Don't Speak for Me, Sarah Palin...

Halloween Carnival at Middle School

The NJHS is holding a Halloween carnival at the middle school today; each grade comes in during their arts class to rotate through several stations: Horror Mansion (aka girls' locker room with scary scenes in it); dancing (LO is DJ!); pie toss (at good-natured teachers) etc.

LO asked me to come in this morning and paint faces. Here are pics.

Note the tiara. LO is not just any bee. She is Queen Bee.

Bridges

You never know what you're going to stumble across on the Internet. We have a bridge nearby, on Interstate 85. It's old and crumbly and has had tons (literally) of blacktop reapplied -- making the top much heavier than the structure was designed to handle. Or so I hear.

So when I ran across a website that mentioned the federal transportation agency's inventory of bridges, I was intrigued. The federal website does not appear to impart the information free of charge, but the press can pay for the info and post it. I found one version on MSNBC. I entered Charlotte, NC to Greensboro, NC, in an effort to isolate the bridge.

I found it interesting that three bridges in a row, all on Interstate 85, are indicated as carrying traffic to the tune of 27,500 cars, 28,000 cars, and 57,000 cars -- all on the same road, within a mile of each other. The bridge I was looking up is rated as "structurally deficient" but at the same time, "meets minimum tolerable limits to be left as is." Is this fed hooey for, it's unsafe but we aren't doing anything about it?

The bridge straddles the line between 2 counties. The state has inadequate funds to build a new bridge. Yet if/when this bridge fails, the economy of much of the southern US will suffer, if only for a while until different routes are identified. 85 runs from Petersburg, VA, near Richmond, through Atlanta, to Montgomery, AL. 85 is THE major north-south artery for VA, NC, SC, GA and AL. A failed bridge in the middle would definitely have an impact on transport of goods.

Me, I say a prayer every time I cross it.

Feel free to enter your own data and learn about the safety of bridges near you.

Creativity

Other than math, which I retained well, (read that very left-brained here) and English (had great teachers and loved English), I remember very little of what I learned in school. I remember a teensy bit of Spanish: can count to 100, remember days of the week and months of the year, and one line from the dialogues: "Albondigas! No me temos el pelo!" Translates as, "Meatballs! Don't be pulling my hair!" Seems in some Spanish-speaking countries, the idiom for 'don't pull my leg' is 'don't pull my hair.' I can remember the prologue to Canterbury Tales in old English, and lots of my Shakespeare. Almost all of Frost's poems but not his essays, some Burns, quite a bit of Keats and Shelley, geez, now I'm on a roll: Emily Dickinson, Poe, and a ton of Thurber. I can also cough up a few lines of Caesar's Travels from Latin II, but I digress. The point is that I can't recall any history or science. 

No, I don't remember econ, psych, civics, world history, western civ, british monarchs, biology (although I was fascinated by the way earthworms have organs for both sexes and line up with each other to have sex twice at the same time, but that's a post for another day...) , sociology, the list goes on and on. Of the things I don't remember. 

This came to mind today when I talked for a bit with a local fellow who tried to start a writing group. They met twice, he was disappointed at the turnout, and he hasn't continued to pursue it. The group,  not the writing. He said they used Liz Lehrman's 6 Steps for Critical Response. It worked well and is effective at controlling the inevitable TAIEG (there's an asshole in every group) syndrome.  I hadn't heard of this method and he recommended I google her. 

I did. Looks cool. 

Then I googled him. Wow. He writes plays, has some film shorts on YouTube, and has written for the tabloids. Recently self-published a book on writing for the tabloids. 

So, in looking at his work, I had to ask myself, "Why do we create?" Did I ever learn this in school?

I think the answer is different for every artist. 

If you learned this in psych, or have a theory, email me. I'd love to have this conversation . I'll try to remember it afterwards. 

Made It

Ol' Nigel made it just fine. DS2 received calls from the pet hotels in both San Francisco and Osaka, advising him that they had loaded Nigel on the plane and he was on the way to the next point in the trip. It's already Wednesday night in Okinawa, and DS skyped me at about 11:30pm his time, 10:30 our time, to let me know We Have Our Dog. 

DGS1, who is 8, was having a hard time settling down to bed. DS comforted him, Nigel will still be here tomorrow when you wake up. 

Thank you to all the well-wishers. Next time we skype I will snap a video still of him for you to see. 

The Big Trip

Did you ever realize there is no name for the relative who is the parent of your child's spouse? In order to refer to this person you have to go down one level and back up, as in, 'my daughter-in-law's father.'

It was just this person, (father of DIL) with whom I spent most of the day yesterday.

DS2 and his family moved to Japan, I guess it was 6 months ago, and learned in the process that their dear sweet doggy had to remain in quarantine for 6 months. DIL's parents took him in and yesterday was the day for him to travel back to his family.

The task fell to DIL's dad and, as her mom was working, I was asked to go and assist. Such a trip might be manageable if the dog were 8.5 pounds, as ours is, but Nigel is 110 pounds, and it is difficult to say the least, to do anything else while holding on to him.

So PopPop-in-Law came here to small town from the Capital City and had a bite of lunch. Nigel discovered the Pet Mat in the corner of the kitchen and cleaned up both bowls, cat and dog, and drank about 2 liters of water. We walked him. Surely he knew something was up as we had Conversations of Concern while casting sidelong glances in his direction, then petted him much more than normal.

We left in separate cars, PIL and Nigel in one and me in another. PIL wanted to go together to the cargo terminal, but also wanted to visit with his brother at a town in-between here and there, afterward. So we trailed each other to said in-between town, where I parked my car at Target and got in his car to ride with him to the cargo terminal. We chatted and I navigated from the Yahoo printout while he drove. The road to the terminal was circuitous and dotted with all sorts of cargo terminals, DHL, UPS, FedEx, and so on. We had to find just the right one.

When we got out of the car, he wanted to unload Nigel so I held him on the leash while PIL did all the necessary paperwork -- and there was a ton of it.

Finally, we got the kennel out of the car and put it on the freight scales. The fellow reset them to zero and we loaded Nige in it. 110 pounds.

He was an amazingly good sport about it all even though I know we gave off vibes of worriedness, upbeat faces and "attaboys" notwithstanding.

Our concern arose from the length and complexity of the trip. The sheaf of papers attached to the kennel in which he traveled included (in triplicate) records of his recent vet visit, certification from the USDA? (I am pretty sure), contact information for PIL on this end and for DS2 on that end.

After leaving nearby big city, he was going to Chicago, San Francisco (where he would be boarded by a pet hotel), Osaka (another pet hotel) and finally Okinawa. I hope those pet hotels put a mint on his little doggy pillow. I saw the bill. Hoo-ey.

After the paperwork, the weighing, the calling HQ and asking for the correct bill of lading (they couldn't find theirs), the fixing the rabbit-type water bottle, I asked if we could go in and kiss him one more time. A young guy agreed and led us through the locked doors with "ATTENTION: STAFF ONLY" on them. We went to his kennel, still on the scales, and gave him love words. His tail thumped inside the kennel.

I asked about 10 times if all the paperwork was in order. They assured me it was. It was hard to believe that all the people at all those places in between will do what they are supposed to do, and that he will arrive at Okinawa safe, sound and happy. Man, does he love his family. I KNOW he will be happy when he sees them.

So we got back in the car, sans dog, and drove back to Target where I picked up my car to travel home. PIL scooted across that town to see his brother. Update: DS2 reported to DH via Skype this am that he made it safely to San Francisco where he had a good night. They have gotten him back to the cargo terminal there for the next leg of the trip. If all goes well, he will be reunited with his family tomorrow morning.

I cannot find the pic of Nigel that shows his big round nose, but here is an oldie that shows he truly is just one of the kids.

OH! I did finally find the one with his big round nose.

Safe trip, boy. Can't wait to hear you have made it.

Ol' Dan

I posted on the blog recently about the generosity of our cats, the cats who own the place. 

This evening I walked into "my" room (assuming, of course, that everything is really his) and flipped on the light. He covered his eyes as if to say, "Wouldja mind? I'm trying to sleep here."

Change What?

Unfortunately I receive a lot of propogandist right-leaning, conservative tripe in my email from well-meaning friends.

I received just such an email today. Among other things, it said,

"I'm concerned that a growing number of voters in this country simply don't get it. They are caught up in a fervor they can't explain, and calling it "change".

"Change what?", I ask.

"Well, we're going to change America ", they say.

"In what way?", I query.

"We want someone new and fresh in the White House", they exclaim..

"So, someone who's not a politician?", I say.

"Uh, well, no, we just want a lot of stuff changed, so we're voting for Obama", they state.

"So the current system, the system of freedom and democracy that has enabled a man to grow up in this great country, get a fine education, raise incredible amounts of money and dominate the news and win his party's nomination for the White House - that system's all wrong?"

"No, no, that part of the system's okay - we just need a lot of change."

And so it goes. "Change we can believe in."

Quite frankly, I don't believe that vague proclamations of change hold any promise for me. In recent months, I've been asking virtually everyone I encounter how they're voting. I live in Illinois , so most folks tell me they're voting for Barack Obama. But no one can really tell me why - only that he's going to change a lot of stuff. "Change, change, change." I have yet to find one single person who can tell me distinctly and convincingly why this man is qualified to be President and Commander-in-Chief of the most powerful nation on earth - other than the fact that he claims he's going to implement a lot of change."

Well, I voted for Obama already, and I am a thoughtful, intelligent voter, NOT caught up in a "fervor," and, dear sir, I am so sorry you have run into some poorly prepared voters. The proclamations of change are NOT vague. Here is the change Obama has specifically detailed.

He will change the trigger-quick Texas Ranger urge to go to war and kill tons of innocent people, including over 4,000 of our own young people. (ps, Christians who declare you can't be a Christian and a liberal: where does it say that Christ condoned killing people? ...much less for a cause that has been proven to be a LIE? Remember, ...WMD? Anyone? Anyone?)

He will change the pyramid scheme taxation system where the few wealthy at the top get all the breaks and the working people can't afford luxuries like dental care for their kids or proper maintenance on their homes, much less vacations or nights out with their spouses.

He will change the perverse American medical system that makes health care a rare luxury.

He does not support laws being made based on the influence of lobbyists who contribute to lawmakers' political campaigns.

In short, he will change America so that the office at the top considers the little guy. It will be a refreshing change, and I pray to God it happens.

There are many, many other changes elicited in his more recent book, on his website, and in his refreshingly intelligent discourse. Unfortunately my fuse has burned down during the tempest of the email and this posting, so I am stopping here. Please educate yourself, if you are truly open-minded, so you can see for yourself and answer, what change? I suspect, however, that you know precisely 'what change' and you are afraid. Afraid to believe that a black man might have the answers. Afraid to vote outside your comfort zone, whether that's racially, partisan, or issue -based.

I only hope those folks who have been asking, why can't the candidates stick to the issues and not sling the mud, can hear that the first words out of McCain's mouth, out of Palin's mouth, on the robo-calls, the first two words, are "Barack Obama."

Jewel

Following is an eloquent story as told by one of my dear Artist's Way friends. He is a professional IT person for the local corporate hq of a national grocery chain, a former professional game designer, a guy who fits in well no matter how many women are in the room, and just an all-round heck of a nice guy. He wrote this as an email and I quickly wrote back and asked permission to post it on my blog. Of course he graciously agreed.

Enjoy.

T and I have done some volunteering for the Obama campaign and I just wanted to share a true experience we had (but I’ve changed the woman’s name)…

Tuesday night an elderly woman (who we’ll call Jewel) told one of the phone bank workers at the Democratic Headquarters in our town that she wanted to vote but she was in a wheel chair and needed a ride to the voting station on Wednesday morning. The staffer asked if anyone in the room could drive the woman and I generously volunteered fully knowing that I would pawn the job off on T because she didn’t go into work until 11 on Wednesday.

Wednesday came and I ended up deciding to go along with T and the woman because, as it turned out, I was staying home anyway to meet a plumber at my house at 10:00 AM and I figured we’d be back by then. After a short drive we pulled up in front of an off-white public housing duplex that had a wheelchair ramp. T went up to the door, knocked and went inside. A few minutes later T came back out to the car and told me there were two women living there who wanted to vote, both of the women were in wheel chairs and they would only go if they could bring their caregiver with them. Since our car only seated four T told the women she would be right back. Five minutes later T had dropped me off at McDonald’s. I spent the next 45 minutes enjoying a relaxing breakfast, reading USA Today, and reveling in my “me” time.

When T came back her eyes were full of tears and I thought, omg what did I get her into, but she quickly told me they were good tears. It turned out that Jewel, who I never saw, was 80-years-old and frail as tissue paper. She rode up front with T while the other woman and the caregiver rode in the backseat. On the drive over Jewel told T that she grew up during the depression in pre-civil rights era South Carolina. She had never voted before in her life and sadly said this “vote was too late to do me any good, but it might help my children or my grandchildren." It was clear to T that the act of voting was frightening for Jewel.

When they arrived at the voting station T parked in the curb-side voting station and a worker came out, verified the women were on the eligible voters list and gave them ballots. The Jewel’s hands shook so badly that it took almost 10 minutes for her to fill it out and blacken the bubbles sufficiently. The worker collected the ballots and T started up the car, backed out and headed back to the woman’s house.

Now for the good part – Jewel was wrong – this vote did help her! The entire ride back she was excited and animated. She had faced down her fear of voting and cast a ballot for the person of her choice for the first time in her life. She was literally giddy with personal power and she thanked Tracey repeatedly for helping her. T in turn thanked Jewel for allowing her to participate in this important event. As T was retelling this to me she teared up again as she remembered Jewel’s triumph and gratitude.

Last Tennis Match