Sagepaper

I filled-out a form to send a note to our troops. I'll paste what I wrote below. I would encourage each of you to go to this official site, and offer the talents of your pen to our troops. Maybe I will get better at writing notes over time. I really don't know what their lives are like, and what might comfort or entertain them. So, I jumped right in with my goofy pompous-sounding stuff. I bet you can do better!

My name isn't Tai Chimp, but I don't give it out over the Internet. Things like this, and refusing to give my Social Security Number to people who don't need it are some of the small ways that I fight for freedom. We share the same love of liberty and values.

We depart, however, in magnitude of service. You are doing far more than you might know. Not only are you directly helping obtain our military objectives, you are keeping us at home safe. It is important that your weapons fell the enemy far from your home town. Taking the war, whichever it might be, away from American soil is a strategy that has shielded our people for generations.

In an even bigger sense, you protect us from enemies we have never seen. Your professionalism and competence as soldiers strikes fear into the hearts of some who would hurt America, if they did not see the terrible price to be paid. Also, your professionalism and decency as human beings keeps us from making enemies unnecessarily. You are soldiers, not bullies. That makes all the difference in the world.

Each and every one of you is precious to our society. Even if you were a bit of a troublemaker, or whatever, every experience you have had in your life comes together in an instant when you must make a life and death decision. You are trained by the military to decide well. You have the guts straight from the heartland. Wherever you grew up, not a moment of your time was wasted in preparing you to work and survive where you are now.

There is something about you that made you volunteer. Perhaps a noble impulse, or perhaps a pragmatic economic decision. You agreed to do this, though, should the need arise. That sets you apart from those whom you protect, like the civilians in the World Trade Center. You have offered your back to help carry the burden of a nation, and of the world we lead. There can be no adequate thank you for that.

Be sure to come home. Come home with honor; it is the greatest gift you can give yourself. If you do this for yourself, you will never fear a mirror -- not even if it shows you battle scars. When you return, you will be even more important to civilian society than you were when you left. You will be citizens of the highest caliber, capable of leadership, decisiveness, and a deep insight into what really matters, and what does not.

Along with all that, have some fun. It isn't all a picnic, but you were born with a sense of humor. That's standard issue. Put it to good use, but never cruel use. I hope your food is not laughable. We taxpayers picked-up your tab, and it looks like you've had Filet Mignon, I don't want to know what it actually tastes like.

I just got volumes 1, 2, and 3 of the Speed Racer cartoons on DVD. I didn't know that Speed Racer had a cult following. I thought everybody loved Speed Racer. What's not to love?

My parents were worried about me when I started watching Speed Racer as a kid. We didn't know I had Tourette's. I couldn't stop talking out of the side of my mouth like Japanimation characters do. They kept trying to get me to quit. Mom was afraid I would be speech impaired for life. Upon being questioned, I told Dad I was just talking like Speed Racer. Dad then explained that real people don't talk like that, it was a cartoon. I wasn't convinced, though, because I talked like that -- wasn't I real?

Years passed, and Speed Racer became a fond memory. It was one of many TV shows I missed. But eventually I grew to the point that I got a car for my sixteenth birthday. I received a pair of brown ladies' driving gloves to keep a firm grip on my Toyota Corolla SR5 Sport Coupe. It was then, when nothing could have been farther from my mind than cartoons, that my parents should have worried about my watching Speed Racer. Unbeknownst to any of us, he was a role model. I didn't recognize that until many years after the demise of that first beloved car.

If you have to have a cartoon role model, though, you could certainly do worse than Speed Racer. I had another odd role model, but remained aware of it. I always wanted to grow up to be like Ernie on Sesame Street. I didn't plan on marrying Bert, though. Actually, my husband is like Bert with attitude, or perhaps a cross between Oscar the Grouch and Bert. See, this is what he gets for not reading my Blog, anymore.

Does George W. Bush's difficulty with public speaking make him more reclusive than other war-time presidents? Maybe I have just had my head in a paper bag, but I do not see the President quoted as often as other presidents have been. I doubt the media are disinterested in what he has to say. Could it be that he is not saying much?

I have been concerned about this for some time. It seems there are many problems which could have been laid to rest by a brief speech from the President. I can understand his reluctance to put his foot in his mouth. I think he sends forth speakers on his behalf. This has an advantage, if something awful is said, he can jettison the employee. I worry, though, that a pragmatic decision to limit public speaking might be turning into a bit of a bunker mentality. The danger of that would be the emergence of group-think. Group-think can be catastrophic, as evidenced by the Bay of Pigs. It is possible to go too far in playing your cards close to your vest.

Is there enough fresh perspective and outside critical thinking about what the White House intends to keep us from disaster? Overall, I have approved of most of those decisions made by this administration that I know about. What about the decisions we don't see? I am not confident the decisions are being well-made, though I respect the group of people making them. (Okay, I don't like Rumsfeld's ideas, but he has grown in unpopularity to rival The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.)

I wish I could find some reassurance on this point. How do you perceive the President's level of communication with the public? Do you think the Cabinet is avoiding group-think?

I have posted my answers to a game question on TSHSMom's Blog: tshsmom

Her post is titled "OK Ben; I'll Play." My writings are in the comments section thereof.

I wrote enough there for today. I am still not altogether well. Also, I just got my sheltie, Zack, groomed with his summer "Do." It was overdue. Now that his fur has been shaved off, I see that he is scrawny, and has wasted a lot since last I saw him furless. I'm worried sick about him.

I went to a humor site boasting a large collection of "Dumb Laws." Often the fun with these laws is imagining the antics that necessitated the ordinances. Sometimes the content is just funny. Other times, the appeal is simply the uniqueness of the law. I found an interesting mix of things, and had varied reactions to what I read.

In Arizona, it is unlawful to deny a person a drink of water. This is neither "dumb" nor "funny." I have lived in Arizona. I thought it was outlawing an unspeakable inhumanity, and I was right, but envisioned the wrong setting. The law was passed so businesses, especially convenience stores, could not refuse water to the urban homeless. Phoenix might be a city, but it is still desert.

A few of the laws were listed as having been repealed. They are bits of interesting historic trivia. In Montana, a group of seven or more Indians was considered a war-party or a raiding-party, and it was legal to shoot the Indians. I suppose in these days and times of political correctness, that might draw a titter. It is good that they repealed that law. Caravans of Crow still raid Billings, MT. They come packed all over pick-up trucks, wielding blunt weapons, and vandalize businesses and cars parked on the streets. Then they engage in highspeed chases, trying to make it back to the nearby Reservation where they cannot be followed or arrested. Had this law not been repealed, I am sure there would have been Indian blood shed by helpless and furious citizens of Billings. The days of Indian raiding parties are not yet dead.

The collectors of these laws seem fascinated by all of the ordinances against spitting. Probably they think of Baseball players, or smokeless tobacco, or simple disrespect. In fact, most of the laws against spitting had to do with curbing the spread of tuberculosis.

There were a couple of other common types of law, found across the country, not just regionally. Many of these are simply laws still on the books from when the horse-and-buggy outnumbered the motor cars. Many of these are aimed at not spooking the horses. Some require a flagman or lantern bearer to precede the vehicle when driving in town.

There is one thing I find truly puzzling, though. In many municipalities across the nation, it is unlawful to carry an ice-cream cone in your rear pocket. At least one only applied this restriction to Sunday. This is not simply a local joke, it is found in too many places. Though insensible, I can only conclude that it was a widespread practice. While that thought is odd enough, I wonder why this was so offensive as to require ordinances. There are many laws about ice-cream and Sunday. Is there any deeper religious offense, though, from carrying an ice-cream cone in your backpocket?

I guess the headline says it all. Actually, I do have a special song to sing for him. To the tune of "Happy Birthday," the words are:

Birthday, Birthday, Birthday
Birthday, Birthday, Birthday
Birthday, Birthday, Birthday
Birthday, Birthday, Birthday!

I came up with that before I even knew Haiku existed. I kind of liked my lyrics, though. I think this version captures the true essence of the occasion.

Well, the problem is not smoking just one, as I had thought. The problem is smoking just one more. I spent five minutes today just smoking one cigarette. The rest of the day, I kept smoking just one more. Tomorrow, I will try again.

My experience with respiratory illness is a mixed blessing when it comes to quitting smoking. I don't feel well. I know I am just at the head of the trail, though. I could get sicker and still be okay. My declines have accelerated in the past few years. I am home alone. I don't really want to die on the kitchen floor unable to make a cup of first-aid coffee. I have at times in the past gone down so fast with asthma that my octogenarian great-aunt was all there was between me and death.

I'm sliding a bit on the more chronic problems, but quitting smoking for a little over 24 hours improved things. I am feeling more wheezing, though. I cannot tolerate sugar right now -- it is mucogenic, and snot does not help, in my nose, throat, or lungs. The beginning of intolerance for foods is not a happy omen. I have at times been so ill that dry toast and unbuttered grits were all I could stand to eat. That's how I finally became a Southerner of sorts. I learned to like grits. I had previously described grits to the uninitiated as being like Cream of Sandpaper.

Anyway, I have smoked a lot more today than I expected. I went to my Dad's to elder-sit my 90-year-old grandmother and my great aunt, who used to rescue me, but now lives there instead of here. Somewhere between stress (my carry-out delivery suffered a mishap), boredom, excessive heat, and attempting to entertain them with Reader's Digest jokes, I ended-up smoking a lot. I always smoke too much when I go over there, but I outdid myself tonight.

So, only a few cigarettes left in the pack I bought this afternoon. Hmmm. I could put a patch on, and smoke one to tide me over until the patch kicks in. If I do that, the patch will keep me up all night. It is better to put the patch on in the morning. I could just take my night time medicine, and smoke what is left of my cigarettes and awaken to no temptation. The problem is, tonight might be one of those can't get to sleep nights (rare now). If I can't get to sleep, I will need more cigarettes -- BUT I won't be able to go get them because I will have taken my nighttime meds.

So, the only logical choice would seem to be for me to go buy another pack now, while I can, try to take my nighttime meds and go to sleep. The problem is the matter of the excess cigarettes. I could flush them down the toilet on my way to bed. BUT what if I get up in the night, need nicotine, cannot yet wear the patch, and cannot drive -- with no cigarettes, this would be a problem. Alternatively, I could go get a pack of cigarettes now, while I can. Bring them home, and take my nighttime meds. Smoke until I go to sleep, and get up tomorrow with no late-night nicotine deprivations. I would face a new day, and the chance to wear the patch in the morning. The only problem left is the nic-fit I have upon awakening. I would need nicotine before the patch could start working. So, I should put the patch on, smoke one cigarette, and destroy the others.

Afterall, one won't hurt!

I just finished reading The Professor and the Mad Man by someone Winchester. It was excellent, I stayed up until 4:00 a couple of nights in a row with it. I was so engrossed in the book that I blew-off my husband, and also you, dear readers. It's not that I didn't have anything to write about either. I have several soap-boxes available to me right now.

So, I stayed up until four in the morning. All that extra time awake allowed for far more cigarettes than usual. My lungs are a bit frail after years of hard use. As anyone who knows me could have predicted, I got sick. My chronic bronchitis had already come back. Today I was having so much trouble breathing that I had to quit smoking again.

I've been trying recently, but not going even one day without cigarettes. I worked up to such a frenzy of smoking that the usual 14 mg patches I start with were ineffective. Also, stale-dated. Anyway, I have a 21mg patch on now. That and some acetylcholine have me sweating like a pig.

Sometimes I long for the days of the pneumonias that scarred my lungs. There is no better weight loss program I have ever found than pneumonia. It's not an exercise program, I assure you. The only self discipline required is forcing your self to drink clear fluids. Eating is difficult and unappealing. It is very difficult to arrange to swallow when you can not breathe.

Unfortunately, I am not a college student anymore. I cannot now afford to get that sick. We aggressively treat new infections when they pop-up. Shallow breathing and a good fever make for a state of mind that is not at all intolerable. I have a friend who used to get pneumonia a lot. For her, the first symptom was what she called a "pneumonia high": inadequate oxygen or something does give you this sort of ethereal altered state of consciousness.

It's bad news, though. I was too sick once to go to the hospital. I could barely breathe just staying still. Movement jostled the fluids in my lungs and made it very difficult to resume breathing. I couldn't drive myself to the hospital. Some friends asked if they could take me to the hospital. I told them no, the hospital was too far, I would have lost my breath for sure. The next day, they asked if they should call an ambulance. I was a bit delirious I guess. It seemed to me that an ambulance would be the same as them taking me, but it would cost more. I couldn't imagine bouncing around in the back of an ambulance all the way to the hospital.

That particular pneumonia was my worst. There are other stories from it, too. The thing is, I turned the corner on it and started to recover. I got to where I was doing well enough that a family friend (later to be my hubby) could take me out to dinner. He was in town, and wanted company. I was exhausted when we got to the Chinatown restaurant. I barely ate. A physician, he asked me a few questions. He could hear how bad my breathing was from where he sat. He wanted me to let him take me to the hospital.

I was too exhausted. I told him I was getting better. I need to rest. All the activity of the whole day -- dinner -- had me totally wrung-out. When we parted, he told me the error of my thinking. I had said no one dies of pneumonia anymore. First, that's not true. Plenty of people die each year. The point he made that got my attention, though, was that if I did not get medical treatment, I was no better off than someone with pneumonia in the 17th century.

The next day, he took me to the hospital. I was doing even better after a night's sleep. It was a long hard ride, though. When I got to the ER, they chewed me out for waiting so long to come in. They said if I had gotten any worse, they would have had to admit me and give me IV antibiotics. Worse? I felt almost well again!

Great White Bear wrote that he, as father, is the only parent of his children. Their mother is unreliable. His children are grown, except his daughter Shelley. They have a cat who recently delivered a single kitten. The kitten died in the night, and his daughter came to him sobbing uncontrollably. At lunchtime the next day they had a funeral and burial for the kitten. His daughter continued sobbing whenever he was at work. She blames herself for the kitten's death. The mother cat is poignantly bereft as well.

Great White Bear worried about what would have happened if she had found him, instead of kitten. He says his age, health, and occupation place that within the realm of possibilities. He realizes his daughter hasn't the necessary education and life-skills to make it on her own. He wonders how he can put her through a crash course of Life 101. Many compassionate visitors to his site have offered condolences and advice. I approach the matter differently from the others. I hope this will be useful:

I don't know Shelley's age, but you describe her siblings as grown and gone. I assume she is a teen at home. One of the best things you can do for her is be yourself, and sustain the good relationship you have now. I know this sounds hokey, but you can't tell her it's not her fault the kitten died and then "punish" her by teaching her rough lessons of life.

The most important thing a person can learn is how to learn. We each need to know how to ask the right questions to get the right information. I have a secret trick for when I am in waaay over my head. I ask the expert one final question: "Is there anything else that I should have asked?" Many people don't expect that question, but will think a moment and open up their storehouse of knowledge.

The questioning is just an example. The truth is, she needs a liberal arts education both in and out of school. If she trains for a good paying job, and the economy shifts, she might have to train for a different job. People these days are going through several career changes. The only way to be able to take anything life dishes out is an inner core of strength (which your love provides) and the ability to learn.

Regarding the kitten, I have a strange way of looking at things. I accept that God is omnibenevolent. Everything that happens is a kindness. We just aren't always in the right place to see the mercy. Perhaps the kitten died softly with its mother, in a loving home, because it was otherwise destined to suffer a great trauma and tremendous pain, possibly all alone. I don't know why the kitten's death was merciful, but it was.

Perhaps you recognize the mercy of your daughter's grief. As you pointed out, it was not you whom she found. Now you are thinking to protect her more. These tears will dry in time. Your protective reaction will be engraved on your daughter's heart for the rest of her life.

BTW I'm a Daddy's girl!

I spent a lot of time writing today. There's nothing left in me to make a post. I offer you a taste of what happens when I simply work on the mechanics of composing poetry with meter and rhyme. I hope to use my skills on something better. I still offer no warranty on punctuation. This topic is pathetic; inspired by my surroundings as I wrote:

I desire a quiet location
The absence of jazz in the air
I would flee this composer's creation
The Starbucks recordings just blare

Well perhaps they in fairness decided
To play something noxious to all
So with all of their patrons united
We weather the musical squall

Now whenever I find I'm in Starbucks
I ready my paper and pen
And awaiting a cognitive influx
I'm stymied by noises again

All the noisy distractions are rattling
The nerves of a writer-to-be
The espresso and music are battling
To most be distracting to me

As I work on my poetry writing
Dismayed there's no object to seize
I am stuck with no topics inviting
A poem to capture some peace

For those of you who are interested, I use a slight variant on anapestic trimeter. I divide the fourth foot between the first and second lines of each sub-couplet. Robert Service frequently did this, and I really like the effect. Each stanza (set of four lines in this case) has the following meter and rhyme scheme:

^^/^^/^^/^ A
^/^^/^^/ B
^^/^^/^^/^ A
^/^^/^^/ B

Many tragedies in history were born of misperception. The failure of a state to correctly interpret another state's intentions can lead directly t war. Our Ambassador to Iraq, before the invasion of Kuwait, failed to answer Iraqi inquiries with forceful and decisive language expressing our opposition to any invasions of neighboring states. Saddam asked our permission, so to speak, and was given a wishy-washy answer that did not foretell the Gulf War.

It is difficult enough for powerful people to navigate their way through struggles, negotiations, and cooperation when there is no cultural difference. An example would be CEO's of large corporations operating within the same country. When there are different cultural mindsets, the game gets truly dicey.

The Chinese are not foolish, and have an advantage over us because they can act patiently, taking the long view. In addition to that intrinsic strength, they are also sharp observers. They watched the US and the Soviet Union engage in proxy wars for decades. Why spill your blood if you can spill someone else's? Beyond this, though is the matter of plausible deniability. If you use a puppet, you can suddenly claim it pulled its own strings. The trick is in knowing how to deny it and defuse a confrontation that could go all the way to the Super Powers themselves.

Time and again during the Cold War, the US and the Soviet Union each left foreign, third world allies hanging. Each side would "sponsor" an ideologically compatible group. There was a limit to this patronage, however. Neither side would risk thermonuclear war over a bunch of scruffy rebels in the wilderness of a backwater country. Shamefully, we time and again let our allies down when it came to the crux of the matter.

To use my previous analogy, if you do not want to be held accountable for the behavior of an agent, such as a dog, you must disavow yourself of the agent. You can punish your own agent, or leave it to the wolves. If you continue support for an ally who has gone too far, you are signaling an ongoing willingness to tie your fate to that of your ally.

The People's Republic of China is in danger. The scary part is, they might not know that. Using diplomatic speak, administration officials are using increasingly strong language in an increasingly public way to denounce China's unwillingness to help more with North Korea by cutting back trade with North Korea. This is a distressing path. It's like when a dog's barking begins to turn into a low, menacing growl. What we are trying to say, diplomatically, is that China needs to exercise its power and authority, or stand aside.

All the hoopla has been about North Korea. We are approaching an anniversary (by Western calendars, anyway) of North Korea's exit from the six-party talks. A year is a significant time unit in the West. Three-hundred seventy days just isn't the same. Now, as it appears that North Korea will not negotiate, we are turning our attention to the PRC.

Perhaps, because of a cultural divide, we should be a bit blunt about how we view things. It was obvious to the US and the USSR, Western Powers, how the dance moves went. China is a beginner in this. We need to tell them straight up that if North Korea nukes an ally, we will retaliate against China. If they don't already know, they need to understand they are in dangerous waters.

I am looking forward to seeing the movie, War of the Worlds. I like the movie genre. I am interested in seeing how they handle the story line for it and the special effects. I hear the theme of the plot is more about family values than about aliens. It could be good.

I am becoming increasingly agitated about all the pre-screen publicity, though. I am deeply angered by our ancestors who were the first to hear the Halloween special. I am disturbed that subsequent generations of Americans have been unable to shake the reputation of the American public since that horrid event.

Unfortunately, the US government has long viewed "panicking the public" as a dire threat to domestic security. It is true that a panicked public is a danger to itself. Unfortunately, so too is an ignorant public.

Ever since War of the Worlds first demonstrated to governments, State, Local, and Federal, the horror of giving Americans disturbing news, they have been reluctant to speak boldly of non-fiction threats. A whole culture of information suppression and control has been born of the ridiculous behavior of those neaderthals who preceded us as citizens. The sad thing is, the government has spawned endless conspiracy theories and public mistrust that are untrue and unwarranted. The problem is some small thing they withheld from the public, for its own good, comes to light. Conspiracy theorists don't see a small thing: they see the tip of an iceberg.

To let you know how far this has gone, I give you the example of our regional National Weather Service's operations. They are so afraid of false alarms, which would just panic the public, that they have let precious minutes go by before being sure enough to warn. Our warning comes so late, and at an unacceptable cost in lives, that counties in our metropolitan area have shouldered the expense of putting up air raid sirens, and of supporting their own county spotting groups. The County Emergency Management of these counties has, on at least two occasions, sounded the air raid sirens, correctly, before NOAA issued a warning. Why? War of the Worlds.

That legacy has led to more government secrecy than we need. People in government are not conspirators. I hate to say this, but the government employees are of neither the poor character, nor the high caliber, to conspire. In fact, as we have seen after September 11, 2001, they cannot even coordinate visa information, let alone conspire against the American people. We lack the institutional infrastructure for government to conspire against the public. The fully integrated KGB has had that infrastructure, but we do not.

I have had a good look into the machinery of state and local emergency management agencies. They almost cannot hold a plenary meeting without mentioning the need to avoid panicking the public. They risk our lives by trying to save us from ourselves. The upshot is usually that they don't want to risk panicking us over false alarms. Many emergency situations unfold from 0-10 in magnitude. Most events never get anywhere near ten.

So, they have a point. Why bother us with something that went all the way to seven before they neutralized it? The problem is, they can't conspire. The news will come out that there was an incident. Then people wonder, rightly, "Just when were you thinking to mention this?" Public anger only fuels the reluctance to let anything out unnecessarily. Government employees, by and large, are less confrontational than the general population. If you yell at them they wither inside, while doing their best to handle the situation.

So, too many people would die if they waited until ten to sound the alarm. No one wants that. But no one wants an agitated public, especially not a dangerously panicked one. So they don't tell us about anything until it's, well, time to panic.

We have thrice proven our government wrong about their fears of public panic. First, their was Pearl Harbor. Being attacked out of the blue did not panic us. Then, there was Three Mile Island. A serious nuclear malfunction in a populated part of the country did not cause panic. Most recently, we had the attacks of September 11, 2001. The public did not panic.

It is time to stop treating us like we suffer from a mass panic disorder. Americans are actually good at taking it on the chin. Also, we have a far more educated population than we had when War of the Worlds aired that fateful night. More recent generations of Americans need to move our country to greater transparency. I am pleased to see that happening quite a bit. For example, many people now know what "shelter-in-place" means, and are more likely to follow that instruction.

With the unconventional War on Terror, and Al Quaida's war on America, we must each be prepared to be a first responder, or at least a survivor. We need to know what we are up against, and what to do to be effective. We have made progress. Shortly after September 11, 2001, we were told that intelligence indicated there might be an attack in Boston, but nothing more was known. Neither the citizens of Boston, nor their compatriots throughout the nation, panicked.

May the legacy of War of the Worlds finally rest in peace. I do hope the movie is good! It looks like fun.

This poem begins with an early childhood memory. When we lived in the Southwest, we took a number of trips to Mexico. I have a collection of happy memories from these excursions. I remember seeing a Gazebo in what looked like a park. I was fascinated, and Dad took me to it. It was an amazing thing for a toddler. I remember it as being far bigger than it likely was. I think I stood on a bench and looked out from it. I wanted to stay there, but, alas, all good things must come to an end.

In trying to recapture the memory, I encountered one of my oddities: waiting. I tried to find a more mainstream way of describing how I felt. The fact is, though, my reaction was not mainstream. I could say it might have been an inclination shared by all toddlers, but that has not been my observation. More tellingly, though, my enjoyment of waiting has improved over time, making me ever more out of synch with my peers. Most people grow less tolerant of waiting as time passes.

To me, waiting is an activity. It is not simply the time between two events. Most people think of it as if it were empty time. They try to fill the time. Some seek amusements, some do work, some read for pleasure, and some try to take actions to shorten the wait. When I wait, I usually get physically as comfortable as I can, and begin observing. I am not Zen-like. I don't empty my mind of all thoughts. I don't busy my mind with trying to problem-solve, either. I just settle into my surroundings and wait. Sometimes, I wait so well that I am a little annoyed or disappointed when it is time to stop waiting.

I'm still brushing-up my poetry skills. I am uncomfortable with punctuation in my poetry. It can mess up the meter. I still need it for clarification, though. I would welcome any suggestions. This seems to me "postable" though. At least, the subject matter is not how difficult it is to write in this or that location. Here's the poem:

I remember a Mexican village
The plaza Gazebo looked great
And my eyes were bedazzled by foliage
I wanted to sit down and wait

That's a talent I have in great measure
It doesn't command too much pay
But it turns common nuisance to pleasure:
I practiced and learned how to wait

I'm no cheater who finds occupations
Connecting the dots of events
I can wait, undistracted, with patience
When waiting, my mind is content

I was keeping a secret from my father: his dearest long-time friend called while Dad was out of town. He told me he had just become a Grandfather for the first time. I didn't want to pass that news on second-hand to Dad. I thought Jim should break the happy news himself.

I don't have all the baby's stats, I'll get that info from Dad. Jim has three sons, the second of whom lives in the Northeast and is now a proud father. The son and his wife walked to the hospital, and she was able to deliver a girl without anesthesia.

This hasn't been of direct relevance since I was a kid, but I was told that a woman who's middle name I bear is my Godmother (I've never seen her), and that Dad's friend, the new Grandfather is my Godfather. It's been a while since that was discussed, but my heart remembers well.

I had to spend a lot of time around Dad, though, making sure they connected by phone Saturday. I was a little stretched for a pressing reason to call, without blowing the secret. I made it sound like Jim was very distressed by his impending retirement from the Army.

The introduction and these clues were designed to be a bit misleading:

This is tough, I think my family might guess at who the secret involves. In fact, it might be hard to miss. Knowing who, though, doesn't say what. Some friends will still be entirely guessing, though.

Here are five clues, in no particular order:

A short walk
Sleeplessness
A friend from private school
Of three siblings, a brother
God-Parentage

I hoped Dad would be interested by the short walk. I hoped he wouldn't think of how a newborn keeps its parents awake. I hoped he would think of the long-time friendship between Beckey and me; we met at boarding school. Beckey has a brother and a sister. She also has fraternal triplets -- two girls and a boy. I am the Godmother of the triplets.

This is tough, I think my family might guess at who the secret involves. In fact, it might be hard to miss. Knowing who, though, doesn't say what. Some friends will still be entirely guessing, though.

Here are five clues, in no particular order:

A short walk
Sleeplessness
A friend from private school
Of three siblings, a brother
God-Parentage

Okay, since I announced having a secret, you can probably discern that I will reveal it. A secret like this deserves a little anticipatory tension. I will not reveal my secret before Sunday. It might be necessary for me to delay past Sunday. For your sakes and mine, I hope I will have the opportunity to "tell all" by Sunday. In the meantime, you have a few sparse hints here to contemplate. Trust me, the wait is harder for me than it is for you!

You didn't expect me to tell, did you?

There is a new anti-depressant out that has an interesting side-effect: it eases chronic pain. Some sufferers think it's like a miracle. I'm only slightly torn about this. It seems to me that my psychiatrist has tuned things up to where I am going along fairly well now. It ain't broke, so I'm not sure I should fix it.

On the other hand, however, it is broken. Chronic pain and depression interact in a vicious cycle. I need help with my pain. I don't relish the idea of narcotics. I get a nasty side-effect from anything containing codeine: I itch like crazy-mad all over, and nothing helps. It's not an allergy, as I thought. It's just a side-effect. It's bad enough, though, that I have to be plenty desperate to kill the pain to take on the itching.

Then, there is a problematic interaction with narcotics and depression. Narcotics exacerbate depression. So, if I could substitute this new anti-depressant for stuff I'm already taking, I might get a relief from my chronic pain, fully disrupting the vicious cycle!

However, trying to use the new stuff would disrupt my entire meds balance. I don't look forward to that. I like it when everything is working smoothly. I recently went up on two medications, and it was like finding a missing piece. I'm in good shape again, psychiatrically. There is an interaction between a sleep-aid I'm taking and a muscle relaxant I take: it makes me sleep too much. I am going to try a different muscle relaxant. I'd love to fix my back once and for all; unfortunately, it's not that type of problem.

I might need to include more personal news and family happenings on this Blog. I am not as inspired by current events when there are lulls in reporting in the areas which interest me most. Before, I was filling in slow days with poetry. I must confess, I have been using personal archives for that.

I have not gotten it together to go sit in a restaurant and get down to the business of writing. It has been a while since I last regularly composed poetry. My skills are rusty. It takes some self-discipline to simply force yourself to write to maintain adequate mechanics of writing. I have tried this a couple of times since starting this Blog. I made quick progress in brushing-up, but I wrote nothing "postable."

Now, I have begun to smoke cigarettes again. My health is in great jeopardy. I last quit because I was coughing up blood, and it actually got worse for a day or two after I temporarily quit smoking. I made the termination permanent. Until, of course, six or seven months later. I was experiencing a flare-up of my chronic pain, and had already taken everything I safely could take.

Nicotine is a mixed bag with pain. Long-term smoking increases baseline pain levels. Quitting smoking is usually a recommended step for chronic pain management. However, almost any smoker can tell you that at a given moment in pain, a cigarette will offer some relief. Sadly, it is not enough short-term relief to warrant the long-term pain.

You know the mistake I made without my telling you. I turned to tobacco in desperation. And what did I think? Just one will be a good thing for my pain; I won't smoke any more than that. Can you say, "Pack-a-day?" I have exceeded my one cigarette allotment.

TSHSMom says her son Z is going through a tough time right now. Among other things, he has eye-rolling tics. This, of course, interferes tremendously with reading. I can sympathize with that. I have had some blinking at times, but for the most part, tics never interfered with my reading. Nonetheless, I did have a problem when I was a kid -- I had to quit too soon when reading myself to sleep.

Here's what I wrote to TSHSMom:

When I was a kid, my eyes would get sleepy before my brain did. I wanted to keep reading, but I couldn't keep my eyes open. Mom said she had the same problem. I came up with a good solution, but we never implemented it. I wanted to learn Braille. That way, I could turn out the light and keep reading.

Now, I am considering learning Braille because there is a significant chance, based on family history, that I will go blind from macular degeneration. The Library of Congress has special programs for Braille readers.

While Z is going through this phase, maybe he could add Braille-reading to his growing resume of skills.

Numerous wealthy western countries are wanting to put together an enormous relief program in Africa. They believe that a sudden, massive cash infusion could lift Africa out of poverty permanently. Tony Blair will discuss this in person with President Bush soon. The US position is that it takes time to spend money wisely, and that a sudden cash infusion is likely to be poorly spent.

As I discussed in my post, "Musings on NATO," I think we need to find a way to change the geopolitical map in Africa. State boundaries need to be redrawn with an eye toward creating nation-states. Also, the allocation of African natural resources needs to be handled. When we get a sense of how that might progress, I think a targeted cash-infusion would be a good idea.

One of the problems is that Africa is not inherently that poor. The wealth is not spread evenly over the continent, however. Many African states are fairly wealthy, but contain terribly impoverished citizens of a nation other than the nation in charge of the government. Witness Sudan's need for aid, despite its oil wealth -- at a time when prices are high. We need to set-up institutional infrastructure for each nation to handle its own affairs, in its own interest. Then we can see about who needs money and who needs markets.

I thought I would read Amnesty International's report about the treatment of detainees from the War on Terror by the US. I have long had a great respect for AI, and was unhappy with their sloppy use of rhetoric. I have been displeased with exaggerations generally in our society. Hyperbole is entertaining, but it does not have a place in serious work. On the face of it, I knew they were way off track in characterizing Guantanamo Bay's facility as a Gulag.

I did not read the full report from AI. As I read the cover-statement to their individual country reports, it became obvious to me that one or more females were key players in the production of the document. After reading the introduction, I permitted my eyes to scan around. Sure enough, the Secretary General of AI is a woman. Operating at this level in the international community, the gender of a leader or author should not be obvious.

I went to the specific report on the USA. After reading the opening two paragraphs, I decided to read no further. This is not the organization I came to respect and admire. I believe they libel us with this quote:

Evidence came to light that the US administration had sanctioned
interrogation techniques that violated the UN Convention against Torture.

What has made the allowed interrogation techniques controversial, rather than scandalous, is that they are NOT violations of international law. At least that is so to the best of my knowledge. Lawyers can make a mess of most anything. Unfortunately, a good faith effort by all led to problems. We asked lawyers how far we could go without breaking the rules. They told us what we could do: lawyers are not specially trained in telling you what you should do.

I was actually put-off, however, at what AI did not cite as a failing of the USA. I have agreed with them on matters of trying juveniles as adults. I think there should be room for a judgment call at 16 or 17, with age 16 being an anomaly. Kids who aren't even through Junior High School should not be tried as adults. Worse is the imposition of the death penalty on any minor offender.

It looks to me like AI has been hijacked. I don't know when or how this happened. The Hijackers are enjoying great brand-name recognition for their agenda, but that won't last forever. As the new folks continue to become unrealistic in their reports and projects, they will become discredited. It's a shame that AI will lose credibility. It was hard to build in the first place. Some start-up will have to step-in to fill the void left by the decline of the real AI.

Following is the introduction I thought was created by one or more females:

During 2004, the human rights of ordinary men, women and children were disregarded or grossly abused in every corner of the globe. Economic interests, political hypocrisy and socially orchestrated discrimination continued to fan the flames of conflict around the world. The "War on Terror" appeared more effective in eroding international human rights principles than in countering international terrorism. The millions of women who suffered gender-based violence in the home, in the community or in war zones were largely ignored. The economic, social and cultural rights of marginalized communities were almost entirely neglected.

This Amnesty International Report, which covers 149 countries, highlights the failure of national governments and international organizations to deal with human rights violations, and calls for greater international accountability.

The report also acknowledges the opportunities for positive change that emerged in 2004, often spearheaded by human rights activists and civil society groups. Calls to reform the UN human rights machinery grew in strength, and there were vibrant campaigns to make corporations more accountable, strengthen international justice, control the arms trade and stop violence against women.

Whether in a high profile conflict or a forgotten crisis, Amnesty International campaigns for justice and freedom for all and seeks to galvanize public support to build a better world.

(Irene Khan, AI's Secretary General)

The first paragraph made me wonder if they even had a clue. Had they heard of the Taliban? Did they know how life was for Afghani women under the rule of the Taliban? Were they aware that the US had invaded Afghanistan and ousted the Taliban? Did they understand that we improved dramatically the lives of some of the worst abused women on the planet? Did they even have a clue?