Defense Spending Appropriations

Yesterday, Congress passed the Defense Spending bill, which disposes

of 55% of all federal taxes with barely a whimper of objection raised

Loaded with earmarks inserted by congressmen and senators alike, it

provides billions to purchase aircraft  which DOD doesn't need or want

but which provide work for favored industries in their home states and

districts, without any protest from the administration or DOD. New

aircraft carriers costing billions are under construction despite the

fact that they were unneeded by the Navy. Boon doggles and pork on

parade.

In 1961, retiring President Dwight D. Eisenhower in his farewell

speech, warned of the dangers of the growing power of the military

industrial complex, of how that combination would grow in power and

override other concerns and claims upon the budget unless careful and

continued scrutiny was observed, The unwarranted influence of this

combination could threaten security and liberty.

Regretfully, we failed to heed  Eisenhower's warning and the military

budget passes without scrutiny while the remainder of the budget  is

shredded, allegedly in the service of economical  government.

While congress wrings its collective hands over the costs of health

care, global warming and a host of other important concerns, the

military gets a free pass, a platinum credit card to use as they

please, beyond criticism or oversight.

The Children's Table

In the mid 1980's, Becky and I drove to Sunrise, a small community in
Broward County, to attend my Uncle Irving's 80th birthday party. When
we arrived Aunt Sylvia told us we would be sitting at the children's
table. Since  I was required to sit at the children's table half a
century before, at their wedding, I found a certain irony in the
seating arrangements, but then some things never change.

Irving was in his glory, seated at the head table on a dais,
surrounded by his fellow octagenarian. During the evening I overheard
one of Irving's old street people, one of the Times Square denizens,
recount one of Irving's episodes, when he escorted visiting Governor
Rockefeller around the lobby of the Astor Hotel, introducing him to
the assorted pimps, bookies, gangsters and other ner-do-wells who
inhabited the place as if they were people of importance who the
Governor should meet. Irving at his pixiest best.  The story teller had the
unmistakable accent of the city, Damon Runyon channeled.

Later, while seated at the children's table, with my cousin Judy and
her husband Steve, I began to recount the gentleman's story of Irving
at the Astor, and with my slight gift of mimicry, did it with the
delivery and inflection of that older New Yorker. Each inflection and
pronunciations I copied, proud of my skill until I heard a voice
behind me saying "Who is this guy, who is this guy?" To my extreme
embarrassment, the gentleman who I was imitating was standing directly
behind me, and was not amused. On the verge of raising a hue and cry
until Irving came over to investigate the tumult. Pointing at me he
again asked "Who is this guy?" his agitation turning to fury.At this point
I didn’t know whether an apology or an honor killing was necesary to
satisfy his anger. Irving put his arm around the Guy's shoulder, and
turning on his incredibleskill in turning a nonsequitur into a relevant
explanation asked "Do you remember Hymie the cop from the Yankee

stadium ?" "Ya Ya sure, Hymie the cop from the Yankee stadium," 

 was the reply. 

Well, Irving said, "This is his kid" for some reason, this absurd explaination
molified the man and he left, muttering "....from the Yankee stadium."
I abandoned trying to climb  under the table at that point but for me
the evening was over and I was the brunt of the joke.

Letting Go

In abandoning  my concerns as to why my father told the Naval Reserve
he didn't know where I was when my first orders to active  duty
arrived and dropping my inquiry into the consequences  of having a
"refrigerator mother," I realize that I am finally content not to
further explore how my father  loved me and why mother could not. It
is enough for me to understand that the circumstances that brought me
to these insights were difficult to understand at first but finally
can be put to rest, to let  go and find contentment and release in
letting go, being content that my understanding is sufficient for my
purposes, that further inquiry and analysis is both futile and
unnecessary. It is enough.

I had hoped that further inquiry would reveal some underlying truths,
useful in understanding other transactions and relationships- but I
see that that would be pointless - unnecessary- I can let go. the
pursuit of understanding causation must have limits and that the
realization of those limits is in itself liberating.

Immigrants

Today's mail brought the newsletter of the U.S.S.MURRAY Association,
whose members are former crewmen of the destroyer (DD 576). The
newsletter contained a list of the names of members who had recently
passed away. My first level of interest was to identify the names of
the men with whom I served, old shipmates who shared a liberty, a
late watch or lent a hand in heavy weather. A silent farewell.

The more I stared at the the list the more I was struck by the
variety of ethnic and national backgrounds that the names represented.
Irish, English, Italians, Swedish, German, Eastern European, Hispanic
were all represented. Immigrants and the sons and grandsons of
immigrants from all over the old world.

I was reminded of a poem I read in high school called "Americans
All," by Minna Irving, recognizing how diverse our immigrant
population was.

I offer, in remembrance of shipmates lost, it's last stanza :
"So when on the horizon rises
A war-cloud to threaten the land
with Liberty's native-born children.
Shoulder to shoulder they stand.
For America ready to battle,
for America ready to fall,
Not Russian, nor Swedes or Italians Americans all."

Worth a thought in our current anti-immigrant climate fueled by the
descendant's of immigrants.

Copenhagen, GOD, & Global Warming

Currently, representatives from 170 countries are meeting in Copenhagen to confer with
respect to climate change, its causes, what aspects are man made and what steps may be
taken to ameliorate the problem.

With respect to whether such a change is happening, the evidence is
manifest. What is yet to be determines is the extent of man made
activities as a cause and what can be done to limit this effect.Lastly,
some projections as to what possible consequences may result from a too
feeble response.

A formidable body of scientists have urged that drastic steps be taken
to reverse or at lest slow the change which they regard as potentially
catastrophic.

In opposition to this group are the doubters, those who reject all
evidence of man-made contribution to the problem and the business and
monied interests who contend that to pursue the suggested remedies
would be ruinous, cost vast sums, damage industries and cost jobs.
Some even poll the American public for it's collective opinion, as if the weight
of opinion should control scientific realities.

In 1660, Blaise Pascal, a French mathematician and theologian
advanced a proposition, which came to be known as "Pascal's
wager." The proposed wager was a bet - If there is a GOD and you
follow the church you will gain paradise. On the other hand if you
reject the church you will gain some minor indulgences in this life
and lose nothing if there is no GOD. However, if you choose wrongly
and there is a GOD you have gambled away an eternity in paradise and
suffer an eternity of torment, for the sake of a few minor indulgences.

Applying this reasoning to the current global warming issue is a good
fit.  If the scientists are correct then logic compels us to take
steps, drastic or not, to keep the planet habitable. If they are wrong
and we follow their advise we will have added some layers of hardship
and difficulty to our lives to no purpose. If, however, they are
correct  and we ignore their suggestions, we imperil the very survival
of life on this planet.

With those odds and the magnitude of the bet, which side appears the
more rational ?

NAPLES LIBERTY

One aspect of my liberty in Naples has gone unrecorded for a
variety of reasons, some valid, some not. Perhaps out of a sense of
propriety or embarrassment, Now long inappropriate, an episode almost
forgotten.

One of the imperatives on liberty is sex, and after a few weeks of
bouncing around the Med, it was high on our list of priorities.
Exactly how we got to the place I don't recall, probably our guide,
the friendly street boy was a familiar reference.

It was as I recall a rather dismal room, divided by sheets suspended
by wires, but sailors were not interested in the decor. The girls were
young, but then so were we, 20 years old navy men on our first "Med"
cruise. Sailor sex especially just ashore on liberty sex is rather cut
and dry, not exactly, wham, bam, thank you maam ! But that is pretty
close to the mark. A quick mechanical, or animal release, and then on
to the bar.Quick and impersonal as hell !

I was surprised by the girl, looking up at me, suddenly saying "Kiss
me."  She was not new to her profession and the request confused me
but she said again  with some urgency "Kiss me" and then I had a quick
insight that she needed a fantasy to help her with her profession; not
yet hardened to an unemotional, yet intimate act of sex with a total
stranger. I hesitated, then kissed her lightly, a peck- then with more
genuine participation as it became for an instant, a shared passion,
and therapy for both of us, the lonely sailor and the young unhappy
hooker- all for 1,000 lira.

Definitions

Recently, some TV programs were preceded by a caveat to the effect that some of the pictures to be broadcast are “graphic” and advised discretion. Since, by definition, all pictures are graphic, it would seem this warning is in fact meaningless. If the purpose was to alert the viewer to the fact that some of them may find the pictures repulsive, offensive, shocking, vile, salacious or reprehensible, that should have been the message. English has the largest vocabulary of any language in use yet occasionally we find ourselves unable to say exactly what we mean.

In Mac Beth, Shakespeare writes “...sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care...”, using raveled to describe something that has become undone. Later, much later, someone decided unraveled would be more accurate. Yet current dictionaries define “raveled” and “unraveled” as meaning the same thing.

Some years ago after the word inflammable was misinterpreted to mean non- combustible, leading to several disastrous conflagrations; linguists, threw up their hands and concocted the term “flammable” hoping to remove the confusion. Today “flammable and inflammable are defined as meaning precisely the same thing. Distinctions without a difference. Impossible to be incorrect.

Small talk with a Stranger

Today, as I sat in a doctor's waiting room, two other patients
endeavored to strike up a conversation, their opening gambit "aren't
things bad ?" Whether they were soliciting  agreement or disagreement
was hard to tell but since, predictably, the doctor's TV was set to
Fox News, I assumed the former. I usually try not to converse with
people in doctors waiting rooms; firstly, they are sick or they
wouldn't be there, secondly, if their cue comes from the program  on
TV, odds are I will probably disagree with them and thirdly, my
instinct is to either tell them to "shut the fuck up" or pantomime
George Carlin's motion of ultimate dismissal. Most usually, I do a
banal nod and grunt (a republican signal of dismissal.)

Today I felt mildly combative and a bit irritated, so I ventured "how
come?" wearing my I just left the mother ship expression. My first
interrogator, an oriental woman of indeterminate age,  turned
immediately defensive, as if she had given an immigration official a
wrong signal, quickly backed up saying " I'm only 50 but I think so,
it's bad.' she left shortly thereafter, appointment apparently
abandoned.

Feeling elated after this encounter, I was primed  when a man of my
approximate age, entered the room, attired in a shirt sporting a golf
logo and pricey loafers. To my surprise he opened with the same
gambit, adding "I feel sorry for these young people who can't find a
job." Tough to find a riposte but I countered "I've been unemployed
any number of time's, it's not such a big deal." this had the intended
off putting effect and he concentrated on his golfing magazine,
probably an article dealing with how bad things were on the links,

I remained quiet until my name was called and I went off to attend to
the business which prompted my visit in the first place.

SAND HILL CRANES

This morning the first sound I was conscious of was of a sand hill
crane clearing his throat, making that strange rattling sound of
theirs but in a low, soft, tentative way-- not with the usual urgency
when they have something significant to say. It got me thinking. Did
they settle on that sound first thing or did they try a variety of
other sounds before they all agreed to use that one ? After all
they're really ancient breed and  what with the great variety of
sounds birds are capable of producing, you know , song birds, parrots
and the like, it seemed the sand hills probably had a lot of choices
to consider before they decided on their  throaty warble rattle.
Strange though !

Which, in turn, brought me back to an earlier concern, nicknack (see)
Knick kack as alternatively defined and spelled by Webster's New World
Dictionary; a definition masquerading as a tautology- bad start-  a
small ornamental article or contrivance; gimcrack; trinket, also
spelled -etc. I found all of this astounding. No credit or derivation
as to how all this wonderful stuff came about- or who contrived the
alternate spelling with the silent "K" ? Probably some Teutonic "K"
hater.

My mother filled our house with volumes of this useless junk and I
used to marvel at all of  the wonderful questions it would provoke.
firstly, why ? the purpose of all of this useless, non-utilitarian
stuff. Sure, it gave rise to other industries, shelf manufacturing,
five and dime stores (now called Dollar Stores), feather duster, dust
rags, even those things now advertised on TV - the cleaning thing from
Germany (where they make good stuff.) Well that's the idea.

It congers up visions of my mom, shopping and "window shopping"; back
during the depression when times were really tough and bring home this
useless, garish ugly stuff- to then be displayed and regarded until some
hoped for event like an earthquake (rare in the Bronx in those days)
or some clutsy (Klutzy) event came alone and reduced the clutter to a
sweepable jumble.

And where were the factories producing truckloads of this commodity
with which to fill the windows of the 5 & 10 (now $ 1.00)   Did they
employ great mobs of underutilized people, yearning for a living or
was it a product of elves, those little guys who work the North Pole
ore Christmas, something to keep them busy in the off season ?

Why not a Tie ?

It was said that nature abhors a vacuum and sports fans abhor a tie.
Yet with the sole exception  of baseball, where extra innings can continue
ad infinitum, sports contests in the United States used to tolerate
ending in a tie. Now, with the heavy influence of statisticians odds
makers and gamblers; sporting events; football, basketball, hockey,
and soccer have all added provisions to the rules to eliminate the
possibility of a contest ending in a tie. Overtime periods some for
fixed periods, some with "sudden death " conclusions, still others
with "shootouts" as methods for providing a final resolution and no
ties.
Yet in the remote years of my youth, a football game between two
champion teams, ranked 1st and 2nd in that particular year, each with
Heisman winners on their squads, played a game know for years as the
"Game Of The Century,"  to a 0-0 tie.  The year 1946, the teams Army,
no.1, undefeated, Notre Dame, no.2, undefeated. Army's backfield
included Doc Blanchard (Heisman 1945) and Glen Davis (Heisman 1946).
Notre Dame quarterback, Johnny Lujak (Heisman 1947) A duel of
quarterbacks and sterling defensive play in an  era before 2 platoons
and free substitution, where both offense and defense were played by
the same squad. So, stats, percentages, standings be dammed, for the
love of the game what's wrong with a tie ?

Small Government Fallacy

It is argued that what we need is a smaller government, as if less government will provide a better, stronger society. This premise is advanced without any supporting analysis nor any consideration  of how our government grew to their current size.

The government of the United States grew largely in response to problems in our society, abuses which were not  resolved and a ruthless exploitation  of the American people by a few people with power and privilege. During the era of our history known as The Gilded Age, when extravagance and excess were the hallmarks of the life style of the very rich, most of the rest of the people of the U.S. worked and lived in conditions of abject poverty.

Those ultra rich who owned the railroads, the steel industry, mining and manufacturing treated labor as a commodity rather than people. Journalists and writers, known collectively as "muckrakers" publicized the horrible working conditions and other abusive practices of big business. Government responded to the needs  of the people, "The Progressive Movement" created institutions to regulate and control these objectionable practices.

Decent working conditions, minimum wages, safety regulations were promised. The ICC was established to curtail railroad abuses, the SEC to limit stock market frauds, Pure Food and Drug  regulations to prevent snake oil swindlers and protect public health to name a few.  As problem areas surfaced and no relief was in sight, government responded on behalf of the people, to provide protection and satisfy a need otherwise neglected. In short, government didn't just grow big by accident nor for any sinister purpose, rather it grew to promote the health, safety and prosperous society which was America.  

Then St. Reagan opined that the government was the problem and led a movement to advantage the rich by abolishing regulation whenever possible. We dutifully dismantled protection that had served so well. We have just survived from the folly of that philosophy which led to the banking and Wall Street abuses which almost destroyed the economy.

Neither small nor large government, per se, is the answer. We need sensible, responsible government to prevent abuses. Size alone is no criteria with which to judge whether government is well serving its people.

Reducing the size of government without concern with what aspects  of society then go unregulated can only lead to another
"Gilded Age"  where some of us live in luxury and excess while the rest of society subsists on unemployment insurance and food stamps.

RETIRED, Today

This morning when I first awoke I instinctively looked to the clock to see whether I was delinquent in some time related function when it hit me, you’re retired, really free from the tyranny of the alarm clock, schedules and deadlines. Except for the medical necessity of periodic reference to a glucometer to meter the ups and downs of my diabetes dominated blood sugar level I am really independent from the domination of deadlines.

For years I have lamented, quietly and at times not so quietly, about feeling purposeless and uninvolved, once again the perpetual malcontent who after being freed from the wheel of real threats and consequential anxieties. I have constructed a framework of concerns surrounding letters to the editor, whether the cats have eaten our offering or is it once again necessary to find another brand, and even more mundane concerns about chores, now elevated to real problems worthy of much concern and thoughtful recollection. Aside from a slight concern that this may be perceived as a mood swing worthy of consideration as a symptom of bipolarism, I am symbolically kicking myself in the butt and thanking myself for this realization.

My last writing (ramble really) now looks like I was trying for the T.S. Eliot prize for self-pity; now seems more of a lament for the death of self-importance. While it contains some valid verities, worthy of being integrated into my consciousness, my awareness of where I am, it is really part of why I should rejoice at being retired, beyond serious consequences should others take serious disagreement with my view of world affairs, the tax structure, the garbage collection schedule, or any of the myriad earthshaking events which daily compete for my attention. My mountains are once again becoming mole hills and I am thankful for that.

Apologies to my loving wife who tolerates my emotional roller coaster rides but hell, it keeps things interesting for her too, never being quite sure what kind of firestorm I’m apt to stir up today- perhaps none at all - but on the other hand ?

So to all you retirees who may read this one day - rejoice, your situation is really so much better than it used to be if you give it some quiet reflection. In other words- free at last, free at last, thank God almighty ! free at last.

ONCE , yesterday

As time passes; we were once held in some regard,
no longer now, not so much as things forgotten,
We exchange hot letters through the editorial page
as if to assert a position entitled to attention
If anyone were listening-
Like opinions shouted across the back fence
at midnight-
A clearing of the throat,
an old habit, a refusal to recognize that our time has passed.
Insistence that we can still influence
Like blind men communication in sign language.
“you may talk of.... but none can compare with the
British, British,British, grenadier. “
It could not, in reality, be otherwise
time to move over, to one side,
time for others to assert their views,
Ignore or be influenced by our advice as
they see fit - but only to a point-
Like politely repeating the mispronunciation
of an elder in deference to his age,
but only that.
Now unnoticed, but still casting a shadow...
a bit at a loss to identify that point in time,
that point of transition when it ceased to matter.

Executive Compensation

One of the leading controversies on the Sunday TV talk shows was the appropriateness of the government imposing limits on the executive compensation packages of those corporations which have been bailed out with tax funds. A moment’s reflection on the fact that the taxpayer now stands in the place of the stockholder as the owner of these companies should be a sufficient justification for these limits.

Stockholders, as the owners of a corporation originally set the compensation of its officers and employees but over the years, the officers and boards of directors, through a series of strategies wrested control from the stockholders and, treating the companies as their own, set their own compensations without regard for the wishes of the true owners, the stockholders. Their view ? If you don’t like it sell you stock. A board room “coup de corps” !

When these corporations who now owe their very existence to the American taxpayer have repaid the government, they can go back to their former way of doing business if their stockholders permit. Till then, they can thank their stars that the government bailed them out and saved their bacon and be grateful that they still have a job rather than complain that they can no longer take home a paycheck in the millions.

Define A Republic

A recent letter by Jesse James apparently defining our government as other than a democracy, expressed enthusiasm for the study of civics, but omitted the importance of history in explaining government.

Two concerns of the drafters of the Constitution were the avoidance of a monarchy and unlimited rule by all of the people, which they characterized as “mobocracy.” Control was to be reserved for the “right people, ” those with money and property.

Madison defined a Republic as “...a government which derives all of its powers, directly or indirectly, from the great body of the people, and is administrated by persons holding their office during pleasure, for a limited period, or during good behavior.” In effect, a representative democracy rather than a direct democracy.

Originally, the Constitution provided indirect selection of Senators by the legislatures of the states . Unfortunately this led to the abuses disclosed by David Graham Phillips in his work ” The Treason of the Senate” published in 1902, which led to the passage of the 17th amendment in 1912, amending Article I. section 3 of the constitution and provided for Senators to be “...elected by the people.”

Initially, the view was that the Senate represented the original 13 sovereign states. This position became meaningless when former territories, which were never sovereign nor independent, were admitted to statehood. Vesting the selection in state legislatures initially was a stratagem to avoid “mobocracy,” that terrible concern that ordinary citizens would control government; placing contol of the Senate instead in the elite property class which then controlled state legislatures.

Mr. James’ disparagement of democracy is little more than a continuation of the “mobocracy” slander of some of the founding fathers and their attempt to vest some important aspects of government exclusively n the hands of a few elitists. The passage of the bill of rights was to foreclose some overlooked abuses of the English crown , not fear of a democratic majority.

The magic in our system is its democracy, and the restrains imposed on government at the instance of the people, not our “aristocratic forefathers” as Mr. James contends.

In sum, there was no essential virtue in avoiding democracy, only a desire to restrict certain critical functions for the Senate, which in turn was controlled by a privileged class, the propertied citizens and providing for the selection of Senators by state legislators. An amendment to the Constitution ended this abuse.

Simplistic Solutions to Complex Problems

In the current dialogues about where we go next in Afghanistan, concepts without clear definitions are frequently advanced about the problems and potential solutions for consideration. “Winning,” “victory,” “hearts and minds” and “the big picture” are much mentioned but rarely defined. Since the purpose, the object of the original mission has remained ill-defined and subject the subtle change, concepts advanced in support of an analysis are similarly vague and slightly out of focus.

Even the distinction between strategy and tactics is blurred, which takes precedence, and whose opinion is entitled to more weight is obscured in the discussion. Euphemisms advanced to define our objectives range from creating “a shining city on a hill” to achieving our minimum objectives for our own international security, or getting the hell out, compete for attention. From disagreement over troop numbers, to what kind of governance should we promote for Afghanistan are now “on the table.” Defeat the Taliban or prevent the return of al Quida ? Where does our concern for Afghanistan begin and our concern for our own security end ?

For a beginning, we should depoliticize the issues and reach an American position rather than a Republican, conservative or liberal position.

Making a choice based on an emotional preference or political advantage and then “cherry picking” facts to buttress such a choice can only lead to disaster.

Treading Water

I was reflecting on Hal’s use of the term “treading water,” to
describe his last several years in business in New York; on how
appropriate it was as a metaphor for standing still or going nowhere
and how totally appropriate it was as a description of how I’ve spent
the last 14 years since I retired from practice.

My life has reduced to walks around the block, doctor visits and an
eternity of watching the mind numbing trite offered as news and
entertainment on TV.

When we left Key West I was greatly relieved to be out from under the
terrible stress of the job I had held for my last 7 years in the Keys,
being criticized from every turn, in virtual continuous fear of being
fired, of losing my income and my self respect. Retirement day came as
a “mixed bag,” relief that the fight was over combined with a sense of
shame and loss that I had let it happen, leave quietly with my pension
rather than fight back.  In truth I had lost all sense of confidence
and only wanted for the stress to be over, to get past the need for
bolstering psychoanalysis, mood-elevating drugs and large amounts of
sedative-providing Jack Daniels at sunset. To escape with my sanity
was enough, never mind the loss of face.

The practice of law had always been something of an emotional roller
coaster for me; momentarily buoyed by little victories but worn down
and fearful of the never ending competition, the necessity of
posturing and the consuming fear that I would overlook something,
screw up and fall flat on my face in plain view of the entire world.

So there I was at age 65, social security kicking in, minimum state
pension assured, my economic life jacket, acting as if I had secured a
desired prize when internally I felt as if I had escaped just before the
last curtain came down, free and clear but no pretense, by the skin of
my teeth.

For the greater part of my adult life I had to keep going like the
“little engine that could” because of obligations --- to others, the
kids, my sense of image, unwillingness to disappoint my father, one
bloody excuse or compelling necessity after the other, meanwhile dying a
little bit each day.

Refuge from time to time was in surrender to depression, that black
mood that seemed to swallow up everything but the sunlight, and at
times even obscure that. But always, the pull of obligation combined
with the patchwork and repair of timely therapy put me back in the rat
race where I had to fight and claw for my survival, all the while smiling
and radiating the false confidence that was deemed so necessary for success.

And now finally retired, how happy that word sounded at first, escape
with dignity and a whole skin. Ultimately; however, the joke was on me
as I came to realize that here there was little or nothing that one
could consider reward or relief.

Slowly, but inevitability, physical ailments began to gang up on me,
the magnets on the refrigerator door which usually proudly displayed
pictures of grandchildren now held a parade of medical appointment
cards, backed up by cryptic entries on the calendar over the sink.
Internist, cardiologist, podiatrist, dentist, nephrologist, and
oncologist.

This, and living in a community with little by way of real involvement
or diversion with choices like emersion in career veteranism at the

Legion or VFW, or perhaps wearing a pink shirt and pushing wheelchairs
around the hospital in a spirit of volunteerism . Others retreated into a
lifetime of hitting golf balls or participating in crackpot political
movements. For me, none of this had a moment’s breath of appeal.
At least I was done with self-deception.

So back to “treading water”, sharing my youngest son’s insight. My
recent attraction to Buddhism as a philosophy rather than a religion
was of substantial help. Unloading the weight of desires by coming to
understand “non-attachment,” letting go of the desire for things,
stuff, goodies was an immense relief. Fashion, good suits, new cars,
“more and better” began to fall away like excess pounds resulting from
a successful diet. An occasional failing; wanting a new jacket or a
pistol (toy really) only helped to reinforce the correctness of this
loss of materialism. In its place another Buddhist objective; “enlightenment”
began to influence my drive to reach a better understanding of my life, where
I had been and who I had been, and changing what I could and accepting what
I could not. Learning and understanding became a source of pleasure and
contentment, but only to a point. I still tripped over the small stuff, rankled by
petty issues however much I tried to keep them in perspective. Perhaps, on my
horizon, which by now was essentially bare, they loomed larger than they really
were but hell, I wasn’t trying for perfection, only a comfortable balance between
what is and what could be with less and less reference to what was and what
might have been.

Yet I saw in Hal’s reference to “treading water” and his offhand
comment about ….” not chasing the garbage truck because it started to rain” as
a resignation to hopelessness, an acceptance of defeat.
Not recognizing that his potential was still within reach and the
ability to achieve happiness within the parameters of his frame of
reference.  In my view he had  “cashed out” on his early success and abandoned
opportunities  to compound his wins, unwilling to keep up the drive, to …” keep
chasing the garbage truck.” When he might have wound up reaching a comfortable
compromise, rather than treading water to keep up the illusion of a success almost
achieved.

So for both of us the search continues, knowing that no answers, none, are achieved
by treading water.

"closed circuit feedback"

Some years ago I encountered the phrase "closed circuit feedback"
which resurfaced in my consciousness. It sounded like data
recirculating without any new input, a metaphor for monotony or
boredom or dead end reasoning when one refuses to intergrate new data;
same info, same result. I went to the computer and Googled it, out of
curiosity and was confronted with a rash of technical jargon, mathematical
formulae and circuit diagram; I quickly hit the cancel button, wondering if I
needed a security clearance to proceed further. Then again, forget it,
beyond my pay grade and competence. Neat phrase though.



Advice to the aged

Do not go down that lonely road
without saying Thank You
to those who helped.
Apoligize to those you hurt,
and I love you to those you love,
take nothing for granted.

There’s No Place like Home

In the movie “The Wizard of Oz,” Dorothy finds her way home by
clicking her heels (encased in the magic slippers) three times while
repeating “There’s no place like home.”  Easy for Dorothy.

Lately thoughts of home, a place by that name have come to mind,
provoking some introspection. Perhaps for me there is no such place.
For those of us born and raised in the age of the “atomic family,”
Mama, Papa, and the kids, the concept of a home place has become an
abstraction. Robert Frost once observed, home is where they have to
let you in, or something to that effect. On the other hand, Thomas
Wolfe in “You can’t go home again” places the blame on the passage of
time.  But in our century, people constantly on the move, rarely
staying in one town, let alone one house for more than a few years at
a time, there is no longer such a place.

Whether driven by nostalgia, wistfulness, loneliness or just the pull
of remembrances, I have often drifted in my reverie to examine my
memories of places I have lived, to determine if perhaps one of them
might satisfy the need for a home.

With limited mobility I have used Google Maps to examine some of the
places, some of them unrecognizable, some obliterated ,some still standing
but much changed, so much changed that memory cannot find a place
to stand.  Even when they look the same, too many coats of paint have
covered the patina of the past,but still I persist.

 I think that if such a place were to exist, a repository for dreams,
hopes, disappointments and memories it would be a good thing, a place
to visit, to renew feelings. Surely memory itself is such a place, but
it lacks a certain substance, one cannot touch or feel a memory,
examine and relive it to an extent, sure- but in essence its
insubstantiality is part of its allure.

So to paraphrase Dorothy’s Wizard, there is no place to call home; not
any longer, no physical refuge to run to and feel safe, protected from
the emotional onslaught of time and reality, those who take away
dreams of what was and what might have been and substitute a hollow
disappointment.  But for the rest of us, sans magic slippers memory
will have to serve. Like Simon and Garfunkel’s song – “preserve your
memories, they’re all that’s left you.”

Expletive Deleted and other foreclosed terms

With the passing of George Carlin and his list of seven words you’re not allowed to say, there seems to be no advocate in favor of “salty, slang-communications, words tinged with nuance and innuendo to add spice, a linguistic condiment to communications. Well, I might as well volunteer.

Some years ago a judge admonished me for saying “Hell” several times in the context of a closing argument which I had added to my speech for the purpose of emphasis, chiding me that he would not tolerate such language in “his” courtroom. Passing on the issue of whose courtroom it was I was dumbfounded at this response. This judge, who obviously thought him self a prince of virtue for this act was a corrupt, for sale, always favoring the local boys, the “Bubbas” in anything resembling a close call so as to enhance his re-elect ability saw himself as the guardian of the sanctity of the spoken word. Now I had a list of eight words one couldn’t utter. It set me thinking.

I have been coming to terms with the use of a term current, the “N” word; used to substitute a derogatory reference to people of African descent, a reference now only permissible when mouthed by black comics or “rappers.” Just how this exceptional license was developed remains unclear.

Similarly we now have something called the “F” word, a similar codification of a term used to describe an act of fornication as a disparaging term in a variety of contexts. I thought, briefly of designing a special symbol for these terms, not unlike the one devised by “ the artist formerly known as Prince,” his own personal logo. But no, the world is too impatient for such nonsense. Nevertheless terms henceforth proscribed shall include all things scatological, reference to excrement (in any language) references to sexuality, body parts associated with sexuality, elimination, mammilla, racial classification, countries of origin or any references which might tend to suggest or give offense.

What is lost in all of this sanitizing of speech is that coloration, nuance, spice is deleted from communication, we might as well be texting and with a reduced alphabet at that.

Flower and the garage door closer

Recently our super cat, Flower, discovered that if she ran into the garage while the door was descending it would stop and the overhead light would begin to flash. Rather than puzzle over the source of this new found magic, Flower began to check, to see if this result was constant, whether it could be included in her mojo, the mystique of Flower-power. Accordingly, she took every opportunity to run into the garage after someone started the door descending, compiling a body of data to reinforce her belief that a new power had been added t her mojo, the ability to stop the garage door from closing by merely introducing her magical presence. Now, however we have to wait until the door has fully closed to be sure that Flower is not lurking in the shadows, waiting to exercise her newly discovered magic.

Biography of a Blowhard

After reading Eric Veltri’s piece on Pat Buchanan, I felt compelled to
add a few, not so gentle comments about that good gentleman.
Currently Buchanan is the poster boy for the quiet conservatives, the
person posing as the pundit who always come down on the side of the
political right. My dictionary describes a pundit as a person of great
learning, yet nowadays anyone with a megaphone or a column seems to
qualify. As to a megaphone (read loudmouth,) his is built in, the
column a frequent, painful, misguided diatribe with distorted history
and unsubstantiated opinions.

Buchanan started his career as president of a group of right wing
students, calling themselves Young Americans for Freedom (YAF) an
early forerunner of the current group of sophomores of a similar
name now worshiping at the feet of Ann Coulter.

Although Pat’s only schooling was in journalism he advanced himself as
a self-proclaimed expert on things political as early as his first
shave. Never one to hang back from shooting his mouth off was spotted
by the Nixon gang as potentially useful with the young republicans.
Youthful stalking horse who now remembers his role as “senior
advisor to the candidate.” Thereafter as a speechwriter he produced in house
“red meat” to satisfy the “base.” He remained a Nixon apologist after the
Watergate and Nixon’s resignation, unwilling to face the fact that his hero’s
corrupt administration damaged the country. From speech writer to pundit in
one easy step. From an overweening ego
this blowhard had the arrogance to offer himself as a presidential
candidate, and now an expert on anything you may wish to name, be it
military tactics, foreign affairs, politics or the human
experience, despite the fact that he has never seen military service,
held elected office nor served in any significant capacity save dispenser
of propaganda, a legal expert without any legal training.

Our history is replete with such “pied pipers” the blind leading the
blind, refusing to admit that the emperor’s new clothes are bogus. My
own distress is that Buchanan enjoys a syndicated column, a
vehicle for spewing his half baked opinions as if he is knowledgeable,
not merely one who has hung around for so long we have forgotten how
little he knows. An original dunderhead. Small wonder the populous
is so ill informed.

Most recently, Buchanan participated in a debate , “Intelligence Squared” in
London on Sept. 9, arguing that Winston Churchill caused W.W.II by resisting
a deal with HIlter, instead supprting a declaration of war after the invasion of
Poland. Battered by better informed English historians, he persisted; as long as
Buchanan can peddle his book, Buchanan the latest Hilter apologist. One wonders how
long it will be before he moves from MSNBC to FOX news ?

Winning in Afghanistan

In the last few days the dialogue concerning Afghanistan has ranged
from more troops and doubling down to its time to pull out completely.
General   McChrystal, U.S. Commander on the ground talks of more
troops and modifying the strategy, his subordinates describe the enemy
alternately as Taliban, Al Qaeda and even “insurgents”.  Secretary of Defense
Gates and joint chief Adm. Mullen talk vaguely of “winning” as still being possible
but acknowledge changes are needed as well as more troops. Washington has
yet to develop a new strategy and define our objectives in the country while the
generals talk of more troops and some vague concept of “winning.”Precisely
what it is we will “win” remains ill-defined and elusive?


All of this points to the fact that at the time of our initial incursion into
Afghanistan our planning, such as it was, consisted of getting Osama bin Laden,
and  those  responsible  for 9-11, ie; Al Qaeda. Little or no consideration was
given to the complications of Afghan history, the tribal structure of the culture, the fact
that the Pashtuns , the dominant tribe claimed kinship to Pashtuns in the north
of Pakistan, from whom they were divided from by the “Durand Line,”
arbitrary division of India and Afghanistan imposed by the British in
1893 without regard or concern of its impact on the Pashtun people.
Early on our campaign bogged down, reduced to patrolling the border
and fire fights with small elements of locals be they Al Qaeda or Taliban.

Mission creep followed, largely in response to Taliban abuse of the
Afghanis, although they were not part of any international threat to
the security of the U.S., their sole objective seeming to be domination in
the area.

During the height of the Iraq war Afghanistan festered on the “back
burner,” under supplied and largely ignored. As the action in Iraq
wound down, Afghanistan once again surfaced in U.S. concerns; General
Petraus’ command expanded to include Afghanistan and Richard Holbrooke
was appointed as Special Envoy to Afghanistan and Pakistan with an
inter agency team focusing on economic development, road building,
agricultural assistance, banking advisors, counter propaganda,
strategic communication, et cetera. In other words, a full court press
for nation building in the U.S. format, all focused on a
“non-military” solution.

All of this apparently oblivious to the fact that after some 200 years
of being mucked about by foreigners, Afghans have developed both a
distrust and hated for all foreigners, regardless of their  announced
intentions. They would clearly be happier left to their own devices,
however backward, barbaric and primitive these may seem to the west.
Meanwhile we talk of elections as if this will be the gateway to peace
and panacea if we help the central government develop an army, police
force sufficient to provide nation-wide security. Some talk of a
commitment of ten to fifteen years. Someone needs to remind Washington,
the White House and the Pentagon that the term “end game” is not merely
a figure of speech.

Health Care and the Pushmi-Pullyu

In it’s simplest form the healthcare problem is finding a funding source to pay doctor and hospital bills. Complications arise when trying to reconcile employer furnished benefits, tax funded benefits and the insurance policies as the funding sources. Doctrines, philosophies, and former practices also collide to compound the issues, advancing conflicting theories. So-called “stake holders,” persons or institutions with vested interest in the current practices compete to promote their interests in opposition to proposals which may impinge on their positions regardless of the potential economy achieved. Contentious advocates pull us in all directions.

Somehow this brings to mind the pushmi pullyu, the two-headed animal which Dr. Doolittle encountered on his travels. When it tried to move both heads tried to go in opposite directions. Yet on closer examination, employer furnished benefits are really part of an employee’s compensation, tax-funded benefits are paid with taxes paid by the same employee and insurance policy payments are funded by the premiums paid by the insured employees ; again the same taxpaying benefit receiving employee. The reality is therefore that all of the funding which goes to pay for medical costs are in effect paid by the taxpaying, premium paying, employee benefit-compensated patient. Yup, the same guy- not a pushmi-pullyu but a citizen who is paying his own bills but out of several pockets.

If some of these so-called “stake holders” would get their hands out of the employee-taxpayer-premium payer’s pockets the problem might be reduced to a manageable size.

Let’s teach Civics again

Civics, a course in how our governments are organized, and the rights and duties of citizens was once an all but universal subject in the curriculum of American high schools. Although the presentation of the subject was less than exciting it did give students a bare bones understanding of the interrelationship of the several branches of government, the privileges and prohibitions provided for in the constitution, the organization of the branches of the federal government and how responsibilities were divided among them.  State and local government organizations were not neglected.

Unfortunately this subject has largely been eliminated, making room for other subjects, substantially less important to the education of a citizen.

After witnessing some of the ill informed opinions being advanced  at the town hall meetings around the country it is  clear that many, many of our citizens are grossly misinformed as the how their government is structured, what power they are authorized to exercise and what protections have been built into our democracy over the last 200 years. They are being stampeded by false fears.

Our school boards should immediately address this problem and   design and establish a curriculum for teaching civics together with a history of those governmental developments so as to provide our students with a sound basis for understanding how government works and how it got there, the history needed is not one of battles and dates but of movements and developments in our society, the growth of our technology and how these forces coincide to influence governmental institutions.

We can place our trust in a well informed citizenry, but not a misinformed, manipulated mob.  Today when calculated campaigns are implemented to mislead our citizens and instill fear where there should be reason, there is a desperate need for facts, not misinformation.

IN THE ZONE

Whether it is merely coincidence or I am particularly sensitized to
issues of aging I’m not sure but of late I have noted that upon the
death of persons of consequence, in their late seventies or
eighties, the tone of reporting has a slightly different caste, an element of
“well, wasn’t it expected” or “they did lead such a good and
productive life.” What was missing was the tonal of loss or regret or
surprise at an event unexpected.

This, together with newly released statistics concerning life
expectancy and changes concerning longevity points up the fact that I
have thus far beaten the odds, exceeded the quota of time
statistically allotted and therefore a new view, a change in the
characterization of my expectations is appropriate. Innocent questions
concerning the resale value of my pistols or the possible
inappropriateness of considering trading for a new car come to mind,
like little nettles of reminders, - nothing so pointed as “for whom
the bell tolls” but never the less with an underlying reminder that,
after all, time does march on. Part of this new reality is re-enforced by one
of my doctors (after repairing a torn rotator cuff) advised to give up weight
training and other excerise with the sole exception of cardiovascular training.
Having used weight training and stressing machines most of my adult life this
required a further acceptance of the inevitability of aging and the requirements
which resulted. So, although my feet hurt due to diabetic problems, I still walk
one mile every morning for such benefit as I may derive , fully understanding that
I am never the less in decline.

Although I am sanguine and accepting with respect to my increasing frailties, for the
most part they are limited to things physical, limitations on mobility and endurance but
they have not yet impinged on my mental faculties and I still consider myself alert, quick
and well informed as well as being blessed with an extraordinary memory and recall as
well as a well-honed ability to communicate. To accept easily, the judgment of others
which are suggestive of proscribing my activities and range of interests I find unacceptable.

With heart disease, parkingson’s, diabetes, lukemenia and necessity of using a nebulizer
thrice daily I still have an ample reserve of vitality. Perhaps Dylan Thomas ‘s advise
to “.....rage, rage at the dying light...” was intended as an objection to the foreclosures of
activity, not to the final closure.

Although I am comfortable with the idea of my mortality and I think I
am substantially less weepy and cringing at the prospect of passing
than some in my acquaintance. I still find the climatic shift, the
recognition that I am now in the zone as somewhat disconcerting.

Buddhism has taught me serenity and pursuit of wisdom, the letting go
of desire for material things. My clear rejection of the religious
nonsense of after – life and born-again philosophies combine in my
view to give me a quiet, reverence for life absent a fear of
inevitable death . It’s just the final letting go.

My love is shared in many ways; for my wife who has stood by me with
fondness and concern through the years, who helped me heal and grow,
for my children and grandchildren who fill me with pride, for the few friends I have
known and loved, the small animals in my world with whom I share a
love and tenderness uncomplicated by levels of concern or interaction,
free of guile or suspicion. I have tried to leave a catalog of my life
and feelings, urging those whom I have loved to read so as to
understand me. More I cannot do – it is not within my reach, I hope it
was enough.

Still the current political roiling debates about end of life
conspiracies is at least annoying. Better the advice in Proverbs –“ to
everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under
Heaven, a time to be born and a time to die …” So why is the idea of
letting go when the time is appropriate so repugnant to most of our
society? We contend about living wills, DNR instructions, contracts
not concerned with feelings as much as cost potential and
probabilities of results – whatever they are in this context. I trust in
Becky’s judgment for my living will. She got me through my last episode
without letting the doctor’s “pull my plug”, supported me in my resistance to
being declared incompetent so I could emerge with a taint on my competence.
The she nursed me back ot health, emotionally and physically.

The societal paradoxes from Christians sure of Heaven but afraid to
die to relegating young lives into almost certain death in the service
of national pride or honor yet maudlin shows of lament and loss when
their young, smashed bodies are brought back, we seem to be unable to
come to grips with a standard, a finality of how much we value life,
depending on whose and the nature of dying.

Euphemisms abound, we have distorted our language concerning death with
phrases like “gone to rest,” ” joined his maker” “find repose, “ or terms like
euthanize, put down, put to sleep for a small creatures of our planet,
but eschew the word “death” as if it’s utterance is the fatal juju,
which brings an end.

As one who does recognize that he is in the zone, now subject to the
frailties brought by time, the susceptibilities to disease, and the
running out of luck, I find I am keenly aware of both the issues and
the paradoxes and I am more than willing to find my own niche of
comfort, away from the dialogues and concerns of society. Long ago I
learned how to “suck it up.” This is no different.

It’s politically correct

Watching two hours of Senator  Specter’s recent “town hall” meeting in
Lebanon  Pennsylvania, I realized that a new chapter in the protocol
of political correctness has been written which only applies to
elected officials holding “town Hall” meetings on health care.

In  the service of honoring our time  honored tradition of free
speech, elected officials must “suffer fools gladly” and permit any
and all grossly uninformed person to vent their anger and rage, scream
and shout obscenities, curses, threats, pointless questions or
distorted misinformed  opinions, all the while smiling  and treating
the questioners as if they are well informed, rational and raising
important, relevant issues for consideration. Thus, everyone from the
flat earth society to the alien abduction survivors will have their
legitimate political concerns given thoughtful consideration by the
Congress when voting on any health care legislation.

God save the Republic.

The Edge of Anarchy

Watching the recent orchestrated dustups to interrupt the attempts of Democratic legislators to conduct a discussion of pending bills with their constituents I am reminded of a piece of Republican illegal violence from the 2000 election, a full court press organized attack on the offices of the Registrar of Elections for Dade County Florida. Then in the process of conducting a recount of some 10,000 ballots in the Bush - Gore presidential election. The office was attacked by a mob of Republican thugs brought in to stop the recount, stop it at any cost. Then papered over and presented as a “grass roots” protest and called the “Brooks Brothers Riot” by a compliant press, we now know that the first ten protesters in the lead were all Republican staffers and employees of Republican congressmen or soon to become their employees. It permitted George Bush to frustrate the will of the people of Florida and with a compliant Florida bureaucracy, steal our electoral votes and the presidential election.

The current outrages occurring at the town hall meetings are no less sinister nor spontaneous; when the alleged grass roots protesters show up with hand printed talking points, distributed by insurance company lobbyists and Republican neo-cons, supposedly critical of legislation that has not yet been written. What is at risk here is a grave threat to the orderly process of democratic government.

The hand of Karl Rove, old “win at any cost” can be seen in the background together with such anti-governmental types as Dick Armey, Grover Norquist, whose announced objective is to reduce the Federal government to a size that he could “drown it in a bath tub”, and William Kristol, the smirking leader of the neo-cons, whose original claim to fame was that he was chief of staff to the Vice President who couldn’t spell potato. With the strong support of Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck, a matched pair of unscrupulous agitators - the so-called protests are thinly disguised riots, an attempt at anarchy to bring into disrepute the effects of our recent elections. Not content to abide by the will of the majority and the democratic process, an appeal to mob rule to reverse the results of the election and restore the secret power once exercised by the neo conservatives.

We should all be alert to the danger that the disruption of these meetings is not part of the orderly process of voicing dissent nor intended to inform the voters of the issues. Rather it is a dangerous attempt to shut down and stifle discourse and defeat the attempt of our elected officials to engage in a dialogue with their constituents. Make no mistake, this is not a protest solely concerning health care issues. It is a much more serious attempt to undermine our system of government.

Instant Total Gratification

One of the persistent viruses in the American psyche is the
expectation of instant, total gratification in virtually all aspects
of our culture. Whether it is disappointment with the slow success of
a military campaign or attacking the speed of governmental effort to
repair a problem in our economy, the expectation of instant, total
gratification lurks as a subliminal element of our ability to evaluate
a problem. Unless evidence of success is quickly and dramatically
apparent the tendency is to declare failure and urge abandonment of
the effort.

Critics of the stimulus bill pronounced it a failure despite the fact that
only 10% of the funds have been disbursed thus far and the original
expectations was that no dramatic changes could be expected for
12 to 18 months. Underlying this criticism is a neo-con desire to
disparage government efforts in order to weaken the administration,
without regard to whether their efforts damage the country or their
charge is well founded.

The expectation for instant, total gratification is, a by-product of the
seduction of the American consumer into gratifying their desire by
utilizing borrowing and easy credit to acquire commodities and goods
beyond their ability to pay. Everyone could acquire a big house, an
expensive car, a fancy wardrobe. Borrowing and credit cards the
path to instant, total gratification.

Why not then expect similar results from government ? And if such
results cannot be achieved, then those in charge must be doing
something wrong, some defect in the plan, the wrong direction,
otherwise success should have been achieved at once.

Although the unreasonableness of expectations in our private lives
has begun to
come into focus with mounting debt and foreclosures government
is still expected to achieve instantaneous solutions to large problems.

The Republican opposition is quick to declare failure, sometimes even
before a plan is implemented or fully developed. Prophets of doom
whose only concern is to create failure for the administration in
order to reacquire control of government, they point to the
fact that instant, total success has not been achieved as proof that
their efforts to frustrate the administration were both correct and
virtuous.

Until we reacquire the ability to withhold judgment until a reasonable
time has elapsed we will permit ourselves to be seduced by this
destructive kind of thinking.

On Writing

Sleep being especially elusive tonight and stream of consciousness in
command I realize that for me the exercise is the writing but
underlying is a sense of urgency that somebody is reading it too.  A
combination of concerns have focused, quite randomly to crowd me.

Last night, browsing computer-wise, for data I discovered that a long
lost friend, Regi Brown had died five years ago. Randy may remember
him as the guy who got him a job the summer he stayed with me in D.C.
Regi a sharp young black man, West Point class of 1961, died of
pancreatic cancer at the age of 65. I was especially fond of Regi, and
his wife Emmy, a bright, energetic Chinese girl whose winning smile
was like sunshine.  As always, I drifted from my friends years ago,
lost contact with Regi after he stayed with us in Key West in the
80’s. He then was a senior fellow at the Center for Strategic and
International Studies, but later went on to some important government
posts. Now buried at West Point. Had he stayed Army he might have been
another Colin Powell. A star extinguished .

I remember one incident when Chuck Gladson and I were teaching him to sail and were showing him various points on our navigation chart of Annapolis when in his
take over, Army manner, he took the chart in hand and announced that in
the Army they taught him to first thing you do is orient the map.
Chuck and I rolled our eyes and announced  (both being ex-Navy) that
in the navy a map is called a chart, that North is always at the top
and the orientation, such as it is, takes place in your viewing.Took  it  good  naturally  though.

My dog Pepper, presses for attention, large brown eyes pleading, who
can  resist  ?

Watching a lot of Frazier in rerun, I find I more and more identify
with the character that plays his retired cop father. Tonight for some
reason an innocuous episode moved me to tears.  On  the occasion of
his 65th birthday, the boys purchased his old police horse as a
surprise present, boarding it in a trendy stable with his own stall.
The old cop was overcome with emotion on seeing  his old mount   but
overcome by observing  how old  the horse looked reminding him  of his
own aging and the significance  of the 65th anniversary.

The coalescence of all of the aging symbols, Regi’s death, and
awareness of being in my 80th year (Chinese count) dug a little hard.
My Parkinson’s has produced involuntary grunting, which accompanies my stream of consciousness   fantasy as if to ratify a point made in the passing imagery. Tonight, not quite able to sleep it pulled me out of bed to write. I have a little Miles
Davis jazz playing in the background, barely audible, but in competition with my tinnitus.

On reflection, the old horse in the stall, was suggestive of
retirement homes, those waiting rooms for death, just down the hall
from hospice, probably what rocked me. I recall a brief  stay in one a
few years ago, brow beaten into admission  under a threat  of being
declared incompetent, bullied by staff  barely out of their 20’s with
an agenda of their own.  I recall earlier tonight jokingly asking
Becky not to put me in a home, she assured me this one was my  only
home.

So anyway, tonight I wait until past midnight  to see if my latest  letter to
the editor made it into print, a bit of articulate sanity sandwiched
between the raves and homilies of our aging reactionary Republican
population. Even these small victories gives me a little boost, not yet
completely forgotten and irrelevant.

My intent is not self-pity but self awareness,  but at  3 in the morning they may be indistinguishable .

Rejected the idea of attending my Baldwin  High School 60th reunion
reinforced by Norm Raben’s observation that he doesn’t want to meet
with a bunch of old people and a review of an insipid questionnaire
sent out by the reunion committee. I guess I prefer my memories rosy
and not updated and supplanted by octogenarian realities. A dreamer
to the last. So having cleared the buildup and with thanks to my
readings of James Joyce, I will see if the late movie on TV will offer
some adequate diversion.

Yesterday watched the Senate battle over concealed weapons carry
permits. At the pistol range Saturday - my new laser sights proved out -
still a good shot. Keep my carry permit current. The local gun nuts (NRA) are convinced that the liberals are going to take their guns away now that Obama is President but my concern is the local gun nuts.

Interfaith Ecumenism or Apostate ?

Yesterdays news brought a saga of Rev. Ann Holmes Redding, who for the past 25 years has served as a priest in the Episcopal Church. Her Bishop, distressed over Redding’s announcement in 2007 that she was both a Christian and a Muslim informed her that she was defrocked, liaised, or removed from the priesthood due to her expanded theology with which Rev. Redding seemed totally comfortable. While she could reconcile her duties of giving communion, baptizing babies and presiding over the mass while kneeling on her prayer rug while facing Mecca 5 times a day, her boss , the Bishop, could not.

This got me thinking about the inclusionary and exclusionary aspects of various faiths. Putting aside my own irreverence for belief systems, which I regard as the only delusional behavior not considered aberrant enough to require medication, if not hospitalization. I began to examine the attitudes of various religious groups with respect to what some regard as tolerance and others apostasy.

With Islam, for a start, Sunnis regard Shia, and vice versa, as heretical apostates. No room for reconciliation dialogue there. Firm in their view that any deviation, however slight, puts one beyond the pale of tolerance is clear and unambiguous.

Other groups, which I view as outreach religions espouse a tolerance for all manner of variation in belief and practice, these would include Universalism, Bahai, some aspects of Judaism and Hinduism.

Most of the rest of the creeds fall some where between, not only separated by different tenants of doctrine, but also concepts expressed by such terms as sect or cult. Apparently a sect is a group considered a schism, still within the main body of thought but flirting with some marginally apostatic views. A cult on the other hand is a “johnny come lately” to the business of religion and is not to be taken too seriously. Scientology would appear to fit this latter category at the moment although its growth rate may warrant future reclassification. My own view was that the distinction between religion and cult was chiefly one of size. As a cult grew its status would likely charge to that of a religion. Mormonism is a good example of this metamorphosis. Although Mormons consider themselves Christian, most other Christians do not, relegating them to the status of cult or schism. Then too there is the “johnny come lately” quality to consider.

It would appear then that two distinct forces are at work in this area, one inclusionary, the shared beliefs (or fantasies) of a group, together with the degree or enthusiasm for rejecting other beliefs or points of view.

Further, since virtually all of religion and beliefs are based on non-provable concepts or imaginary events it seems unlikely that a “grand reconciliation” is possible and the intolerant will continue to exclude or even kill the apostate or tolerant as proof of the superiority of their position. Amen

Health Care

Wearing the mask of free enterprise and flying the colors of “the private sector” health insurance companies, all 1400 of them, now rant and slander attempts to deprive them of their ill deserved billions and call “single pay” and public option programs socialism, the end of democracy as we know it, while they syphon dollars for profit and payroll out of a system that should be devoted to paying medical bills .

Corrupted by huge campaign contributions and promises of more to follow, congressmen flock to their banner blaming rising costs in health care on everything except their inflated insurance- profits, the insurance bandits bribe their way through the halls of Congress content that their bought and paid for legislators will frustrate all attempts to represent the people and pass a health care plan in the public interests.

An army of lobbyists in the employ of the insurance and drug industries swarm around Congress and the press, disseminating disinformation, a full court press of lies and distortion. “Harry and Louise” revisited, big money in action. By raising sham issues attention is diverted away from passing legislation in the public interest, business as usual is advanced and the richest nation in the world continues to have the most expensive and least efficient health care of any developed country.

Congressmen publish editorials and op-ed pieces, written by lobbyists , part of the price for campaign contributions. One thing should be now be abundantly clear; that if the billions of dollars which the insurance industry takes out of the health care system annually was devoted to the payment of health care providers, the total cost to patients would be greatly reduced.

Only when our elected representatives begin to look to the interests of the people rather than the lobbyists and those who fill their campaign coffers with an expectation of “pay back” will we have a system of care with the interests of the patient as paramount.

Currently, the plans being considered by Congress to use tax dollars to pay insurance premiums, are little more than more subsides for the insurance industry, thinly disguised as help for consumers. It’s past time to stop this charade and take insurance's out of health care.

Connecting the Dots

Of late, a concept called “connecting the dots” has been presented a a method for proving facts. Borrowed from newspaper cartoons of the thirties which produced a picture by connecting a series of dots, connecting the dots has been used to demonstrate a connection between facts or occurrences which allegedly shows cause and effect by substituting this graphic demonstration for logical reasoned proof.

Unfortunately, facts or bits of data may be proximate in space or time yet have no causal connection between them. However seductive this graphic demonstration with dots may appear at first blush it proves absolutely nothing unless supported by logic and reason to demonstrate cause and effect. Used as an argument in courts it has led to unfortunate and unjust results in persuading the tryer of fact to adopt an incorrect conclusion.

Stars and Bars

The “Sons of the Confederacy” still fly a large “Stars and Bars” flag
in central Florida, an ambiguous symbol in apparent celebration of an
attempt to destroy the nation whose generosity philosophy permits the display
of their symbol of rebellion.  Smirking “professional  southerners,”
third  rate  historians, speak of the “war of northern aggression” and
noble defense of the southern  “way of life,”  refusing to admit that
the southern plantation society and its cotton economy was bottomed on
slavery.

One hundred and forty four years after Appomattox and the unthinkable
bloodshed of that war in defense of a vile practice of subjugation,
the canard of the nobility of the conflict and the gentility of the
southern lifestyle still prevails in certain corners.

Summer brings re-enactors to old battlefields, a dumb show of marching and counter marching in celebration as if something wonderful had once occurred on
those grounds, ignoring the carnage that actually occurred. .

A conflict which nearly destroyed our nation has spawned a cottage industry for the Park Service and summertime tourist attractions; TV’s history channel, dissects with meticulous care, every recorded recollection and photograph made
available to it as if aiding in understanding this painful chapter in our history; every battle cataloged.

Perhaps it is time to turn this page of history, let go of the
distortions and preconceptions of what is now regarded as a glorious war and turn these battlefields back into farmland and retire the “stars and bars” together
with the attempts to gentrify and glorify an attempt to preserve a system which subjugated millions of people and killed hundreds of thousands of men.

Other battles less well remembered are more deserving of our current
attention as are the veterans of these engagements.  Normandy, the Bulge, Inchon, Khe Sanh and Fallujah are now more revelent than Bull Run or Antietam, and hold more educational promise. Let the re-enactors spend their summers wading ashore at Normandy at dawn, or perhaps camping and maneuvering in the Ardennes Forrest in the dead of winter with marginal clothing and supplies. A stint in a jungle similar to those in Vietnam with the excessive heat and humidity would also add a taste of realism to military play acting, and perhaps, just perhaps subtract some of the glamor and absurdity from this re-enacting nonsense.

DJIBOUTI

Plot outline:
Party aboard a yacht owned by a billionaire playboy who owns an airline, recording and movie studios originates in the Greek Isles. On a lavish scale, reminiscent of the Malcomb Forbes affairs of the sixties, the guest number over a hundred, Hollywood's “A” list, and the rich and famous of American and European society, including Carla Sarkozy, the wife of the French President.

The Party transits through the Suez Canal, the Red Sea and is enroute to Bombay (Mumbai) to participate in the Bollywood equivalent of the Oscars. President Sarkozy, involved in affairs diplomatic is to join the group in Bombay.

As the yacht transits the Gulf of Aden it is attacked by Somali pirates. Realizing the potentials ransoms available from their wealthy prisoners, the pirates decide to take the prisoners ashore to a sanctuary in Puntland, a semi-autonomous section of Northern Somalia where they enjoy the protection of the regional government.

Once news of the highjacking is made public, world press, especially the French, voice their outrage. A special emergency meeting of the U.N. Security Council is called to deal with the growing abuse of the Somali pirates. France, and its President express particular outrage since the first lady of France is among the hostages, an inexcusable insult to French honor. Unwilling to await a response from the Security Council. France orders it’s military to respond immediately.

In Djibouti: The Foreign Legion demi- brigrade of the 13th legion, is put on immediate alert. U.S. Air Force . Which share the legion base at Camp Lemonier put up an AWAX recon aircraft to gather intel on the location of the pirate’s safe house. Two companies of the second parachute regiment of the Foreign Legion 2nd REP stationed in Corsica, are ordered to Djibouti, to support the 13th demi-brigade.

The government of Puntland, meeting with delegates from UAE, Kuwait, Bahrain and Qatar, disavow any knowledge of the pirates or their safe haven. UN Security Council, unwilling to offend Arab oil states, delay action and hold more meetings.

Meanwhile the AWAX has located a likely village, inland from the coast as a likely safe haven for the pirates. The French, acting independently, and in secret, parachute elements of the 2nd REP, legionaries, into the area while the 13th demi-brigade launch an overland force to effect a rescue.

The pirates spokesman, one Sugule Ali, in Nairobi, Kenya, announces that a ransom of 200 million is demanded for the safe return of the hostages.

Elements of the U.S. Navy, dispatched from the Persian Gulf, are to far away to be of any assistance.

In a classic encircling maneuver, the 2nd REP legionaries pin down the village where the hostages are held, while the recently arrived, 13th demi-brigade launch a full out assault, capturing the pirates and successfully rescue the hostages.

Ignoring the protests of the Puntland government concerning the violation of their territory. the legionaries escort the rescued party back to Djibouti.

The Wall

With Memorial Day just past and July 4th on the horizon it is once
again appropriate to consider America’s wars and our war dead.

Custom called for war memorials as part of our observance, a show of
reverence. Most southern town squares still display a statue of a
confederate soldier facing north. Other memorials reflect on a
particular campaign and the sacrifice  and hardships.

One memorial stands out  distinctly and unambiguously in its message.
The Vietnam wall. The wall does not celebrate any particular battle or
campaign. It’s message is stark, and simple. It is the collective yet
personalized memorial to each of 58,000 men who died in the Vietnam
War. Just that. You can read their names inscribed,  the name of every
man whose life was lost as a result of that war. It is devoid of
heroic symbol since none is needed.

There is no editorializing, no history of their battles, no eulogy,
and no accolade to their accomplishment. Just a solemn, respectful,
very long  list of names of those who died. Yet in its stark
simplicity it is more eloquent than a cathedral, more meaningful than
a discourse on the evils of war.

It is a catalogue of war’s ultimate result. The names of the dead.

Image and Illusion -The cars we drive

Coming home from the dentist today I passed a shining black 1950 Studebaker, parked on the side of the road. One of the local exterminator outfits uses vintage cars as an advertising gimmick and this one caught my eye, and triggered a recall of an event of almost 50 years ago.

My wife had acquired such a vehicle, in 1961, a clunker, but our second car for perhaps $25 or 30 bucks, so as not to be isolated in the house with 2 kids while I was at work. Unfortunately I frequently had to give her the use of the better vehicle (whatever that was ) while I drove the powder blue Studebaker clunker to the office. I minded only a little, although our accountant had advised “if you drove a Cadillac so would most of your clients,” not a subtle hint that my wheels were not good for business.

Nevertheless one bright morning, while stopped for a red light, a lawyer of my acquaintance pulled up along side, nodded hello and in response to his passenger’s query said I was a new lawyer in town. Eying my ride disparagingly, the passenger said, “Gee he must be honest.” The comment chilled me although to this day I cannot figure out why being thought to be honest was a source of great embarrassment. I was young and I guess I figured as a young professional I should have been ensconced in a more elegant, pricey vehicle, a material badge of economic success. Yet here I was in a powder blue, 11 year old clunker, arguably on of the ugliest cars Studebaker ever made, frantic for the light to change.

Later that year I changed to a 544 Volvo, the little turtle back model, looking something like a VW beetle on steroids. It was really an econobox but with a rugged, almost sporty quality about it and I thought - image wise- it tended to compensate for my receding hairline. Another cherished illusion.

Meanwhile my partners drove Mercedes and trendy GM convertibles. Trading up to a more recent Volvo did little for my image but it at least had a European road car posture, twin S U carburetor’s, fog lamps and a good suspension system. I still hadn’t gotten the message and parking lot attendants tended to leave me in the back 40 where I had to fend for myself, after closing time, fishing on a pegboard for my keys and ruining a perfectly good pair of imported Swiss made Bally loafers as I sloshed through the wet grass to retrieve my vehicle.

Finally, I acquired an elegant, new, sand colored Buick Rivera, all the rage that season which gave me the illusion, if not the reality of success. True, it was only a long term rental but gave me a rung up on the prestige ladder of phony hallmarks of success which so dominated the community at the time. But- it was not to last. After my second divorce, and a downward spiral in my personal fortunes, there came the day when I first surrendered the key to my studio to the realtor who handled the sale, then the key to my office to my ex-partner who had voted me out of the firm, and lastly the key to the car rental agency upon surrender of the Rivera. I was left with that most frightening image of rejection; an empty key chain, an unambiguous symbol of total failure, no where to go, no door to lock against the world. I was truly alone.

I flew to Washington and after a few months of job shopping (in the midst of what the government agencies called a hiring freeze) I finally was hired by the Agency for International Development. I acquired a small apartment near the office and bought a used Alfa Romero GTV, a small elegant Italian speedster, with panache and style, a perfect counter point for my new pose as an international lawyer and diplomat. (Will it never cease ?) It set my style around D.C. and went well with my new tweeds and velour Tyrolean hat, (which covered my hairline) and I thought gave me the image of a lesser, impoverished , Italian nobleman. (At least nobly impoverished.) I sold the Alfa and went to Vietnam.

In Vietnam, I now had to be content with a new kind of vehicular absurdity. To appear low profiled, but avoiding traffic difficulties, most of staff, USAID and Embassy tooled around town in chauffeur-driven Ford Falcons. A greater absurdity could not be imagined. My driver, Ong Chau, would never have qualified as a sidekick for the Green Hornet, but, oh well ! Enough.

On my return to the states and in a near Watergate apartment, in an unthinking moment I acquired an old Mark X Jaguar, replete with two locking gas tanks and pull out tables in the rear. While my kids were for a time delighted with this English relic (I was doing an imitation of Rex Harrison with my new Irish tweed hat ) but the beast was a mistake and I soon traded (at quite a loss) for another Alfa Romero GTV - my first love. It served me well in and around D.C. and its environs but when I moved to Key West and could not find a mechanic worthy of the name who knew how to service SPICA fuel injectors. My little Milanese miracle slowly faded and I was forced to trade away for a (gasp) Toyota - which proved dependable if not stylish.

Hired finally by the County I was given a new Ford Crown Victoria, large, sturdy, taken for a police cruiser at a distance. All in all a comfortable, non-controversial choice for a new bureaucrat desirous of keeping a low profile. But the damn thing performed well and I kept it after we left the keys.

Finally, at the 100,000 mile mark, Becky persuaded me to trade the Crown Vic before it fell apart and we settled on a 2000 model Mercury Grand Marquis, a near twin to the Victoria, but a bit more finish. I had finally dropped into the middle of the middle class motoring public, driving a car indistinguishable from the other Grand Marquis made between 1998 and 2010, varying only slightly in detail of tail light configuration and wheel cover designs. Lost at last in a sea of Detroit iron and glass. The silent (no invisible) majority.

No panache, no status, no style yet when I view it across the street or down the parking lot damn but it looks as neat and elegant as when it was brand new. So much for image and illusion.

Changing Course

This too, is the time that try men’s souls. The ranting of neocons and the uninformed all but obscure the real crises faced by our nation. While perhaps not as grave as Tories defecting to the side of British General Howe in the winter of 1776; nevertheless, the defection of recently deposed Republican politicians to the side of neocons who place party above country during a time of crisis, we are beset by nay sayers who would rather run the ship of state aground in order to say “I told you so” than bend every effort to assist the government by solving our many problems.

After misreading the charts and “staying the wrong course “ for eight years, they now object to any, ANY, efforts by the administration to ameliorate the crises and change course. Changing course takes time. Perhaps a maritime analogy would be of use. In turning a ship from one course to another, a phenomenon known as “advance and transfer” comes into play, a determination of how far the ship will continue on its old course before settling down on the new. This will depend on a number of factors, which include the size and weight of the ship, its speed, the size of the rudder and its angle off center at which it is set. All of these factors combine to bring the vessel to its new course, to effect change. Moving the rudder does not achieve an instantanious change.

Why then, should we not anticipiate similar conditions effecting the ability to change the course of the “ship of state,” to being it to a new course, out of the troubled waters to which its last pilot brought it. It takes time.

Rather than carping at every single decision made by the new pilot, modifications in direction might be suggested rather than NO ! being shouted as a response to every decision. After all a ship can have but one captain at a time. Rather than criticize Obama for not yet achieving promised changes one should reflect on the difficulty of getting Congress on board. After all it is Congress who plots the course.

Lafitte the Parrot

In one of my more quixotic moods, in 1980 I applied to the Congress for letters of Marque in order that I might operate as a privateer and make war on the drug smugglers in the Caribbean, although the last time Congress saw fit to issue letters they were to Jean Lafitte, the pirate, during the War of 1812.

In order to participate in my temporary flight of fantasy, my wife Becky purchased a green parrot who was to pose on my shoulder, a la Long John Silver in order that I might appear as a bona fide pirate/privateer.

Appropriately named Lafitte, and installed in the screen cage at the rear of our Key West house, Lafitte and I became an immediate mismatch. Although the feathered fury responded to Becky , as soon as I appeared in the doorway he would assume his most threatening pose and squawk a warning at me, advising me that my next step might prove quite painful. Over time this condition worsened, Lafitte remaining firm in his conviction that he wanted nothing to do with me. Adding insult to injury, Lafitte proved to be a dud at human impersonation, his only learned trick was to mimic the noise of the 7:00 A.M. 727 taking off. Nevertheless I tolerated him and resisted my impulse to pluck him clean and feed him to the cats.

One day while showing some visitors around the house, Becky opened the screen cage door to the outside and Lafitte made his escape. Roosting in a tall tree down the street, he remained 40 feet above the ground and indifferent to Becky’s entreaty and offers of food. After several hours of trying to recapture the bird we accepted the inevitable that Lafitte was now a free bird.
The weather of Key West was salubrious for parrots and Lafitte soon discovered and joined a flock of parrot escapees who lived off the natural flora of the area and were quite at home in the keys. With a life expectancy of 60 years I suspect that Lafitte is now an honored member of the flock and has probably taught them all to imitate a 727.

China the long view

When I was living in Saigon in the late 1960’s, one of my more interesting acquaintances was a Chinese gentleman named Sam Wan. Sam had been a colonel in Chiang Kia Shek’s Kuo-Min Tang Army and had repaired to Taiwan when the People’s Republic ran them out of mainland China. Sam had reemerged as the president of a company known as RSEA (Retried Serviceman’s Engineering Agency) a quasi governmental agency of the government of Taiwan, which worked as a contractor for USAID in Vietnam. Although Sam was always trying to co-opt me in an effort to secure leverage in negotiations, held at arms length he was a source of great insight into how Chinese view time and problems, how Chinese think as t were.

My breakthrough in understanding came through our discussions, (usually over lunch or drinks) was what was then being called “the two China” problem. Chiang, offshore on Taiwan still insisting he and his were the legitimate government of China while the apparent reality was Mao and the “little red book” people were quite obviously in control.

Although questions of “face” not easily dismissed in that part of the world, played a part in keeping the controversy alive, there was another undercurrent which seemed to mollify some concerns about the potential for crisis. Sam counseled me not to be over concerned about the saber rattling or other issues, saying in effect that you in the west are too eager to have a resolution to the problem, that we cannot deal with ongoing conflict. He said confidently that it was a Chinese issue, not a world issue and that it would be solved in a Chinese way -- in Chinese time.

This was my first realization that Chinese do indeed have a long view of time, and that patience and the passage of time are very useful ingredients in problem solving. He would say, after all we are both Chinese (and that is vastly more important than the west realizes ) and we will solve this temporary difficulty in the Chinese way.

What I then thought was Sam’s groundless overconfidence has during the last 40 years proved to be essentially correct and has provided me with a different insight (damned near a third eye) when viewing China’s role in world affairs. It seems from the Chinese viewpoint, and their long view that they are usually less concerned about immediate results (although not of appearances) and have a great ability to manifest less concern about short view or intermediate objectives. A dynamic issue, one that seems to change quickly bothers them less than the west. China has by training and tradition been willing to play a waiting game rather than act precipitously. Their view on ambigious or unclear situations is therefore usually to wait until the fog lifts.

This, in turn has me thinking about the current problems with North Korea, with their on again, off again nuclear projects and their missile development. As part of the so-called six power talks concerning North Korea’s activities and potential for disruptive behavior , the U.S., Japan and of course South Korea, seem most agitated while China by contrast seems somewhat less concerned China, of course has all of the economic leverage imaginable to bring Kim to heel, and a military force capable of overrunning Korea in a weekend. Yet China is quiet with respect to its view of North Korea’s activity.

I have begun to suspect that China is most willing to use North Korea’s unpredictable behavior as a stalking horse, using its twists and turns to smoke out U.S. and western intentions and attitudes without itself committing to any plan of action or course of conduct to reign in the North Koreans. Apparently China does not regard them as as much of a threat as do we, since in the short view North Korea is little more than a pebble in the Chinese shoe.

This in turn is a useful clue in measuring Chin’s policies in other parts of the world, less interested in short term problems, able to deal with an unstable dynamic and wait out developments before committing to a policy or an involvement.

Our inclination is to resolve problems in the shortest possible time by the most expeditious means at hand. China is content to wait and we should understand that as a tactic, not an indication of disinterest. It explains, to some extent, their seeming disinterest with Iran (for the moment), their aggressive commercial interests in Africa and South America. “The long view”

Vietnam Flashbacks

Television showed a bunch of war movies on Memorial Day. One of them, "Hamburger Hill," punched a lot of old buttons for me, brought me back to pieces of Vietnam that I carry in the back of my memory.
 
I went to Vietnam for a bundle of complex reasons. Some of them related to a symbolic idea that I was paying dues so my sons wouldn't have to go, mystical, almost voodoo but it was in my thinking. Too old to reconnect with the Navy, I went as a Foreign Service Officer attached to USAID/Vietnam.
 
I went upcountry as often as I could, felt an obligation to get close, at least to validate my justification for being there, to share the smell and fear, experience a small bit of what the kids were going through. Translate MacNamara's soaring rhetoric into the reality the kids were experiencing in the countryside. Somehow they all became my sons.
 
I learned to rap, understood the pidgin Vietnamese we spoke, learned the meaning of the phrase "it don't mean nothing" their mantra, a nihilist incantation which helped them deal with the hypocrisy and contradictions of the world in which they found themselves.Black soldiers, 25% of our draftee army, felt themselves alienated and were resentful, they asserted themselves by sharing a 5 minute brotherhood handshake, a declaration of their separation and anger. A silent but understood protest.  

How "being short" tended to make them overcautious, counting  days until they could get to Camp Alpha, pass under the sign that read "This Way To The World," board the "Freedom Bird" and get back to the "world." Babies being turned into instant old men by a terrifying reality that was barely understood.  And the tune "We gotta get out of this place" echoes in my head. They were angry much of the time but they fought well, keeping themselves and their buddies alive. They fought well, even on missions that made no sense and that they didn’t understand.
 
It's hard for me to realize that most of those kids, those who survived, in my memory are now men in their sixties. Men who have carried their scars and nightmares through the intervening forty years, became insurance salesmen, lawyers, doctors and doormen. Grandfathers now with memories, rationalizations and distortions of their own. For the thousands who did not survive we now have Memorial Day rituals with wreath laying and moments of silence, flags, bugles, rituals. Those deprived of life and a future.
I wallowed in the same bullshit that they did in order to try to understand how policy, stratagy, tactics become meaningless 
ki bouki dances which lead to death and destruction but became statistics in MACV headquarters the Pentagon, Embassy, and the White House.

And still, old men make war an instrument of policy and young men are told to be brave and die. "It don't mean nothing" came to sum up the whole experience. Somehow the whole thing seems pointless in retrospect and yet I'm dammed glad I was there.