Representative Government would be okay......

......if it weren't for the representatives. I happen to believe that the best form of government would be a benevolent dictator. Unfortunately history has shown us time and time again that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Democracy is probably the next best thing but it is terribly inefficient, primarily because it calls for the attempt to satisfy the needs/wants of conservatives, liberals, seniors, generation Xs, the affluent Knob Hill group, the sandhillers, the blue collar, the white collar, the homeless and on and on. It's really a hopeless task, at best ending up with everybody being partially satisfied and partially dissatisfied. And it's made worse when elected officials, from the President down to an alderman lose sight of the purpose of their positions.

In my view the purpose of government is straight-forward. To protect the population against external and internal enemies, and to insure the right to pursue success and happiness as defined by the individual within the bounds of societies well being. It is not the job of government to provide success and happiness...to relieve the population of their responsibility to provide for themselves. And yet in my opinion that is exactly what Biden's budget in part is seeking to do. And why I'm glad that Senator Joe Manchin has dug in his heals. I don't think that he's grandstanding or playing to his constituents. I believe that he sincerely has what he believes to be the best interests of the people and the Constitution in mind by taking the stance he has taken. 

An article I read this morning prompted this post. As I see it this isn't an article about serving the people. It's an article about people wanting to keep or win jobs in Washington. It's about the Democrats worrying about their image because of the infighting regarding Biden's budget. I think that the two paragraphs excerpted below illustrate both the socialist agenda and the focus on personal political ambition.

"I'm obviously upset -- pissed off about what happened," said Rep. Tom Malinowski, a Democrat who represents a New Jersey swing district. "We certainly are not going to win an election spending the next year bemoaning the fact that Joe Manchin didn't do Build Back Better in December. We win by sprinting out of the starting gate in January."

"I think it's imperative that Democrats pass a measure to support children and families and the economic wellbeing of the American middle class and to take steps to address climate change," said Rep. Dean Phillips, a Minnesota Democrat. "If we do nothing, it would be a terrible reflection on Democrats."

So Tom Malinowski is pissed off. Good. Maybe when he gets un-pissed off he'll look at Manchin's budget objections and see them objectively for what they are about...more steps along the path to socialism.

Citation Needed

There are several physics/cosmology forums that I enjoy reading. The posters are mostly scientists and/or educators. Most of the threads/posts are over my head but I do occasionally learn something, and part of that is due to the way in which the forums are moderated. The forums deal with fact, or at least the best evidence available at the moment.

In the thread-opening and reply posts, all assertions, allegations and opinions must be supported by a credible, peer reviewed source. The moderators are quick to edit a post, indicating where a citation is needed, or issuing a warning if a statement strays too far off-topic or is offensive, and will ban a poster permanently for repeated warnings or a personal attack. I'd like to see the news media and public figures held to the same standard. It would be so refreshing to see the political far-left and far-right, and the leaders of the seemingly innumerable special interest groups be permanently muzzled, or at least compelled to stop their unsubstantiated claims.

I've chosen at random, a portion of a recent article by Tucker Carlson...it could have been an article by any number of extremists, to illustrate what I believe would have happened had the article been posted on one of the physics forums I mentioned. Actually, the post title alone would have gotten the post deleted and the poster permanently banned. My 'moderator' comments are in red. 

Tucker: Liz Cheney is lying to you about Jan. 6

"If you live in Manchester, New Hampshire, first of all, congratulations, it's a really nice place. But second, we thought we'd give you an explanation for what you may have just seen. So if you live there and last month, you thought you saw Liz Cheney wandering around downtown Manchester, no, you were not hallucinating. Liz Cheney was there. (Citation needed) And that's pretty weird if you think about it. Not a lot of people go to Manchester, New Hampshire, in November, so it probably wasn't a family vacation. Nor is it likely that Liz Cheney went up there by accident. Manchester is an eight-hour drive from her home in the D.C. suburbs, and more to the point, it's also eight hours from the CNN studios in downtown Washington that she inhabits more often than most of us go to church and much more reverently.  (Warning)

Manchester is also, not that it matters to her, more than 2,000 miles from Wyoming. That's the state that she supposedly represents in the U.S. Congress.

So the question is: What was Liz Cheney doing in Manchester, New Hampshire, and of course, there's only one conceivable answer. Liz Cheney plans to run for President of the United States. (Citation needed)

Now, if that sounds demented, yeah, it’s because it is, but it's also real. (Citation needed) Now, you may be wondering if Liz Cheney were to run for president, what exactly would she run on? She doesn't like Trump. OK. But what would her platform be? We know the answer to that because Liz Cheney only cares about one thing and only ever has, and that is starting pointless wars in faraway countries. (Citation needed - ban warning) The more pointless the war, the farther away, the better it is. (Citation needed - warning) Droning peasants makes Liz Cheney feel powerful. It's been the great cause of her life.  (Citation needed - ban warning)

But you have to ask, do a lot of voters agree with her on that? Is there a massive national constituency for more Iraq invasions? We've seen the polling on that, and in a word, no. There's not a massive national constituency for Liz Cheney's foreign policy views. Just the opposite, in fact. People live outside D.C. do not support more pointless wars that do nothing for the United States or its core interests. (Citation needed) They're not eager to send their kids to die for eastern Ukraine, and the reason they're not is they've already done it. They fought a lot of wars like this because Liz Cheney told them to (Citation needed - warning - entire paragraph unsubstantiated) and they've had enough. 

Yet apparently, Liz Cheney is the last person who doesn't know this. She has literally no idea. She believes she has a shot at the Republican nomination for president, (Citation needed) and she believes that fervently enough to fly to Manchester, New Hampshire, in the middle of November. So what can we conclude from this behavior? Not looking at what she says, but what she's doing? And the only answer is Liz Cheney is delusional. (poster is permanently banned) She's living on another planet, and on that planet with her is the Republican Party's fading leadership class. The people who stopped assessing reality are having new thoughts of any kind, right, around 2003. That's the era in which they are frozen in amber."

                                                     *****

This article would never have seen the light of day on a professional forum. I often wonder if Tucker and those like him really believe the vicious conspiratorial spins that they spew on people and issues. Is it just a ratings game? Have they lost, or did they never have a sense of truth and decency? Do they teach their kids this kind of behavior? 

Speaking of kids, I read that Trump's own son messaged Mark Meadows on January 6th that Donald had to stop the incident. Meadows apparently replied that he agreed and was working on it. Why does a son have to go through an intermediary to appeal to his own father? As I said in my previous post, Goebbels would be proud.

Goebbels Would Be Proud

Last night we were watching Storage Wars reruns on television. We watch that program occasionally because we like to see if our price estimate on a vintage item is close to the "official" estimate. Actually, I was switching channels between Storage Wars and the Steelers/Vikings football game. I wouldn't normally do that because I am a football fanatic, but the game looked like a non-competitive rout so I kept checking back only to see if the score had changed.

It was at 9:00 PM that Storage Wars ended and we expected to see a continuation with another episode. Instead what was being shown was what I thought was the weirdest advertisement I'd ever seen, but it didn't end and instead kept going on. I felt uncomfortable, and asked Maribel if she knew what we were watching and had she changed the channel. When she answered no to both I thought that somehow the television had been hijacked and that we were being subjected to wild conspiracy theory propaganda. Ten minutes into the program - titled While The Rest Of Us Die, I realized why I was feeling unsettled.

During the years 1933 to 1945 Joseph Goebbels was the Reich Minister of Propaganda for Hitler's Nazi Germany. During that time period Goebbels utilized every source of information dissemination available to him...the news media, the arts, school curriculum, and radio and film to promote Hitler's favorite theme...that the Jews were responsible for Germany's and the world's problems and that Jews and all Slavic people were "sub humans" who should either be held in slavery or preferably eliminated. Through the use of pamphlets and film Goebbels would use misdirection, insinuation and outright lies to convince Germans of the truth of Hitler's beliefs. And it worked. The vast majority of Germans; over 90% supported Hitler. Goebbels realized that an appeal to emotion trumps an appeal to reason, and that if you tell a lie loudly and long enough people will buy it. Many of the educated Germans saw the danger and emigrated, but the average German was all-in. 

The program While The Rest Of Us Die uses the same misdirection, spins and insinuations  that Goebbels was so familiar with. Apparently Jeff Bezos's flight into space and being a billionaire takes advantage of the rest of us and perpetuates the Covid pandemic. And there is a shadow government apparently analogous to the High Table organization in the John Wick films that is controlling us, or at least the circumstances we live in. And there was so much more fluff that, if I did not know that it had worked in Germany, I would find laughable. Instead I find it disturbing.

Over the last two years a large segment of our population has demonstrated their susceptibility to misinformation, misdirection and conspiracy theory. Sowing the seeds of doubt while appealing to emotion is a powerful methodology. It worked in the 1930s and 40s, and it's working today. Goebbels would be proud. 

The Tools and the Art of Splitology

I've spent a lot of time during the past six months learning the art of Splitology, and I'm happy with my progress. Actually, Splitology could be considered as much science as it is art which makes it all the more interesting. The neat thing is that you don't need expensive, complicated equipment. Just a few simple hand tools will do, and I find that the process (it's too much fun to call it work) is relaxing and the end product is certainly valuable. And I needed relaxing.

I am definitely showing the symptoms of political and cultural burnout. On both the local and national scene I've lost track of who is against/for what and why. I do know that history on several fronts is being rewritten, and one of those fronts is the Civil War. It saddens me to see statues of Robert E Lee...arguably one of the most noble and principled men that this country has ever produced being taken down. 

I don't understand why supposedly thousands of teachers and hospital workers are quitting their jobs, or why the 'supply chain' is busted, or why inflation is rising or why businesses are closing or scaling back because they don't have workers. I don't understand why Covid and the past Presidential election are still contentious issues, when the evidence and facts are so clear. About the only thing I'm sure of is that both political parties agree that America is broken. To fix it the Democrats are pushing their Build Back Better bill, while the Republicans wave their Make America Great Again banner. The base assumption is that before the country was broken, it was solidly united. Which is wrong. We have never been solidly united on anything, going back to the founding of the country. 

When it was decided to declare independence from England, historians estimate that between 40 and 45 percent of the white population in the Thirteen Colonies supported the Patriots' cause for independence; between 15 and 20 percent supported the Loyalists, and the remaining 35 to 45 percent were neutral or kept a low profile. The great majority of the Loyalists remained in America, while the minority went to Canada, Britain, Florida, or the West Indies. Less than half of the population were openly in favor of independence. 

No war since the revolution, no social issue, no election has ever had an overwhelming majority of supporters or detractors. Given that constant division, what has made America great is the Constitution, democratic rule and the willingness to compromise. Too many people have either forgotten or are ignoring those principals. Political and celebrity ambition takes precedence over the good of the country. Reason takes a back seat to deceit and fabrication. Anyone who is not a player in these intrigues has got to feel bewildered and beleaguered. Splitology can help to deal with the anxiety.

Splitology is the art/science of splitting a log. Mechanical log splitters are available, but they're expensive, need to be stored, and remove all the fun/creativity from the activity. The usual manual method involves swinging a hefty splitting axe. It works well if you're a younger man and your back can stand it. I've come up with a method that is safer, is less strenuous, requires creativity and is just plain fun. 

To do it my way all that is needed is a log, two or three railroad spikes, and a 16oz hammer. I get the logs from trees in my yard. Railroad spikes are easy to find. Just drive to some small town with a railroad track - most towns in my neck of the woods have railroad tracks and a 'historic railroad depot museum'. Walk the tracks for a little way and you will find more spikes laying loose than you can carry. All you have to do is drive the spike into the log until it splits. If you have a stubborn log you may need two or three spikes at different locations in the log to split it. Rather than kneeling to drive the spikes I use a stool. It is the right height and much easier on my back.

Not all logs are the same. This log has aged a bit, cracked, and clearly shows you where to place the spike. It will split cleanly into four pieces and more if desired. Others are more dense; show no sign of cracking, and require many hard blows just to get the spike started. I have even had occasions where a spike has 'jumped out' after minimum penetration. I hold the spike in my hand while hammering and can almost feel the log pushing it out - rejecting it. But stay with it and sooner or later a tiny crack will appear, and then it's game over.

If you have a lot of logs and become bored, make a game of it. What I do is imagine that the head of the spike is the head of one of my least favorite people. You would not believe how many times I have bonked the head of Nancy Pelosi, AOC, Bernie Sanders, Chuck Schumer, Elisabeth Warren, Senator Jon Ossoff, the governors of Tennessee, Georgia and Florida, and my favorite hammer blow recipient, Donald Trump. I've not bonked Marjorie Green because it's obvious that she's already had too many blows to the head.

Splitology won't cure the ills of the country or make them any more understandable but it sure makes me feel better. And I've got a wood shed full of cooking fuel. Can't beat that. 

The Other Guy

I wasn't aware of this article when I wrote my previous post. It states much more clearly what I was trying to express. The other day there was a female celebrity speaking at an abortion rights rally, I forgot her name, who said that America is more f....d up than it's ever been. I can't disagree with her. Yes, there is football and baseball and Fall festivals and theatre to give us respite from the mud slinging and name calling, but all of the media outlets continually draw us back to the political and cultural conflict in this country. 

We know who has brought us to this state of affairs. It's the other guy. It's the other guy who is wrong, evil, deceitful, and wants to take control and silence us and destroy democracy. What is so disappointing is that, as the poll from the University of Virginia’s Center for Politics confirms, we are the other guy.

 WASHINGTON POST

Our republic is gravely sick. A new poll confirms it.

Opinion by Henry Olsen  |  October 1, 2021

Many Americans are increasingly concerned that our national heritage, our democratic republic, is seriously in danger. A new poll from the University of Virginia’s Center for Politics confirms that we have reason to worry — and that the fault is in ourselves, not our political stars.

We can see the signs of the fraying bonds of citizenship all around us. The increasingly hostile tone of mainstream political speech. The inability of our two parties to find common ground in cases of clear national interest, such as raising the debt ceiling. The way that leaders of each side accuse the other of intentionally subverting the election process to ensure their hold on power. The fact that partisans increasingly isolate themselves in information bubbles where they only hear their side of an argument and often only the extreme elements of that side.

That’s why the Center for Politics poll is so worrying. It surveyed 2,000 voters on a host of issues related to democratic health, especially how each viewed members and leaders of the other party. It found that large numbers of Joe Biden and Donald Trump voters view the other party with fear and contempt.

The most frightening findings show that supermajorities of voters in each camp believe the other side is bent on destroying the country. More than 80 percent of Biden and Trump voters agree that elected officials of the other party “present a clear and present danger to American democracy.” More than 70 percent of both sets of voters believe that some extreme media voices on the other side should be censored “despite the U.S. Constitution’s First Amendment.” More than 75 percent of Biden and Trump voters believe that Americans who strongly support the opposite party also threaten the American way of life. In short, politics has stopped being about how to govern a shared country and is more about a naked, “Lord of the Flies”-style struggle for power.

It should be no surprise, then, that voters on both sides of the partisan divide are embracing views that are inconsistent with democracy. More than 60 percent of Biden voters and roughly 80 percent of Trump voters believe things like “true citizen[s]” should “help eliminate the evil that poisons our country from within” and America “needs a powerful leader to destroy the radical and immoral currents prevailing in society today.” Nearly identical shares of both sets of partisans — about 45 percent — say America would be better off if the president could take “needed actions without being constrained by the Congress or the courts.” There’s a word for a strong leader whose word is law: dictator.

Substantial numbers of Americans in each camp are even willing to break up the country. Forty-one percent of Biden voters and 52 percent of Trump voters say the “situation in America is such” that they would favor Blue or Red states “seceding from the union to form their own country.” That would surely fail if only one side wanted a separation. The dissolution of Czechoslovakia into the separate states of the Czech Republic and Slovakia in 1993, however, shows what might happen if enough people want it.

Note that this is not a case where one side holds problematic views while the other does not. Democrats and Republicans harbor hatred for members of the opposing party in nearly equal measures, and both view anti-democratic practices with nearly equal regard. This corroborates data from the Pew Research Institute, which has found that partisan animosity has risen and is widely shared by each party’s supporters.

The poll points to a frightening future, but we have resolved such moments before. We have done this peacefully, aside from the Civil War, because shrewd leaders such as Thomas Jefferson defused conflicts by persuading large numbers of the other side’s partisans to defect to new coalitions. Supermajorities of Americans supported these coalitions over many elections, establishing a new political order democratically. The new regime also did not suppress the basic rights of its adversaries, maintaining commitment to free speech, free elections and the rule of law. That political understanding and skill is why America’s experiment in self-government has endured for so long.

The cup of conflict will not pass from our lips no matter how much we pray. We will pass through this trial strong and intact only if we imitate Jefferson and are guided more by what we will build than by whom we will destroy. Our edifice must have as its cornerstone the fundamental American truth: “that all men are created equal … endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.” Only dedication to that principle will enable us to transcend our present division into warring tribes and recover the shared sense of citizenship we so sorely want and need.

Wisdom from the Ages

Voltaire, whose real name was Francois-Marie Arouet was one of the most prolific writers of the 1700s. He used his pen to write plays, poetry, and to express his views on a host of political and social issues, some of which earned him time as a prisoner in France's infamous Bastille. My impression of Voltaire is that, though he was strongly opinionated, he had the intelligence to realize that opinions are preferences...beliefs not usually based on fact. He stated that concept most clearly when he wrote: 

"Doubt is an uncomfortable condition, but certainty is a ridiculous one.” 

Think about that. Think about that in terms of today's issues in the United States - Afghanistan, immigrants at the border, Biden's present administration, Trump's past administration, Covid masks and vaccinations, Roe vs Wade, racism, the economy, freedom of choice, etc. According to many polls roughly half of us Americans know the truth about these topics. We are absolutely certain of our positions. The truth and certainty that the other 50% of us espouse is false. And nobody knows the truth better than the Democratic far-left...and the Republican far-right. Both are passionately certain that they know the truth and will spin a topic to any extreme to prove it. 

I don't know who coined the term RINO - Republican In Name Only, but I suggest that the definition be changed to Reasonable In Name Only. A friend recently wrote to me that the present situation is not just a political war, that it is also a cultural war. I think that there is probably some truth to that viewpoint, but to me it's more than that. It's not difficult to sit back, take a macro view of the present turmoil in this country and see it for what it is...a war on reason. A war to defend one's opinions and beliefs come hell or high water, regardless of whether they can be supported by evidence. 

I don't think that it is 100% of us Americans who are actively involved in these wars on politics, culture and reason. I want to believe that there is this vast silent majority who is sitting back, shaking their heads and thinking that we should be so much better than this. 

Back on Track

I've never really been a collector of anything. I have lots of books, and have acquired a few Civil War articles but I don't consider that as collecting, not like people who have accumulated oodles of stamps, shot glasses, Coke memorabilia or key rings. That sort of changed when I bought a pitcher and two goblets dated 1880 and engraved with the initials CC. Being 140 years old appealed to my sense of history, and I've always been fascinated with anything silver. The goblets polished up beautifully - the pitcher was a disaster so I let it go back to it's tarnished condition, which surprisingly took only a couple of months. Somewhere in this blog I wrote a post about that set so I won't go any further with that subject except to say that it did inspire me to see if collecting goblets might be a fun and interesting thing to do. 

The first thing I did was to give some thought to what I meant by goblet. The criteria I came up with was first, the goblet had to be metal and preferably silver. Engraved and jewel encrusted would be a plus, like the goblets I envisioned King Arthur and the boys swilling ale from at the round table. Secondly, the goblet must be of a certain age. In the antique world anything older than 40 years is considered vintage but that makes me vintage x 2 and I refuse to acknowledge anything made in 1981 (or 71 or 61 or 51 or 41) as old, so I settled on pre-1940. 

Armed with my requirements I started haunting antique shops in earnest. The first thing I discovered was that there are not a lot of metal goblets in antique shops. Glass yes, plastic yes, wood yes, but not metal. In my eagerness to start a collection I quickly lost my focus. Without realizing what I was doing I started purchasing any metal, silver-plated bowl shaped vessel I came across, regardless of size or intended usage. As of three months ago my collection consisted of six legitimate goblets meeting my criteria and nine other items ranging from sherbet goblets to I-don't-know-what. 

Many of my 'mistakes' have already gone to Goodwill and the remaining five in the above photo will follow them as I find real goblets to replace them. The good news is that my most recent purchase of two days ago is sitting on the shelf directly beneath the pitcher.

This is what I had in mind when I started collecting. It's not jewel encrusted but you can't have everything. Examining it in the shop there was no indication of where or when it was made or by who. Stamped on the bottom is a trademark I had never seen that appeared at first to my old eyes be Asian. I passed on it the first time I saw it, but a week later when it was still there I bought it. It took a few hour's worth of research to identify the stamp and when I did I was surprised. 

The figure on the left is the town symbol of Edinburgh, Scotland. The two middle figures are supposedly the first and last initials of the manufacturer. I have not been able to identify them so far. The same stamp on an antique website claims they represent Carrington & Co. of Edinburgh. I am not convinced. The figure on the right is a date symbol indicating the goblet was manufactured in either 1893 or 1894. I will enjoy the coming hours of trying to identify the manufacturer, but if I never do I am content knowing where and when it was made. 

It is very heavy, apparently being silver plate on steel. A little silver polish had it looking like new. For anyone interested the price was $17 plus tax.

If the predicted storms hold off I'm going to grill some burgers on the wood grill later this afternoon and accompany them with some ale from my new goblet. King Arthur would approve.

...the Eye of the Beholder

What I know about art, and by art I mean painting, would fit on the tip of an artist's brush. A very tiny artist's brush. Maribel and I occasionally watch the Antique Roadshow on PBS. We enjoy guessing at the prices that will be placed on some of the objects people bring to be appraised. When a painting is being evaluated we're usually not even close. In the upper echelon of the art world the artist accounts for a good percentage of a painting's worth. For us lessor beings I would guess that some combination of color, composition and content are what determines whether we like a painting or not. And that combination is different for each of us. A painting is neither good nor bad; beautiful or ugly. The painting simply is...the individual judges it based on personal taste.  

When we're strolling through an antique shop or art gallery probably 95% of the paintings don't appeal to me. They're attractive but nothing I need to own. Occasionally there are some that 'talk' to me, but not loud enough to make me reach for my wallet. And then there are those rare times when a painting will 'scream' at me...challenge me to walk out without carrying it under my arm. When that happens I continuing browsing but invariably return and end up with the painting at the check-out counter.

In 2013 Maribel and I were at Chiclayo's Cultural Center to view an art exhibition of paintings done by local artists. Upon entering one of the exhibition rooms there was a painting mounted high on the wall in a corner that immediately caught my attention. I cannot adequately explain why the painting appealed to me so strongly, and still does to this day.

The Information card gave the artist's name as Ruben Saavedra. The curator of the Cultural Center was able to give us Ruben's phone number. We called him and he agreed to meet us at a restaurant to discuss the painting. Ruben at that time was in his very early 20s, was personable and seemed to me to be exceptionally mature and intelligent. We talked about his inspiration for the painting and were surprised to learn that the female model was his mother. When we had finished eating I told Ruben I was interested in the painting and wanted to purchase it. He agreed to sell it, we settled on a price and the deal was done. As we were leaving the restaurant Ruben shook my hand and laughed, saying, "I can't believe that I just sold my mother." The next day he delivered the painting to our Chiclayo apartment.

It was about two years later that we contacted Ruben again. I was in the process of writing a memoir titled Chicken Sunday Afternoon and wanted a picture for the cover page but couldn't find what I wanted. I had a concept in my mind and met with Ruben to see if I could explain it to him, and if he understood my idea could he paint it. Ruben did some preliminary sketches and invited us to his house to look at them. It was at that time that we met Ruben's mother, Señora Juana Cobeñas, and the four of us took turns voicing suggestions about what the final painting should look like. It would take too long to explain in detail what the painting was supposed to represent and how it got its name. It is sufficient to say that the concept is that 10 year old Tom is sitting on the curb in front of his house on a Sunday afternoon, not thinking at all of the future beyond tomorrow, and 80 year old Tom is looking at the boy, knowing and reflecting on what the coming years have in store for him. A few days later in Ruben's studio in Tumán, Peru, the painting titled Chicken Sunday Afternoon came into being.

That painting joined Señora Juana Cobeñas in our living room, and did become the photo on the cover page of my memoir.

When we returned to the US in July of 2017 there was no thought of taking the paintings with us, and on subsequent trips there wasn't the room to take them. On her recent visit Maribel removed the canvas paintings from the frames, carefully rolled them and placed them in a suitcase. They arrived in Georgia perfectly intact. I used some 1"x2" furring strips to make new stretching frames and chose standard staples to attach the paintings to the frames. Now both Señora Juana Cobeñas and Chicken Sunday Afternoon are once again on display.  And while we like the paintings, it is really the paintings, the people, the circumstances, the times and the resultant memories that combine to give us so much enjoyment. 

We are still in touch with Ruben. He is a prolific artist, displaying his work nationally and internationally, and I presume is doing well for himself. His Facebook page shows that he has broadened his style and choice of subject matter. 

This is a fairly recent photo of Ruben and his family. His mother is easily recognized as Señora Juana Cobeñas in our painting. Sadly, Ruben's father Adrián died this last April 12th. Our sympathies go out to the family, as well as our wish for Ruben's continued success in the art world.

Fish Fry Friday...Then and Now

In the upper Midwest, at least in Wisconsin, Friday means fish fry. I'm fairly sure that the tradition dates back to the old Catholic Church prohibition against eating meat on Friday. In the old days there were mom-and-pop fish markets everywhere, and housewives could be seen coming and going Friday morning with their meticulously selected fish in their shopping bags. Whitefish and perch were the most popular. Grouper and halibut were thought to be more favorable but were too expensive for the average household. But to do the tradition right, to actually celebrate Fish Fry Friday, and it was a mini-celebration of sorts, you had to do it in a tavern. 

Many taverns offered fish on Friday and because there were so many taverns the customers were usually locals and knew each other, so it became a social event, like a club meeting every Friday. Swinko's was a corner tavern located directly across the street from our house on Milwaukee's south side. I distinctly remember customers including my father proudly proclaiming that "nobody served better fish or beer and at a fairer price than Tony Swinko".  The preferred place to eat your fish was at the bar for ease of conversation purposes, but we always went as a family and state law prohibited kids from sitting at the bar (I was 10, my sister 6) so we ate at a table but were still able to be included in conversations. That was a long time ago. The last time I was in that neighborhood was over ten years ago, and it will be my last visit. Swinko's is now a dilapidated apartment complex, Lindner's grocery store on the corner across from Swinko's is a private house and the entire neighborhood is a Hispanic barrio in badly deteriorating condition.

Here in North West Georgia there is a pseudo Fish Fry Friday. There are no taverns. Most restaurants offer fish and some as a Friday special. One issue I have is that many restaurants serve only catfish. We like catfish but don't prefer it. Often it has a musky, muddy taste to it. Our preference is cod or halibut but they're hard to find. There are a few sport's bars but I don't know if they offer fish, and they're a far cry from the neighborhood tavern I'm talking about, as pictured above. Seems like these days everybody's into Wings with a plethora of sauces ranging from mild to scorch your larynx. 

Maribel and I will be going out for fish later this afternoon. What prompted this post is that in the shower this morning I asked myself, "Why?...why are we going out for fish?" I asked Maribel that question and she answered that part of the reason is to mark the end of the week (though weekends are really meaningless for us as every day is the same), and because she didn't have to cook. We both agreed that none of the restaurants we're familiar with have a unique or particularly pleasing ambience. And some of the restaurants have better fish than others, but none are better than the fish Maribel cooks at home. Mostly what's going to be missing today is the social experience. When we go to a restaurant with friends it's a whole different ballgame. There's conversation, there's life, and the establishment itself seems to take on a more lively, friendly, interactive atmosphere. It's not a neighborhood tavern, and you don't know anybody other than the people you're with, but it does sorta kinda bring back memories of the Fish Fry Friday 'Swinko's Tavern' experience. 

I know that I can't go back to those days, and I don't know for sure that Milwaukee taverns still serve fish fry's. In fact I'm not even sure that corner taverns exists anymore. I hope so. I'd hate to think that the Swinko's era has passed. 

Un Dia Perdido

Today is going to be a lost day - un dia perdido. Storms are forecasted with strong winds. My project list during Maribel's absence is pretty well completed. Plus it's Sunday. I never liked Sundays, even as a kid. Sunday was a visit-grandpa-and-grandma day. And I had to wear my best clothes which carried with it the caution from mother that, "...and don't you get those clothes dirty or I'll tell your father!" And the other kids were doing Sunday family stuff like visiting grandpa and grandma, going to the zoo, taking a ride in the country or having a picnic in a park so there was nobody to play with and nothing to do. It was in those early days that I discovered the value of a sanctuary - a place where I could relax, read, or just feel good and think about things. As a little kid I shared a bedroom with my sister so the front porch was my sanctuary. Later I had my own room and that was my first real sanctuary where I could enjoy my privacy and also shut out the trials and tribulations of being a teenager. 

For the next 40 years, living at many different addresses I didn't have a sanctuary; didn't really even think about it. Wherever I was I always had a favorite chair for reading or listening to music but that's not the same thing. Later, when everything in my life went south; when I threw up my hands in surrender and said screw it, I bought a place in Wisconsin's north woods. It had what the previous owner called a sun room. I've always been a history buff and particularly medieval history, and I could see the potential for a medieval sanctuary in that sun room. It didn't take me long to build a medieval chest, table and lamp, and to locate medieval wall hangings and drapes. At night I'd light candles, listen to new age music and let the peaceful feeling of Camelot wash over me. I loved that room.

Fast forward to Chiclayo, Peru. We built a second floor apartment and off of what we designated as the office area was a small triangular space that we weren't sure what to do with. We thought about adding a door and using it for storage but it seemed like it had more potential than just a storage room. That's when  the thought of a sanctuary took shape. Maribel, Brian and me lived in the apartment and sometimes one of us or all of us would sit in what we called El Bistro watching the movement on the street with only candles for illumination. I spent hours stringing beads to make the room divider. It was a great place to eat lunch during the day and to watch the world go by at night.

On to the present. We decorated our home in northern Georgia pretty much as we wanted it. There was a room off of the kitchen-dining area that except for a filing cabinet was empty. That changed when we purchased a humongous Queen Anne dining set. It forced us to rearrange the living room, kitchen-dining area, and to utilize the empty room. Our old kitchen set had to go in it, which dictated that we do something to complete the room, and that was when the idea of El Bistro II arose. We had to buy a few things but mostly it was just a matter of relocating items we already had. To top it off and maintain the El Bistro tradition, Maribel strung beads for the doorway. 

Yesterday I also said that it was going to be un dia perdido, but that changed when I went to get the mail and upon opening the box had it fall into my hands. The wood base attaching the mail box to the metal pole had rotted and crumbled. I didn't have the right size board so had to splice and join some pieces to make one. Then it had to be painted and while it was drying I went to Home Depot for machine screws, nuts and lock washers. All of this while working in between isolated thunderstorms so the project took me most of the day.

I am determined that today will be a lost day. Unless I remember something I should do or something else comes up. But until/unless that happens, I intend to spend a good part of the day where I am right now...sitting in front of that lap top in El Bistro II.

What?!!!...You don't Speak Spanish?!!!

I think that question is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. It surfaced again last Monday at a neighbor's family reunion. Several of the people were from Brazil and during the conversation I was asked if I had ever been to South America. I should have said no, or maybe said that I'd been to Peru and let it go at that. But no, I was foolish enough to say that I'd lived in Peru for nine years, which led to the inevitable comment, "Oh, so you speak Spanish". I've got three options when that happens. I could say yes, and hope that no one begins to speak to me in Spanish;  I could say no and quickly excuse myself and walk away, hoping that no one later remembers that part of the conversation, or I could be honest and say that I never reached a conversational level of Spanish. But inevitably the last two answers will elicit the response, "What?!!!...you don't speak Spanish?!!!" And they say it with an inflection suggesting that nothing of this magnitude has ever happened since the dawn of man. Which immediately puts me on the defensive.

For most people there are only two possible explanations for how a man could live in Peru for nine years and not learn Spanish. One, I was hit by a Daewoo Tico on Balta Ave in Chiclayo and was in a coma for nine years, or two, I am el idiota del pueblo. Never having been hit by a Tico, that pretty much limits the choices. 

It's not as if I didn't try. Before moving to Peru, Maribel and I lived in northern Wisconsin for two years. We would have learning sessions where we helped each other learn our new languages. Maribel was much more successful than me. I started out with a faulty premise; that for every English word there was a Spanish word. All I had to do was match the two up. I was tearing it up...Hola = hello, como estas = how are you?, bueno = good. I figured that in a month or two I'd be speaking Spanish like a Chiclayo native. Then I hit the wall. I couldn't say what I wanted to without conjugating verbs. I'm not even going to get into that nightmare. After about two months of futility I adopted a different strategy. I quit. Forget about it. I reasoned that once in Chiclayo and completely immersed in the language I'd soak it up like a sponge. No correcto. 

After arriving in Chiclayo I used a pocket translator to practice. My first goal was to go to Bembo's, a hamburger joint in the Real Plaza mall and order a meal. I wanted to order a cheeseburger, medium fries and a diet Coke. According to the translator I had to say, "Quiero una hamburguesa con queso, papas fritas medianas, y una Coke light." No problem. I got this. I walked up to the counter and said to the man, "Senor, yo no hablo Espanol." Then I recited my order, at the end adding, "...nada mas." I held out the money. Then the guy responded with two or three sentences. I replied "Senor, no entiendo." The guy repeated his words but louder. I said, "Senor, mas volumen no ayuda." You see the problem here?  I'm telling the guy that I don't speak Spanish, yet I'm speaking Spanish. And he's understanding me but I don't understand one word from him. Not one. It turns out that the guy was asking me what I wanted on the hamburger and did I want to upgrade the fries to large.

And that's the way it went for nine years. When I used what little Spanish I had it just caused confusion so I stopped using it. And I never was able to understand Spanish spoken to me. It wasn't just that many Hispanics tend to speak fast. It went beyond that. I did have a fairly sizable Spanish vocabulary. Why did I never hear any of those words when people were speaking to me or someone else? That issue persists to this day when Maribel is speaking Spanish with someone. And why did so many people, especially men sound like they were gargling rather than talking? 

I'll return to Chiclayo someday. I would have gone with Maribel this trip if it weren't for all of the Covid restrictions which really complicates traveling and visiting. Before I go maybe I'll try to brush up on the language again. It would be nice to be able to correctly tell Delia for instance that I am happy to see her again, rather than to nonsensically say to her that  fish are purple or the cattle are dying. 

I Just Might Throw Down the Gauntlet.

In my backyard there is a grove of young trees; tall bushes really. I don't know what kind they are and they are not attractive looking, but in the spring they have small white flowers that give off an aroma that is absolutely captivating. I am being serious when I say that if that aroma could be captured and marketed I believe that millions of dollars could be made. In the middle of that grove is a young pecan tree. The nut was probably planted by a squirrel from a grove of pecans in a different area of the yard. The tree is about 4" in diameter at the base and 20' tall. It doesn't belong there. My only plan for today is to cut it down and debark it. The trunk is straight as an arrow for 10', and the wood under the bark is almost white. I have no idea why I want to do it or what I will do with the pole when I'm finished, but that's what I'm going to do today...sit in the shade, debark a tree and watch the world go by. Fade to black.

Okay, the tree has been cut down; visually I can't even notice that it's gone, the branches have been removed and the pole is propped against a tree in the yard. Before I start debarking I need to decide what I want to do with it. The diameter at the butt is 3.0" and the total pole is 18' tall. It weighs 12.2 lbs. Yes, I took the bathroom scale outside and weighed it. So What!!

Even though the pole has a bend in the middle my first thought was that it could be used for pole vaulting, but at 12.2 lbs it feels to me like it would take two men and a boy to run the required distance carrying it; planting it into the receptacle and then vaulting over the cross bar. On an aside, if one of the men and the boy made it over the cross bar but the other man did not, would that be considered a valid vault? 

Weight aside, the pole is definitely strong and very flexible. I think that any vaulter who used it to launch him or herself from a track and field event in the Chattanooga area would probably come down in Paduka, Kentucky. Which would be okay if they had some reason to go to Paduka. And if there was a track and field event in Paduka so they could use the pole to get back. 

Now there's another idea! What if every town had a pole vaulting receptacle, or what ever that thing is called that vaulters stick the pole in before launching themselves. If vaulting poles could be manufactured with the strength and flexibility of my pole, a person could probably make it from Miami to Seattle in maybe 8 to 10 vaults. Think of it...no crowded airports, roads, train or bus depots, and no cost other then the one-time purchase of the pole. Now, with the sky full of vaulters at first you'd be hearing a lot of THUNKS as vaulters collided mid-air and crashed to the ground, but some sort of traffic control could be worked out. This is something to be developed.

Another thought I had was to make a jousting lance from the pole. Actually I could make two lances, though one would be thinner and lighter than the other. In medieval times a jousting lance was about 7' long with a metal tip. I'm thinking I could carve and attach some sort of ornate spear-like point. I'd paint it gold or silver. I'm not sure if I would decorate the lances or leave them their natural off-white color.

Whatever I do I'd want to test them. I'd want to challenge someone to a joust. It probably wouldn't be hard to find a competitor. I could walk downtown wearing my "Straight, White, Male" tee shirt. That would be sure to offend some member of one of the many 'minority communities'. But I don't need to go downtown. I know that at least two of my neighbors are offended and infuriated by my stance on Trump and Covid. They would probably gladly engage me in combat.

I'm not sure how we'd do the actual joust. None of us have horses. We don't even have bicycles. I guess we'd just sort of run at each other while shouting out insulting medieval phrases like "You crooked-nosed knave!", and "You're a cox-comb!" I think I'll challenge one of their wives first, just to get the hang of it. Preparest thyself for combat, oh thou doxy!

 

Nothin' Stays the Same.

I've got nothing to do today. Well, I should say that I have nothing that has to be done today. All of the priority items on my list that I wanted to do during Maribel's absence have been accomplished, except for one, and that one isn't done because I cannot think of a way to do it. I've got the materials, I know what I want to do but I can't find a way to physically get at the area I need to work in. There is always a solution. I'm waiting for that Aha! moment to dawn on me. I'm hoping it will happen in this decade.

Part of the problem with that unfinished project is me. I am in a transition phase. I am going from middle age to old. The process isn't complete but there is no doubt that I'm in it. And it pisses me off. It pisses me off because I am contributing to it...I am allowing and even causing the transition to happen. I prove to myself almost every day that I can do the physical things I did 20 years ago. Sure, I don't have the strength I had but how much of daily life requires strength? Yesterday when I loaded a utility cart with cut up wood from the tree limbs I've been cutting down, I didn't think that I could pull the cart to the shed with a full load so I had to make seven trips instead of maybe five. The point is that I didn't try, because my mind was reminding me that my legs were still stiff from yesterday's work, and that I have neuropathy and may stumble while pulling the cart up a fairly steep slope. I didn't try. 

I am no longer comfortable climbing a ladder. I do it, but hesitantly. For no good reason other than my mind telling me that I'm old. It whispers to me, "You know that falling down is the number one health hazard for old people, don't you? Is the ladder stable? Is there something to grab and hold on to? What will you do if the ladder tips?" There is of course nothing wrong with being safe but when concern for caution causes doubt in your ability to do or even attempt something, then in my view you're well on your way to being parked in front of a window in a wheel chair with someone asking if you want a blanket for your legs. 

There will be more ladders to climb and I will climb them. I've got more tree limbs to cut down and saw into manageable pieces. When I do I will fill that cart and pull it to the shed. And I will pick up the axe and start splitting the bigger pieces, something I've been reluctant to try. I can do those things. If I let doubt stop me, that's the day when the transition to old age is complete. The prophecy has self-fulfilled. Enough of that.

I haven't felt the desire to comment on politics or Covid lately, mostly just sitting back and watching both scenarios play out. Politically I'm still as anti-Trump as ever and perhaps even more so. And I still believe that the GOP is a rudderless ship and am still hoping that a competent ship's captain will emerge; take control and sink the Dems in 2024.

Regarding Covid, I am very disappointed in the number of people who are still beating the anti-vax, personal freedom drum. I wish that all of these people could be magically whisked to Chiclayo, Peru where people wear two masks and a face shield, and live with a 6:00PM curfew, and watch or listen to the news constantly hoping that their age group had become eligible for the vaccination. At the moment it is age 57 and older. It is a shame that here in the US the government and private business is offering incentives to get people vaccinated. To me it is those who masked up in March of 2020; practiced social distancing, avoided crowds and got vaccinated when eligible who are the real patriots...the real Americans. But it is what it is.

Maribel has two weeks remaining in Chiclayo before returning. One of the things she's done recently is to go through the files on an old tower computer we left behind. She's copying a bunch of photos that I had forgotten about and emailed a few of them to me. 

The above photo I think was taken in about 2015. It is of a group of couples who lived in Chiclayo and nearby Pimentel. There were seven 'permanent' members (two couples missing from the photo) and a few who drifted through from time to time. The men were all Americans with Peruvian wives. The guys would get together monthly (with wives on holidays or special occasions), either at a restaurant or someone's home for lunch and conversation. The women would do their own thing. We men called ourselves the GRIPS - Gringos Residing In Peru. The women called themselves the CHESGRI - Chiclayanas Esposas de Gringos. 

Those were good days and good times. Though it was only six years ago a lot has changed. One of the men has died and three couples have moved back to the States. And of course distance, as it always does has had its effect on communication. Nothin' stays the same.

Never Underestimate the Power of a PB & J Sandwich

I've been keeping busy since Maribel left to go to Peru. Not that I sat around on my butt while she was here, but I had a mental project list that for one reason or another wasn't getting done as fast as it should have. Now in her absence its been finish one project and go on to the next. As an example, yesterday I had a very busy and very physical day. I'll get into that later; the point is that by 7:00 PM I had run out of stamina and had to call it quits for the day. I had planned on grilling a couple of hamburgers on the wood grill but didn't feel up to it so settled for a bowl of cereal. Next I thought I'd plunk my butt on the sofa, watch an hour or so of National Geographic and go to bed. That didn't happen. After about fifteen minutes or so I felt revived, refreshed and almost the compulsion to do something. So I went outside and mowed the front lawn, during which I mentally noted that the bushes need to be pruned. I finished cutting the grass just as it got dark.

Let me go back to my comment about watching National Geographic. You'll see how this ties in later. Have you noticed the subtle and sometimes not so subtle shift in the English language? A hunter no longer shoots or kills an animal. A hunter harvests an animal. A hunter doesn't field dress or gut an animal anymore. He processes it. Even lions and tigers don't kill anymore, they harvest or utilize a resource. On a different subject but on the same concept, awhile back we weren't interested in getting people vaccinated. What we wanted was to get needles in arms. Everybody was saying needles in arms - stumbling all over each other to use that phrase. I haven't heard it in awhile so maybe that's gone. But there will be new catch words...catch phrases. Always has been. And everybody will scramble to be the first on their block to use them. Why do we do that? Anyway, back to my physical day yesterday.

Fairly close to our house is a water oak tree that has a 4' diameter, is 75' tall and has about 20 sub stems branching off the main one. And off those sub stems are dozens of limbs ranging from 6" to 12" in diameter and about 20' to 30' long. The removal of three of those limbs has been on my project list, because their leaves are too close to our windows, blocking light and being a distraction when the wind blows. 

The first one came down yesterday. It's a lot of work. I have a 15' pruning saw but it's not long enough to reach them and the ground slopes too much to use a ladder so I rigged up an extension to give me a reach of 20'. The pole flexes so the saw blade keeps jumping out of the cut, and I am standing directly underneath the limb  which is not a comfortable feeling. It took me an hour to saw half-way through. My arms and back ached and I was drenched in sweat. I was about to quit when I realized I couldn't leave it like that because it could come down unexpectedly on its own. I threw a rope over it and standing off to the side pulled as hard as I could. I heard a creaking sound but it wasn't ready to come down yet. 

So with aching wrists I picked up the saw, got it into the cut and began sawing. It wasn't too long before I heard a crack that sounded like a rifle shot. I let go of the saw and started running. I didn't see the limb hit the ground but sure heard the BOOM! A 7" diameter oak limb 24' long is heavy! Looking at it laying there on the ground gave me a feeling of accomplishment. I had harvested that limb. I could probably even say that I had liberated it. Harvested or liberated, I had had enough of that limb for the day.

I was about to say that my task today was to cut it up but in keeping with my catch-phrase theme what I had to do was process it. That didn't turn out to be easy. Using a 21" bow saw I cut off only five 20" pieces and was already out of gas. I took a break...went into the house, had a mug of coffee and ate a PB & J sandwich while sending an email to Maribel saying that it would probably take me the rest of the day to finish the job. Thankfully that wasn't the case. I went back outside, started sawing like a mad man and didn't quit until the last cut was made. That PB & J is powerful stuff!

The bigger pieces of wood are in the shed; they will need time to dry out, and the leaves have been burned. And I have plenty of time to make a grocery run. PB & J are on my grocery list.

Liberals will be Liberals

I told Joe. I said, "Look Joe, you need to team with Susan Rice as a running mate." But no...he's gotta choose Harris. I said, "Joe, Harris is a be everything to everybody. She's one of those do-gooders..."give me your poor, your down trodden, your discriminated against, and I will absolve them of all personal responsibility and take care of them from the public coffers." I said, "Joe, Harris will alienate the independents and moderate conservatives. Rice is more reasonable and will appeal to a broader base." He ignored me. So Harris is out there doing her minority thing.

Peru has a situation where the presidential election is just completed but the winner has not been declared because the vote was so close. The choice was between a communist and a corruptionist. Whoever wins, the country loses. Peru has always had these types of candidates, and the country has always survived. It hasn't progressed appreciably but it has survived.

The US will survive the Biden administration. Hopefully we can win back some seats in 2022, and pray that a conservative hero will materialize to win back the White House in 2024.

That's my rant for today.

  

And Then Along Comes Neuropathy

Before I get into the gist of this post let me make it clear that I'm not complaining or looking for sympathy. I learned long ago that you play the hand that fate deals you, hopefully winning more hands than you lose. I've had my share of winning but these last couple of years it seems like that hasn't been the case. 

The string started with botched up cataract surgery in both eyes. No need to get into the detail but suffice it to say that prior to the surgery I didn't need glasses. Immediately after the surgery I was completely dependent on glasses. Then came about six months of being treated for a "knee sprain" which turned out to be bone-on-bone resulting in a total knee replacement. I recovered completely from that and walk without a limp or discomfort. A little over a year ago I underwent a totally unexpected triple by-pass. It was during a routine check up that 85% blockage of all major veins to the heart was discovered. I overcame that and was mowing grass and sawing wood three weeks later.

I turned eighty last December and it was about that time when Maribel and I noticed that I was stumbling frequently and brushing against things when I walked. I didn't pay much attention to that, thinking that maybe it's just a part of getting older. See, that's one of the issues about aging. I've never been eighty before so I don't know what to expect...what's normal versus abnormal? What's treatable versus ya gotta live with it? The stumbling continued and in addition I started experiencing the sensation that my legs were tightly wrapped from the hips down to the toes. It's a weird feeling. And then the night cramps began. They only happened when I was in bed, sleeping. They weren't regular muscle cramps. It felt like ligaments were being pulled apart, especially in the feet and behind the knees. Now I was starting to get worried. I've been physically active and athletic all of my life, and the image of me dependent on a walker or wheel chair is hard for me to deal with. When I explained the symptoms to my primary care doctor two months ago he promptly ordered a nerve conduction study.

A nerve conduction study isn't bad, but it's not a fun thing. In short, a neurologist continually inserts a thin wire probe into specific areas of the feet and legs and looks at a monitor that shows how well information is traveling from the peripheral nervous system to the brain and vice versa. At least that's my understanding of it.  

At the conclusion of the study he told me that I have nerve damage and a condition called peripheral neuropathy. As he explained it, damaged nerves are preventing my lower extremities from communicating properly with my brain, thus my brain is sending faulty information to my legs and feet. Which accounts for the symptoms already mentioned.

There are many possible causes of peripheral neuropathy. Injury is one, diabetes and B12 deficiency are others. I started taking B12 and quickly felt relief from the tightly wrapped feeling, and the night cramps diminished. What hasn't improved is the stumbling. I am also losing the sensation of touch, especially in the feet and lower legs. 

After the nerve conduction study the neurologist wrote a report to my doctor recommending fifteen different blood tests. My doctor and I put them on hold to see if the B12 would continue to relieve the symptoms. It hasn't so yesterday I had three vials of blood drawn. One of the tests is a 'timed test' which means the sample must be examined no later than four hours after being drawn. A technician explained to me that a courier would deliver the sample to a lab in North Carolina for examination. That doesn't make sense to me but I didn't ask questions.

Anyway, in about three weeks all the results will be in. Then I will learn if a cause or causes has been found and more importantly, if its treatable. I'm living a good life and I'd like to see that continue for a few more years on my own two feet.