Wednesday, December 19, 2012

C. Fite's Santas and Cousin Margaret's "Fuck-It" List




Katherine here.

I'm a creature of guilt.  It's not fair.  I'm not even one of those religions that feeds itself on guilt.  I hate that I'm pretty much consumed by guilt because I've given myself a snow day when I could get to my schools by adding some driving time and getting into my pioneer mood.  It's pretty windy though.  My pioneer mood sucks when it comes to wind.

I figure if I do something productive like writing this, my guilt will abate a bit.  At the moment the only productive alternative I could think of that felt worthy of snow day status was to plug away at our traditional holiday jigsaw puzzle.  I need to build up to that.  It's a Van Gogh Paris street scene done in 1,000 seemingly identical pieces.  Progress has been slow although I tucked in two orangish pieces yesterday.  Jim has done more on the puzzle than I have.  I feel like a slacker.  Guilt.

I had an interesting bout of playful guilt recently when we had a fun dinner over at the Fite-Garland home.  Wondrous and varied Santas populated the whole place.  There were two miniature forests of long and lean Christmas trees replacing the one central tree most of us do.  The trees were decorated thematically both in color and content.  Did I mention there were Santas everywhere?

The Santas, Cindy explained, arose from an outing with her sister and Mom where they all purchased an identical Santa one year long ago.  Each year, each woman buys three Santas and shares two with the others and each year a home is populated with the same Santas in different places and in different formations.  So cool.

Part of me is filled with wonder and part of me realizes that if I had done something like that, I'd have no place to store the Santas and they wouldn't look right with me as their guardian.

The whole thing reminded me of a lifetime of guilt I have about holiday decorating.  I didn't get the holiday decorating gene.  I was a working mom with three kids and a huge amount of grading around every holiday I can think of except the 4th of July and even with that one I never got a buzz out of watching fireworks.

I did the basics for holidays.  We carved pumpkins, did the Valentine thing, and the Easter Bunny arrived dutifully though without the house looking any differently than it normally did.  At Christmas we have one very tall tree decorated with a lifetime of gorgeous ornaments and red bows and if I'm feeling extra festive, I add some red poinsettias to the living room.  I like red.

I was feeling really festive this year.  I  designed new bows and had the Christmas store make them for our big tree and bought new lights.  The bows are chartreuse, purple and red.  I bought two purple poinsettias and one very large white one.  From my point of view, this was a decoration revolution of sorts.  I was in a kind of gung-ho mood.

Then I went to Cindy's.  It was so beautiful.  So full of love and history and good taste.  I guess that was it.  C's house was one of the few I'd ever seen outside some special tour or a Christmas store that was not cute.  It was really beautiful.

I felt guilty for a bit over my holiday efforts, but I'm over that.  Even though the decor is restrained, it's really pretty.  I like my little snowman sitting on the mantle, tucked between one purple poinsettia and some green fern thing that's meant to look like a miniature Christmas tree.  I like my big tree and it's new bows and lights.  Even though it's not for Christmas, I like my forest of orchids that make it seem the fish in the paintings on the wall above them are swimming through something sea-like.  I even like the unfinished jigsaw puzzle that occupies the coffee table.  My house looks good.

I had a kind of monumental moment when I realized how much I liked my house and it's holiday decor after my return from Cindy's wonderland.  My house is just fine so  I put massive holiday decorating on my "Fuck It" list.  It was great.

I need to talk about the list and it's origins.  My cousin Margaret invented it.  Margaret is just a bit older than me and she's been a real-life mentor since I was little.  She taught me to shuffle cards, paint my nails, and to dance the twist in her garage.  She's taught me how to make pickles in the last year.  I hope everybody has a cousin Margaret.  I think she's an essential person to my perspective on lots of things.  She's a great teacher and one of her best recent lessons is about her "Fuck It" list.

When you get to be Margaret's age, my age, there are things you just don't want to do anymore.  If you can stop doing them without harming others or yourself, she says it's time to "Fuck It."  It seemed so easy at first.

It's been interesting working on my own "Fuck It" list.  I'm circling back to guilt here.  I spent a week trying to put something on my list.  Every time I got close, I started worrying--what if America needs me to make phone calls at a phone bank again, what if my absence from an exercise class gets the class cancelled for lack of attendance--it was a hellish week of trying desperately to put something on the list without success.  I felt guilty about that too.

I texted Margaret (too embarrassed to call) and I asked if I put something on the "Fuck It" list, could I take if off later if need be.  She assured me it would be okay.  Whew.


I still struggle with my own "Fuck It" list.  Nevertheless, it is slowly growing.  It's pretty liberating.  Try it sometime.

Katherine's "Fuck it" List.

1.  Making phone calls from a phone bank for any reason.
2.  Showing up consistently for any organized exercise class.
3.  Wearing the prosthetic boobs I bought.
4.  Decorating my house to the hilt for any holiday.



Tuesday, December 18, 2012

I'm A Teacher And I'm Always Packing?

I played a little TV game the first day I watched the news reports from Connecticut.  I rotated between Fox, MSNBC, NBC, CBS, and CNN.  I would settle in on one channel, but as soon as that report became political, or shoved a microphone in some poor kid's face, or started offering speculation based on nothing, I changed to another channel where I would watch until I had to change again.  It didn't take long before my game became an endless rotation through the dial, but I did learn a few things.  I was semi-surprised to learn that Fox was more likely to breathlessly put out false information than the other channels, even MSNBC.  Fox was the first to misidentify the shooter as his older brother!  It was also the first to announce that the shooter's mother was a kindergarten teacher at the school and that she lay dead in her classroom.  All the other channels quickly followed suit, but I was happy to note that the folks at MSNBC were more apt to preface all their bogus pronouncements with the caveat that their story was unsubstantiated.  I guess we can be grateful for that, although I would prefer that unsubstantiated stories be left off the news!

Later, as the different channels finally narrowed in on the true story, the speculation began.  Fox spent a lot of time wondering about security and called for us to begin arming teachers.  If only the faculty and staff of Sandy Hook Elementary had been packing, all this never would have happened.  Right!  Over at MSNBC the speculation, like we can expect from all good liberals, turned to social services.  They got a few staff psychologists on the air who proceeded to psychoanalyze the shooter based on the information that he was a loner at school, may or may not have lived with his mother, and was the product of a broken home.  Depending on the psychological pundit, that meant he was variably a sociopath, a schizophrenic, bi-polar, and, although no one mentioned it, probably suffering Attention Deficit Disorder.

From there people on all sides of the political spectrum began weighing in.  This is the wrong time to talk about gun control.  This is the right time to talk about gun control.  This is a war between the urban and rural parts of society.  This is all about individual rights.  This is all about the framers' original intent.  

I have a few reactions to all of this.  The slaughter of these innocents, especially at this time of year, has taken on biblical parallels to all the slaughtering of innocents that happen in those pages.  Having said that, I can't help but point out that all of the lives taken by lunatic gunfire and not so lunatic gunfire in the past decade or so are equally precious and should have stirred the same outrage.  Only Columbine came close because it was the first BIG event.  Those teenagers and adults in Aurora had their lives taken from them every bit as suddenly as the poor little children in Connecticut.  How many children die of starvation every day?  How many die in drone aircraft strikes in Afghanistan and God knows where else?  Is this shooter's sad lunacy more outrageous, more immoral, than the institutionalized lunacy that happens everywhere, everyday?

MSNBC absolves itself of its mute complicity in all those other deaths by calling for a shrink to make sense of it all.  If we make sense of it all, we might be able to point our finger at the CAUSE of the problem.  Than we can get federal funding and form a study group, or a Commission as Joe Lieberman calls it, and that will free us up to get back to thinking about the Fiscal Cliff.

Fox is worse.  They just accept it as a given that maniacs will be out there armed to the teeth with legal assault rifles and similarly legal armor piercing bullets.  Since that is the case, what we have to do is arm teachers.  As one senator said, if the principal had just had her own Bushmaster stashed in a drawer somewhere, she could  have whipped it out and blown the shooter's head off.

I don't need to point out the obvious, but I'm going to anyway.  Most teachers I know, and I know plenty, would be at a disadvantage going up against a 20 year old lunatic in body armor and trained (BY HIS MOTHER!) in the use of assault weapons.  "Now where did I put that magazine?  Ah, there it is.  Now which of these little slots does it go into?"

What would arming teachers really mean.  It would seriously change the emphasis of methods courses. But that's okay because technology is freeing teachers up to spend more time in munitions training.  When I was taking methods classes, we spent lots of time figuring out how to work the ditto machine.  Now, since ditto machines have gone the way of blackboards (remember those), budding teachers can gather in classrooms where the instructor, an ex-marine, will take them through "The Naming of Parts."  (That's a hilarious esoteric joke for all you English majors out there.)

But the problems are bigger than that.  I looked it up at Cabela's and discovered that the cheapest Smith and Wesson six shot revolver sells for $250.  There are 4000 teachers, not including non-certified help, in Jefferson County.  Of course I'm assuming that the calls for arming teachers aren't calling for teachers to arm themselves, so that means that Jeffco would have to find another million dollars in its budget (definition of fat chance) to insure that all of its teachers were packing heat.

And let's face it.  A lousy six shooter isn't going to be much help against a lunatic with a Bushmaster.  The solution?  Let's upgrade the weaponry.  At Cabela's you can purchase a Bushmaster for $1000 and, the ad assured me, that is a real bargain, especially for an implement that is guaranteed to up your masculinity quotient tenfold.  The problem is that equipping Jeffco teachers with the Bushmasters they will surely need (until the next escalation) will cost Jeffco and Jeffco taxpayers $4,000,000!  We are talking about the same taxpayers who got upset a few years ago when they discovered that Jeffco schools were being profligate with the pizza parties they showered on their undeserving staffs.

I don't know about you, but I am skeptical about the efficacy of the arming teachers solution.

I remember a few years ago Kathie and I were touring Caracol, a Mayan ruin on the border between Belize and Guatemala, with Bud and Janet.  The ruins were amazing, but I couldn't stop looking at the armed guards all over the place carrying Uzis (or Bushmasters, or AK 47s, I don't know the difference) and talking into Walky-Talkies.  I didn't like the feeling.  I don't want to replicate that scene at elementary schools all over the country.

Maybe instead of giving every teacher a gun, schools could do with guns what Green Mountain did with Walky-Talkies after Columbine.  The school just owned a handful of the devices, so whenever you reported for your weekly tour of hall duty, the administrator du jour gave you a Walky-Talkie and instructed you to call in if you needed any help.  As soon as I got out into the halls and away from the main office, I turned the stupid thing off and forgot about it.  See what I mean?  You can't trust someone like me with a communications device let alone a lethal weapon.

There is a sign in front of Sandy Hook Elementary School.

Sandy Hook Elementary
1956
Visitors Welcome

Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?



Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Look for the union label

I've always been a union man.  So when I became a teacher, I naturally joined the union.  In fact, if I remember correctly, I sought out the union rep, he didn't seek me.  It wasn't long before I became a union rep and then I started writing columns for the union newspaper.  I joined committees.  I helped man phone banks.  I drove my VW van, the perfect union car, to a big rally at the ad building and brought admiring looks from all of my friends who still wished we could be back in the sixties protesting outside Sproul Hall at Berkeley, our tie died micro buses waiting out in the parking lot to take us to our next venue.

Having said that, I have always been a little skeptical of unions.  The only union I really know is NEA-CEA-JCEA, so I'll focus on that for a second.  For instance, I am idealistic enough to think that the first priority of a teachers' union should be to insure that kids get a good education, to actively promote ideas and new programs that would achieve that end.  It was and continues to be disillusioning to realize the naiveté of such a belief.  A teachers's union first goal has to be the rights and salaries and benefits of its membership and frequently that preempts efforts to help kids.  Not only is that the way it is, that's the way it has to be because there are some things about unions that I know.

+I know JCEA, CEA, NEA, the AFT, and any other acronyms I'm missing, have done more to help kids and CREATE JOBS than all their detractors put together
+I know without a strong teacher union, school boards and school administrations would fuck over the teaching rank and file without giving it a second thought.  The idea that we are all in this together, that we R-1, is absurd.
+I know I would not have the comfortable life I lead now without all those acronyms listed above.
+I know when a state official calls undermining the power of union a Right To Work initiative that it is a bald faced lie the official gets away with because he knows the electorate is too selfish, stupid, and lazy to discover the truth
+I know Right To Work states create fewer new jobs than other states, that Right To Work states have lower salaries, lower benefits, and a rapidly disappearing middle class
+I know the idea that a low paying job is better than no job is a chimera which will only plunge us further into recession and lower our entire GDP
+I know that those who are pushing Right To Work laws in other states know all this.  Their real motivation is to take even more money away from workers and redistribute it to the JOB CREATORS, the wealthy, the people who make up the definitions.
+I know a strong middle class is the best JOB CREATOR and I further know that more than any other social phenomenon in my lifetime, unions create a strong middle class.

My final thought here is I wonder how serious all this brouhaha in Michigan is.  I know that only 17% of the work force in Michigan is union, but that is pretty typical.  The real question is what is the percentage of autoworkers who are union?  My experience in JCEA might be instructive.  Non-union members were not required to pay dues or even a representation fee, but our percentage of membership was high enough that we didn't need the non-members' contributions.  I suspect it is probably the same in auto manufacturing.

That's another thing--the deciding factor actually--that made joining the union a no-brainer for me.  I looked around the Green Mountain faculty at the people who weren't members--disgruntled white males with ill-fitting baseball caps--and decided that any organization those losers didn't want to belong to was made to order for me.  I immediately went up to Dale Bartkus, our union rep at the time, and said, "Sign me up."

Saturday, November 24, 2012

THE WORLD IS CHARGED . . .

I finished reading Malcolm Gladwell's OUTLIERS yesterday and it has been on my mind.  I thought the first part, Opportunity, was fascinating.  It was life affirming in a way, the idea that there are very good reasons for personal success and they can be researched and explained. In addition to being a genius, Bill Gates was born the same year that something like 80% of tech wizard/entrepreneur's were born, the same year Steve Jobs was born.  The time was right, just like it was right when an equally high percentage of industrial tycoons were born within three or four years of each other.  The explanation for all this is compelling and impossible to ignore.

The vast majority of professional hockey players are born in January, February, or March because January 1 is the cut-off date for determining age group in Canadian youth hockey.  A twelve year old born January 2 is eleven months ahead developmentally of a twelve year old born on Christmas Eve. As a result, they get more attention, get asked to camps where they play with other stars, etc.  The same is true of other sports.

So the first part of the book does a great job of talking about individuals, but it also leaves a few important conclusions about the importance of Opportunity.

-HARD WORK.  Even though Gladwell is pointing out how the "stars align" somehow to provide opportunity, the bottom line is still an individual with a fanatical devotion to work, an individual with passion.

-OPPORTUNITY ONLY KNOCKS ONCE (or twice?).  The thing is, Bill Gates was in the right place at the right time (See book for explanation).  The Vanderbilts, Rockefellers, Mellons, et. al. were similarly well situated, opportunity wise.  There were probably other Bill Gates and Steve Jobs out there who were born eight years too early, or too late.  More on that later.

-THE TEN THOUSAND HOUR RULE.  I love this.  All of the "geniuses/entrepreneurs" Gladwell has chronicled have one thing in common.  They all put in at least 10,000 hours of practice, time on task, rehearsal, whatever you want to call it.  John Lennon and Paul McCartney spent that much time playing eight hours a day, seven days a week for two years in Germany, polishing their craft.  The Beatles came out of that.  Bill Gates spent 10,000 staring at a computer screen before he got out of high school.  Invariably, all people who are great at something put in that time.

-WELL CHOSEN PARENTS.  I read something about musical talent a few years ago that I've always kept with me.  If you look at a musical prodigy, one of those 12 year old wizards you see on television who plays some amazing thing on the piano and then gets up and gives the audience a big "aw shucks" smile, bows awkwardly, and then waits to be congratulated by the host.  Sure, the kid has talent, but he also had parents who nagged him about practice, who perhaps borrowed money to pay for lessons and a suitable piano, who drove him to practice, waited around, and then drove him home, who made it to every boring recital where the beginning guitars led the program, who advocated for him at every opportunity, who cried every time they heard him play, who probably ended up driving the poor kid crazy.

The second part, Legacy, I found less satisfying.  It is basically making the same points listed above, but this time through the spectrum of heritage.  Why is it that asian people grasp math more easily than others?  What is it about the European origins of folks in the South that make them more likely to have feuds than folks from the North?  Why do you suppose European Jews were more apt to be shop owners and merchants than land owners when they migrated to America?  Etc. Etc.

The big idea I take away from the second part of this wonderful book is that if we would just be more mindful of Legacy, restructure, or refit, our institutions to take advantage of those differences, our world would become a fecund wonderland of innovation and entrepreneurship.  Imagine, Gladwell asks, how many other Bill Gates, or Lennon and McCartneys, or Cornelius Vanderbilts there are who have for whatever reason missed out on Opportunity?

Here is where this whole thing becomes fascinating.  Would the world really want to have more Bill Gates and Cornelius Vanderbilts running around looking for something to define, some niche to make, some market to conquer, some intriguing problem to solve?  Do you think there are enough big ideas to go around?  If we have the equivalent of the tech boom in California every five years, what happens to the previous tech boom, and the one before that?  I'm not sure our national blood pressure would stay at acceptable levels.

It is a cool idea though.  First of all, exactly how many Bill Gates are there out there unaccounted for?  Is there a new one born every year?  Five years?  Ten years?  Once a generation?  And second, are we living in a world whose atmosphere is charged with untapped breakthroughs?  Gerard Manley Hopkins where are you when we need you?

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Becoming Thankful & Why I Love Lizbeth Salandar


Katherine today.

For the last 38 years I've been making stuffing this time on Thanksgiving morning.   For a lot of those years I've been listening for Franny noises that have been intentionally timed, by me, to lure her with the smells of sausage browning for that stuffing (always her favorite Thanksgiving food) so she would come to the kitchen and cook with me in between the yearly attempts Jim made to keep the kitchen clean during this process.  In recent years there were Bloody Marys and Ken too.  Nate is never here on Thanksgiving and Chris's family has so many families to take care of, we see them when the stars align and the stars have been pretty generous until this year.

We usually feed anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five folks.  We like it.  It's our best holiday because it highlights what we love to do.  Zack, grandson, told me while I was driving him to high school last week (I keep aging before my very eyes) that he would miss our food this year.  He really likes our food.  He knows how to get Granny's attention.  He will get a turkey dinner for his birthday in February.

This year everyone went elsewhere for wonderful reasons.  So there's us and there's my mom.

There were other complications.  Our twenty year old stove was beginning to behave like the old tiger in We Bought A Zoo--it was time to put it out of its misery.  The convection function of the oven died at Thanksgiving last year and baking anything longer than 30 minutes was a crapshoot.  We finally got our act together and actually looked at and purchased a new stove.  Cool.  The model we wanted had to be specially ordered, of course, and they would shoot for delivery before Thanksgiving.  Not so cool.

The freezer part of the fridge failed next.  It was thirty years old.  We bought it when we got this house.  I had an exciting afternoon dreaming of ice makers and those cool insets in the doors of other people's refrigerators where water and ice cubes and crushed ice can be dispensed without the inconvenience of opening doors.  The anticipated existential crisis over choosing a  drinking water approach several times a day was almost tingly to me. Then we went appliance shopping and realized we could downsize our size thinking when it came to a fridge and get one that would not require lots of cabinet remodeling along with the purchase of a new fridge.  We found ourselves an old fashioned fridge with a plain freezer on the top.  It's stainless like the rest of the stuff, but its small and it fits in the space we have.  It was, however, not available and had to be ordered.  They would shoot for delivery before Thanksgiving.  Counting on appliances for Thanksgiving was not a happening thing.

The gods had sent their message.  Take the year off.  Take your mom to a restaurant.  She likes restaurants.  We're going to The Fort.  I just hope it doesn't feel like the Christmas morning we were in the San Diego airport.  That was bad.  Right now this is pretty strange, but there's a lot of good right now and it's time to settle into becoming thankful.

As always, a list:

1.  Jim.  For Everything.  For making an old lady like me feel like a girl, for baking me a pumpkin pie later today, for introducing me to opera (La Traviata is playing in the background), for starting the new Van Gogh jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table downstairs reviving an old tradition when the kids were here, for just everything.

2.  For the kids and grandkids.  For the good friends we have.

3.  For the French Dip sandwich at Lou's Food Bar, the steamed pork belly buns at Bones, and Park Burgers.

4.  For Saturday mornings at Snooze.

5.  For the porch of our cabin up in the Tetons, my bliss station.

6.  For my Teton friends all over the country who are called to that part of the world and Jenny Lake Lodge and have some sort of esprit de corps about the place.  I want to remember that no matter what, it's those mountains and bathing in the woods that make me whole each year.  The goal is to get there more, not less.

7.  For the delivery of the stove and fridge last Thursday.

8.  For Jim and Bud getting the sink in on Tuesday.  It took all day and quite the bluster of swearing, but it's in.  It doesn't leak.  The garbage disposal works.  It looks cool.  The water pressure is amazing.  I love the sink.

9.  Oddly, for Lizbeth Salandar.  I've been through two bouts of the flu since my flu shot.  Jim and I both missed getting outside our hotel room in Chicago with a flu.  We went through it again, or something horribly similar, a week after we got home at the end of our week with Chris's kids.  Lizbeth Salandar got me through the second bout.

They've been replaying The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo on cable a lot recently and as I've tried to sleep (it's really hard to do when running to bathroom), I've had the movie on.  I loved the books with Lizbeth, but I've had some real time to think about her in my flu-ridden state.

Lizbeth represents many things I abhor and yet I love her.  She is guided by justice and revenge and I've spent my life trying to move myself over to the mercy side of the duality.  She takes care of lot of buried vengeance about my own loss of innocence.

She is brilliant and can glance at things and know them.  She loves research and I don't.  I have a lot to say about education, but the kind of research needed to say it stops me easily.  Jim loves it.  I am a fictional girl.

Lizbeth breaks little and big rules.  She kills people on the big side of things and she ignores no smoking requests even from Mikael on the smaller side of things.  She doesn't worry about these choices.  She thinks it's absurd to feel guilty about smoking--it is a need to her.  It's interesting that she asks Mikael permission to kill Martin Vanger.  Why does she ask this time?

Enough.  I shouldn't like her.  I do.  I'm grateful there's a fictional girl out there killing my boogiemen.

10.  I am thankful for the upcoming trip to the New York City in April to see Nate and Ashley, to go Metropolitan Opera, to go on one of Nate's food tours, to meet up with Franny's family there too.

11.  For my country and its people.  For being in Chicago, and healthy that one day, this election day and in the hotel where the President was living through it all.  I rode down the elevator for 27 floors with David Axelrod and he remembered Franny and I had such a wonderful Mom moment.  We took Willa for a sushi lunch (our first real outing--we made it to the hotel lobby) and met Franny's White House cohorts.  Wonderful.

12.  For Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell.  Lots of wonderful tidbits that I don't seem to let go of--a fun and interesting and scientific read.

12.  For Daniel Martin by John Fowles.  My fifth reading and third copy.  The first was a problematic paperback.  The print was too small and the last fifteen pages were missing.  I bought a used hardback and left it in Chicago.  I found another hardback in the basement that we thought we'd given away years ago.  I may finish this reading by May.  I love this book though.  It's the Huck Finn of my old age I guess.

13.  For knitting.  For my own bed.  For my TV and all the stupid stuff I watch.

14.  For being here.  For being alive.  I put up with a lot of physical stuff because of radiation.  I complain too much.  It's good to be here.  I'm so incredibly lucky and thankful.

Everybody have a good day.  Have a whole lot of good days.


Wednesday, October 24, 2012

An Interesting Notion

Albeit Unsettling

Here is another idea that I ripped off from something I read yesterday:  Most of the successes of two term presidents is the result of the unpopular initiatives of one term presidents.

I know this sounds like I am conceding the upcoming election to Romney.  I'm not.  I still think Obama will eke out a victory, although it looks increasingly possible that that victory will be decided in the electoral morass that Colorado's idiot and partisan Secretary of State has created.  I don't know if we Coloradans should be proud or ashamed to be the next Florida.

Anyway, back to the interesting idea.  Jimmy Carter was a one term president because he made the fatal mistake of suggesting that we cut back, be more austere, conserve resources.  These are not popular positions today.  In the late 70's they were anathema.  The hostage crisis didn't help his reelection chances, but he would have lost in any event.  Ronald Reagan swept in and got the adoration of conservatives everywhere for rolling back regulations and overseeing a short lived economic boom that quickly turned to unmanageable deficit and scandal (Iran-Contra) by the time his 8 years were mercifully up.  But the deregulation and the booming economy were the results of policies started by Carter.  Carter was the first to start deregulating (Airlines) on a systematic scale.  The economy rebounded under Reagan because of the fiscal good sense instituted by Carter.  Carter was vilified for the very things he did to make Reagan such a success.

The same thing is true of Bush I.  He had to clean up the mess Reagan left him, the same job Carter had following Nixon/Ford.  To his credit he realized his "No New Taxes" pledge was impossible to keep unless he was willing to usher in a major recession, so he raised taxes.  He also conducted a prudent campaign in Iran, without over reaching like his son would do a decade later.  I'm not sure what I think about the "war" in Iran, but I am convinced that Bush's tax increase was a major contributor to the unprecedented growth of the Clinton years.  Bush was voted out of office for doing exactly the right thing (when it came to taxes).  And like Reagan before him, Clinton squandered away that strong start by over reaching and not just in the personal realm.

The same thing could potentially happen again.  Romney and Ryan say they will create 12 million new jobs during their reign.  EVERY "expert" says the economy will grow 12 million jobs in that time no matter who the president is.

Presidents, it turns out, are like the rest of us.  Little people swept up in the tide of great big events.

I've got to close this now.  I'm on my way down to City Park for Obama's rally.  It's gonna make all the difference.

Monday, October 22, 2012

Miscellany

Here is a bunch of stuff highlighting the difficulty of remaining sane.

I

This month was The Atlantic's special report on education issue.  Usually I make a point of ignoring anything having to do with education, but an article on pg. 96 entitled "The Writing Revolution" got the better of me.

This is an article that suggests the teaching of expository essay writing improves student performance in all areas.  This is the reason why I avoid education articles, but I kept reading.  It seems the principal at New Dorp High School on Staten Island, when confronted by study after study showing the effectiveness of writing instruction, decided to make essay writing in EVERY CLASS except math the focus of the school.  Non-English teachers freaked.  There were already doing a bang up job, they insisted, all evidence to the contrary.  The problem with New Dorp students (other than the name of the school itself) was that they just weren't bright enough to do the kind of writing the principal wanted.  Regular English teachers freaked as well because ever since the 90's writing "instruction" revolved around things like first person memoirs, short pieces of fiction, and peer editing.  That fluffy approach, conventional knowledge said, was the way to get students to invest in their education.

The New Dorp experience exposes that warm and fuzzy approach for the chimera it is.  Since instituting a new approach through the teaching of grammar, sentence structure, and expository writing, test scores have shot up, the number of kids eligible for college admission has more than doubled.  Life is good.

Well, hello!  Kathie and I could have told you that would have been the result.  Toward the end of our career, some of the newer and younger teachers in our department started rebelling against the kind of formulaic writing we championed.  The newer teachers (Todd Reynolds, he of the red hair, homunculus physique, and asshole personality, comes immediately to mind) thought that controlling statements were works of the devil, squelching poor kids' creative instincts.  They thought giving kids explicit instruction on things like transitions, coordinating and subordinating conjunctions, five paragraph essays, and the like were all stupid wastes of time.  Instead, we should allow kids the freedom to explore their talents and gifts and interests.  Hey, I'm as much for following creative instincts and interests as the next guy, but I also know that one must start with a formula for beginning writers.  Of course, there are exceptions.  I had plenty of them and guess what, they all grew in spite of my squelching of their instincts.  If a kid really can write and think and read, no amount of teacher bumbling is going to get in the way, but those kids in the sophomore year are few and far between.

Anyway,  teachers at New Dorp are doing exactly what Kathie and I and Janet and Sue and Peter and all the rest did all those years ago.  They are teaching grammar.  They are teaching coordination and subordination.  They are counting paragraphs.  Mostly, they are making kids write till their arms fall  off.  That has always been the key. They are doing all those things kids need and they are starting a "revolution" in teaching.

My only problem is, like all teaching "revolutions",  it is just revisiting those old methods that have always worked before some hotshot reformer bound on saving education from moribund teachers like me decided to discredit them.  It makes me crazy.

II

Tom Friedman wrote a great piece in The New York Times yesterday ("Obama's Best-Kept Secrets"). Friedman is at a loss to understand why the President doesn't more vigorously and specifically defend his successes, instead of just warning everybody about how it will be a disaster if Romney wins.  For instance, Romney is getting a lot of traction among women voters by spinning the number of jobs women have lost under Obama and by assuring them he will get jobs for their husbands.  He will also see to it that any woman he hires personally will have a schedule flexible enough for her to rush home and make dinner for her hubby (or partner?, probably not), and help the kids with homework and the like.  I'm sure Romney has never considered the possibility that a husband might make the dinner.  That sounds a lot like European socialism, doesn't it?  Instead of arguing back that Romney will outlaw abortions and make it more difficult and costly to get contraception, why doesn't the President fight back on the economy instead of conceding it.  There is NO evidence that Romney has even a clue about creating jobs.  NONE.

Anyway, Obama's secrets are Race-To-The-Top and raising the mileage standards to 54.5 mpg by 2025.  Romney vows to stop both of these programs.  He offers no reason why except that since they are initiatives by Obama they must be bad.  But they are actually the among the biggest drivers of our (admittedly slow) economic growth.  The fact is there are numbers of jobs out there that are unfilled because we lack the kind of single minded training we need in our schools to fill them.  Race-To-The-Top is designed to ameliorate that and it is being surprisingly successful across the country.  Believe me, it is hard for me to admit that, but the evidence is persuasive.  And the new fuel economy standards, instead of sounding a death knell to the auto industry, have spurred more innovation and jobs based around that innovation.  Engineers are going back to work again.

Romney, a businessman who rejects the value of research and development, would scrap the new standards even as he tries to build his pipeline from Canada.  This guy knows the value of symbols.  Too bad he doesn't understand the value of fact and logic and science.  But the average voter, the ones who will hear Romney speak for maybe the third time, will never be able to sit still for such an argument.  They will either vote for Romney because he is a more accomplished liar, or they will vote for Obama because his family is so beautiful.

III

A study was conducted by The Department of Agriculture in conjunction with Iowa State University and The University of Iowa on crop rotation and the use of chemicals.  Quick background:  the typical farmer in our country uses a two year rotation of crops with corn one year and soybeans the next.  The study wanted to see the effect of longer rotation periods with more crops.  To make a long story short, they discovered that a four year rotation using corn, soybeans, oats, and alfalfa gave a yield almost twice the size and didn't have to rely on chemicals to keep the crops free of weeds and pests because with the longer rotation the farmers could use the manure their cows were producing as a fertilizer more easily than in a two year rotation (I don't completely understand how, but the guys in the Ag Dept. did).  The labor costs go up, but the money saved on fewer chemicals makes up for it.

The problem is that the results of the test seem to be counter intuitive because they fly in the face of the way things  are CURRENTLY DONE and so major publications are refusing to publish the results.  Also you can bet the Monsanto Corporation would like to see the information suppressed.

It is a lot like killing the electric car campaign waged by the oil companies a few years ago.  More and more this is a country about nothing more than the bottom line.

IV

I'm going to watch football instead of the debate tonight.  I encourage you to join me.  I just can't stand Romney's willingness to pander at any cost and I can't stand Obama's maddening refusal to speak specifically about anything that matters.  And I really can't stand the thought of listening to the punditocracy pontificate about who won, who had the best body language, who was more likable, what the polls REALLY mean.  I've already voted.  I voted for the President.  He is a good man and he is smarter than anybody in the other party.  I don't see how any other vote is possible.  Besides, the Bears are playing tonight and I want to watch Jay Cutler screw up.

By the way, for all those hordes of people reading this, I'm not looking for an argument about this.  I'm sick of arguments.  That's why I listen to MSNBC instead of Fox.  I love to hear from people who agree with me, but as someone in his mid-60's, if someone disagrees with me I don't give a shit.  It's a nice place to be.


Sunday, October 21, 2012

With and Without Boobs


Katherine here.

I hate October.  It's breast cancer month.  I've done breast cancer twice and the most recent round was a mastectomy and the beginning of life sans boobs.

October means cancer and pink everywhere.  People run, walk, play football in pink accessories, eat out, sleep in,  and go on motorcycle cruises to raise money.  People buy all sorts of pink shit to raise money.  This is really good.  This is really important.  This helps prevent cancer and helps people get better.  This is, however, a truly constant reminder that I've been really sick and I could well be really sick again and I'm running out of weapons to battle my sickness because a girl's body can only handle so much surgery and radiation and chemicals and their long range effects.  The mirror is a daily and regular reminder of my survival status.  October just means there is no escaping that definition.

It's the boobless thing on my mind now.  Like most girls, part of my personal history has a booby tale or two.  I was a chesty teenager raised by a Mom so embarrassed by body stuff that menstrual periods were a shock and my introduction to bras was a sack from the Denver Dry Goods with two Playtex bras that showed up on my bed after school one day.  They were white cotton and had a pattern in stitches that looked like a Target with a bullseye at the nipple.  Since Mom wouldn't talk to me about the bras, I had to figure out the straps myself and at age eleven (I had an early start) it was tricky.  Anyway--you get the idea.

Until I went off to college, there was only one small time in high school when I thought I might have a good figure or I might look good in some clothes if I ever got to wear something my mother hadn't made for me.  This is when Mom thought I could be Miss America and found me a sponsor and entered me in the contest without talking to me about my total lack of talent and my horror about the possibility of such a degrading experience.  If Dad hadn't reined her in, I might have had to compete in the pageant with the unique "talent" of changing Mom-made outfits behind a screen while giving a talk about fashion.  The positive I can remember about this is somehow Mom also thought I could make it through the swimsuit competition.

I went from a totally restrictive environment when it came to bodies and what they were capable of to college in the late 60's when bodies became a constant source of discussion.  Clothes changed.  Mom didn't believe in jeans and I never owned a pair until I bought some on my own up in Fort Collins the first week I arrived at CSU.  Mom thought college was still like the June Allyson/Peter Lawford college movies she loved and she sent me off with two piece suits.  Let me tell you that I was the only girl in the dorm with five matching wool suits.  Anyway--I bought jeans and sweaters on the sly.  I still love jeans and sweaters more than any other form of clothing.  The jeans and sweaters didn't really show off my figure anymore than the wool suits did, but I was comfy.  I was too inhibited for showing off what I had so it wasn't a problem.

My favorite college boob memory was at a women's lib rally my freshman year.  It was an infamous bra burning and the hardest part for me was figuring out which of my Playtex numbers I could sacrifice.    The choice made,  I knew there was no way I could publicly remove it and then burn it.  I stuck it in my purse and valiantly burned the stashed bra.  I was always one for making almost statements.

The boobs moved on to leotard type tops and sports bras during most of my teaching and parenting career.  I lived in my jeans and t-shirts and layered up a storm.  I'm guessing that Jim's the only one around who realized I had a nifty chest underneath all the various layers.  These were the mindless boob years.  Boobs for nursing.  Boobs for pleasure.  That's pretty much it.  Boobs for showing hadn't even crossed my mind.

After the kids were out of the house and Jim and I were alone, there was a new boob development.  I'd done the first round of cancer which left me mostly in tact and the radiation effects hadn't begun yet.  I was living in that frame of mind when I believed my body would never start "cancering" again (read THE END OF SICKNESS to understand why I now see the disease as a verb rather than a noun).  This was the last part of my life when I didn't think daily about cancer.  It was nice.

I rarely watched Oprah, but I did one day during that stretch of time and it was about bra fittings and amazingly beautiful bras.  I'd been getting Nike sports bras and tanks at Abercrombie and really hadn't looked at a lingerie department in years.  The Oprah show was cool and it made bra shopping seem like a good time.  I watched all sorts of women in all sorts of shapes put on new bras and they looked a whole lot more like girls after the change.  With my usual whim of iron, I made a bra appointment the next day.

It was awesome.  I went to Nordstrom's and came home with four $80 bras and the sexiest matching panties.  I put sweaters on over the new bras and I got embarrassed.  I was sure somebody was going to think I'd had surgery.  I really had something to flaunt here, but no flaunting experience.  I was almost 50 at this point and it all seemed like a kind of delightful way to battle menopause.  Also, I'd been lucky--all the years in sports bras had kept me from having horrible weiner boobs.  I liked my boobs--even with the bullet-hole in the right one from the lumpectomy.

For about one year I had really nice boob time with pretty underwear and an inner playfulness about my battle against the hot flashes and other menopausal symptoms that appeared.  Then came the second round of cancer.

Each time you have cancer, your choices are fewer and the stats you look at to make decisions are grimmer.  I couldn't do reconstructive surgery because of the radiation treatments during my first cancer battle.  I could remove my lat muscles and wrap them up in balls and attach them to my chest, but my life as an active person would have to change (kayaking and playing tennis require lats).  It would also require a year of my life and three surgeries at best.  I chose to have a mastectomy.

Like most in my position, I did the bra fitting for the prosthetics.  I have two nice bras and two fake boobs collecting dust in my closet.  They are heavy and uncomfortable and they shift around and they just don't feel good physically.  That leaves me as I am and back to tanks from Abercrombie.

I see myself as a Disney cartoon character.  Like Aladdin.  There are no nipples-just some horizontal lines.   Aladdin has more symmetry than I do though.  I have scars and gnars.

I have large parts of my chest and left arm and back that have no sensation.  When Jim lovingly kisses my right shoulder as I cook dinner, I know he is there and doing it, but I don't feel it.  His love of me and my body AS IT IS keeps me afloat and helps me be the girl I am.  Shortly after my surgery a guy at the gym told me he would leave his wife before he'd let her cut her boobs off.  Whatever it is that is me, Jim loves it all and caresses it all and cherishes it all.

My vanity struggles with my situation, but not my soul.  I've learned to dress sans boobs and feel like I look good.  I'm good with distraction and most folks notice the hair, the boots, some odd piece of clothing more than the body that goes with the distractions.  I'm not complaining.  It is good to be alive.

I wrote this because when we saw Chris's production of The Little Shop of Horrors Friday night, the women at the theater were so amazingly well endowed it was almost blinding.  Another result of my boobless state is that I tend to notice boobs wherever I go.  The Parker PACE theater made it impossible to think of much else when the play wasn't happening.  I kept trying to think of the kind of engineering it had taken to keep such masses floating.   It's been a real relief that the rest of the world has looked realistic since that evening.

I'm about to head up to start watching football and there will be football pundits in pink ties and players wearing pink shoes and we will all be aware that breast cancer is a battle that needs fighting.  I support the cause and I contribute to the cause and all of that.  I just want November to come so only my walk from the shower to my closet each morning reminds me that I'm a survivor and not just a girl.






Saturday, October 20, 2012

Little Shop of Horrors

I'm a proud father this morning.  Of course, most mornings I'm a proud father.  I'm lucky that way.  Anyway, Chris of Starkey Productions and now Starkey Theatrix has started producing plays and musicals, something he has always wanted to do, the past couple of years.  He has an exciting arrangement with both PACE (Parker's beautiful arts center) and Lone Tree's large mainstage theater.  It's a gutsy move, but that's what Chris is about.  He commented that this production thing has become his "hobby business."  In other words, he seems to be doing alright, even in the face of Obama's fabricated attack on small business.  But enough politics.

Last night Kathie and I saw the opening performance of Little Shop of Horrors.  It was a great evening.  The former director at Country Dinner Playhouse did the show and the same things that characterized Country Dinner characterized this production.  Surprisingly effective sets that could be changed, thanks to the rotating stage, at the drop of a hat.  A pace that never let up.  Well, it let up some in the second act, but I think all shows do that.  Plus, let's face it, the second act of this show isn't in the same ball park as the first.  The numbers aren't as big.  The key seems to change to something eerier.  Only "Suddenly Seymour" brings the house down.  The first act, even though there isn't a BIG curtain dropper, is filled with one great number after another.  "Skid Row" was so perfect it brought tears to my eyes.  Of course, I cry at particularly effective television commercials.

I've seen lots of theater in my time.  I used to review for CERVI'S JOURNAL in a previous life.  Little Shop at Parker held its own with the best productions in town.  Mostly the nine person cast and the four piece rock band wailing away up on the catwalk filled that huge room with sound.  I thought it was one of the best vocal ensembles I've seen and heard in a long time.

Postpone all further activities and get yourself some tickets to Little Shop of Horrors.  You won't be disappointed and you can have the heady feeling of supporting the arts.

Congratulations Chris.  My heart soars like a hawk.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Equivocation

Anyone who has ever been a teacher or a parent knows all about equivocation.  Kids wouldn't be kids without their well-honed ability to fudge a little with the truth.  And parents wouldn't be parents if their blind love for their children did not make them easy prey to such a rhetorical device.  Teachers are in the same position.

That's what makes this campaign season, the entire political process actually, so frustrating.  Politicians are getting better and better at dealing from the bottom of the truthiness deck.  Checking PolitiFact every day used to be one of my favorite things.  It was reassuring to see a Pants on Fire assigned to a particularly egregious lie, or a big True next to some startling piece of information supporting my position.  But lately everything gets rated Partly False or Partly True or Half True or Half False.  It's like dealing with clever and unscrupulous seniors on a day when an assignment is due.

There are still a few Pants on Fire moments (saying that Obama started his presidency with an apology tour, or suggesting that Romney is somehow responsible for some lady's death by cancer in Ohio), but the candidates are clever enough to avoid them.  The thing is no one (now that Michelle Bachman and Newt Gingrich are out of the race) tells bald faced lies.  They just hedge a little.

Romney let his reliance on the blogosphere for his policy positions get the best of him and he pounced on the President for saying that he proclaimed the tragedy in Libya an act of terror the very next day.  The moderator pointed out (God bless her) that in fact Obama did say precisely that.  This is an important speaking point for Republicans because they are hoping to use the sadness in Libya to suggest that the killing of bin Laden was no big deal and Obama should not get any points for that rather ballsy decision.  So what did they do in reaction to the Great Libya Gaffe?"  They decried the moderator for being partisan.  Evidently, pointing out the truth is a Democratic Party thing.  But this tempest in a teapot is all about equivocation.  Obama did use the word terror the very next day, but if you were into parsing sentences it was unclear if he was referring to Libya specifically.  Four weeks later, after more information became available, Obama was more specific about the whole terror/Libya connection.  You see, they were both right.  Kinda.

Time and time again, every criticism Romney makes of Obama's record, the facts are cherry picked.  Time and time again, every criticism leveled against Romney uses equally cherry picked facts.  If our two candidates, two political parties, two sides of the philosophical schism separating our country can't even agree on the facts, how can they agree on anything?  It is a depressing situation.

I suppose it was ever thus.  I've stood on the spot on the Potomac River where George Washington claims to have thrown a silver dollar across.  Fat chance!  I'll bet he was equivocating just to earn some political points, kind of like Paul Ryan forcing homeless people to stand around and watch him wash clean dishes.  The thing that really happened is that George put a silver dollar in his pocket and had one of his slaves row him to the other side.  When the boat landed, George got out and stood across the river from where he started.  He then tossed the coin to the slave as a kind of tip and in fact ended up throwing a silver dollar across the river.  Of course, this is just a theory.

"Son, did you chop down that cherry tree?  Tell the truth now."

Young George, looking at a stump and next to it a leafy log with no cherries on it, cherries being out of season at the time, said, "well, since there is no tree and there are no cherries, I would have to say that, no I did not chop down a cherry tree."

"Son!  I saw you with the axe.  Aren't those leaves in your hair?"

"Those aren't leaves in my hair.  That's dirt on my shoe.  Are you sure it was me?  What time was it?

"George, I'm getting fed up with your stories.  Next thing you know you're going to tell me about throwing a silver dollar across the river.  I want you to tell the truth, or I'm going to give this property to your half brother."

"I cannot tell a lie.  It was I who chopped down the cherry tree."

No wonder he was such a great president.

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Can I Fill In The Bubbles Now, Please?!

It's five o'clock on Saturday morning and I had to run down here because in the kitchen some body language expert--he's written a book--is analyzing the debate from his perspective.  He is being treated by the talk show hosts as if he has something significant to offer to the post-mortem over the debate.

I can't stand it.  Chris Matthews, Ed Schultz and the rest of the crew from MSNBC continue to be downright apoplectic about the whole thing.  It is as if we were all back in the court of King Arthur and Sir Obama was our champion in the joust against the Green Knight!  He didn't eviscerate him.  He didn't even come close.  Which means he let us down and now we're pissed.

Maybe he just realized what we all should realize.  Presidential debates--I've been passionately watching them for over fifty years--are complete and total bullshit.  A media event and nothing more.  I would be disillusioned if I discovered that my president spent the same number of hours in preparation as his opponent.  I would hope he had more pressing business, like hanging out with the girls, or taking Michelle out to a nice dinner.  If it had been me, and my schedulers had put a nationally televised debate on the same day as my 20th anniversary, I would get some new schedulers.  I would also call in sick and hang out with my wife instead of all the fatuous men and women looking to the debate for answers.  Give me a FUCKING break.

What I want more than anything is to get my ballot in the mail so I can bubble in the little squares and mail it back and forget about politics and start concentrating on important things:  the Broncos, crisp fall weather, colorful leaves, writing novels that will never be published.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

METANEWS

I remember when I was a kid in Estes Park during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962.  Television was beginning to cement its role as the nation's galvanizing force, the thing we all gathered around during those big communal times.  Inaugurations.  Beauty pageants.  Mine cave-ins.  The world on the brink of war.  We all gathered around the tube and with one mind watched the events transpire.  We all let out our collective breaths when the blockade seemed to work.  We were all on the same side, united against a common enemy, determined to preserve our way of life.  Blah, blah, blah.

It doesn't work that way anymore.  Inaugurations divide.  Beauty pageants piss off and offend groups of all descriptions.  Mine cave-ins, or oil spills, or hurricanes, or any other accidental disaster are just handy vehicles for galvanizing one's political base, for somehow directing blame where it can do a candidate the most good, at his or her opponent.  There is no such thing as pure information any more.  No event just happens.  There is always a finger to point, a pundit to pontificate, a candidate to take credit or lay blame.  The reactions to events are more important than the events and that sad state of affairs ends up in skewing the emphasis placed on certain types of news.

Today's news is a case in point.  The lead story on every outlet was Mitt Romney's latest idiocy.  He basically said that all committed Obama voters are either on the public dole or looking for a way to share in the largesse.  They think the country owes them things.  They have all committed the ultimate sin of entitlement and, to use a phrase from Ayn Rand (seems only fair), they are all "moochers."  He then went back in front of the press to tell them that he stood by his message, but he just wished he had stated it more elegantly.  I'm still trying to figure out how one states that message elegantly.  Of course, that story was followed by lengthy commentary from pundits on both sides of the political spectrum analyzing the impact this might have on the election.  From there the producers naturally segued to graphics showing poll results about the upcoming elections.  Obama is leading by 1 point in most polls. The margin of error is plus or minus five points.  Do we really need to know about this?

The Romney fiasco and its commentary used up about five minutes of air time.  Next up was the furor over Kate Middleton's breasts.  There were lots of outraged quotes from royalty and commoners alike.  Lawyers are being consulted.  The major media outlets look down their noses at the tabloids as they unashamedly plaster the television screen with fuzzed over pictures of the Princess' royal, bouncing boobs.  Mercifully, Mitt Romney has not weighed in, so to speak, on the whole topless issue as yet.  London is still recovering from his Olympic visit.

It was the third item that most bothered me and not just because of its placement below Kate's fuzzed out nipples.  The recent rash of "insider" attacks directed at our troops in Afghanistan reached a head yesterday as a group of terrorists dressed in US military gear attacked a major encampment, destroying property and killing Americans.  In a related case, a car loaded with explosives crashed into a tourist bus, killing a dozen innocent people.  That was the news, short and sweet.  When I was a kid, we would have greeted that information as a community worried and grieving.  But today the first question put to the hot shot general in front of the cameras was "What will this do to Obama's promised date for troop withdrawal?"  The commentary almost exclusively focused on how this tragic development was going to be used by both sides (I always thought we were on one side.) to gain votes in November.

Everything is METANEWS.  We talk about how we talk about the news.  We are at least two layers removed from reality.  Given the reality we are two levels removed from, that might not be all that bad.


Sunday, September 2, 2012

Going South

KATHERINE HERE.

I'm sitting at a desk in the Birmingham Aloft Hotel.  It's edgy.  There's a pool table and bar across from check-in.   Pipes and building stuff, in very matte black paint, hang from the ceiling.  The room is grey and black with minimal stuff.  There are no directions or pieces of paper about the place to explain how things work.  I like it.  I'm a grown-up.  I have managed to watch TV, connect to the internet, make coffee, and get the hi-tech shower to work.  The window overlooks the Soho neighborhood where our close friend David has a fine jewelry and collectible place.  It's not a store.  It's a gallery.  I have more to say about that, but it must wait.

It's been an adventure getting to this morning and this view.  It's been a wonderful journey and the only drawback to it is that Jim isn't here.  This is the longest we've been apart.  I have more to say about that as well.

I'm here because because of family.  Franny has begun to work on individual projects and this time she was organizing the friends and family of the Obamas for their attendance and participation in the Democratic National Convention.  Because Ken is embroiled in directing Congressman Perlmutter's campaign, he couldn't take two weeks off to help with the care of their daughter Willa while Franny ran from meetings in downtown Charlotte to security venue inspections and then back to the room for tons of conference calls with folks.

I volunteered to do the front part of the visit.  I did so with love, but fear took over when it became real.  Chris's beautiful kids have given me the confidence that I can handle little ones, but I'd never done plane rides or had to exist in a small hotel room for several days without leaving.  What if Willa wouldn't eat for me or sleep for me or play for me.  What if Willa got hurt?  What if Willa didn't like me when she was away from her mommy for long stretches?  Chris's kids are bigger now and they communicate--talking really helps.  So many worries with an a crawling eight month old baby.

I knew leaving Jim would be hard too.  If you know us, we are like two parts of one soul and it's hard to split a soul in half.  Try watching television with only half your soul.  It's not nearly as funny.

I know it's silly to be scared of stuff like this.  I was though.  I'm so glad fear didn't win.  This has been amazing.  I'll try to limit myself to the highlights.

Watching Franny work taught me why she is still one of Mrs. Obama's go-to people.  They are reaching our to her for more projects.  I couldn't be more proud.  I have watched emails stream in like the speed of light, heard conference calls I'd love to share, but that would be bad.  She was gone by 8:00 in the morning and when she could return to the room for some ballast, it also came with more emails and calls.  I went to bed at midnight with the covers over my head to block the light and clicking sounds because she was still typing and working.  Franny knows her brothers and friends think she doesn't always respond quickly enough (her brothers work incredibly hard and are sometimes equally guilty of this I should add).  When Franny is working on FLOTUS events, I'm not sure she could even find the emails in the blur. This girl is a work horse.

There were times when I met folks she worked with in The White House.  They adore her.  I met one of her mentors.  Amazing woman.  I've felt the same way when I met folks who have worked with the boys.  When Sammi had her brain surgery, the waiting room was filled with people singing Chris's praise in the same way.  When we saw Nate at The Pit in NYC,  his friends made us feel this way.  Though I know each is their own person, these moments shoot some sort of parenting thrill through me that's hard to explain.  We didn't do any of it, but there is a connection I can't deny.  I don't want credit--I just feel a part of it somehow.  We are blessed to have three kids who regularly provide this kind of electric joy.

Mostly, however, I watched Willa.  She and I both did great.  I learned to read her signs (the pooping frown and grunt was especially helpful).  She clearly recognizes words (bottle is a biggee) and it wasn't long before we doing just fine.

We went to the pool (no kiddee pool-ARGH) between rain storms (it rains in sheets here), played WillaBird (I laid on the ground and lifted her in the air with my feet and legs), learned to roll a ball (well, kind of), roared at each other in Willa-Talk, and became good buds.  She now gets excited to see me enter a room.  I'm sure she said "Hi" once.  She looks around for me when I am gone.  This was as thrilling as watching Franny work.

That was pretty much the week in Charlotte.  There were other moments to remember--trying to do my very early morning workout in the gym with Secret Service Agents (large and intense fellows who talk into their hands a lot), the fun overheard conversations of Obama staffers about the Ryan lies and Clint Eastwood's chair, realizing the sky is small in the South because of the trees, the southern fried dinner Franny treated me to my last night there, and the miniature friendships Willa made with every human being she encountered.

I left Charlotte yesterday to head to Birmingham to see our friend David.  It was on this flight I saw the biggest celebrities.  I'd seen TV sports folks on the flight out with Franny (Shannon Sharpe and Pam Oliver).  Bob Schieffer of FACE THE NATION sat behind me at the restaurant Friday night.  But nothing compared to the folks lining up to take photos of the matriarch and patriarch of DUCK DYNASTIES.

Dressed in camouflage from head to toe, the Willie-Nelson bearded man and wife shook hands and chatted up almost everyone on the plane.  I did not participate beyond asking someone near me who these folks were.  Guess they host a Cable TV show that is beloved in these parts.  Might have to miss it.

The two flights provided two miniature friendships.  I met a young Air Force serviceman headed to South Korea while having a drink between flights.  He was reading INVISIBLE MAN and wearing a Bronco hat.  If you know me, that's a blatant invitation for me to speak to you.  I did--it was great.  He's getting a degree and was taking a lit class and he was from Greeley.  He had to write a paper comparing the "Battle Royal" from the book and a story called "The Birthmark."  He couldn't see anything comparable.  He loved my miniature lesson in philosophy.  He took notes.  He hugged me.  I hope he will be safe.

On the next plane I met an army lawyer from Fort Bragg who worked with Colin Powell.  He was headed to Birmingham to see his mom.  Incredibly impressive young man. We both loved the stories we exchanged.  Talk about seeing a wonderful side of our Armed Forces.

David met me at the airport.  I must briefly introduce him.  We met him at Jenny Lake Lodge.  When we first started going up there, he would visit with long-time friends and discuss hikes and things to do.  We learned to sit close to his pod of folks and eavesdrop.  Teachers are good at that.  He was our greatest teacher.  He told me last night that I wrote him a note the second year and thanked him.  He still has it.  At that point he was only "The Hiker" to us.  He is David now.

Over the last 15 years, he's become a voice I love to hear (Southern drawls are wonderful), my personal jeweler, an art appreciation teacher, and a best friend (if such things are possible when you live across the country and only see each other several days a year).  I am not who I am without him.  I met his business partner and wife last night and Preston told me, "David is the most ethical man he's ever met."

We went to see his house.  He collects art.  His house is a lived-in and glorious art gallery.  He has a Carl Rungius.  This is a very big deal.  I wouldn't have known that ten years ago.  Almost every inch of wall space has something wonderful.  He juxtaposes classic realism with abstracts and impressionistic things.  Some paintings are done by well known artists (I'll learn them soon) and some are done by relatives and friends.  Almost every bit of table space is full of books and sculptures.  There also things from Tanzania and Bolivia and Switzerland and all sorts of places.  I've watched him purchase art in Jackson Wyoming.  It was cool to see where the pieces ended up.  Like I said, it's a gallery.

David also has taught me about Southern hospitality.  He brings me cheese straws when we go to the Tetons.  He brought them to me yesterday.  He put me up in this hotel despite my protests and this gift gave me some needed alone time and a moment to write this.  He took me to a truly wonderful dinner last night (Bottega  if you are ever in Birmingham).    We are going to brunch and the art museum today.  I will do everything I can to pitch in.  I arrived empty handed.  I'll be looking for a special thank you soon.  I have something in mind already.

David also offered the Promised Land yesterday.  Unlike Moses, I got to cross over and walk in.  I went to The Store.  It's Wallace Burke Fine Jewelry and Collectibles in the Soho area.  It's small and yet another gallery.  There are silver antiques, leather bound books, glass pieces that stun, and happily jewelry.  One of the pantings in bought in Jackson is there too.  All the jewelry pieces are unique.  Period.  David and the Preston choose these things individually.  There is not too much.  It is perfect.  it was indeed full of milk and honey.

I adore jewelry.  Jim doesn't really see it, but he has always indulged me.  He and David conspired at Jenny one year and the result was an engagement ring they presented to me a year later.  It was the year Franny got married.  The moment on the mountain when Jim and David gave it to me is probably better than most girls ever get.  It was lovely to be loved by two fellows at once.

Since then, David has guided me through a number of heirloom purchases and has redesigned some things my mom gave me when I was growing up.  My favorite would be some emerald earrings from his store.  They are single stone emeralds surrounded by yellow diamonds.  He told me they matched my eyes.  What can a girl do?

Visiting the store was like playing Cinderella.  I tried on a $26,000 yellow diamond band.  I won't be getting that one, but it looked pretty damn good on me.  There was a green garnet and amethyst bracelet that I'm praying won't sell until I'm done paying for a pair of pearl earrings (I'm still in anguish over a color decision there) more in my price range.  I don't think God pays attention to jewelry prayers (at least I hope not), but I'm going to keep a good thought or change my mind and look at a long haul for the bracelet.  David will let me know.  Isn't that what a personal jeweler is for?

I'm sorry this is so long.  I guess it's more for me than anyone else.  It's been an incredibly fulfilling trip.  I feel I've been a huge part of the village of my family.  I feel so loved by my family and friends.  And besides, not everybody gets to see the hosts of DUCK DYNASTIES.

P.S.  I'm buying the bracelet.  It matches the paint in my house.  Things like that are important.



Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Sentences

I'm working on my next attempt at a novel and I have just written the two best sentences I have ever produced.  Here, let me share them with you.

"PING," the strange sound of metal bat on ball filled Nate with pride as he watched his third attempt sail lazily toward Amy, who looked in wonder as the ball carved its path toward her open glove.  Most of the team stopped what they were doing when they heard the ball being hit and watched as Amy moved into position under the fly, punched her fist into the glove, and fell in a heap to the ground as the ball hit her in the chest and settled on the outfield grass next to her empty glove."

Victimhood

This is probably going to make me sound like a real asshole, but I want to get it off my chest.

I feel awful for the unfortunate souls who were victimized in the Aurora theater shooting, just like I felt awful for the Columbine victims and the Oklahoma City victims and the Virginia Tech victims and any other victims in a list of crimes too numerous to mention, but I've never understood the idea that these people have special rights by virtue of their victimhood.

I just read in the POST that the Aurora victims are getting frustrated because all the money that has been raised and donated for victim relief is not going expeditiously to their pockets.  I'm sorry, but I don't see why they should get compensated for their loss, or their trauma.  What exactly do they need the money for?  Their sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, aunts, uncles and the rest were murdered.  How much cash is that worth?

I'm sounding a little like Paul Ryan here, but why are they entitled to anything more than our sympathy and resolve to put an end to rampages like the one in the theater?  I don't think tragedy should be remunerative.  That's one of the reasons it's a tragedy.

I'm not going to share this on Facebook.  If you think I am being particularly insensitive here, well maybe I am.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

The Art of Retiring

Katherine here.

It's been a long time.  I've been a busy girl.  I work and travel and garden and cook and knit and watch TV mindlessly and go to restaurants and read and hike and do stuff.  I've been doing so much stuff that I classified my thoughts into four posts as we drove back home from Santa Fe so I could write about all the stuff I've been doing.  I can remember three of my ideas at the moment.  I miss my steel-trap mind.

Losing one's steel-trap mind seems to be part of retirement.  I like to think that my brain is so full of shit that it makes arbitrary decisions about what to keep on file and what to delete.  My brain seems to save a lot of junk about my past that I really am ok with losing.  Important future posts on the blog don't get the kind of prioritizing I really want.  I want to be more in charge of my brain.

That's why I'm writing--I'm feeling a bit in charge of retirement even though it's getting hard to keep up with it and my ability to juggle the multiple facets of it in my brain is also dwindling.  We are doing retirement nicely I think.  A former student, I'll call him Karl because that's his name, suggested Jim write something about that.  Jim just finished his book and is in the neurotic agony stage of trying to seek a literary agent.  Not good timing.  I decided to take Karl up (hope it's not a disappointment) and explain our take-charge happy retirement life.

I'm thinking the following elements have made retirement a really cool way of life for J and I.

1.  Mobility.  Being able to walk and move is everything.  We can hike and kayak our way around the Tetons, walk from downtown Manhattan to where Nate lives in the East Village, climb up and down ruins in Belize.  We've been going to the gym for years.  It makes a difference.

2.  Friends.  We have amazing friends.  Bud and Janet have taught us so much about traveling and staying busy.  We wouldn't have passports without them pushing us.  I wouldn't be thinking about organizing travel plans years in advance without Janet.  Jim wouldn't be comfortable building decks and fixing stuff around the house with being a handyman with Bud.  Cindy taught me to knit and so much more.  Jerry and J can sit and talk politics happily on the same side of things.  Barb is my history and truth teller.  I could go on and on.  Retirement isn't the time you find your friends--I don't think so anyway.

3.  Common Interests.  Jim and I have been building layers of interests together for close to 40 years now.  We started with tennis and watching sports, and then added cooking, then bridge, then hiking, then kayaking, then fancier cooking--you get the idea.  We're working on opera now.  New goal--see an opera at the Met in NYC and one in San Francisco.  We have differences, but they seem so small.  I avoid movies that make me cry sometimes.  J does not.  He reads a lot more non-fiction than I do.  I read more fiction than he does.  He likes tomatoes more than I do, but I'm really working on it of late.

4.  Stupid Decisions.  We have poured money into the wrong things.  We need new flooring and air conditioning would be nice someday.  There's a large list of things the house could use.  We travel instead.  I watched my Dad lose all of his life when his lung disease and oxygen machine pretty much imprisoned him at home.  I've had cancer twice.  I don't know how long I have.  I'm making the fiscally stupid decision to enjoy time while I am here and while I can move.

5.  Food.  Cook your own food and go out to good places when you can.  My mom lives on trips to awful restaurants and the leftovers she brings home.  She won't cook and hates the food at the independent living place where she lives.  Living on awful leftovers is not something we do.  We buy good food and cook it up and enjoy reading recipes and the whole process involved with food.  We eat at wonderful places at home and on the road.  Food is not just fuel.

6. The Gym.    Belong to one.  Go with as much regularity as you can muster.  See number 1.

7.  The Doctor.  See the doc.  The docs catch things like cancer.  See number 1.

8.  Work.  Do something.  It doesn't have to be for money.  I work for money because I need to fund my travel plans and shopping desires.  I found a good and flexible job in my field.  This was very hard. I applied for over thirty jobs and I got one interview.  I managed to get that job.  I'd be okay doing other things--I'd really like to be a part time concierges for The Four Seasons downtown for instance.  They weren't interested though.  Jim alternates between doing handyman jobs with Bud Simmons, doing home projects, and writing.  The book he finished in the last year is wonderful.  Our friends are busy.  We are busy.  Our kids are busy.  It's hard to find time for stuff.  That's good.

9.  Family.  We were very lucky.  We have three great kids--all have wonderful spouses.  It is fun to be with them.  We will visit Nate in the spring.  We see Chris and Franny and their families regularly.  We have oodles of grandkids who are fun and their own people too.  We have family dinners at our house about twice a month.  My mom comes (our only surviving parent), sometimes my brother and wife, all the kids, Barb (she's family), and sometimes some dear neighbors too.  This is costly, but it's been a really good thing.

10. Technology.  We try to embrace and use it.  We learned how to upload part of J's book to an agency submission thing today.  We can play games on our phones and we text too much I think.  I do the bills online and we only write checks when required.  No point in not keeping up, but it's frustrating because things change so quickly.  I recently did the Mountain Lion upgrade for the Mac and the Mail part of the computer looked totally different after the process and now my Mobile Me is an iCloud.  It's hard to understand why constant upgrading is important, but we do it and we survive.  

11.  Sense of humor.  Your body fails in lots of ways that pisses you off.  Technology gets ahead of you too quickly (see number 10).  You learn your preferences all too well and edge toward inflexibility (I know I'm in trouble when my mom starts a conversation with, "You know how flexible I am Katherine and...").  You have to laugh.  No matter who is elected, no matter who quarterbacks the Broncos, no matter what weird things CDE or DPS or the feds do to teachers--it just doesn't matter.  Bill Murray had it right in Meatballs--it really just doesn't matter.  That's the best advice of all.

Thanks for listening.

P.S.  An ironic post script:  I tried to add a photo, but the computer wouldn't let me because iPhoto needed to be upgraded.  I'll do that next.


Tuesday, July 31, 2012

A Few Things

Developing a Sense of Community in a Dystopia

First:  An Apologia

It has been five weeks since I've written anything in here, but I have a good excuse.  After some forty years of trying to write a novel in fits and starts and mostly abject failures, I have finally produced one.  It is 72,000 words long give or take a few hundred, as I am still polishing.  If you want to talk genres, it is a combination of magical realism, coming of age, and comedy of manners.    

Let me tell you about it.  A few years ago, I noticed that knitters always have these little slips of paper with grids of numbers and letters to help them keep track of where they are on their project.  They're called lace patterns, Katherine tells me.  I thought it would be interesting to see what would happen if a gung-ho newspaper type--a sophomore because sophomores are always either gung-ho or comatose--came across a series of these mysterious notes.  He would probably concoct some kind of conspiracy, or some kind of visitors from outer space narrative around the little papers.  I had been brooding about that idea for a number of years and even had some failed first attempts at the story.  Finally, almost exactly one year ago, I hit upon the point of view and the voice I wanted to use in this narrative.  Against my better instincts, I decided on third person omniscient because I was uncomfortable with it and I figured it would force me to work harder and concentrate.  I don't want to sound too egomaniacal, but writing in first person comes too easily for me.  My concentration lapses, and I end up being way too breezy.  I also wanted to let dialogue dominate because I want to grow up to write like Richard Price.  That was another decision that forced me to concentrate.  I suck at dialogue, so to make it work I had to figure out how to make it work.  I'm pleased with the results.

It is called MONDAY NIGHT AT THE BLUE GUITAR.  It focuses on a sophomore boy reporter named Nate Merced and his journalism teacher, Charley Sanger.  Nate spends the book investigating a long time legend about runaways and blues music down at an old acoustic music purveyor based roughly on the Denver Folklore Center, one of my haunts when I was a college kid.  Meanwhile, Mr. Sanger watches Nate's progress fondly while also contending with parents who are complaining about his insistence on teaching CATCHER IN THE RYE, and his idiot principal, Dr. Trish.  Sound familiar?  They both undergo mild initiations.  Not earth shattering, but definitely noticeable.  I've noticed over the past 60 years that life lessons are rarely accompanied by lightning strokes.

Now comes the hard part.  I'm looking for an agent and working on a query letter that will hook some unwitting publisher into buying the thing.  I'll let you know what happens.  Whether it gets published or not, I loved the act of writing it.  It did an admirable job of keeping me off the streets.  In fact, I liked the experience so much that I am already 4000 words into my next book.


What's All This About Community?

We were in Arizona with Bud and Janet Simmons for Rockies' spring training.  We had just finished watching a game and stopped off at a new ultra-modern mall close by for pizza at Grimaldi's, an awesome pizza transplant from Brooklyn.  The pizza was great.  I was walking with Janet on our way back to the car when we noticed looming in front of us the biggest Apple store either one of us had ever seen.  It was all tinted glass like the windows on a stretch limo and four stories high.  Through the gray windows on each floor we could see the shadows of hundreds of shoppers queueing up to check out the newest IPads.  Janet and I both looked at each other with the same thing on our minds:  The scene reminded us both of disquieting moments in movie versions of dystopian novels like BRAVE NEW WORLD  or 1984 where the citizenry has been reduced to emotionless automatons mindlessly buying and selling their way through a long, dreary life.

This feeling was, of course, exacerbated by the fact that I was in Arizona with its tough immigration laws and sand blasted neighborhoods with golf carts in every driveway and gates in front of every community.

Important people are always extolling the virtue of patriotism, community, shared responsibility.  But the only time that feeling of community ever happens is when some lunatic or lunatics strike out with automatic weapons, groin guards, and tear gas.  Everybody in Aurora is focused on the theater shooting, just like everybody in Littleton was focused on Columbine.  This is the first day the newspapers have not been exclusively about the crime and the victims and the shooter, busily looking for reasons and explanations that will never adequately explain anything.  Tomorrow, there will be even less coverage and pretty soon we will all forget and that sense of community that comes with  communal sorrow will be history.

You see, I don't think there is any sense of community or country anymore.  We aren't about the good old USA, or our fellow citizens.  We're about Apple, Exxon-Mobile, Microsoft, GM, Dell, investment bankers, and dividends.  Where is patriotism when our first allegiance is to the bottom line?

I know what some of you might be saying.  "He doesn't understand business."  "What's good for GM is good for the country."

Bullshit.  I understand business perfectly.  That's the source of my malaise.  What's good for GM is good for GM.  It has nothing to do with country.






Sunday, May 20, 2012

Beach Reads @ Puerto Vallarta

We just got back from two weeks in Puerto Vallarta with the Simmons.  To the right is the stack of books read between the two of us.

I'll talk about mine and then K. can tackle the rest.

The Breaks - Richard Price

I started this on the plane and finished it the first day at the pool at Villa del PalMar, just a short bus ride from the Malecon and downtown PV.  Price is one of my favorite authors, the best writer of dialogue I have ever seen.  This, I think, was his first book and you can tell.  Clockers, Freedomland, Lush Life, The Samaritan (to name a few) are worlds better, but this is still a fun read and you can see the beginnings of his mastery of telling a story primarily through dialogue.  It is a coming of age novel told in first person.  It doesn't have the gritty focus of Price's later works and very little of the tragic potential, but the speaker is a more street-wise Holden Caulfield who is MUCH more willing to talk about and engage in semi-graphic sex.

11/22/63 - Stephen King

I'm not a huge horror fan, but I certainly appreciate King's sentence crafting and mind boggling imagination, even though it ends up being a little too violent for my tastes.  This is his most recent novel and only the third one I've read by him.  To make a long story short, the main character is led to a portal that will transport him back from 2011 to 1958.  No matter how long one stays in the past, he discovers, only two minutes elapse upon returning to the present.  He decides to go back in order to stop Oswald from killing Kennedy and in the five years he spends waiting to intercede, we are given a nostalgic view of the late fifties/early sixties.  Some of the views have us longing for the past; others are too horrible to contemplate.  It is one of the most compelling books I've read in a long time.  It is nearly 900 pages long and I finished it in three long sessions under the scorching PV sun.

They Eat Puppies Don't They - Christopher Buckley

A hilarious satire of life in Washington.  Buckley is an equal-opportunity excoriator and no one escapes his scorn.  I don't think this is as funny as Supreme Courtship, another one well worth reading, but it does leave you with the conclusion that there is nothing in our nation's capital worth saving.

Founding Brothers - Joseph Ellis

This book was written twelve years ago, but has lost none of its immediacy.  Ellis, who wrote The American Sphynx (a great Jefferson bio) takes a look at the eight most prominent figures at the nation's founding (Washington, John and Abigail Adams, Jefferson, Hamilton, Burr, Madison, Franklin) and by focusing on six seminal moments (e.g. Hamilton and Burr's duel, Washington's farewell letter, the changing relationship of Adams and Jefferson) shows how these remarkable people managed to start a country founded on two paradoxical beliefs:  Federalism and Republicanism.  This is a great essay.

Unholy Night - Seth Grahame-Smith

I started this on the plane trip back and am currently three fourths into it; therefore, I'll let K. take over from here.

Katherine here.

I'm struggling a bit.  I stepped on what I believe were sea urchin spines, heroically cleaned out by my right thumb nail.  The scrubbing in a subsequent shower shoved those spines under my thumbnail.  I've been soaking it in salt water and watching spines crawl up towards the end of my nail from the holes they've dug lower down.  My once lovely (truly) right thumb nail is bruised and throbbing and swollen.  I won't discuss the three toes in similar situations (bottom of toes rather than top though and surprisingly far less painful).  The toes do not interfere with typing.  I'm letting you'll know I'll be pretty brief with my book stuff when I have so much more to say.  I'm not sure if this is good luck or bad luck.  You never know close up.

Here's what I read in PV.  It was great.  No tech.  Only books.

Back of Beyond and Force of Nature -   C. J. Box

C.J. Box is what I read instead of the Twilight Series.  He writes western semi-mysteries, semi-nature, books set in Wyoming.  Wyoming (specifically the Tetons and Yellowstone to a certain degree) are bliss, health, love, romance, friendship, nature, Zen and the godness of everything, and an island that is just J. and I and other special friends who understand this--they know who they are).  C. J. Box writes stuff that talks about Wyoming and sometimes the very places I've been in Wyoming (Tetons or otherwise) and it fills me with love and anticipation.  I have a stupid video about Grand Teton National Park where they show the cabins we stay at.  It's about time to get that puppy out.  Anyway, I read C.J Box with an open heart.  Here's a bit on each:

Back of Beyond was kind of a remake of Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians only this time the elimination of the characters (or campers) takes place in the wilds of Yellowstone.  Cody Hoyt is a borderline alcoholic who solves the mystery and works to save his very cool son from death's door.  Not C. J.'s best stuff.  You have to love Wyoming for this one.

Force of Nature is a Joe Pickett book.  Pickett is a game warden who always figures out the crime while at the same time championing a wide range of outdoor values, showing that living in Wyoming means living a life of contradictions.  Joe usually destroys a government vehicle, pisses off authority figures, figures out the crime while seeking and getting help from a wonderful cast of characters made up of family and honest friends.  This book details the background of long-time friend Nate Romanowki, a former military killer, now semi-native drop-out from society who happens to be one of the best falconers in the world.  Good looking too.   I love Nate.  The book is about him and all our imperfections and perfections and finding the bad guy.  9/11 too.  I loved the term "yarak"-- a falconry term meaning ready for a kill, for sex, for something primeval and natural.  Great escape book.

Sacre Blue - Christopher Moore

Magical Realism.  Ahhhhh.  A blue muse (a slave to man who makes the color blue in a way I shouldn't reveal here, but is quite erotic) inspires Impressionist artists as she inhabits and loves the models they paint.  She teaches them to see, to learn, to focus and oddly cannot create herself.  There's lots on the the history of the color blue, many Impressionist artists and the Paris of their time, and baking bread (always test the appropriate crunchiness of a loaf of French bread by whacking across the side of a young man's face).  Smart and funny.  Loved it.

Unholy Night - Seth Grahame-Smith

This is what might happen if the three Magi  in the new Testament were thieves and liars instead of kings.  Balthasar is our head thief  and we follow his history as the infamous outlaw--The Ghost of Antioch.  Balthasar is fixated on revenge and the search for a pendant, a pendant that defined him.  His encounter with his brother theives/kings Mary and Joseph, Herod, and Pontius Pilate are wonderful.  The book oddly made me believe in all sorts of things.  Don't want to say more.  Jim's in the middle.

The Sisters Brothers - Patrick deWitt

This is a grisly "picaresque" novel detailing the wanderings of two hired killers who finally go home to Mom.  They kill somebody about every five or six pages.  Wore me out.  The cover says it would be by Cormac McCarthy if Cormac McCarthy had a sense of humor.  Not quite.  There is no poetrty here.  No myth of space and quest against the gods.  No gathering of powers or friends or equipment (unless you count the toothbrush and minty tooth powder the narrator picks up early on).   I appreciate this book.  Not my current cup of tea.

The Prague Cemetery - Umberto Eco

I mean to write a whole post about this.  Not today.  This is an allegory lining up what an evil forger, Simonini, in the late 1800's in Paris did to history with his lies.  He created documents (from personal wills to documents that undermined governments and led men to deaths) and the documents were total lies.  The most important, the story about rabbis gathering in the Prague Cemetery and creating a plan to take over the world was based on bad storylines Simonini had read in books by Alexander Dumas and someone named Sue (lost his first name--sorry).  Conservative politicians buy the lies and start wars and spread the myth.  Liberal freedom fighters who championed Jewish rights ignored the myth of the Prague Cemetery because there were no facts.  The whole story lines up beautifully with how the lies on the internet become myth and no facts can deter some folks.  Consider how Congressman Mike Coffman questioned President Obama's citizenship and heart just last week.

It's important to note Eco is a history teacher and the stories he tells are real.  Only his narrator was fictional.  The timelines and sources are included in the appendix.  Hitler used the real Prague Cemetery documents to spur his Final Solution for the Jewish Population.  The parallels were frightening.

The book had two lines that I've thought about a lot.  The first came after a discussion of Descartes where the narrator changed the philosopher's famous lines to this: "I hate, therefore I am."  I've thought about that a lot.  I see it in a lot of people.  It is an interesting way to look at things for a bit.  The other echoing line is: "Hatred warms the heart."

Gods without Men - Hari Kunsru

Halfway done--I'll let you know.