The Sad Evolution of Christmas

During my childhood, Christmas was a joyous time. There were two Christmases, in a sense. At the little country school, we always had a Christmas play of some sort. I remember one year when I played the part of a shepherd. My mother made my costume from old burlap bags. I have no recollection of my dialogue... but the play was obviously the story of Jesus' birth. Every child in the school received a small box of hard candy. Loved that!

At church, Christmas was a more serious service, of course, but everyone was happy and we kids usually got another candy treat.

Those things represented one Christmas.

The other Christmas was what came to be known as the commercialization of the holiday.

At home, we had a small Christmas tree. One year my dad came up with a can of aluminum paint and my sisters made ornaments by dipping various objects in the silvery paint. A few days before Christmas, the family went "Christmas shopping" at a dime store... Woolworth's or Kresge's, I think. Each of us kids was given a dollar with which to buy eight gifts... one for each sibling, for mom and dad, and for two female cousins with whom we exchanged gifts.

Parts of the city and many stores were decorated for Christmas. Christmas music was everywhere. Everyone said "Merry Christmas".

But many were not satisfied with those joyful Christmases. The religious wanted to end, or at least contain the "commercial" part. "Put Christ back in Christmas" was their cry. That, of course, infuriated the non-religious. They fell back on the manufactured "religious discrimination" argument and insisted upon an end to bias and prejudice. After all, we had to maintain that Separation of Church and State!

The absurd took hold.

As Thomas Sowell pointed out, not the Bible, the Torah or the Koran mentions Christmas trees, yet it has been determined that a Christmas tree is a religious symbol and must be banned!

The other day I said "Merry Christmas" to an employee in a retail store. He replied, "Happy Holiday"! Dare not offend anyone!

How I long for Christmas Past!

The Big Show (December 20-21, 2010)

Today is the winter solstice. The day the tilt of the earth and the point in its rotation around the sun are such that the rays of sunlight strike us at the lowest level they will achieve during the year. Beginning tomorrow, the sun light will start to reach us at a slightly steeper angle each day.

More simply put, today is the shortest day - daylight hours - of the year. Interestingly, today is also a full moon. And, there was a total lunar eclipse shortly after midnight our time... at the very beginning of this shortest day!

At sunset on the first day of winter, the point on the horizon where the sun disappears is at its farthest point south. Beginning tomorrow, the sun will set a tiny bit farther to the north. I wanted to mark that point on the horizon, and took this picture:

Unfortunately for my original purpose, all those pretty clouds obscured the sun just before it disappeared below the horizon, so I'll try again today. But, Monday it was so colorful, I decided to zoom in a little and narrow the shot:



Big deal? You bet!

Later, the full moon lit up our yard and cast distinct shadows. I went to bed before the eclipse happened, so I missed that. But I'll bet it looked exactly like this earlier eclipse!



That's cheating, I know... but I was sleepy!

Shortly before 7:00 a.m. (MST) I sat in my kitchen watching that big moon chase the earth's penumbra toward the horizon. Some of those same sunset clouds remained in the west, and it was fun watching the moon peek in and out as though playing hide and seek with the sun which was about to rise behind the higher mountains to our east. The sun responded by turning the clouds pink, just above the setting moon.

No pictures this time. No matter how much you love photography, sometimes you just have to leave the camera and enjoy the show! Especially, when you know the performance will not be repeated in your lifetime.

Remembering Juarez, MX

I just saw a news report revealing that 3,000 persons have been murdered in Juarez, Mexico this year.

I am saddened.

I first visited Juarez, Mexico sixty years ago. At that time we walked across a short bridge over the Rio Grande river, the dividing line between Juarez and El Paso, Texas. Young Mexican boys stood in the knee deep water, facing the bridge. They had fashioned sort of paper funnels and attached them to long, bamboo fishing poles. They pointed their devices toward the bridge where passersby tossed coins. Many times the boys caught the coins with their devices. If they missed, they immediately went to their knees and felt for the coins in the muddy river bottom.

We found the people of Juarez friendly, welcoming to Americans, and anxious to sell something. We bought things. Tequila, leather goods, and all sorts of craft items. We enjoyed delicious food at unbelievably low prices.

Through the years I returned to Juarez many times. The short bridge is gone, as are the coin-catching boys. The muddy bottomed river replaced with a concrete-lined canal in which the water is swift and dangerous. There are three bridges today, long, modern bridges which carry large numbers of pedestrian and auto traffic.

News reports today describe Juarez as being "just south of El Paso". In reality, Juarez and El Paso are one large city, separated by a small river. For generations - centuries, actually - residents of the two cities have passed back and forth. Many have married persons from the other side of the border, so there are numerous families split by the border.

At one time the total metro area was entirely in Mexico. In 1854, the U.S. needed a better route through which to build a railroad toward the west. In the Gadsden Purchase, land between the then existing U.S. border and the Rio Grande were purchased from Mexico, and the border moved south. Remembering this makes it easier to understand why many local residents oppose construction of a fence along the border.

Going south you just drive into Mexico. Vehicles are selected randomly to check for what is being brought into Mexico.

On the U.S. side, U.S. Customs has a much more rigid inspection system. The state of Texas demands payment of taxes for any liquor brought into the state.

We visited Juarez to dine, shop, and just to have fun. We made friends with Mexicans at the big Mercado where we bargained for the wares of Mexican artists and craftsmen. Naturally there were some rip-offs among the many great deals. But prices were low so no one was ever hurt too badly.

I went to Mexico for Dental work performed entirely to my satisfaction at perhaps 80% lower than U.S. prices.

We can not go to Juarez today. It is just too dangerous. I often wonder about the fate of some of the people we once knew. I wonder about the many small businesses which depended on American tourist trade.

Not surprisingly, I get angry when I see Americans smile as they confess to using illegal drugs. I know they just think the are outsmarting the DEA. But there is so much more to the story.

Perhaps decriminalizing drugs would solve the problem. I don't know.

What I do know is that a tragedy has befallen a lot of good, decent people who happen to reside in the path of drugs moving north and cash moving south.

When will it end?

Stay calm...

I was going to write today about the accidental inclusion of distractions in the making of TV commercials. I have been making TV commercials for over 35 years. An ongoing dread is that your finished commercial will contain some viewer distraction that will negatively impact your commercial message. Years ago I made a commercial that included the word "gauge" (as in rain gauge) in an on-screen graphic. Today, on-screen graphics are created on a computer and are easily corrected. Back then, if you wanted an on-screen message, such as "50% off every item", an artist lettered the message on a piece of art board. In the studio, this board was shot by a video camera and the resulting video included in your commercial.

Either my artist or I misspelled "gauge" as "guage". Our sponsor received scores of calls correcting the spelling, but virtually no sales.

Currently I notice a commercial for a language learning program called Rosetta Stone. A user of the product taped a testimonial in which he said he had tried other "mediums" without satisfaction. Mediums? Did he mean media? Or had he actually tried consulting fortune tellers?

Another current commercial, for Taxmasters, asks the viewer with the help of an on-screen graphic, if the IRS is "garnishing" their wages. Garnishing? Does that mean a sprig or parsley attached to your paycheck? Did they really mean "garnishee"? Or has the accepted definition of the word garnish changed since my dictionary was published?

Doesn't matter. In both cases I was so distracted I missed the remainder of the message!

I've had commercials include a picture of a person wearing a lettered T-shirt. It is very hard to look at such a commercial and not try to read the lettering on the guy's T-shirt. Big distraction!

That is what I was going to write about. Then I heard that the President had signed into law the "CALM Act". It stands for Commercial audio loudness mitigation, or some such nonsense.

Wow! As I wrote on October 1, that concept is "Dumb and Dumber". It is also impossible. The commercials I make may air in all sorts of programs. Programs in which the audio level may range the entire gamut from a whisper to a scream. Will the TV station's engineers have to adjust the audio level of every commercial to match the surrounding programming? Should I be happy that engineers in many different stations will be tinkering with the audio level on my commercials?

Think about it! How stupid are the people who are making our laws?

Watching TV with the missus.

Watching TV with my wife is always a trip. Imagine it's a news broadcast and an important foreign diplomat is about to answer a pointed question. I strain to understand him.

Wife: "Oh, No!"

Me: "What? What did he say?"

Wife: "It's his tie! That is a horrible tie!"

I strain to focus on the tie. Looks okay to me. Nice green and pink stripes.

The TV host thanks his guest for his opinion and goes to another story. Rats. I missed his comment.

The camera cuts to the female co-anchor who will introduce a second guest.

Wife: "Finally!"

Me: "What did she say?"

Wife: "She didn't say anything, but she finally pickled a dress that makes her look slimmer!"

Me: "She's wearing a dress???"

They go into a commercial break and the commercial is for Jeep Grand Cherokee.

Me: "Now, that is ridiculous!"

Wife: "What happened?"

Me: "Nobody drives like that. Can you imagine some idiot paying thirty thousand for a vehicle then go speeding up a canyon over boulders, like he wanted to tear the suspension out of it?"

Wife: "Oh.... I wasn't watching."

Still I wouldn't miss a minute of it. Especially when she makes popcorn and scoots closer on the sofa to share!

Wikileaks

Everyone's talking about Wikileaks. Almost everyone. We are not hearing from president Obama. Does that mean he is okay with releasing restricted government documents?

My turn.

1. Foreign diplomats should confer in secret. Imagine if Saddam Hussein had confessed to Colin Powell, "Look, I do not have any WMDs, not trying to get any, but my bluff is all that protects me from hostile neighbors. Don't blow my cover and I will cause no trouble for the west." There may not have been an Iraq war!

2. There is no excuse for those confidential documents having been unguarded. During World War Two our restricted communications were encoded. Once decoded, they were heavily guarded. what happened?

3. Private Bradley Manning. As a United States soldier, he swore an allegiance which he appears to have broken. If so, he should be punished severely. When you swear to abide by certain rules, then renig, sorry isn't good enough.

4. Julian Assange. No whistle blower he. He obtained someone's private property. Was asked to return it, but refused. Who needs this guy?

Don't Ask, Don't Tell!

Operating from the position of "I was a soldier; I am a soldier; I will always be a soldier", I feel entitled to express my opinion in this current debate.

I believe we should keep the rule in place... but broadly extend it to all military personnel. Simply put, I won't ask your sexual orientation... because I don't give a damn. Don't tell me your sexual orientation... because I don't give a damn! And, my sexual orientation is none of your business.

I don't know what fantasies roar through your brain when you get horny! I don't want to know. So please don't make my knowing a part of the equation.

If we are soldiering - which at 82 I will be doing only in my own fantasy - let's think, talk and act soldiering.

If we are off on leave and you have the chance to hook up with someone, go for it, but let me do my own hooking up, according to my own orientation. I'll see you tomorrow when we fall out for reveille. I won't share my details with you. Please don't share yours with me.

The thought of an intimate encounter on my part, according to my sexual orientation, may seem very exciting, indeed. The thought of my soldier buddy having a sexual relationship with anyone regardless of gender, is disgusting. It's not something I would deny you. I just don't want to know about it... think about it!

I won't ask. Please don't tell.

Jay, meet Adolph!

I was just a little kid, not yet in school, when the Nazis staged their big 1934 book burning in Berlin. Obviously I do not remember the actual event, but I have heard it demonized all my life. Today, the very concept of book burning - the literal attempt to destroy the ideas of persons who disagree with your own ideas - is a horror to me. I don't like MSNBC, or the Huffington Post, but let them exist! They are their own worst enemy.

You can then imagine my shock and surprise this week when a United States Senator, Jay Rockefeller of West Virginia, actually said he wanted the F.C.C. to shut down MSNBC and Fox News Channel. Of course, he really meant to say only Fox News Channel. Comcast is about to acquire NBC - and MSNBC - so the fate of that cable network, as we know it, is already sealed.

Sure, I meet people who demonize CNN and MSNBC. But they are not United States Senators!

I think the good people of West Virginia, loyal Americans beyond a doubt, should demand that their Senator apologize for his Nazi-like comments.

Once again... Thanks, F.D.R.; Thanks, Harry!

It really began in February, 1945. In that month, Churchill, Stalin and F.D.R. met at Yalta to discuss post-war plans for the world. That was scarcely two months short of Roosevelt's death, and he was hardly well enough to travel, much less plan the fate of the world. Some diplomats in attendance reported that the American president, old, weak and senile, sat nodding, drooling, as the others talked.

The three men divided Germany amongst them, then turned to Asia. Although Russia had played no significant part in the war with Japan, they decided to give the Soviets half of Korea - the other Allies (meaning the U.S.) the lower half.

Stalin installed a puppet Communist government in Korea, and essentially washed his hands of the peninsula. Within about three years, Kim Il-Sung was North Korea's ruling dictator.

Five and one-half years after Yalta, 60 years ago this past summer, I was working at WLDY, a small radio station in Ladysmith, WI.

On June 25, 1950, the bulletin bell rang on the Associated Press teletype machine at WLDY and we received the notice that North Korean forces had invaded South Korea. What followed is well recorded. American forces then in Korea consisted in large part of young, lightly trained men and women, there to help rebuild a nation - not to fight a war. The U.S. did little to reinforce these people. Instead, General Douglas MacArthur amassed a large fighting force and invaded the peninsula far behind North Korea's front line. They quickly swept across the peninsula, trapping North Korea's forces. America easily pushed all the way to the Chinese border. Everyone thought the war was over.

The Chinese Communists owed their very existence to Harry Truman's refusal to help Chiang Kai Shek resist their revolution. They showed their appreciation by attacking the American forces by air, from bases behind the Chinese border. General MacArthur knew the Chinese were weak and wanted to take out the offending Chinese air bases. Truman refused and relieved MacArthur of his command.

Emboldened by Truman's timidity, Chinese ground troops crossed the border to help the North Koreans. Fighting dragged on, claiming 36,576 American lives, plus many lives of other U.N. member nations and multiple times that number in Korean and Chinese lives.

When Harry Truman left office and Dwight Eisenhower was elected, Ike immediately went to Korea and arranged a cease-fire. I believe that the Koreans feared that President Eisenhower, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces which had won the war in Europe, would bring a terrible retribution if they continued their hostilities.

And so, for 57 years, the cease-fire has held. But, again America is displaying Truman-style timidity. And again, North Korea is reaching out for their dream of a unified Korea... under their control.

NSSAR

Yesterday I was formally installed as a member of the National Society of the Sons Of The American Revolution. The SAR is a patriotic fraternal organization, membership in which is by virtue of direct lineage of descent from someone who contributed in a meaningful way to the founding of our nation. In my case, it was a French man who came to America and became a member of General Washington's Army, fighting with him at Valley Forge and beyond.

As members of SAR, we claim no credit for the accomplishments of our ancestors. Rather, we pledge to uphold the principles which led them to forsake a life in their native land, arriving in America with their worldly possessions in hand, dreaming of a society based on equality for all men.

Personally, I feel blessed to have descended from a long line of such patriots, and hope it is in my genes to protect and preserve their dream, and all they did to further that dream. I consider it my responsibility to study the Constitution those founders forged for us. I believe I should learn what was wrong with the governments they left behind and what problems they hoped they had solved by forming the government they gave us. And, I hope I will be able to share that knowledge with others.

A Gift From The Heart!

When I dressed this morning, I grabbed a printed T-shirt from the shelf. After I pulled it on, I stepped in front of a mirror to read the message it conveyed. Turns out it was from United Blood Services, and I remembered it as a gift for some landmark number of blood donations.

I started donating blood in 1964 when I was a Red Cross volunteer. Being heavily involved in promoting Red Cross bloodmobiles, I was usually first in line for each of their visits. In appreciation, the Red Cross informed me that I had been granted lifetime eligibility - whatever that meant.

In 1970, I returned to Kansas City and became a blood donor at the Community Blood Center. A friend of my wife belonged to some woman's organization and I learned that her organization would be credited if I donated blood in their behalf. I don't think I ever knew what their credit would be, but I wanted them to earn maximum benefit. I donated as often as permitted - every six weeks, I think. The Center used to mail reminders and I complied when possible. When the HIV/Aids scare erupted, I once went in for a donation and they asked if I had recently had sex with another man. That made me angry and I quit donating for a short time. Then someone told me they were required by law, or some regulation, to ask, so I relented and resumed donations.

In 1992 I moved to Phoenix and began donating blood at United Blood Services. In 1994, I moved to New Mexico, also served by U.B.S., and continued donations.

One day, while on a lounge donating blood, a nervous young college girl was brought to a lounge near mine for her first donation. In an effort to reassure her, I struck up a conversation. She asked how many times I had given blood. I told her it was some gallons, but I did not know how many.

That aroused my curiosity and I decided to see if I could learn how many pints of blood I had donated. I called the American Red Cross Blood Center in Wichita, Kansas - the people who had operated the bloodmobiles in Salina in the 1960s. They regretted they had no records of blood donations from that long ago. (Oops... I guess they also have no record of my "lifetime eligibility"). Next I called the Community Blood Center in Kansas City. Same result. No records from that period!

United Blood Service credits me with 50 donations - which would take about seven years. Since I did donate at U.B.S. for longer than that, I suppose it is possible. In reality, I am where I was during that conversation with the college girl. I do not know how many times I have donated blood.

Shortly before my 75th birthday I was refused as a donor because I was anemic! Wow, that had never happened. My doctor did some tests, agreed I was anemic and suggested I should no longer donate blood. I didn't like that, but was told they cut off donating at age 75 anyway. My nearly 40 years of donating blood were over.

During the time I promoted blood donations over the radio, I said, "Someone, somewhere, has experienced a severe accident or illness or is about to undergo surgery. Your gift of blood could save their life." I believed it then. I believe it today.

Donating blood is, truly, a gift from the heart!

About Juan Williams Comment.

Everything has been said about what NPR did to Juan Williams. Not a lot said about seeing people in Muslim garb.

In TV news reports, I see American women in Muslim countries wearing head scarves. While I do not necessarily agree with that practice, I do not fault them for trying to be agreeable. When I see Muslims in America wearing Muslim garb, I see a visitor who does not wish to be agreeable; or I see a resident who refuses to assimilate. It is that attitude that makes me nervous. Are they sending me a message? (Then again, maybe like the guy who goes into a restaurant and sits eating his dinner with a ball cap on his head, they are just ignorant.)

As for Juan Williams and the NPR CEO's psychiatrist comment, listening to Juan and Bill Kristol exchange, I sometimes think Juan needs to see a psychiatrist. And, I guess there are times when Juan thinks Bill should see a psychiatrist. Isn't that what makes Fox News Channel so great? You get to hear opposing views almost every time! Fox calls it Fair and Balanced.

Down with brevity!

When I was doing news on local radio stations, I always hated the time constraints. It you were reporting local news, you couldn't really give details on any story. No time. If you were reading news wire reporting, you shuffled through stacks of stories, selecting only those very few you would have time to use. I envied newspaper reporters who could sometimes use several columns to tell their story.

Apparently, few people share my interest in details, as brevity is urged at every turn. In blogging, or even in writing a comment letter to a television news program, you are constantly reminded to be brief. But it has gone beyond that. Using full words is discouraged. If something is real funny, we LOL. If something is shocking, we write (or text) OMG! On Facebook, the comment is often only "Like." Huh? Is it Tweets that should be limited to 140 characters?

When I was in the Army, some soldiers were drafted in the Selective Service System. Others, like me, enlisted. Enlistees were said to be members of the Regular Army, abbreviated RA. Hence, my serial number began RA171..., and we remained soldiers until the end of our term of enlistment. Soldiers who were drafted were on a status of something like "the duration of the conflict.

The other day I saw a TV commercial for some medication for RA. Thinking only of the old Regular Army, I asked my wife if she knew what the medicine was for. "Rheumatoid arthritis", she translated. Is it bad to say rheumatoid arthritis on television?

During the Iraq War reporters often talked about the 4th ID. What? The fourth identification?? No, they were talking about the Fourth Infantry Division. Americans serving in the proud Ivy Leaf Division made a significant contribution to winning World War II, and most every other American military conflict. Are they not entitled to more than "4th ID"?

In my radio days we adhered to the old code of "Tell 'em what you're gonna tell 'em; tell 'em; then tell 'em what you told 'em". In other words, make sure your listeners knew what you said. Today, it's more like "Mumble mumble mumble and three persons were killed. Kansas State Police are investigating. Meanwhile, in Europe..." and you are saying, "What happened? Where in Kansas? Who was killed?" Forget it. You will not know until you hear it or read it from another source. Please, my friend, tell me what you told me!

Obviously the United States Congress also hates brevity. We now have laws that are thousands of pages long. Thousands of pages! Just to describe one law! William L. Shirer's "The Rise And Fall Of The Third Reich", a complete history of Nazi Germany, is only 1140 pages and I thought it was a long book!

President Campaigns For Dems

So read the headline in many newspapers this week. Hmmmm!

Have you ever been any place where any U.S. president visited? Let me tell you about one such visit.

When President Eisenhower died he was buried in his boyhood hometown of Abilene, Kansas, location of the Eisenhower Presidential Library. Then-president Richard Nixon attended the funeral. Abilene is a small city. The airport there will not accommodate Air Force One. The president would have to land at Salina, Kansas and helicopter to Abilene, 24 miles away.

Some days before the funeral, the government commandeered the largest hangar at the Salina airport, flew in three large helicopters and put them in the hangar. All private aircraft normally hangared there were moved and a 24-hour guard was placed at the hangar.

Near the hangar, the telephone company installed a special telephone line. They placed on a table an encrypted telephone of some sort, connected to the line. Two areas were set up for reporters. One, to which I was assigned, was for reporters covering the "event"... the arrival of the president. The other was for reporters covering the president. There job was to report anything that may happen to the president. All reporters were subjected to careful background checks.

A carpet was laid out on the ground, running alongside the table with the phone. Before Air Force One landed, the three helicopters were brought out of the hangars, one parked at the end of the carpet. When the president's plane landed, the pilot taxied up to the other end of the carpet.

I stood next to a reporter from some national publication. He explained the purpose of the phone. On Air Force One, the president has extensive communications facilities. Ditto on the helicopter. But, during the walk from the plane to the helicopter, he would have neither. thus the phone on the table.

Members of the White House Press Corps deplaned first boarded two of the helicopters. Then President Nixon deplaned. He waved to the crowd, walked along the carpet, past the telephone table and boarded one of the helicopters. Why three helicopters, I wanted to know... could the reporters not make the 24-mile trip by bus. "Decoys ", I was told. I laughed. Anyone could watch which chopper the president boarded. "Watch", I was advised. Then the helicopters took off. They flew very low over the hangars and other buildings at the airport. Like a huge, airborne shell game, the three identical aircraft circled and dipped behind the buildings. One moment all were out of sight. Then you saw one. Then another... or was it the same one again? Finally they rose and all three headed for Abilene. "Now which helicopter is the president on?" my new acquaintance asked.

When the helicopters left, an armed guard surrounded Air Force One. They remained in place until the funeral ended and the three helicopters returned to the Salina airport. When the president left his helicopter, he again walked back past the telephone on the table and boarded Air Force One.

When the President's plane took off for Washington, the helicopters were returned to the hangar. I don't know how long they remained, I didn't stick around.

The point being, it costs tens of thousands of dollars to bring a sitting U.S. president in for any event. Think how that is multiplied if he is to visit multiple cities. At each point, all sorts of people are brought in to do all sorts of security checks. If the event is not at the airport, special arrangements must be made to transport the presidential party from the airport to the event.

Once, President George W. Bush visited Las Cruces. A special large plane brought the president's fully secure, communications capable limousine in to transport the president to the event. In that case, that heavy aircraft damaged the runway and the Air Force paid the city $10,000 for repairs.

How much of all this is paid by the president's political party and how much is paid by taxpayer dollars, when the event is purely partisan political in nature? I don't know. But, regardless of party, I think it should all be paid by the political party.

American Industry: R.I.P.

Have you noticed TV ads for tractors by Mahindra? For power tools by Husqvarna? The tractors come from India. The tools from Sweden.

When I was growing up on a farm we could not afford a tractor or power tools. We had horses, and In my teens, I spent many hours dragged along behind the team on a cultivator called a "go-devil" or on a wagon. For cutting firewood we used cross-cut saws and axes. For cutting tall grass, a scythe.

The tractors I did see bore the names "Farmall", "Allis Chalmers", "John Deere", "Case" and other American brands.

Now, I have nothing against India or Sweden. I am happy for them developing manufacturing capacity. But why does it make more sense for an American farmer to buy a tractor shipped from India than one from Iowa? I cannot answer that, but it saddens me! Like hearing of the death of a nice guy you once knew.

Numbers (...again)

I love numbers. Especially since the decimal system (the metric system - and our currency) is about the only place where tens play a role. We have 60 minutes in an hour, 24 hours in a day, seven days in a week, 365 or 366 days in a year. That throws everything into wacky patterns.

I was born on presidential election day, November 6, 1928. In my 82 years since then, the presidential election has fallen on my birthday only twice! 1956 and 1984. The reason is leap years. In a leap year, November 6 falls on Tuesday only if January 1 falls on Sunday. In leap years, that happens only every 28 years. Next time will be 2012. (Each time the presidential election has fallen on my birthday, a Republican won: Hoover, Eisenhower, Reagan. Hmmmm!)

In non-leap years (mid-term elections) November 6 falls on Tuesday only if January 1 falls on Monday. That has happened only three times in my 82 years: 1934, 1962 and 1990. Again, once every 28 years, and, again, it is because of leap years.

Think how different things would be if the earth were a little faster and made its trip around the sun in exactly 365 days?

Math teachers love this kind of thinking. Others scratch their heads and give me a strange look. If you have decided I am a nerd's nerd, it doesn't mean I am out of the mainstream... it only proves you are not a math teacher!

Come see the Southwest!

For most of my life, I have heard people rave about the fall foliage displays in America's Northeast. One year, my wife and I spent a week in New England, and the raves were justified. The fall foliage was beautiful. At one point, my understandably proud host remarked, "You've never seen anything like this in Kansas!" Wrong. Much of Kansas is hilly and hardwood forests are abundant. Fall foliage there is as spectacular as anywhere else.

Now, I declare that foliage in the Southwest is also worth the trip. It is true that our tall mountains, (we think of New England mountains as foothills) are mostly populated with conifers that do not change colors, but there are lots of hardwoods, principally aspen, which turn beautifully gold each fall.

In this photo from New Mexico's Gila National Forest, groves of aspen in the distance leave the appearance of spilled gold paint.

In addition, New Mexico offers many other visual surprises. Like the Cliff dwellings, also in the Gila National forest:


And there is the huge Chino copper mine near Hurley, New Mexico.


Plus, such strange and wonderful geological wonders as New Mexico's City of rocks!


I have wandered and photographed New Mexico for over 60 years. This truly is "The Land of Enchantment". That is our state slogan... it is also a fact!

Remember, too, that by the time Europeans (principally from England) settled New England, other Europeans (principally from Spain) had occupied the Southwest for a century.

From Carlsbad Caverns to the oldest continuously occupied government building in America, New Mexico is a visual feast. And there are many other western states to explore.

Come see us!

Never Dos

Life has taught me things I should never do! Here are a couple of them:

1. Never buy a piece of clothing for your wife. Years ago, on a bitter cold winter day, I spotted a ladies' corduroy coat that was sheepskin lined. I thought it would keep her warm on the coldest winter day, and she would look cute as a bug in that big, cuddly coat. I bought it. She hated it and would not wear it - finally sold it in a garage sale! Another time I bought her a pair of PJs from Victoria's Secret. They truly looked fabulous. She said the bottoms were cut wrong for comfort and refused to wear them.

2. Never recommend a restaurant. Years ago, at the Kansas City stockyards, there was a restaurant called The Golden Ox. Their steaks were cooked on a real charcoal grill and they were absolutely the best. I bragged about them to a friend in Connecticut. Finally he had occasion to visit Kansas City. His plane was an evening flight and he arrived hungry. I drove like a fool to get him to The Golden Ox before they closed. Being late in the evening and near closing time, they must have run out of prime beef and butchered an aged ox. The steaks were bad and my friend was forever convinced that I didn't know a good steak from shoe leather.

Dumb & Dumber

The U.S. Senate has passed a bill ordering that TV commercials must be no louder than the programming. The U. S. House has the same thing under consideration.

This is such a stupid waste of time and money, so void of logic, that ONLY the U.S. Congress could make such an effort.

First, understand that "loudness" from your TV is dependent on several factors. First, of course, is the level of the signal on the recorded commercial - or on the live program. But, whether the audio originates from microphones in the studio, from a network signal, or from a recording of a commercial or a program, it evolves to an electronic signal sent to the station's transmitting equipment. On the way it encounters a piece of equipment called a "limiter" which controls the maximum volume. If a signal is too strong, it lowers the level. It is automatic and it is required by FCC regulation.

The next factor is the nature of the audio. If it is an announcer describing a product, that announcer will be speaking directly to his microphone as clearly and distinctly as possible. If that is not the case, believe me, the announcer will have to re-record his/her lines. His signal will come across at full permissible volume.

If it is a dramatic program, where a small voice is sobbing into a handkerchief, or an actor mumbling as he/she turns away from the microphones, that voice will be lower in volume. If it is a car chase with screaming sirens and screaming mood music, it will be maximum loudness.

Finally, and often the deciding factor, are the speaker(s) on your TV set. If the speaker(s) and their associated audio amplifier are such that they are more sensitive to higher frequencies, commercials or programming such as music, which contain predominantly higher frequencies, will sound louder on your TV.

I make TV commercials. How can I control the sound to match all the possible variations in the volume level of TV programming? I cannot. How can I control the sound to match all the possible speaker configurations of the nation's TV sets? I cannot.

Can the TV station do that? Of course not. Listening on high quality TV station monitors, the station engineer may hear something much different than you hear coming from the small, inefficient speaker(s) on your TV set.

Let's compare the audio level to the picture level on your screen. Should every twilight scene be adjusted to match every bright sunlit scene - or vice-versa? Absurd.

The last thing a TV broadcast station wants is to broadcast anything that viewers will find offensive; that may drive viewers to another channel. If the problem could be easily solved, it would have been, long ago.

Congress go home. Quit trying to fix things that are not fixable!

Blinders

Occasionally we hear reference to someone wearing "blinders". In this modern age, does anyone still remember blinders?

Well into the 1940s, horses were used to move freight short distances in large cities. Teams of two, four or more large horses pulled huge wagons. Usually this freight was moved only a few blocks from one factory dock to another. I remember, as a teen, being cautioned not to pet the horses! These were not gentle ponies. They were huge working animals and, perhaps expecting food, were inclined to bite any hand extended near their faces.

I remember a lot of noise associated with this activity... steel wagon wheels clattering on brick or cobblestone streets, teamsters shouting, and so forth. No teamster wanted his horses distracted or frightened, and efforts were made to isolate the big animals from the surrounding bustle. Blinders helped. Attached to the horses bridle, the blinders totally blocked the view to either side, allowing the horse to see straight ahead only.


People are accused of wearing blinders when they see only one point of view and are blinded to any other. It is a way of saying the person's vision is blocked by some external object, as with the horse. It is a perfect metaphor. And, it is a bit more polite than accusing someone of being too stubborn to see another point of view.

Oh, My Papa

Eddie Fisher has died. I am saddened.

I was never a big fan of Eddie Fisher. As a matter of fact, I never very much cared for his work. But I kinda liked the guy. In the Army, it seems everywhere you went there was a guy from Philly. He was always sorta loud, a bit overbearing in the eyes of a shy Midwestern farm boy. Fisher was from Philly. He seemed to fit the mold. But in an okay way.

I admired Fisher's success in the music industry. I pitied him in his multiple failed marriages.

In the early 1950s I was a disk jockey at a Kansas City radio station. One time Eddie Fisher was booked into a a Kansas City nightclub, for perhaps a week. As was the custom in those days, the record distributor for the visiting star arranged for Fisher to visit all the deejays in the city. So, we had had an opportunity to visit with Fisher and he was nice enough.

I am a little fuzzy on dates and details. People ask "How could you forget?". You must remember that in the early 1950s (perhaps also today) thousands of young singers and musicians were trying to make it in the industry. The vast majority failed. Being in radio, we met many of them. None were terribly impressive at the time. Most we just forgot outright. Those few who did make it remain somewhere in our memory, but dimly.

Anyway, Fisher had been in the Army in Korea. As I recall, he talked of a U.S.O. show coming to his Army unit to entertain. Maybe he participated - can't remember. Anyway, Debbie Reynolds had been part of the show, and he fell for her big time. That's all he talked about in Kansas City. So, we were not surprised when he courted her and persuaded her to marry him. In fact, we thought that was great.

But, their marriage broke up. Then came Elizabeth Taylor. We thought she was hotter than Debbie. Did fisher agree? But that marriage also broke up, and I lost track of Fisher's marriages.

Eddie Fisher was a scant three months older than me, born on August 10 before my birth date on November 6 - same year. Don't know what kind of husband he was. As a visiting entertainer, I thought he was a nice guy. When the Korean War broke out, he did not shirk his duty, which made him a patriot in my eyes.

Rest in peace, Eddie Fisher.

Diamonds From the Sky

Yesterday afternoon we had a beautiful sun shower.

Growing up in Missouri and Kansas, I don't remember sun showers. When it rained there, it was usually cloudy from horizon to horizon, gray skies in every direction.

Here in the high desert Southwest, that is not always the case. Often on a sunny day, a small patch of clouds will pass overhead and it will start to rain. I have driven down a highway and seen rain pouring off to one side while the sun was shining off to the other side.

Sun showers happen in the afternoon when the sun is lowering in the west. At our high elevation (4,300 feet) skies are especially clear. The sun, at a lower angle, shines brightly with blinding light. Then, a patch of cumulus clouds moves overhead and it starts to rain. Big clear drops of water pour from the cloud. The sun, shining under the cloud, illuminates those drops of water and they sparkle. Like diamonds from the sky! That is what we call a sun shower.

There is another angle to the diamonds description. In the desert, water is precious. As of the first day of fall, our 2010 rainfall has totaled only 8.94 inches. Through all those weeks... through all of winter, spring and summer, our rainfall has totaled less than nine inches. Believe it or not, we are a little ahead of normal this year and everyone is talking about how green the desert looks! Those raindrops truly are diamonds!

Independents?

I find it hard to be excited about people who have a wishbone for a backbone. I place "Independents" in that category. People say they are not a Republican or a Democrat... they are an Independent. My, my.

I am a Republican. I largely adhere to the principles of the Republican Party. Certainly I do not agree with all Republican politicians, party leaders or spokesmen. Some who wear the Republican label are far removed in their beliefs from those beliefs I hold. I am still a Republican.

I don't know any person today who is a true Democrat as I once knew Democrats to be... one who believes their first goal to be the advancement of the working man. Every "Democrat" I know today is really a liberal... a politically correct, environmentally agitated, apologist blinded to reality by their beliefs.

I do not personally know anyone who claims to be an Independent. That's good. Because I view Independents as people who don't quite have enough courage of their their convictions to stand up for them.

They hide behind a meaningless label to pretend they are above the fray of political discourse. Or, maybe they just relish the label, thinking they are one of the special voters the political parties will have to woo.

Labels.

We've been taught... Don't judge a book by its cover. Yet we do. People form judgments based solely on labels.

Some 30-odd years ago I first read the book "The New Left - The Anti-Industrial Revolution" by Ayn Rand. A friend walked into my office just as I was looking at the cover of the little paperback. I held up the book and made some remark about it being a great book to read. My friend saw only the words "The New Left", and immediately declared he would not read such a book. I didn't know my friend's ideology (still do not) and he did not know what was in Rand's book. But he had made a firm judgment, all the same.

We frequently hear someone say America was founded on Judeo-Christian principles. Some non-religious people I know cringe at that label. Neither Jew nor Christian, they nonetheless have deeply held principles and resent being told their principles are founded in a religion they do not follow.

If their problem is with only the label... not the principles, where did those principles originate?

I believe that when the earliest humans began to live in social groups, they surely discovered that their peaceful existence depended on the acceptance of certain rules of conduct. Further, I believe those rules evolved and became more perfect over time.

The early Jews and Christians clearly articulated those time-honored principles and recorded them in written language.

If you are troubled by the Judeo-Christian label, try the Greek Philosophy label. In about 300 B.C., the Philosopher Epicurus said (translated here), "Justice never is anything in itself, but in the dealings of men with one another in any place at any time it is a kind of compact not to harm or be harmed."

Not to harm or be harmed. Sounds like The Golden Rule to me.

Ancient traditions are traditional because they have stood the test of time. If you want to label your traditions, your moral principles, fine. If you do not want to say your beliefs sprang from an ideology with which you do not always agree, fine. Reject the labels. Not the traditions. Not the principles.

Mosque building - Koran burning...

Someone keeps telling us... "Be tolerant - it is the American way".

Someone keeps telling us... "Don't put our troops in further danger by insulting Islam"

Now, I want to tell you, it is time to back off and look at the big picture! And, just in case you missed the big picture, Michelle Malkin redraws it for you. Here is her column today, reprinted without permission, because every American must read it:

The Eternal Flame of Muslim Outrage

by Michelle Malkin

09/10/2010

Shhhhhhh, we're told. Don't protest the Ground Zero mosque. Don't burn a Koran. It'll imperil the troops. It'll inflame tensions. The "Muslim world" will "explode" if it does not get its way, warns sharia-peddling imam Feisal Abdul Rauf. Pardon my national security-threatening impudence, but when is the "Muslim world" not ready to "explode"?

At the risk of provoking the ever-volatile Religion of Perpetual Outrage, let us count the little-noticed and forgotten ways.
Just a few months ago in Kashmir, faithful Muslims rioted over what they thought was a mosque depicted on underwear sold by street vendors. The mob shut down businesses and clashed with police over the blasphemous skivvies. But it turned out there was no need for Allah's avengers to get their holy knickers in a bunch. The alleged mosque was actually a building resembling London's St. Paul's Cathedral. A Kashmiri law enforcement official later concluded the protests were "premeditated and organized to vitiate the atmosphere."
Indeed, art and graphics have an uncanny way of vitiating the Muslim world's atmosphere. In 1994, Muslims threatened German supermodel Claudia Schiffer with death after she wore a Karl Lagerfeld-designed dress printed with a saying from the Koran. In 1997, outraged Muslims forced Nike to recall 800,000 shoes because they claimed the company's "Air" logo looked like the Arabic script for "Allah." In 1998, another conflagration spread over Unilever's ice cream logo -- which Muslims claimed looked like "Allah" if read upside-down and backward (can't recall what they said it resembled if you viewed it with 3D glasses).
Even more explosively, in 2002, an al-Qaida-linked jihadist cell plotted to blow up Bologna, Italy's Church of San Petronio because it displayed a 15th century fresco depicting Mohammed being tormented in the ninth circle of Hell. For years, Muslims had demanded that the art come down. Counterterrorism officials in Europe caught the would-be bombers on tape scouting out the church and exclaiming, "May Allah bring it all down. It will all come down."
That same year, Nigerian Muslims stabbed, bludgeoned or burned to death 200 people in protest of the Miss World beauty pageant -- which they considered an affront to Allah. Contest organizers fled out of fear of inflaming further destruction. When Nigerian journalist Isioma Daniel joked that Mohammed would have approved of the pageant and that "in all honesty, he would probably have chosen a wife from among them," her newspaper rushed to print three retractions and apologies in a row. It didn't stop Muslim vigilantes from torching the newspaper's offices. A fatwa was issued on Daniel's life by a Nigerian official in the sharia-ruled state of Zamfara, who declared that "the blood of Isioma Daniel can be shed. It is abiding on all Muslims wherever they are to consider the killing of the writer as a religious duty." Daniel fled to Norway.
In 2005, British Muslims got all hot and bothered over a Burger King ice cream cone container whose swirly-texted label resembled, you guessed it, the Arabic script for "Allah." The restaurant chain yanked the product in a panic and prostrated itself before the Muslim world. But the fast-food dessert had already become a handy radical Islamic recruiting tool. Rashad Akhtar, a young British Muslim, told Harper's Magazine how the ice cream caper had inspired him: "Even though it means nothing to some people and may mean nothing to some Muslims in this country, this is my jihad. I'm not going to rest until I find the person who is responsible. I'm going to bring this country down."
In 2007, Muslims combusted again in Sudan after an infidel elementary school teacher innocently named a classroom teddy bear "Mohammed." Protesters chanted, "Kill her, kill her by firing squad!" and "No tolerance -- execution!" She was arrested, jailed and faced 40 lashes for blasphemy before being freed after eight days. Not wanting to cause further inflammation, the teacher rushed to apologize: "I have great respect for the Islamic religion and would not knowingly offend anyone, and I am sorry if I caused any distress."
And who could forget the global Danish cartoon riots of 2006 (instigated by imams who toured Egypt stoking hysteria with faked anti-Islam comic strips)? From Afghanistan to Egypt to Lebanon to Libya, Pakistan, Turkey and in between, hundreds died under the pretext of protecting Mohammed from Western slight, and brave journalists who stood up to the madness were threatened with beheading. It wasn't really about the cartoons at all, of course. Little-remembered is the fact that Muslim bullies were attempting to pressure Denmark over the International Atomic Energy Agency's decision to report Iran to the UN Security Council for continuing with its nuclear research program. The chairmanship of the council was passing to Denmark at the time. Yes, it was just another in a long line of manufactured Muslim explosions that were, to borrow a useful phrase, "premeditated and organized to vitiate the atmosphere."
When everything from sneakers to stuffed animals to comics to frescos to beauty queens to fast-food packaging to undies serves as dry tinder for Allah's avengers, it's a grand farce to feign concern about the recruitment effect of a few burnt Korans in the hands of a two-bit attention-seeker in Florida. The eternal flame of Muslim outrage was lit a long, long time ago.

History: re-writing or just ignoring?

Growing up on the farm, we had no TV and precious little radio, our rural address was beyond the delivery limits of a daily newspaper - which my parents could not afford anyway. So my early education in current affairs came from listening to adult conversation and observing firsthand the grinding poverty of the depression.

Dollar bills were so rare that when we did get our hands on one, we read it! A fun riddle was "How many ones are on a $1 bill?" If you got hold of one, you counted the ones... both the numerical version and the spelled-out version.

I also remember that those old $1 bills did not say "Federal Reserve Note". Instead, they said it would be exchanged for a silver dollar, on demand!


Can you count the 14 "ones" on the Silver Certificate above? (Sorry - I could find no picture of the greenback side)

One thing I did learn from the $1 bill of my childhood was that Henry Morgenthau was Secretary Of The Treasury. His signature was there on the front of every $1 bill. Morgenthau was appointed by FDR in 1934 - the year I turned six years of age and entered the first grade of school. He served until 1945, the year I turned 17 and entered the U.S. Army. $1 bills with his signature lasted a lot longer. (The $1. bill on the bottom (above) was printed when Andrew Mellon was Secretary of The Treasury. Mellon was appointed by Warren Harding and served through most of the Hoover Administration.)

I knew his name, but I didn't know anything about Morgenthau. I realize he must have been an important part of the FDR New Deal, by simple virtue of the fact that FDR kept him in the cabinet until his (FDR's) death.

In the ensuing years, I have learned a lot about the New Deal, details I did not hear or understand as a kid when I listened to adults complaining that the policy was a total failure.

One gem came from the heart of the New Deal, from the mouth of that man whose signature was on the front of every $1 bill: Henry Morgenthau. Reflecting on the New Deal in 1939, Henry Morgenthau said:

"We have tried spending money. We are spending more than we have ever spent before and it does not work. I want to see this country prosperous. I want to see people get a job. I want to see people get enough to eat. We have never made good on our promises. ... I say after eight years of this administration we have just as much unemployment as when we started ... and an enormous debt to boot!"

So, how do today's progressives view that fact? They say Roosevelt should have spent more. Can any intelligent person believe that? Agree with that? Morgenthau said "It does not work." Do today's experts know more than the guy who was at the heart of it?

Apparently, if history does not support your point of view, the history must be wrong!

A Rose By Any Other Name
Would Smell As Sweet...
-Wm Shakespeare

Former Wyoming Senator Alan Simpson got himself in trouble for saying Social Security was like a cow with 300 million tits.

No, they did not object to the reference that the program was indicative of a nanny state. They did not seem to resent his inference that millions were being sustained at the public trough.

They were mad because he used the word "tits".

Raised on a dairy farm, I spent many morning (and afternoon) hours on a three-legged stool pulling on cows tits, filling a bucket with warm milk. And tits is exactly what we called them. It was a nasty job sometimes, especially in rainy weather when the cow had been lying in a muddy barnyard. And when she slapped you up the side of the head with a cockle burr-filled tail.

Even my patient, tolerant wife was offended by Simpson's remark. Said the word tits was degrading. Even if Simpson was talking about a cow.

Now, wait a minute!

I see quail hens lead their chicks to our back yard to scratch in the dirt for seeds we spread for them. Robins and other birds pluck a worm or a wiggling bug from the grass and carry it back to their nest to cram it, alive and dirty, down a gaping throat. A hawk kills a mouse and tears the tiny creature apart to stuff pieces of raw meat into the beaks of her young. Other creatures, like sea turtles, lay their eggs in the sand and swim away leaving hatchlings to fend for themselves.

But not mammals! From the body of the mammal mother comes a clean, precious, complete food... untouched by hands, hoofs or paws, fed directly into the mouth of her offspring, snuggled warmly against its mother's loving body! In addition to nourishment, and unlike the bird's germ laden bug or diseased mouse, mother's milk also imparts her immunities, protecting her offspring! How fantastic is that?

Degrade mammary glands? Impossible! An entire class of creatures are named for them. We (humans, at least) are not named for our five-toed feet, our opposing thumbs or any other physical feature... we are mammals... named for those miraculous mammary glands.

What an incredible possession for any mammal mother... be it a cow, a doe, a sow... or a human! And, in the case of the latter, those breasts are also alluring, a thing of beauty, proudly displayed to accentuate femininity!

As a child we chanted. "Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never harm me". So call them breasts or boobs, tits or teats, jugs or hooters - doesn't matter. Nothing can degrade this miracle of mammalian life.

Sacred Honor

I first read (or heard) The Declaration Of Independence many years ago. Can't remember exactly when, because it didn't have much impact on a young farm boy. I've read it many more times down through the years. That long list of grievances against the King of England always lost me. It was foreign to my sphere of knowledge. It read like some sort of legal document: a lot of verbiage on the peripheral of my comprehension.

In recent years, I have come to understand that, apart from the list of reasons for declaring independence from the King, that document contains powerful and beautiful language: ...all men are created equal... unalienable rights... Governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed... precious words, indeed!

The signers concluded with another powerful statement; we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor. Get that? Our sacred honor! To these men, their honor... their integrity, their honesty, their truthfulness, were sacred! How many of us today believe that?

In a business transaction where you suddenly discover a hidden fact, or a mistake, that would unfairly benefit you - would you consider it your sacred obligation to point out the error? You are walking down the street and find a billfold containing cash and other items, would you consider it your sacred obligation to restore it to its owner?

I once had a business partner who often repeated the slogan "There is no part time honesty!" Think about that. You are not an honest man because you are honest 99% of the time. One dishonest action, makes you a dishonest man.

My Dad used to say, "If a man doesn't have his word, what does he have?"

It doesn't matter how much money you have, how big your house, how luxurious your automobile... you could lose all those things in the blink of an eye. Your honor is your truly valuable possession, because no one can take that from you. It is yours alone, to keep or lose. Keep it sacred!

A place to worship?

In the latter years of his life, my father was pastor of a small Baptist church in a tiny Kansas community. The church building was a very small, ancient wood frame structure. As the little congregation grew, the need for more space became paramount. The congregation gradually scraped together enough money for the framing lumber, sheet rock, roofing, etc.

My elderly father, who had worked as a carpenter in his youth, worked with other men in the congregation for many days to build the addition to the church building. Yes, they swung the hammers, operated the saws, built it by hand.

That is the American definition of building a place to worship.

Do those people supporting the New York "Ground Zero Mosque" really believe we are stupid! Do they think we will accept that a fifteen story, $100 million structure represents a congregation building a house of worship? What size congregation would be required to raise $100 million? How long would that take?

Dr. Thomas Sowell has called the proposed 15-story structure a middle-finger salute to Americans. Others have called it a "law school", a place where Islamic Sharia law will be taught and promoted.

I don't know what it will be. I can bet what it will not be: a place to worship, built by a local congregation.

Soap in my life.

When I was a small boy on the farm, my mother made our soap. I have no idea how she did it or what was in it. She poured her mixture into a pan, like a cookie sheet, about 3/4 of an inch deep. When it solidified, she cut it into bars. I have heard jokes about "grandma's lye soap", and maybe she put lye in it. I never knew. I do not remember what it was like using her soap, either, because I hated soap in all its forms.

Mostly I hated the rule that, after running around the farm barefoot all day, I could not go to bed until I washed my feet. We had no inside plumbing, so washing my feet meant going to the well, pumping a pan of that ice cold water, sitting on the edge of the well and washing my feet in that pan.

I remember mornings when I was ready to head out the door for school, mother would grab me by the ear, turn my shirt collar inside, and wash my neck and ears. Sometimes I went on to school with my collar still turned inside. In fact I remember Annie Turpin, my teacher for the first four grades of school, pulling me aside and turning my collar out. One time she said, "At least I know your neck and ears are clean."

Anyway, mother's homemade soap served all purposes. How I long for that simple way of life!

Today, I step into the shower, and, starting at the top, there is hair soap... called shampoo. I use it on my hair and my beard. Then there is face soap. Good for ears, nose, neck etc., although I am not sure exactly where your neck ceases to be part of your face and becomes part of your body!

On a few occasions on the farm, I was caught swearing and got my mouth washed out with mother's soap. Today there is a special soap for that - called toothpaste.

With a clean head, I now reach for the body wash. This liquid goes on a wash cloth for arms, legs, pits, etc. And don't forget the hand soap! It is anti-bacterial! Wow!

There is no foot soap... guess I don't have to worry about bacteria on my feet! After all, I no longer run around barefoot all day - haven't been on a farm in decades.

I wonder what would happen if you accidentally got the hand soap on your hair? Or the shampoo on your feet?

Sometimes I think that sitting on the edge of the well washing my feet with cold water and homemade soap, wasn't as bad as I remembered!

Scary Weather!

I remember standing in the kitchen of my Kansas City home, adjustable wrench in hand, on a hot summer afternoon in the 1950s. I was watching a huge tornado move west to east across a residential area several miles to my south. My plan was simple - sensible or not: if the tornado swung north, toward my home, I would run outside and use my wrench to close the valve on the natural gas line. Then I would come back into the house, pull the main breaker on the electrical supply, and hurry to the basement to sit out the storm.

The tornado did not swing to the north. It just sort of petered out and ended. Later inspection of its path revealed houses in piles of pick-up-sticks, refrigerators and washing machines, sofas, beds, and every other kind of household furnishings tossed about the devastated neighborhood.

That was a scary storm, but not the scariest to make me tremble: that was while on board a U.S. Army Transport - a troopship - on the South China Sea, during a typhoon. I used to try to tell the story of that unimaginable violent weather, until it became clear that every listener appeared to believe it was just another wild exaggeration. Was it? Had the event grown wilder in 65 years of memory?

Yesterday I chanced to meet an old friend on a street corner. I say old friend because he is in his 90s, and I have known him for at least 15 years. He and his wife had just returned from a peaceful little cruise on the Great Lakes. He excitedly described his cruise until I remarked that after spending an aggregate of about six weeks on an Army troopship, I had no hankering for any time aboard a floating vessel.

He laughed and assured me there was a vast difference between the two sailings. Then, typical of an aging world War II Veteran, he began to describe some of his own troopship experience. The worse part, he vowed, was being caught in a typhoon on the South China Sea. He described how the bow of the ship would rise high out of the water, then slam violently down again. Then, as the bow went deep into the trough of the wave, the fan tail would rise high out of the water, exposing the screws, the ships propellers, to the air. They would gain speed and whine loudly, as a huge wall of water broke over the bow of the ship. He spoke of looking out into the violent blackness that surrounded the vessel and the realization that it you went overboard you were a dead man... you could never have been found even if the ship could turn around. All exactly as I remembered it!

I know there are seamen who have experienced this sort of weather on more than one occasion. They could probably top our stories for scariness. But for a couple of old landlubbers, like my friend and I, it was a horrible experience.

Yesterday, however, I found a bit of comfort in having my own aging memories verified.

Enough to make a grown man cry!

I recently heard someone comment about the inner workings of America's military men and women. Sorry... I forgot who said it, but it was explained that America's soldiers (marines, sailors, airmen, etc.) have a cause. They have a fire in their bellies for America. Before their first military training, they are already filled with a love of and loyalty to our nation. No other fighting men or women in history have fought more fiercely for their country.

Contrast that with the Afghan Army we are trying to train. These new soldiers may well love the land on which they live... but they have no history of a nation, a state, worth dying for. In addition to teaching them how to handle a weapon, move as a unit, and accept the discipline required of an effective fighting force, we must first convince them the fight is worth fighting.

But there is much more. A recent report was of a Afghan unit that came under fire and sustained casualties. They were able to radio for help - specifically for helicopters to evacuate their wounded. But not one member of the group knew how to read a map. They could not tell anyone where they were.

In another report, cash military payrolls were being raided by superiors along the way. A decision was made to issue cash soldier pay by ATM machine. Alas. The Afghan soldiers did not know how to work the machines and they were being forced to pay bribes to someone who could operate the machines for them.

The frustration for U.S. and NATO trainers trying to forge a reliable fighting force in Afghanistan must, at times, be almost overwhelming. May bring tears of frustration to adult eyes.

I am reminded of a story from my past. One of my daughters contracted Type One diabetes when she was eleven years old. After she completed college and became a school teacher, the disease gradually robbed her of her sight. She was assigned to teach a class of visually impaired children. Curious as to what grade level her students had achieved, I asked her to explain what the children were being taught. One little boy, she explained, persisted in beating his head against the wall. They were trying to teach him not to do that. No "three Rs" in the foreseeable future.

So the public asks, "What's taking so long to train the Afghan Army?" Uh... maybe less time than it will take to answer your question.

Blago. Convict or acquit?

Actually that is not truly the choice... to be acquitted, he must be retried. I am opposed to that.

I have no love for or loyalty to Rod Blagojevich, former Governor of Illinois. Admittedly I do not know the truth as to what he did or did not do. (Does anyone?) But my impression is distinctly one of disdain. I find it hard to believe that Mr. Blagojevich was little more than another crooked Chicago politician.

But he is being prosecuted by another man whom I perceive to be a crooked politician... Patrick Fitzgerald.

So what is the difference between the two? Fitzgerald has power. Blagojevich has none. Don't know about you, but I am much more fearful of crooks with power than of crooks without power.

"Cracklin's"

Looking for a change-up in snacks, my wife brought home a container labeled "Pork Rinds"!

Sounds like tree bark, lemon peel, parts of old footballs - or, as my dictionary states, a "hard or tough outer layer"!

Actually, they are not pork rinds at all, and I don't know who gave them that name. When I was a kid on the farm, we called them cracklin's. I loved them then, still do! Cracklin's are a by-product of rendering lard. Lard has been demonized by the health czars, but, used in moderation, it is not dangerous and imparts a flavor to fried chicken that has no equal.

When we butchered hogs on the farm, my dad trimmed off much of the fat before curing the hams and slabs of bacon. This fat was marbled with flesh, so it would be more accurate to say he trimmed away those parts that were mostly fat. These trimmings of "mostly fat" were the raw material for making lard.

Trimmings we put in a large pot and heated on the stove. I was too young then to remember details today, so I don't know how hot or how long, but eventually the fat melted and was drained - strained - off. This liquid fat was poured into large cans and, when cooled, was lard.

What was left was cracklin's, those traces of lean flesh, now cooked crisp and devoid of all fat. Or, almost all fat. Cracklin's do contain some fat... and calories.

Cracklin's are a great snack. As in the case of most simple foods, just remember the "M" word... moderation!

Watching Nature

In the Southwest desert trees grow alongside streams or where people plant and water them - rarely elsewhere. Here we are accustomed to endless views, generally as far as the next high mountain range.

Accordingly, it is fun to sit on the back patio and watch nature.

The other afternoon, we watched a hawk soaring over the landscape - rarely moving a wing - just gliding on thermals. His presence, while enjoyed by my wife and I, became very troubling to a neighborhood mockingbird. This smaller bird decided it was time to harass the hawk and, perhaps, persuade it to hunt elsewhere.

Repeatedly diving at the hawk, the mockingbird caused the hawk to react, but could not succeed in driving the large predator away. Instead, the hawk just circled and flew back toward us.

Finally, the mockingbird decided to increase the pressure. It dived so close to the hawk it appeared it was actually pecking the hawk on the head. On the next attack, it appeared to actually make contact with the hawks left wing. That was its mistake.

What happened was too quick for the eye to follow. All we saw was the mockingbird dive into the hawk's wing, then suddenly tumble to the ground. Somehow the hawk had delivered a knockout blow.

Birds, with their hollow bones and fluffy feathers, are lightweight. Perhaps the mockingbird survived the crash. Perhaps it landed on a creosote bush. We could not tell.

My wife was saddened, observing that the mockingbird was only trying to protect its nest from a perceived danger.

We were reminded that nature rarely plays favorites... just or unjust, if you make a mistake you'll pay.

Recent Events.

VJ Day was 65 years ago on August 15th. The anniversary of that event quietly passed the other day... completely ignored by our current president. Aside from events involving family, I believe VJ Day in 1945 was the most joyous occasion of my life. VE Day (Victory in Europe) had passed a few months earlier. I was working in a defense plant in Southern California on that day. All work was stopped and all workers were called to a meeting place. We were told that the war in Europe was over, but were reminded that the Pacific war continued to rage. There was more to be done and we all went back to work.

But VJ Day meant it was all over. I was in downtown Kansas City where huge crowds spilled into that city's famous 12th Street. We all sang patriotic songs and every guy kissed every girl. There was truly unbounded joy that lasted well into the night.

Art Linkletter died last May at age 97. This TV personality was a good guy who entertained us for years simply by demonstrating that "Kids Say The Darnedest Things" - which became the name of his show. I thought of him last week. After a six-hour drive to visit our granddaughters, I was sorely in need of a visit to a bathroom. Leaving the bathroom and returning to the family gathered in the living room, I was soon followed by my two-year-old granddaughter who loudly announced to the family that "Grandpa made my bathroom smell like poop!"

Elvis Presley was remembered August 16th, the anniversary of his death, by a large gathering at his former Memphis home - more quietly, elsewhere. I'll always remember the day I received a call (at the radio station where I worked) suggesting that I should check out some recordings on the Sun label by a kid from Memphis named Elvis Presley. "Who?", I asked. The caller, "Bubbles" Gilmer, manager of the Record Department for the Katz Drug Store chain, had to spell the name for me. No one has to spell his name today. 33 years after his death, it is still one of the most familiar names in the entire world.

About Prop 8 and That judge.

Recently I had a conversation about the California marriage referendum and the action of a federal judge negating the will of 7 million voters. Opposed to the judge's actions, I was challenged on the grounds that the law could not deprive one of their "rights". As someone with Libertarian leanings, I agree that the government needs to butt out.

But, when, exactly, did marriage become a right? If a man has a right to be married, some woman is obligated to marry him. What if no woman wants to marry the creep? If he has a right to be married, some woman must marry him. Are we all "endowed by our creator" with that right? (Sorry, lady. I have a right to a wife and you're it! Start rattling those pots and pans!)

Do you still think of marriage as a right?

And, if marriage is a right, why isn't polygamy? Certainly polygamy has greater historic significance than gay marriage. Think Solomon! Marriage is not a right. It is a tradition.

Marriage between one man and one woman is a tradition that has existed for a millennium. In my eight-plus decades of stumbling through life, I have come to the conclusion that ancient traditions became traditions through the test of time. It is terribly egotistic to think we are the first generation to think of something other than traditional marriage. Surely it has been tried. Surely it has failed the test of time.

Can we imagine why?

Statistics regarding single women raising (actually flunking at raising) kids are mind-boggling. Children with idle time at home with no parent in the house are much more likely to become troubled children. Single moms raising kids are overwhelmingly poor. Another recipe for troubled kids.

Lower birth rates are a death knell for any society. We need child-bearing families. Not easy for gay couples.

I could go on and on with the sad statistics of spouse-less parents and parent-less children. But the facts are simple... gay marriage satisfies only the selfish desires of two people. It benefits no one else.

Certainly we should not deny two people who love each other the joy of spending their lives together. But neither should we call them "married", and shout their relationship from the rooftops. Instead we should be promoting the virtues of traditional marriage... the benefits to both the husband and the wife, the benefits to children from having a mom and a dad, and the benefits to society from a generation of kids likely to be more successful.

A Mosque at Ground Zero?

I am not a member of any organized religion, but I am a passionate supporter of the First Amendment. In America, no law may prohibit the free exercise of one's religion.

However, according to Dr. Peter Hammond, author of "Slavery, Terrorism and Islam: The Historical Roots and Contemporary Threat" Islam is not a religion, nor is it a cult. In its fullest form, it is a complete, total, 100% system of life.

The Constitution does not guarantee the right to any system of life. Head-hunting, cannibalism, and other practices are prohibited because they necessarily incorporate practices so forbidden by the laws of a civil society, that the question of religion is not relevant. And some "religions" do the same.

The religion of the ancient Aztecs that required ripping the heart from the chest of a living person and the devil-worship religions that require the sacrifice of even willing victims, are two examples. The practice of cutting off the nose and ears of a young woman, for some supposed moral transgression is another.


So, please, no more about freedom of religion as regards the Ground Zero Mosque. Hernan Cortez eliminated the ancient Aztec's blood-letting religious practices. Civilized societies everywhere should eliminate these current murderous religions.

The Wimping of America.

Remember the "Little Rascals" (sometimes called "Our Gang") ... Alfalfa, Spanky & friends? That early film (later, TV) comedy series followed the bumbling, stumbling antics of a group of kids. This unkempt, often unwashed gang; black, white, fat, thin, were not much, but they were always boys. (Yes, some girls did appear in the series.)

I loved the Little Rascals. So did a whole generation of ordinary kids... a generation which grew up to be The Greatest Generation.

This past week, my wife and I have been babysitters for four granddaughters: ages 12, 10, 6 & 2. Needless to say, I have watched a lot of The Disney Channel. A disappointing experience.

No more Spanky. No more Alfalfa. No more boys, as I knew boys to be. The male children on TV today are perfectly attired, beautifully coiffed little girly boys. All scrubbed clean, looking like they never even heard of dirt... much less had any under their fingernails from digging fishing worms with bare hands.

How could any girl be attracted to these girls in boy disguise? Maybe that is why so many boys want to marry other boys. And why girls want to marry other girls. There is no opposite to be attracted to.

Are the producers of these show purposely trying to groom a generation of wimps? What, exactly, will this generation of wimps grow up to be?

Here's one that made me say "Wow!"

On July 30, I underwent a stress test at the clinic of my Cardiologist. Upon completion, they gave me a letter which stated that I had received an injection of Thallium-201 Chloride, a radioactive substance for the purpose of medical imaging. They said to carry the letter with me at all times for the next couple of weeks - especially if I would be going through a Border Patrol check point, as I may set off their detectors. Yeah, right. I'll watch out for flying pigs, also!

Six days later, on Thursday morning, August 5, I did go through a BP check point. The very courteous officer asked if either my wife or I had recently undergone any medical imaging procedure.

I Showed him my letter and, still very courteous, they checked my I.D., then had us step out of and away from the car. With a Geiger counter, they checked out the vehicle, then they checked me. When he neared me, his instrument clicked like crazy.

They then checked with my Cardiologist to confirm what the letter said, thanked us for our patient cooperation, and wished us a good day.

Merely driving up to the check point in our car, I had set off their detectors! Wow!

I am not a fan of 'Big Brother' tactics, but if anyone is concerned about someone entering the country with a "dirty bomb", rest assured someone is doing something to prevent it.

Recently, some TV commentators have rudely criticized the Border Patrol. Not us. We congratulated the officers for doing their job and thanked them for their service.

Incidentally, most of the agents were Hispanic, as are many of our local police officers. So, never believe the lies about Border Patrol and police in the southwest practicing racial profiling. In all my years in the Southwest, I have never heard of a local police or Border Patrol officer accused of profiling by a Hispanic person.

Thou Shall Not Lie...

unless, of course, it is the easiest way to advance your position.

Go back to the earliest writings of civilization. Civilized people have always warned against bearing false witness. "Thou shall not lie!"

Remember George Washington and the cherry tree? "I cannot tell a lie." The legend says that young Washington believed that any punishment meted by his father was preferable to the disgrace of having been caught in a lie.

So, what, exactly, constitutes a lie. One dictionary definition is "to make an untrue statement with the intent to deceive." Not to be confused with an honest error... a mistake. But I believe it is also a lie to make an untrue statement because you have not taken the time to learn the readily available truth of the matter. Often that is the case with lies published by newspapers or magazines, or uttered by speakers. Someone hears a lie and repeats it without checking it out. They are still lying. It is still wrong.

Today, however, it seems that it has become okay to lie. Why bother to do fact checking when the lie so conveniently fits your point of view.

Here is a lie that originated with Mike Smith, a political cartoonist with the Las Vegas Sun, syndicated by King Features, and reprinted by the newspaper in my home town.


We expect political cartoons to be edgy, partisan. But, to just outright lie! And for supposedly respectable newspapers to happily reprint this lie... is that okay?

In the 1960s, I was involved in radio broadcasting in Kansas. First Lady Ladybird Johnson led a campaign to outlaw all billboards that obstructed the scenic view of passersby. As I have written before, we radio people could well have done without the billboard industries competition for advertising dollars. But we fought the billboard ban. Because it was wrong.

With the above cartoon, some newspapers have shown they would happily promote a lie to slander another news medium. Fox News Channel never mentioned Shirley Sherrod - never aired the offensive video clip, until hours after the White House forced her to resign. Notice that in the right hand side of the above cartoon, the representation of a TV screen labeled "Fox" shows the commentator as some sort of a loon. There was only one objective here: to declare Fox News Channel to be crazy. And, of course, they show a representation of President Obama pressing the "mute" button! Translation: Don't debate people who disagree with you - just call them crazy and shut them up!

That tells me a lot about the character of the newspapers which carried the Mike Smith cartoon. With them, lying is okay in political cartoons. Do they also lie in their regular news reporting? No wonder their circulation is shrinking.

Things I've Grown to Dislike.

I intensely dislike the word "colored" when applied to people. People are not colored - unless they are on stage as a clown - they are what they are born. (No, suntans do not apply!)

If we must comment on people's skin pigment, why can't we sensibly say "light-skinned" or "dark-skinned"? That is all the description we need - if we need a description at all.

National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. What does that title do to advance anyone? Nothing, in my opinion. It is antiquated and degrading.

People native to the tropical zone, all around the world, generally have dark skin. It is a product of the sun. Move away from the tropics - north or south - and you find people with lighter skin. A product of absorption of UV rays, or something. Of all the unimportant things in our modern world, that has to be one of the most unimportant.

Scientists tell us the human race originated in tropical Africa, where almost everyone was dark skinned. As humans migrated to temperate and colder latitudes - where suns rays were weak - their skin lightened. So, instead of talking about "colored" people. Why could we not say "bleached" people?

NAABP.

I might like that!