Guns vs. Dogs vs. North Carolina

North Carolina is a funny state... nice place to live, for sure. It's busy, industrious and scenic, with lots of great visits within a 300-mile radius--from Washington, DC to Atlanta... the mountains to the ocean--and people are nice too.

But NC, like others, is completely crazy when it comes to some things. Take the proposed laws now working their way through its legislature:

One proposed law (State vs. dogs) would restrict ownership of six dog breeds that are 'deemed aggressive.' Before anyone can have a pit bull, Rottweiler, mastiff, chow or Presa Canario... don't look at me, I never heard of it either, the owner would have to undergo a criminal background check, apply and pay for a special state permit, notify the property insurer and take a four-hour education course prior to adopting, buying or otherwise taking possession of one of these potential killer dogs.

A second proposed law (NRA vs. common sense) would allow students who can legally have guns (meaning almost everyone and anyone--crazy people need not apply) to bring their guns to school. Of course, they would have to lock them in the car where they would be perfectly safe when class is in session. (Note, no self-respecting crook would ever think of looking in a car that might have a gun in it... oops, have I let the cat out of the bag?)

The possible upside--in the sad event of a school situation, everyone could have a gun to shoot at everyone else with a gun. Remember when there were airline hijackings? One comedic proposal was to supply everyone a gun along with a boarding pass... what hijacker would be crazy enough to go against those odds?

 Kinda reminds me of the old Johnny Cash song, Don't take your guns to town--lyrics repeated here because they are fun to sing to:

A young cowboy named Billy Joe grew restless on the farm
A boy filled with wonderlust who really meant no harm
He changed his clothes and shined his boots
And combed his dark hair down
And his mother cried as he walked out

[Chorus]
Don't take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don't take your guns to town

He laughed and kissed his mom
And said your Billy Joe's a man
I can shoot as quick and straight as anybody can
But I wouldn't shoot without a cause
I'd gun nobody down
But she cried again as he rode away

[Chorus]
Don't take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don't take your guns to town

He sang a song as on he rode
His guns hung at his hips
He rode into a cattle town
A smile upon his lips
He stopped and walked into a bar
And laid his money down
But his mother's words echoed again

[Chorus]
Don't take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don't take your guns to town

He drank his first strong liquor then to calm his shaking hand
And tried to tell himself he had become a man
A dusty cowpoke at his side began to laugh him down
And he heard again his mothers words

[Chorus]
Don't take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don't take your guns to town

Filled with rage then
Billy Joe reached for his gun to draw
But the stranger drew his gun and fired
Before he even saw
As Billy Joe fell to the floor
The crowd all gathered 'round
And wondered at his final words

[Chorus]
Don't take your guns to town son
Leave your guns at home Bill
Don't take your guns to town

Now here is the crazy part: With mandatory background checks for gun purchases rejected flat-out by NC and DC, theoretically anyone can buy a gun (or 30-round clip) at any gun show by proving only two things... that they are breathing and that they have the cash. BUT, that person better not even think about getting a certain kind of dog without a thorough background check, taking a four-hour education course, paying for a special permit and notifying the property insurer because that dog may be dangerous.

Just one more kicker: The given gun logic of the reason mandatory background checks won't work... and impose undue hardship on anyone wanting a gun, is that criminals would never comply... are they dumb or what? If they are criminals, they wouldn't obey the law anyway.

And if that makes sense, then why do we have any laws... since criminals don't pay attention to them anyway?

Meanwhile, pit bull owner, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court... " and this goes double if you fail to pick up the poop.

I guess that blows that bumper sticker opportunity:
People don't bite people...  dogs bite people.

And A Child Shall Lead Them

This is a short (1800 words) story for the second leg of the Midnight Fiction writing competition. The given genre is Sci-Fi. The story must include these elements: Olympics and personal trainer. I am now one of 125. The contest had 650 to start. If this story is in the top five against 25 others in my genre, Sci-Fi, then I will compete against 25 for the title. Fingers crossed! --Dedicated to the victims of craziness at this year's Boston Marathon


 Synopsis:

Before the disappearance of the ozone layer, before the first atomic skirmish and before the Age of Chaos, there was a world we knew. Can the New Humankind find a path back to a civilization when time, genetics and life made sense?  

AND A CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM

“Look Addie!” Liam said turning the poster toward her. “They are actually going to revive the competition. I guess they think it is time. They’re calling it The New Olympics, probably because they want to convey new hope. Listen to this… “

CALL FOR ENTRIES

The World Federation hereby announces

THE NEW OLYMPICS

A grand competition, open to

all with skills and talents

to amaze and offer

a token of togetherness

to the new world order

for all humankind.

This is a
PEACEFUL COMPETITION

to promote a coming together

of all people

as ONE WORLD,

at last, united again.

“Do you think that Jacob could… ”

“STOP LIAM! Don’t you believe that Jacob has suffered far too much already? Genetic mutations have blinded him and he has felt our trauma. He is only six and he has… ”

“But he is special, Addie. We’ve talked about that. He has a remarkable tenderness… and compassion… something these catastrophic days have taken from us. The boy has qualities for good that our new world has rarely seen. He is bright and old enough to share… and we are needing to care.”

The Aussies hosted the last ‘old style’ Olympic games before the world went mad. Things were certainly different then. Swimming and track and field… that’s what they did. Certainly, there would be no swimming now since clean water has become too precious to spoil with thick-skinned, scaly bodies that shade us from the merciless sky. And today’s people were not made to run and jump as in past days. Shorter legs to better steady the body on an unstable soil is the new ‘six-pack.’ This ‘Super Olympics’ will be far, far different. Has the world got talent other than hiding and killing? God only knows.

Centuries ago Charles Darwin, an English naturalist, alit from his ship, the Beagle, onto the Islas Galapagos and formulated the most accepted theory of evolution of that time. His book, The Origin of Species, still stands as the definitive text in understanding the adaptation of man and monkey alike in a changing world.

What Darwin could not fathom at the time, nor could anyone until after the change, was how evolution could proceed at such a break-neck pace. If a Galapagos tortoise could live 170 years, how could one adapt faster than at turtle-pace?

That was before the disappearance of the ozone layer, before the first atomic skirmish and before the Age of Chaos when the world held 9 billion souls. That was before the advent of New Humankind. While even the earth beneath our feet quivered and half of its land mass became uninhabitable, there has been but one constant: Man is resilient.

In the mere 500 years since Darwin’s revelation, man is back and there is a new spring in his step. There have been 30 years of peace and man is giddy. It has been a slow movement to this point but the New World sees it as a time to breathe once again.

Jacob was excited to learn that he would participate in the upcoming New Olympics. Of all within Liam and Addie’s realm, Jacob was the one who most carried in him the hope of a different future. He possessed the innocence and qualities that once filled the civilized world before being buried by fear, loss, hate and revenge. That he was blind was of no consequence. He was simply one of millions who had no sight. He blessedly escaped a deaf birth in an age where many children are born without ears.

Jacob had a tenderness that seemed rarer yet.

“But what will I do?” Jacob asked. “What is my skill?”

“Do not worry, Jacob. Grandmother will teach you. She will show you the path. You will spend the months remaining before the contest with Grandmother,” Liam told him. “She will show you.”

“But Grandmother is very old…”

“She is well over 100 years… perhaps the oldest still on earth… and she is rich in her memories and stories passed down from her grandmother. She knows much of the past… much that has been lost in our struggles.”

“But dad, mom… I want to be with you.”

“It is only until the competition. Then we will all be together again. Grandmother is expecting you. We will take you to her tomorrow.”

“Welcome Jacob. “ Grandmother greeted him with a hug. “I have longed for someone wanting to share my stories. I am very happy you are with me. Now it is late. Get ready for bed and I will be in to say good night.”

“Are you ready, Jacob?”

“Yes, Grandmother. Please come tuck me in.”

With a smile, Grandmother settled into her rocker beside Jacob’s bed. “Jacob,” she said, “I am going to tell you a story my grandmother told me… one she learned from her grandmother who learned it from hers. It is called Sleeping Beauty.”

            Once upon a time…

… A few days later, the castle that only a short time before had lain in silence, now rang with the sound of singing, music and happy laughter at the great party given in honour of the Prince and Princess, who were getting married…

… And they lived happily ever after.

“Oh Grandmother… I really liked that story. Is it true?”

“Well, some say it is true in your heart… and that is the best place.”

The next night, Jacob could hardly wait for his story.

“Now I shall tell you the story of a girl named Cinderella,” Grandmother said.

            “Once upon a time… ”

And for many evenings to come, Grandmother told Jacob about a man named Aesop who lived a very long time ago. “He had wonderful stories and I shall tell you all I remember.”

And so it went… every night at bedtime… and sometimes after lunch… and whenever the time seemed right. Grandmother told Jacob many tales.

She told Jacob about the stories of Roald Dahl and C.S. Lewis and Maurice Sendak and Hans Christian Andersen and E.B.White… and all the others her mind and her notes kept fresh to pass along. And Jacob ended every story with a plea: “Tell me more Grandmother. Just one more please.”

Finally, it was the last night before the competition and Jacob had become so rich with Grandmother’s stories that he didn’t want to leave.

“Grandmother, please. I am not ready. All this time and I haven’t learned anything for the contest. Grandmother, I am frightened. What will I do? What shall I say?

“Why Jacob,” said Grandmother, stroking his head that last bedtime, “just tell them a story… and if they like that, tell them another.

The big day of the start of the New Olympics was at hand. Mom and dad had dressed Jacob in new clothes and told him how proud they were that he would be performing at the competition.  Frightened but courageous, Jacob gave them each a hug and was escorted down the long hallway to wait his turn.

The arena, which was filled with more than 100,000 people, was decorated in colorful ribbons and an abundance of flowers and banners with slogans of the new togetherness. People of the world were very anxious to watch and participate in something that had meaning other than war… something where all could cheer and yell for the same good reason. It had been so very long…

After what seemed like hours of festivities… bands playing, girls and boys dancing in rhythm and soldiers from all lands leading a large parade to throw their weapons of death into a large fire pit as a token of a new time, the announcer said, “Let the games begin!”

The multitude stood and roared its approval.

The first competitor was a tall, other world man with clawed hands and very short legs. The crowd cheered as he ran around the track as fast as he could. The people were amazed that such a simple skill could be so overwhelming. Next was a group of 100 blind women and men who demonstrated how they could knit and crochet… a forgotten art in these days… and the crowd approved. It had truly been that long.

The third, the fourth and the fifth and onward showed various forgotten skills as tricks with ropes, lifting very heavy objects, dancing on ones toes and the like. How utterly refreshing! The crowd enjoyed the show and all its pomp and ceremony. But the day was long and the applause began to wane.

Finally, the announcer introduced the day’s last competitor most simply… “Ladies and gentlemen, the child Jacob.”

The tiny figure was lead down the long path to the center of the arena. He was dwarfed by its enormity.  Jacob sat quietly in a simple chair, tailored to his size. Some in the crowd yawned as others rose to leave. A blind child offered no promise. A murmur ran through the impatient mass. That was quite enough excitement for the day.

The announcer sternly rebuked them. “STOP! Listen to this last contestant.” And being used to taking orders from others, the crowd stopped and sat.

When all was quiet and dusk was near, a microphone was adjusted to Jacob’s small stature and he began to speak in his soft, child’s voice.

“Once upon a time… ”

Jacob told story after story since no one told him to stop. There was no applause. There was no rise to leave. There was nothing… except listening, which makes no noise at all.

When Jacob was finally done, no one moved. No one spoke. No one applauded. Everyone just sat.

They sat and cried. They sat and hugged. They sat and remembered what their world was like at some time very long ago… a time of reflection… a time of love… a time of anything other than war. A wonderful time. A wonderful time.

Somewhere, at Eden Hospital in a large city, a child was born to a blind mother and a father with scaled skin and short, stocky legs. The child had ears. The child saw. The child’s skin was smooth and soft. The child was free of every genetic symbol of the world of today and reminiscent of what came before. The child carried the promise for all humankind that life is good and love is forever important… and living can begin again.

The child cried and stretched its tiny arms to be wanted.

“Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.” Dr. Seuss

128 and counting

In my last post, The milk of human kindness,  (scroll down one post and you will see it),  I received 128 comments (honest--count 'em) saying things like "great post... keep up the good work... check out my blog, xxxyyy.com, etc."

ALL of the 128 automatically generated responses had the same reference to a specific web site redirection... something about Viagra, whatever that is. 

It is as if a robot is responding to me with intelligence, guile and wit. Yes, I am offended... unless, of course, it is a very attractive robot who I turn on by my charm and suaveness. Then that, my friends, is a different story.

So maybe, I am a big star of a robot responder Ajax 2398*&% (or whatever). He/she/it/thing must secretly love me. Non human species have always been attracted to me. So, as the National Rifle Assn. says, you will never pry me away from her cold dead hands... or something like that.

So, Ajax 2398*&%,  call me.

The Milk of Human Kindness

A few years ago, I posted nine of The 10 Things in the World That Amaze Me Most... and to be fancy, I used Roman numerals. Well guess what? I forgot Roman numeral X. Here's that list again, refreshed... and I'm proud of it because it makes a great case for the quality of life : 

I: The Pacific Ocean, II: Big Numbers, III: The Young, IV: Laughter, V: Nature, VI: The Power of One, VII: The Natural Laws of Physics, VIII: Us Humans, IX: The Heavens...

And finally, Roman numeral X: The Milk of Human Kindness...

 ...arguably the greatest human virtue, as in "...  love your neighbor as yourself." Kinda 'Golden Rule-ish' love.

In a world that seems increasingly filled with war, hate, revenge, anger, rancor and discontent... with acrimony, distrust and despair, we must remind ourselves that there is a light beyond our evening news.

Name your favorite movie... did you say Sleepless in Seattle, Princess Bride or When Harry Met Sally? Love as a theme is popular because that's where we choose to live.

Words of love can never convey the spirit of love that comes from the heart... but we keep trying. These are just a few of those:

"My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness."
-- The Dalai Lama

"The flower of kindness will grow. Maybe not now, but it will some day.
And in kind that kindness will flow, for kindness grows in this way."
-- Robert Alan

"Seek not good from without: seek it within yourselves, or you will never find it."
-- Epictetus (2nd century)

"Happy were men if they but understood
There is no safety but in doing good"
-- John Fountain.

"Be the change you want to see in the world."
-- Mohandas Gandhi.

"Teach this triple truth to all: A generous heart, kind speech and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity."
--Buddha

"Life’s most urgent question is: What are you doing for others?"
--Martin Luther King, Jr

"How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world."
--William Shakespeare

"Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see."
--Mark Twain

"Don’t spend your precious time asking 'Why isn’t the world a better place?' It will only be time wasted. The question to ask is 'How can I make it better?' To that there is an answer."
--Leo F. Buscaglia

"Take away love and our earth is a tomb."
--Robert Browning

"Shall we make a new rule of life from tonight: always to try to be a little kinder than is necessary?"  --Sir James M. Barrie

"Either men will learn to live like brothers, or they will will die like beasts."
--Max Lerner

So many gods, so many creeds,
So many paths that wind and wind,
While just the art of being kind
Is all the sad world needs.
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted."
--Aesop

"Where there is great love, there are always miracles."
--Willa Cather

"Live for something. Do good, and leave behind you a monument of virtue that the storm of time can never destroy.Write your name in kindness, love, and mercy, on the hearts of thousands you come in contact with year by year; you will never be forgotten.
No, your name, your deeds, will be as legible on the hearts you leave behind as the stars on the brow of evening. Good deeds will shine as the stars of heaven."
--Thomas Chalmers

""You will find, as you look back upon your life, that the moments when you really lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love."
--Henry Drummond

"Go out into the world today and love the people you meet. Let your presence light new light in the hearts of people." --Mother Teresa

"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear."
--Martin Luther King Jr.

"Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves."
--James M. Barrie

OK... do you get it? Love is BIG! The Golden Rule is BIG!

So, for the grand finale: (I am not trying to send a religious message, though if you interpret is as such, that's fine by me... but while this verse is seen as secular, it is so commonly accepted on its face for its sentiment.

Love is patient, love is kind, and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails; but if there are gifts of prophecy, they will be done away; if there are tongues, they will cease; if there is knowledge, it will be done away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part; but when the perfect comes, the partial will be done away. When I was a child, I used to speak as a child, think as a child, reason as a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I shall know fully just as I also have been fully known. But now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

I lost a friend today...

Actually, he was my friend, but I don't think I was his at the end. He was 94.

I knew him fairly well for 35 years as a friend, then years after as his ex-friend because of a misunderstanding that did not lead to a discussed resolution. He was someone I closely worked with for most of those first 35. He was one of the guys that you would have seen in the movie, Saving Private Ryan. He was a combat infantryman in World War II... one of the guys who could say he walked his way through Italy... and it was not a vacation. He was one of those guys.

He fought every step of the way in what was called The Italian Campaign. It was no small thing. It is estimated that between September 1943 and April 1945, some 60,000 Allied and 50,000 German soldiers died in Italy.

He talked little about "The War," but one story he did tell: His platoon was being fired upon by the enemy from a farmhouse. In the encounter, the Americans stormed the house and my friend was the first to burst in, expecting enemy fire. Apparently the enemy had escaped out the back but he didn't know that. Hearing noise in the cellar, he assumed it was the enemy. He threw a hand grenade down the steps... and, as it turns out, it was an elderly couple, probably the farm owners, hiding in fear.

He would become quite angry when there was critical post war talk from a newsman or congressman... or anyone...  about soldier atrocities, saying unless you were there, no one could ever know or judge the life or death circumstances that led to any incident.

He once told a reporter: "Ambivalence about civilian deaths during war is resolved while peering down the sight of a rifle, heart pounding, finger tightening on the trigger. No one who has not lived through combat can judge that moment."  He fought in five major campaigns in Europe during World War II and grappled with memories of death and carnage. He riled about criticism and the morality of soldiers in war from anyone who has never been in that position.

My friend grew up in The Great Depression of 1932-33 watching his parents struggle, as so very many did. He was a young man when Pearl Harbor was attacked and he became one of the many who fought the ground war in Italy and France and wherever else the horror of war sent him. These events marked many for the rest of their lives.

Today we recognize post traumatic stress disorder as a very real syndrome that is estimated to affect as many as one of three veterans. Whether my friend was one of those, I do not know. but for someone who has never experienced what that was like, there is no possible understanding other than, how could one go through so much, see so much, live in such circumstances and conditions and not be, in some way be impacted?

Today the media is recognizing the 10th anniversary of our war in  Iraq. There was NPR talk on the historical value of that war... or any war. One commentator said that, in his opinion, so many died in vain. But another... much, much wiser, countered... no American military person has ever died in vain if they fought for our country. No soldier ever chose the battle, they just did what their country needed at that time... and so many gave the ultimate sacrifice in doing so. And an even greater number of wounded and survivors lived with the memories... and the consequences.

They are all heroes... all of them. As was my friend. 

Thank you friend, for the opportunity to know and respect you. I was honored.         

Please leave a message...



Like A Puppet on a String

… Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. BEEEEP…

Look, you told me to call so I know you’re there… I just don’t know where THERE is… this phone number is new to me. Where are you?

So don’t pick up! Maybe you’ll listen to me this way since you haven’t listened to me yet.

We’ve talked about this. Don’t be a blockhead… just listen.

Show business is a hard, compromising life. Nothing is real. Sure, you’re good now but they’ll string you out. That old song and dance wears thin. You are floating on air one-day and swallowed up the next. They’ll say you’re one of a kind… the best... anything to make a buck at your expense. They don’t give a damn about you… you’re just their meal ticket. They’ll suck the sap out of you, I promise.

Those so-called friends of yours… don’t they have a home? That’s a bad bunch you’re hanging out with… bad influences, all of them. The world isn’t your own private carnival. And that con man you call the big boss… he’ll make a jackass out of you, ears to tail.

You smelled of smoke when I last saw you… SMOKE.  Don’t you know cigars will kill you? I knew you were drinking too… I saw it in your eyes… heard it in your voice. Sometimes I think you’re dumber than a stack of sticks.

You are adrift now… and soon you’ll be swallowed up by a monstrous ego; overwhelmed in the belly of the beast you call the real world. Is that what you want? I can’t believe you would say yes.

You wouldn’t say yes, would you?

Are you listening to me? Pick up if you’re there… or not.

And don’t be sticking your nose in everyone else’s business. That nosey thing of yours will bring you nothing but trouble. These people don’t care about you… but we do. I’m your best friend. We are family.

The path you are on will NEVER set you free. It will never make you real. I’ll promise you one thing for sure… if you don’t change your ways, you can kiss your maker goodbye.

You are so naïve…  greener than a limb from that fruit tree in your own back yard. Look… I don’t want to be your conscience. I want to be your friend… no strings attached.

We’re worried sick about you… waiting for you to sand away those rough edges of your life and get on with it. We pray you’ll find your way home. We’re going crazy looking everywhere for you, but we really don’t have a clue.

So a little help please. Give us a hint… where are you? It hurts to know you’re awash on stormy seas and totally sucked in. Talk to us… if you can.

FOR GOD’S SAKE, PICK UP THE PHONE…

Geppetto, Figaro and Cleo miss you terribly…  and I do too. I remember the first time we met:

“Did you say your name was Jiminy Cricket?” you asked. “I didn’t know crickets could talk.”

And up to then, Pinoch, I didn’t know puppets could either.

It’s time to get real Pinocchio. We love you. We miss you. Come home.

CLICK           

Barnaby Conrad died

Bull Fighter by Leo Gordon

Oh? 
 So who is Barnaby Conrad?

Well, it's interesting. As a 19-year-old art student attending a bullfight one summer in Mexico, he impulsively decided that he could do better than the matador. So he leaped into the ring and, using his coat, dared el toro to have a go. Best part of that story... he escaped with his life...and one teensy weensy gore... or, as they say, he lived to fight another day.

But he really did lots more... and that's the reason why I thought he was notable.

On his flight back to California, his plane crashed on the runway... but he survived, and later flew his own plane with no crashes. He lived to fight 40 more bulls (with training, this time) in Spain, Mexico and Peru and was known as El Nino de California. In his 90 years, he wrote more than 30 books and magazine articles, many on bullfighting. He was a renowned portrait painter with works hanging in the National Portrait Gallery collection and a pretty good cocktail pianist too.

He co-founded the Santa Barbara Writers Conference, was a reformed alcoholic and he befriended many, many famous authors (Sinclair Lewis, John Steinbeck, William F. Buckley Jr., Ray Bradbury, Alex Haley, James Michener, Truman Capote to name a few) and lots of other interesting people as a night club owner in San Francisco. After graduating from Yale, he went to work for the State Department and served as a young vice consul in Spain. (Thanks NYTimes for the info.)

But the one thing I can best relate to is his 1961 book, Famous Last Words, a collection of final statements of well-know people. His introduction in the book reads: "There are a few tragic and bitter ones, of course, but on the whole, after reading thousands of deathbed utterances, one is struck and comforted by how comparatively pleasant dying is reported to be. Especially when compared with other ordeals. Such as living, for example."

I love famous last words... spend hours--figuratively, honest--thinking of what to say other than "Holy #@%&!" if I see the headlights coming at me. Here are some of the better:

• Either the wallpaper goes or I do--Oscar Wilde, 1900
• I should have never switched from Scotch to Martinis-- Humphrey Bogart, 1957
• Mind your own business--Wyndham Lewis, in response to his nurse asking how his bowels were doing.
• FIRE!--Joe Hill just prior to his execution by firing squad in Utah, 1957
• Get my swan costume ready--Ballerina Anna Pavlova
• Mayonnaise--Writer Richard Brautigan who always wanted to end a book with that word... and he did. 1984
• Oh good... for a moment I thought we were in trouble--Butch Cassidy to the Sundance Kid just before... oh, you know.
• Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something--Pancho Villa
• Eureka... I have found the secret of life. It is... aaargh--Me. I've got it now.

The anatomy of the traffic jam

A baaaad traffic jam

That's you in the blue Dodge (or whatever), stuck in a traffic jam (well, maybe not this traffic)... and after seemingly endless stop-and-go at three miles-per-hour, you suddenly break free... then you ask yourself, "What in the hell was that all about?" No wrecks, no lane closures, nothing to indicate why. Now don't you feel sheepish for being so wrong?

Well, thank John O. Nestor for that. Nestor is the ONE PERSON responsible for one traffic jam a day on the Washington D.C beltline.

A worse traffic jam

Around the same time every day, Nestor would be driving to work in the left hand lane... with his cruise control set at 55 mph, the posted speed limit... no more, no less. This effectively closed down that lane to speeders, forcing every driver behind him to merge right. Bingo! Like dominos falling, you have a traffic jam.

He explained that he loved the left lane... less traffic, less merging--for him, anyhow. "Why should I inconvenience myself for someone who wants to speed?"

In the D.C. area, he achieved immortality (and infamy) by defining a new verb: "Nestoring"... the absolute adherence to the rules, regardless of the larger consequences. And that's a true story.

Another perfect example of the power of one!

Now take a look a classic traffic jam that sounds like a lead-in to a joke: A Catholic priest, a biker and a civil protection volunteer walk into an alley and…

Watch this guy in Naples try to make a U-turn on a narrow street in his tiny Fiat 500. A motorcycle gang, a cross-bearing religious procession and a bunch of civil protection volunteers get stuck in the jam, all joining the locals from the surrounding streets and balconies, everyone talking at once, hands waving, helping... or not. Now this is what you call, an Italian traffic jam . (For fun, see if you can find the prosciutto strapped on the back of one of the Harleys.)

As they say in Italy, "Momma mia, thats'a spicey traffic jamba!" (Oh, come on... I'm an Italian so I can say that.)

I'm sure Somebody important was trying to tell me something.

Abby, my beautiful yellow Labrador retriever and I were running early this morning. She can run me into the ground at a pace I don't know, but is a wonderful companion by my side. It was a damp, cold and very windy morning. Still dark, we saw nothing and nothing saw us. I had something a little bothersome on my mind. Four miles felt like a lot more.

Ever have one of those days when you wonder if anyone is listening to your thoughts?

We turned a familiar corner, past a vacant lot where wildflowers grow in nicer weather and Abby, who was born to hunt--and in her mind, vanquishes every squirrel she ever sees--stopped cold and sat, staring into the barely visible openness at the side of the road.

Then I saw what she saw. Not ten feet from us were two beautiful does, standing motionless in low grass, watching us. Now we do have deer around here... and we do see them often... mostly running across the road or far into the woods, white tails disappearing. And Abby wants those deer... she pulls so hard on her leash that if we are on a downhill, I really have to be careful. But not this time.

Receiving this reception when our oncoming sound should have sent them bounding... that was kind of special. We were still for about five seconds, neither deer nor us moving... just looking at each other. Then they turned and bounded off.

I really had the feeling that Someone was saying, "I heard you... and I am here!"

And if that's just me, I'm fine with that. Not a bad start at all for a great day.

...from my cold, dead hands

Remember when airplane hijackings were 'the thing' and almost every other day, someone with a gun was ordering an airline pilot to fly to Cuba? We really didn't have a good plan to stop all that nonsense. This was the lead-up to all of today's security. Welcome TSA.

On one flight I was took during that era, the pilot actually addressed the passengers with this message: "If you ever see someone stand up with a gun on this plane, everyone--ALL OF YOU--throw whatever you have in your hands... books, purses, briefcases-- anything and everything-- at that person's head... as hard as you can. Then the five closest jump on him!"

And that's a true story.

A comedian of the time offered an alternative plan: "As you board the plane, everyone will be issued a loaded handgun. A hijacker would have to be crazy to try anything."

Flash to today and the era of Virginia Tech, Aurora, Newtown, etc. There have been 29--yes, 29 mass shootings since Columbine on April 20, 1999. At this rate, we'll be in triple digits before our kids grow up. We have certainly come a long way from hijackings.

And yes... sadly, that's true.

In America, we have freedom of Speech, but it has limitations--you can't yell FIRE! in a crowded theater or cause harm or impinge on the rights of others.. a common sense thing.

Now I'm a Second Amendment proponent and in America there is a place for guns (its the culture, stupid)... but apparently without the common sense thing. Thanks NRA.

This isn't a message of how to fix it. This is about how to understand it.

The NRA proposes we arm teachers and/or security and eliminate gun-free school zones to make our children safer. The surest way to combat bad guys with guns is with good guys with guns, they say.

On the weekend of January 19th this year, in three separate gun shows around the country, there were five firearms casualties... minor casualties thank God, but three accidental gun discharges wounding five people.

You know, I've been to gun shows. Everyone there is some kind of a gun buff or gun knowledgeable at the least. According to the NRA then, gun shows should be the safest place around. But hey, accidents happen. That's why every gun show I ever knew bans loaded weapons on the premises. Why? For safety reasons. ('They' said it, not me.)

Many of our teachers (some with little and/or reluctant experience in firearms--but they took the course) may wind up packing loaded guns. Common sense would ask, how could that be safer? Accidents kill too! And cross fire. So what is the greater danger? Hopefully/naively, maybe none of our schools will ever have an incident, but many will 'be packin' around children, pre-teens and older students (some of which already have, carry and bring guns to school) all the time. Bad mix.

Yes, I agree. A gun in the right place could save a life. The NRA journal, The American Rifleman, used to (and may still) run a column called "The armed citizen," which told stories of people with guns defeating burglars, bad guys, etc. A good read. But it never told stories that had bad endings. Real life has bad endings. Think that would never happen? How old are you... 3?

Attention to mental health issues, background checks for all, better and surer enforcement of crimes with guns, common sense... yeah, I'm for all that. Large capacity magazines and guns that could easily be made fully automatic, I'm against that. But there are millions of those products already out there so we'll have to live with those, no matter what. Somehow, I don't feel safer.

In closing... Hey, look at us. We remain the rootinist, tootinist, gun totin' people on earth. Eat your heart out, rest of the world. Nobody takin' our rights away! We're Number One... by an incredible large margin. Doesn't anyone else 'get it' but us?

Cats and T.S. Eliot

 I love this poem. Tell me if this doesn't ring true:

In ancient Egypt
We cats were gods
We ruled the heavens
We reigned the earth
So kneel before me
I said come to me
Uh, listen to me
How about just a treat then?
Okay, maybe a toy
Some crumpled paper would do
I'm not picky
Well can you at least scratch behind my ear?
Can you at least do that?
Oh
Oh yes
You serve your master well

Cats is the second longest running show on Broadway. It opened in 1982 and ran for 7,485 performances before closing there on Sept. 10th, 2000. (In case you wonder, The Phantom of the Opera was first, Chicago third, Les Miserables fourth and The Lion King at number five.)  Cats continues elsewhere, probably forever.

It's lyrics and cat names came from T.S. Eliot's collections of whimsical poems, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats about feline psychology and sociology that he wrote in 1939. Trevor Nunn added the contemporary update to the lyrics and story.

According to Eliot:
(If you want to hear Eliot himself read this poem, click here )

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey--
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter--
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover--
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

For your renewed enjoyment while you are humming Memories, here is the musical rundown. Enjoy:

Act I
Overture – Orchestra
"Prologue: Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats" – The Company
"The Naming of Cats" – The Company
"The Invitation to the Jellicle Ball" – Victoria, Quaxo, Munkustrap
"The Old Gumbie Cat" – Jennyanydots, Munkustrap, Bombalurina, Jellylorum, Demeter
"The Rum Tum Tugger" – Rum Tum Tugger and Company
"Grizabella: The Glamour Cat" – Grizabella, Demeter, Bombalurina
"Bustopher Jones: The Cat About Town" – Bustopher, Jennyanydots, Jellylorum, Bombalurina
"Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer" – Mungojerrie, Rumpleteazer
"Old Deuteronomy" – Munkustrap, Rum Tum Tugger, Old Deuteronomy
"The Awefull Battle of The Pekes and the Pollicles" – Munkustrap, Rumpus Cat and Company
"The Song of the Jellicles" – The Company
"The Jellicle Ball" – Orchestra
"Grizabella, The Glamour Cat" (Reprise) – Grizabella
"Memory" – Grizabella

Act II
"The Moments of Happiness"/"Memory" – Old Deuteronomy, Jemima
"Gus: The Theatre Cat" – Asparagus, Jellylorum
*"Growltiger's Last Stand", incorporating either 'The Ballad Of Billy M'Caw' or the Italian aria 'In Una Tepida Notte' – Growltiger, Griddelbone, Ghengis, the Siamese, the Crew
"Gus: The Theater Cat" (Reprise) – Asparagus
"Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat" – Skimbleshanks and Company
"Macavity: The Mystery Cat" – Demeter, Bombalurina
"Macavity Fight" – Macavity, Munkustrap, Alonzo
"Mr. Mistoffelees" – Quaxo, otherwise known as Mr. Mistoffelees, Rum Tum Tugger
"Jellicle Choice"/"Daylight" – Munkustrap and Jemima
"Memory" (Reprise) – Grizabella, Jemima
"The Journey to the Heaviside Layer" – The Company
"Finale: The Ad-Dressing of Cats" – Old Deuteronomy

Confession: I'm a dog person... but one who has owned Hershel, the most poetically typical, lovable cat in a house with as many as five dogs at any time--and yes, Hershel held his own--so I am an incredible admirer.

Do you know the most asked question in 1953?

Tess & Abby

Answer:

How much is that doggie in the window... the one with the waggly tail?

Yep, it's true. And the singer who made it so was Patti Page, a popular vocalist in the '50's and '60's with a sweet voice and personality to match. She died at age 87 on New Year's Day. But if you know her by song, you may also remember the Tennessee Waltz (I was waltzing with my darling to the Tennessee Waltz) another huge favorite at the time and lots of others.

So sing along with me:

How much is that doggie in the window (arf, arf)
The one with the waggly tail
How much is that doggie in the window (arf, arf)
I do hope that doggie's for sale

I must take a trip to California
And leave my poor sweetheart alone
If he has a dog he won't be lonesome
And the doggie will have a good home

How much is that doggie in the window (arf, arf)
The one with the waggley tail
How much is that doggie in the window (arf, arf)
I do hope that doggie's for sale

I read in the papers there are robbers (roof, roof)
With flashlights that shine in the dark
My love needs a doggie to protect him
And scare them away with one bark

I don't want a bunny or a kitty
I don't want a parrot that talks
I don't want a bowl of little fishies
He can't take a goldfish for a walk

How much is that doggie in the window (arf, arf)
The one with the waggley tail
How much is that doggie in the window (arf, arf)
I do hope that doggie's for sale

Patti Page

We share our homes with 80 million dogs and 86 million cats in the U.S. and we are doing our part.

THE GLASS HALF FULL: Charging into '13 with a puppy or baby kitten... how cute would that be?

The  Chinese  New  Year  begins  Feb.  10...  it  is  the  Year   of  the  Snake.  Now  I  am  about  as  open  as  anyone  to  almost  everything...  but  really,  with  the  year  of  the  horse,   sheep,  monkey,  rooster,  dog,  pig,  rat,  ox,  tiger  and  drag-­ on,  but  with  due  respect,  couldn’t  we  have  puppies  or   baby  kittens?  How  cute  would  that  be? 

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My mom died about this time last year. She was 98, in a skilled care nursing facility. She was a content person who lived in the moment. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Just now. She had no future dreams, past regrets or aspirations. She was frail of body, slower of mind, harder of hearing and less talkative. But she always knew family and friends, she smiled, got a joke, waved at passers-by... and if ever confronted with a trouble or problem, she quickly dismissed it with her personal credo: “Into each life, a little rain must fall.”

Do you have to be 98 to leave your troubles behind? Most of us live with yesterday’s thoughts and experiences, today’s angst and tomorrow’s hopes and fears. So here we are again at a recurring break point in life.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I never make New Year resolutions... at least, not until now. But for some reason, this year it feels appropriate. Therefore, I have decided:

TO LOVE MORE!

I love being old(er) because that’s what happens... and if it doesn’t, then forget about it.
 I love being well... a blessing... a gift.
 I love being loved... by my wife, my children and my grandchildren, sibs and my 98-year-old mother, too.

I love to smile, and be smiled at.
 I love the blessing of food on the table, water to drink and a roof over my head. So many can’t say that.

I love dogs that love me more.
 I love friends and neighbors. 
I love happy endings that make me cry. 
I love book stores... newspapers... and great conversation.

TO DO MORE!

I will read more.
 I will write more. 
I will think more. 
I will smile more... and return every smile.
 I will be richer (in spirit, which I can control). I will care more for those who need more care. I will win Jeopardy in my mind.

I will work crossword puzzles more completely. I will take the high road.

TO DRINK MORE FROM THE GLASS HALF FULL!

I will count my blessings.
 I will give thanks. 
I will strive to see the other viewpoint. I will broaden my perspective. 
I will look for the silver lining. 
I will hope.

How will I do? At least, so-so, I’m sure. More important... how about your list? This is the time for aspiration... perhaps the best time all year. Human frailty being what it is, we are less than perfect, but to aspire to be a better you... have a better year... is the positive start that leads to better response. We don’t control this crazy world... but we shouldn’t dare loose control of ourselves. I vote we call our current best chance for good...

2013: THE YEAR OF THE SMILE... THE YEAR OF THE GOLDEN RULE.

Now being human, we will fail our share of the time. But in the process, we will learn and be better for it. Buddha said what many others have said over the eons: "The only real failure in life is not to be true to the best one knows." GO FOR IT!

I'll be home for Christmas... if only in my dreams

 I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And Presents on the tree

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the lovelight gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the lovelight gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

If only in my dreams

Thank you seems terribly insufficient for your sacrifice. 

But it is "Thank you!" from the bottom of our hearts.

The Last Christmas Tree... my holiday gift to you

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It was a ‘Charlie Brown Christmas tree,’ even before there was a Charlie Brown. It stood almost six-feet tall with a crooked trunk and so few scraggly branches that you could almost call it a stick. As my sister and I dragged it home, we left a trail of needles from Grandpa’s store to the house where he and Grandma lived, just a block away.

In a word, it was WORRYSOME. How could this pitiful specimen ever become a ‘real’ Christmas tree?

Dad was in the Navy, gone now three years fighting World War II. The three of us, mom, my kid sister and me, lived in on a brick-paved street in a tiny rental house that was owned by grandma and grandpa who lived next door. This is where we moved when dad was called to serve our country. Our rent was $20 a month… or not, depending on if we had the money.

Between our house and the store was an alley, used mostly by garbage trucks… like the one that hit and almost killed me once when I raced across in my Radio Flyer wagon without looking. But that was another time. On the other side of the alley was Frasco Brothers’ Corner Grocery Store. It belonged to grandpa and his brother, our Uncle August. His family lived above the store. The Frasco brothers were Italian immigrants who came to Peoria, Illinois through Ellis Island in 1903. The Frasco men found their calling in groceries and, after establishing themselves, sent for their families. Mom and dad were both first generation American born.

It was the morning of December 24^th, that long time ago. My younger sister and I were so excited. Not only was tomorrow the BIG DAY but right now, we would get to put up grandma’s Christmas tree… and that thrilled us beyond telling. This was only our second time… but this year, we got to do it (almost) all by ourselves. Grandma’s house was the center of our family Christmas.

Because of the war, the scarcity of some food products limited what could be bought, but everyone went all out for Christmas and Frasco Brothers’ was the only place folks around here shopped. The nearest Kroger was still 41 years away. And who wouldn’t choose a neighborhood grocer who knew every customer by both first and last name and delivered free in a horse drawn wagon… until the first Model T truck was purchased.

Grandpa (Butch—short for butcher—or Teddy, they called him) and Uncle August carried many of their customers ‘on the books’ with full knowledge that some debts would never be paid, “…because widow Johnson doesn’t have the money and we can’t let her go hungry,” or “Tony just had a big hospital bill because of Mary’s operation,” or “Mrs. Melvin lost her husband in Italy and still has three small kids to raise… “

The customer always came first at Frasco Brothers’ and this went double when it came to Christmas trees. Grandma always got whatever was left, usually around Christmas Eve, after Grandpa had called all his customers who didn’t have their trees yet. “No money this year, Mrs. Albert… who said you needed money for a Christmas tree? We are saving the best for you. Want us to drop it off?”

This year, there was just one left for grandma… the best … the only… but, as grandpa said, we had the chance to help God make our own beautiful tree. So… Over the alley and through the neighborhood, to grandmother’s house we drug… that poor, mangy stump of a tree, while pulling our wagon filled with the extra branches that fell from other, long-ago-purchased trees, a card of thumb-tacks and a ball of green butcher’s twine.

“Look,” Grandpa showed us, “ with just some extra branches, thumb-tacks and string, this will be the best tree of all.”

Grandma smiled as she greeted us at her door. ”My, what a wonderful tree we have this year.” (We later learned that she always said that.) “I just know you will make it so that baby Jesus himself will want to lie in our manger.”

Now we knew…the fate of Christmas was in our hands.

From the attic’s drop-down stairs came the boxes of heirloom ornaments older than we were and the rag-tag, impossibly jumbled strands of mixed lights that sometimes did, but mostly didn’t work. With the patience of the knitting and crocheting whiz that she was, grandma would carefully untangle, and then try every single light to find ones causing problems, replacing all that needed replacing. Sometime, she even had to repair the flimsy wire that tied them electrically together. Eventually, we had full strings of working, blinking Christmas lights… and we were thrilled!

Our attention turned to that miserable specimen of a tree lying on the parlor’s tile floor. I picked it up and settled the tree’s base into the stand. With grandma’s keen eye, she judged the best angle of the crooked trunk and my sister held it in place while I tightened the stand’s screws. Our ‘Charlie Brown ‘tree was soon able to stand as straight as possible without being held.

We all stood back and surveyed our work so far. “Hmm… ” Finally, grandma nodded, “Just right! Kids, get those branches and let’s get started.” Grandma was an amazing woman.

We hummed Christmas carols as we worked… and thumb-tack by thumb-tack, grandma began attaching extra branches to the trunk while I tied supporting strings higher up the tree.

We gently layered our tree with all the working Christmas bulbs… and oohed and aahed when they actually lit the tree. 

Grandma then had to leave us to get grandpa’s lunch on the table for their big noontime meal.  Grandpa opened the market at 6 am and, after finishing cleanup chores when the store closed 12 hours later, his feet hurt… and he was too tired to eat much before he fell into a hard-snoring slumber on his favorite chair… six days a week.

Sis and I stayed busy, fully consumed with our important task. We were a well-oiled team, happier at our task than at any other time of the year.

Ornament-by-ornament, our scraggly leftover started to look like a real Christmas tree. The topper was, of course, the most beautiful star you could ever imagine. Grandma made it out of yellow felt and red ribbon. She used the ladder to put it atop the tree, and after a few ‘tippy’ moments, she had it looking ‘just right,’ even if it was a tad off center. Then we wrapped the tree in popcorn and ribbon garland and draped it with so much silver tinsel that Santa himself couldn’t tell it wasn’t perfect.

Finally, our favorite part--we unpacked the manger and carefully unwrapped all the characters… the camels, the wise men, the sheep and shepherd, the angel, Mary, Joseph… and the baby Jesus.

It was my sister who lovingly laid Him in the manger. We stood back… and after an appreciating pause, we sang Away in a Manger and Silent Night. This was the first moment when we really felt the meaning of the season in our hearts. And of course, ours was the most beautiful Christmas tree ever!

As we stood there in reflected silence and pride, we knew Christmas meant hope, love and peace. But mostly, I think, hope. Please bring our dad home… and all the dads and brothers and sons and daughters. End the war… please end the war. And let us all do unto others, as we would have them do unto us…

All wasn’t right with the world that Christmas, but we believed it would be again, someday… sooner, we prayed, than later.

.

So, with hope abounding: Happy Christmas to all… and to all, a good night.

Jerry C.