listen to our leaders, brotherhood is only a word in the dictionary. Debate has become yelling contests and coming together for the common good is only a wishful thought.
The tragedy caused by those three deaths continues in our actions. It's sad.
October 30, 2009
From this morning's MORNING JOE. Honesty like this you don't see often.
Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy
October 29, 2009
This is an interesting article. It chronicles what the writer of the piece believes is a turnaround from a desire to live anonymously and away from a family environment to what is being called a localist movement. Turning away from the practice of moving the prime breadwinner here and there following promotions. American families are moving at the lowest rate since the 1940s. Read the article, it's not too long and see if you agree with it.
October 28, 2009
AND
GOP Claims Olympia Snowe Was Born in Kenya
Birthers Demand Proof of Non-Kenyan Status
WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report) - Just moments after she broke with fellow Republicans and voted in favor of health care reform, Sen. Olympia Snowe (R-ME) came under fire from the GOP for allegedly lying about her nation of birth.
"This vote is going to raise suspicions, once again, that Sen. Snowe was born in Kenya," said GOP Chairman Michael Steele. "We demand that she prove, once and for all, that she is definitely not Kenyan."
Orly Taitz, leader of the so-called "birther" movement, said that Sen. Snowe's vote was "textbook Kenyan" behavior: "She's putting her tribe first."
In other news, conservative radio host Rush Limbaugh said he would acquire the St. Louis Rams and rename their stadium The House of Painkillers.
Limbaugh's move came after a failed bid to acquire Minnesota's NFL franchise and rename it the Minnesota Vicodins.
Elsewhere, the Rev. Moon married 10,000 people, putting him slightly ahead of Liza Minnelli. More here.
A BLUR IS NOT ALWAYS JUST A BLUR
There were a bunch of guys in the nineteenth century who painted landscapes that ended up looking somewhat like this, one of which was the famous Van Gogh. Van Gogh painted fields of wheat and crows that looked blurred, but was his impression of what he saw. I once read where he was near sighted and without correction that is indeed what it would have looked like to him.
But on a recent trip through Pennsylvania, among other pictures taken and which were much clearer, came this blurry shot which I liked. I think I'll call it Reminiscences of a season. A fancy name I think for a failed photography shot.
Below is the painting I refer to wheatfield and crows. This is sometimes referred to as Van Gogh's last work, but other historys say no, he painted maybe seven more in his last year.
There were a bunch of guys in the nineteenth century who painted landscapes that ended up looking somewhat like this, one of which was the famous Van Gogh. Van Gogh painted fields of wheat and crows that looked blurred, but was his impression of what he saw. I once read where he was near sighted and without correction that is indeed what it would have looked like to him.
But on a recent trip through Pennsylvania, among other pictures taken and which were much clearer, came this blurry shot which I liked. I think I'll call it Reminiscences of a season. A fancy name I think for a failed photography shot.
Below is the painting I refer to wheatfield and crows. This is sometimes referred to as Van Gogh's last work, but other historys say no, he painted maybe seven more in his last year.
October 26, 2009
October 25, 2009
October 24, 2009
This from a posting in December 2006 on the subject of laughter. It's good for you.
LAUGHING
When was the last time you and a friend had one of those laughing moments that just seemed to get funnier and funnier as you were laughing? My wife and I had one of those moments thinking about an embarrassing moment we had together in a darkened movie theater. It really is not funny except to the two of us. If I tell you the story it won’t make you laugh and would just be embarrassing to my wife and I. Perhaps it becomes funnier with each telling or remembering among friends of a funny event that bonds you together and knowing your secret story is safe and can be laughed at? I certainly don’t know the psychology of a laugh nor do I know the physicality of a laugh. What I do know it’s a human release of good will and the re-sharing of a moment in time. Everybody laughs, the high and the low of us. It’s free and might even be good for our health.
October 23, 2009
October 21, 2009
October 20, 2009
SHOULD WE PULL OUT OF AFGHANISTAN TO PROTECT PAKISTAN AND/OR COME HOME?
This video from BLOGGINGHEADS courtesy of the NY Times addresses a question that I have thought about. I certainly do not have any answers, but I have wished that we would pull out of Afghanistan, and Iraq and come home or put all our efforts to protecting? (if that's the word) in situations like this. Are we protecting Iraq? It is all confusing to me EXCEPT we still have Americans giving their life's in yet another, never ending war. I say enough, but then again, what do I know?
This video from BLOGGINGHEADS courtesy of the NY Times addresses a question that I have thought about. I certainly do not have any answers, but I have wished that we would pull out of Afghanistan, and Iraq and come home or put all our efforts to protecting? (if that's the word) in situations like this. Are we protecting Iraq? It is all confusing to me EXCEPT we still have Americans giving their life's in yet another, never ending war. I say enough, but then again, what do I know?
October 18, 2009
I believe this was called the last days of Hitler produced for British television several years back. What is scary about the thing are the comments that follow. They find no humor in it at all. There are so many people out there wrapped so tightly that see a bogey man lurking in every YouTube. I find the comments, although not surprising, alarming.
I, like a lot of people my age like film noir, I suppose because we grew up on it. Of course in my day film mags were mostly cranked out with news from the publicity departments from the studios so the actors and actresses were bigger than life. But in fact, we knew they weren't. A popular pair was Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake. There are stories about Ladd standing on a box so he was level with his co-star. True? probably or something close to it. I do know that Ladd was a towering 5 foot 5 inches tall, and Veronica Lake was 4 foot 11 inches tall.
The new novel, THE GUERNSEY LITERARY AND POTATO PEEL PIE SOCIETY has these lines on page 11-12 that I subscribe to whole heartedly: "That's what I love about reading, one tiny thing will interest you in a book, and that tiny thing will lead you onto another book, and another bit there will lead you onto a third book. It's geometrically progressive-all with no end in sight, and for no other reason than sheer enjoyment".
October 17, 2009
October 16, 2009
A NICE PLACE TO WORK EACH DAY
Wouldn't you think that working in an environment like this would elevate your goals and aspirations? But I think the Peter Principle works big time here. "In a hierarchically structured administration, people tend to be promoted up to their level of incompetence," or, as Dr. Peter went on to explain in simpler terms, "The cream rises until it sours."
October 15, 2009
Now here is something you don't see every day, a fist fight between man and woman. At least I don't. This is from the movie THE BALLAD OF SAD CAFE. made in 1991 from a novel by Carson McCullers with Vanessa Redgrave, who looks with her hairdo for the film like David Bowie, and Keith Carradine. Carradine can play a really nice guy or such a dog.
October 14, 2009
A really brave Senator. As they say, there should be no bill that can't be talked about. It's disgusting that the Republican party votes as a bloc on this issue. They certainly all don't think alike, do they? Are they little robots that get their marching orders each day? They might as well stay home. Come on Republicans, get in the game, do what you were voted in for. it's to represent the people who voted for you, are your states people all mutes? You've become like petulant children. Do you all intend to stand mute for three more years?
Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy
As I said in an earlier post: Rush, if they don't like you in the NFL, the Cleveland Indians would surely love your money, think baseball Rush, think tinkering with a franchise that is in deep need of an owner who is interested in winning. Rush, this could be you.
Colts owner won't vote for Limbaugh's Rams bid
Colts owner won't vote for Limbaugh's Rams bid
October 11, 2009
Watch the video and learn what could happen in Afghanistan.
Feinstein: Obama Should Approve McChrystal?s Recommendations - George's Bottom Line
Feinstein: Obama Should Approve McChrystal?s Recommendations - George's Bottom Line
Afghanistan, Yes or No?
One of the most interesting television times for me is Sunday morning at 10:30. This morning was no exception. I take advantage of my remote and flip back and forth between George Stephanopoulos on ABC and David Gregory on NBC. Today's prime topic was Afghanistan which I am of the opinion we should pack our gear and put those boots back on American soil. I was definite about my feelings on the matter. But, if you listen enough, definite starts to get a little uncertain when you hear something that makes you start to think all over again. Today on Stephanopoulos show someone made the statement that if the Taliban and Al Qaeda are not contained in Afghanistan it puts Pakistan, which is next door, in jeopardy, and Pakistan is a nuclear power with a president who has a shaky spine. See the video above. It laid out several ways the U.S. could go. I am certainly no student of foreign affairs, but it painted a picture different from what I knew. President Obama certainly has no easy task ahead of him. Do we become the world's policemen or not?
October 10, 2009
This from the Los Angeles Times concerning OUR President Barack Obama and the NOBEL PEACE PRIZE and why he was awarded it. Well said.
For his noble words, Obama deserves the prize -- latimes.com
For his noble words, Obama deserves the prize -- latimes.com
David Brooks of the New York Times brings up a point that I wondered about. That is, how many dittoheads can Limbaugh count on to follow his marching orders? Brooks has looked into it a little and believes not many, or at least not as many as he and his ilk think they can deliver. Like the wizard of oz, could Rush be just an empty shirt?
October 9, 2009
I read Archie comics when I was a young boy. I am now seventy-two and Archie is making a big splash with his soap opera style marriage dilemma. He looks like he has aged quite well. Matter of fact they all look exactly like they did when I would keep in touch with them each month. If I understand what is going on, it seems Archie decided on Veronica and she accepted. Things were put into motion for publication etc. People started protesting, polls were taken, and Betty Cooper beat out Veronica Lodge by a handy margin. Now here is where I lose track about what is going on. Evidently they have come out with an alternative issue where Archie asks Betty for her hand in marriage and she accepts. What is it about Archie that makes him so appealing to the ladies? Is it the freckles? So now I don't know if it will all be explained as dream sequences or if the publishers will make the great decision or will let the polls speak and proclaim Betty as the winner. The winner of Archie in fact. I guess any Father-In-Law would like Archie as a Son-In-Law. He's a nice boy (although he has to be secretly about eighty years old or more).
October 8, 2009
October 7, 2009
October 6, 2009
Rush Limbaugh and a friend are thinking of buying the St. Louis Ram professional football team for some humongous figure. The news item in inself is not too exciting to me, but it conjured up another thought. I wonder if Rush, the skinny and very rich man would be interested in buying a baseball team? I am thinking of my favorite team, the Cleveland Indians. They have owners that for the life of me I wonder why they want to own the team. They are poor mouthers from way back. Don't they know owning a professional team is only for the very rich who buy a club for the excitement of it all. Plus they must be willing to spend, spend, and spend to achieve the 'championship'. I think in baseball it is called the world series, but for Cleveland fans we have to look it up to be sure.
Rush send some of your millions to Cleveland, we have a lot of young kids playing here now, but our owners insist on sending our Cy Young award winners away. Think how much fun you could have if you kept them here in Cleveland for a while.
FIST FIGHT. MOSTLY BLUSTER, TWO PUNCHES, DONE.
Why I watched this I don't know. I thought it must have a happy ending or at least I hoped. I, of course, suspected the aggressor was the bad guy in the piece, and I assume he was. Mr. Blackshirt when he finally was pushed to his limit must have uncorked a doozy to Mr. No Sleeves. Kind of a mini Clint Eastwood where the bad guy gets his.
Why I watched this I don't know. I thought it must have a happy ending or at least I hoped. I, of course, suspected the aggressor was the bad guy in the piece, and I assume he was. Mr. Blackshirt when he finally was pushed to his limit must have uncorked a doozy to Mr. No Sleeves. Kind of a mini Clint Eastwood where the bad guy gets his.
October 5, 2009
October 4, 2009
Darn, I love hamburgers, but seeing reports like this make it harder and harder to step up and order a double burger. Perhaps a chocolate shake and something besides the burger will have to do. Darn.
October 2, 2009
October 1, 2009
Now this is my kind of calorie counter. Start slow and work up to slow.
and..a medicine I can handle easily, and five cups of liquid will also give me extra exercise going back and forth to the necessary. (as they called it in the colonial days)
and..a medicine I can handle easily, and five cups of liquid will also give me extra exercise going back and forth to the necessary. (as they called it in the colonial days)
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