Forgiving Myself?

Probably the first person I have to forgive is myself. I've done a lot of dumb stuff, maybe not as much as some people have done, but more than I should have done. But mostly that's small stuff. There's one thing I did that has left me conflicted for nearly 40 years. That 40th anniversary is coming up in a few months I realize, and I don't think I've ever told the whole story of why I divorced my first wife.

We got married in February, 1969. It was a shotgun wedding, though no weapons were involved. Truth be told, her mother was dead set against it. Not only were my parents against it, Dad let me know that he would help me get out of marrying her, though no specifics were ever discussed with me. I was stubbornly set on marrying her. Not only did I believe I loved her, I was determined to know my unborn child.

It was not a political statement but a personal one. A year or two before that time, I had seen the movie "Blow Up," which as I remember it from this 50 year distance was about a young woman who seeks out her photographer father and poses nude for him (yeah, that was the movie's initial draw for horny old me) and then reveals their relationship. I remember thinking then--before I'd ever had sex--that I would never abandon any child of mine without at least knowing her, and her knowing me.

And so we got married in February of 1969 in a civil ceremony. Since we were both Catholics, the parents seem to have decided that if they were going to give their consent (the age was still 21 for me in Indiana) this was how it would be. After the civil ceremony, a most unsatisfying affair, we had an overnight stay at a hotel in town that was our honeymoon. Not sure who paid for that. I wasn't working. Officially, I was a student. In reality, I was a student who didn't go to class and would flunk out, again, in May when the next grades came out. So we had our first night of legal sex and Sunday went back to our apartment, and Monday she went to work (I think she was a sales clerk at the time) while I went off to campus to play bridge and pinball while not going to class.

One may ask why we had this child? Abortion was not legal in Indiana as far as I  know, and we were sort of good Catholics. I know we never discussed it. Nor was putting it up for adoption something we had discussed. She had told me that she was actually a cradle adoption by her parents when it turned out they could not have children of their own. So I knew that she would not do that willingly. Not that her mother couldn't have pressured her into it. Her (adoptive) mother was a real bitch. It is hard to be associated with a mother-in-law you come to hate. As for birth control, that was also a very new thing in the world and very hard to come by in Indiana. And again the Catholic teachings got in the way saying that contraception was a mortal sin (along with a host of other mortal sins that leaves one reeling after awhile).

So I did the honorable thing, which also got each of us out of home situations that we thoroughly disliked. We saw it as a win, and as long as you don't mind living poor, which I always had but which my wife had not, you can make do.

I flunked out in May and shortly thereafter Selective Service informed me that I was reclassified 1A for the draft. That meant that I would be drafted into the Army and probably sent to Vietnam in about a year. Now this was not all bad. Not only would I get a paycheck, pitiful though it was (less than $100/month?) but my wife and child would have healthcare, prenatal care, well baby care, and a housing allowance all from the government. During my first three years in the military, my wife was paid more from Uncle Sam than I was when you factored in that allowance.

The only problem was that trip to Vietnam that I was not relishing. I was not a brave lad back in 1969, and I don't think I got much braver over the years. Attend me, oh wise ones, and learn from my sad tale.

I did not get drafted, because I enlisted to avoid the draft and being sent to Vietnam. (Oh the folly of youth to think you can escape your fate.) I knew that if I was drafted it was only a two year commitment, but one of those years was likely, almost surely, to be in Vietnam. But if I would take an extra year's commitment, I could join the Navy, but that would mean probable separation from my new wife (and sex!) and baby for probably at least half of that time and little of it contiguous calendar time.

Now the Air Force required a four year commitment. Four years! But, I knew that with my eyesight, I wouldn't be a pilot (I knew nothing about all the flying jobs that were not filled by pilots; I knew nothing really. Research? Well THAT would have been a nice idea, I'm sure, but we're talking about a kid who couldn't be bothered to show up in classes to avoid losing his 2S student deferment which one could parlay into other draft-deferred activities until one aged out of the Selective Service (quite a few did) or the damned never ending war would end.

So I chose the Air Force, and I chose communications, which included such glamorous work as commercial radio and television, telephone, and a curious thing called radio telephony. Turns out that's a fancy word for Ground Radio Operator. This is the guy in the movies with the radio on his back instead of (or in addition to) his pack. Said radio has a whip antenna which can extend several feet in the air and literally tells any enemy soldier within visual range that at the base of that antenna is a person who if you can kill him you mess up communications in the first crucial minutes of a firefight. In the movies the radio operator generally gets killed with the first shot, which often takes out the radio, and the heroes of the movie have to win the battle the hard way, that is with no air support. (No one even drinks a beer to the memory of the radio guy who got it with the first blast.)

Fortunately, there are other ground radio jobs, and I got one of those.

After a couple of years at a deployable unit in Oklahoma (honestly, I don't think I wore Air Force blue or even 1505 khakis in my first enlistment at all; I might as well have been in the Army), I was sent to Vietnam where I was assigned to a small Army operations center in the Delta about 17 km from the Cambodia border. This unit supported Army air operations in southwestern Cambodia resulting from Nixon's invasion of Cambodia in 1970? 71? (well somewhere around then).

Then I came home in late 1972. By January 1973, Nixon and Kissinger had declared victory, gotten the POWs released, and by the end of March the USA was totally out of Vietnam.

I had managed to pass a math test, which got me into the new field of computer programming. I stayed in the Air Force (now I was finally in the blue Air Force) until September, 1977 when the whole family, we had a second child in 1971 not long before I left for Nam, moved to Columbus, Ohio where I got a computer job that paid A LOT MORE than SSGT (E5) pay at the time.

Still, that wasn't enough to keep up with my wife's spending habits, which I could not seem to curb and which she would not curb herself. It because a struggle to pay the bills, starting when I came back from Nam. We got credit cards. We maxed them out. We did debt consolidation. That was only a temporary solution. So I left the Air Force and took a job that paid, even with benefit changes and cost of living in the civilian economy more than double my military pay. Within a year, I could see that it wasn't enough.

And she didn't seem to care. Not really.

Naturally, this affected our whole life otherwise. We didn't argue. I hated yelling and she didn't know another way, so we each shut up about the things that were bugging us. It took me about a year and a half to decided that I needed to make changes even if she didn't feel that way. I was drinking heavily.

It's useful to know at this point that my father was an alcoholic. For the first 10-15 years of my life, he was a dry drunk. He brought every paycheck home, as far as I can remember, but he sure beat the hell out of me and two of my brothers in those years in what I'm sure now (but had no clue then) was his frustration that he couldn't get a drink. (Example: sometimes mom would find a 6-pack of Blatz or some other cheap beer on sale during her Friday shopping; if she could afford the $2 or maybe $1.50 out of the food budget, she would buy it. Usually before he went to bed Friday night, Dad had finished that six pack. It never lasted long into Saturday when he didn't finish it Friday.)

I tell this because I was seeing myself become the frustrated drunk my father had been for all of my life to that point, and I DID NOT WANT TO DO THAT. I did not know of another way out, so once it seemed to me that even the love my wife felt for me had fled our marriage, I saw no reason to stay except the kids. It took me months of agonizing to accept that I could do my children more good if I was not my father to them but was more of a calm, rational being who didn't spank the children to work off his own frustrations. (Today the bruises I got would be considered prima facia evidence of child abuse, back then, not so much. Dad told me more than once that he took pride in the fact that he never his his children or his wife with a closed fist.)

So, I left. It still hurts that the price was losing my children. She and her mother seemed to do everything they could to undermine the children having any relationship with me. She would tell them one thing and me another. She conveniently forgot to tell me about activities the kids were involved in but be sure to tell them that she had told me and that I couldn't be bothered. I saw the pattern, but I was powerless to stop it because I made one firm rule. While she lived, I never said a bad thing about her in their presence. I bit my tongue so many times, I'm surprised I still have one.

While I regret that my children, even after their mother's untimely death, want nothing to do with me, I do not regret for one minute getting out of that marriage. At a minimum, I would have died already. And I might not have gone alone. Every action has consequences. I dithered because I didn't want to pay the price until the price of inaction began to exceed the price of action. Perhaps I missed options that would have served everyone better. Perhaps not. But the past 39 years married to my current wife have been ample compensation for me, and aside for their dislike for their father, my biological children seem to have turned out all right. Who can ask more for their children?

Learning to Forgive

I was laying in bed around four this morning thinking about who knows what or why when I suddenly realize I have been rehearsing arguments against a men's organization I used to belong to. For most of my life I have argued, in my own mind, against this wrong or that injustice or even just to justify some action I took or wanted to take. These arguments were always in my mind and consisted of me making my case, often insisting that someone else correct an injustice to me that had wounded me gravely.

The longest running argument was with my father. It went on for decades, and I don't think he ever knew about any of them. Mostly that was because no man has ever intimidated me quite like he did. I suppose that's generally true of sons whose fathers are less than the cultural ideal of a loving, caring father. The arguments went on for another reason: I knew of no man more unfair and smugly proud of it that my father. He refused to admit a mistake or any kind when I was younger. When I was older, and he was in AA, he began to try making amends for some of his more egregious mistakes. It was hard for me to take him seriously because he never admitted how wrong he was for so long. He was making amends for things he did, not for things he said, not for lying and cheating and browbeating and dominating a boy as young as three (I can't remember farther back than that). And he did it in such as way that I was always afraid of him until I got old enough and big enough that he realized he had to take his act elsewhere. (Or was it that I stopped coming around and he had to find new targets.)

So you can see that I have a lot of work to do around forgiveness, for I have not forgiven the son of a bitch even as I have come to understand more and more what made him the way he was. There's a little boy inside me that I never adequately protected, and that little boy and I still want to kill our father.

I did try to make peace with my father before he died, and I think I did at least reach a truce, but I realize now that I never truly forgave him. And in realizing that, I realize that I have a whole lot of people I need to forgive. I'm not sure I know how.

Oh, I know how to SAY, "I forgive you," but I don't know how to actually forgive someone else. Heck, I don't know how to forgive myself. I seem to recall a story about some young girl who was having visions of the BVM. Somehow she gets into the Presence of the Pope who questions her closely, thinking that this is another love-starved poor girl with a fantastic story that gets her attention. So he asks the girl if she can talk to Jesus right now. The girl says she can. The pope tells her to ask Jesus what sins he confessed at his most recent confession. The girl is silent for a few minutes, eyes closed, hands folded in prayer. They she opens her eyes and says, "Jesus says he can't remember."

The lesson of this story is that once you are forgiven, the slate is wiped clean. Jesus/God does not remember those past sins for which you have asked forgiveness. Great story. Great moral lesson.

Only I don't forget. I may say, "I forgive you," but if I can't forget what you did, have I really forgiven? If I can't forget, I can't trust, because I remember how you abused my trust in the past. I remember how I did forgive, and you abused my trust again and again until I could no longer be in your presence because all you did was pick at the sores you had created.

So this is my journey now. How to I forgive, truly, absolutely, and completely forgive? How does that work? Can a mere mortal do this, or is it a power reserved to the gods? If anyone reading this has any ideas or can point me to any resources I can study, I appreciate your help.

Why I Chemo Against a Hopeless Situation

It isn't often that I sit down to write here when I don't have a topic at the top of my mind. But this morning I don't seem to have a driving thought. Tomorrow starts chemo: half a day at the infusion center and two more days (until roughly noon Wednesday) with the pump. I hate the pump. Not only is it damned inconvenient to lug around for two days, it also helps insure that I don't start recovering from the drugs for an extra few days. I've really gone well into this off-week before feeling more nearly like a functional human being. (Yeah, chemo sucks)

It would make a difference is we were trying to effect a remission of the cancer, but there is no Get Out of Jail card on this cancer. There is only delaying the inevitable. So, while the oncologist tries to delay with drugs, I have to come up with personal reasons to continue fighting against the tide. And I do.

One big reason is that my wife needs someone to care for her. We are working on getting people in to help her with a lot of the things I do now: run errands for her, do the dishes, sometimes do her laundry, clean the house (I am at best an indifferent housekeeper), and bring in the mail and the paper. I'm sure I do help her, and I realize that doing these little things helps me a lot; they give me a sense of purpose I might otherwise lack.

I also have a big goal of going back to my friend Dan's sweat lodge on October 6, 2019. That's a year after the one we just did, and we all agreed that if I came, they would come, and we would again have a powerful spiritual circle of prayer and rejoicing, love and hope. I have sat in sweat lodges poured by other people. I few I have felt powerful spiritual forces moving. Others were just hot and void of anything spiritual (for me; I can't speak to how others felt). So I'm not one to shop for sweat lodges just to sweat; there's a sauna at an athletic club up the street where I go when I want to sweat. But Dan pours a powerful sweat, but you would have to experience it. I can't describe it other than to say that I've never sat in lodge with him and heard or felt anything that was not sincere and heartfelt. So I'm always up to doing that one more time.

Then if I really want to get ambitious, I set the goal of voting in the 2020 general election. That goal is well outside the survival window set by my doctors of 18 months max. (which would be February 2020). If I can make it into October 2020, I can absentee vote, and once it's in I believe it will count whatever happens to me, although I would like to see how that election plays out.

So at least I can say I'm still engaged in the world and the people who are important to me and to whom I am important. (Yes, there are people who are important to me but who no longer wish to have anything to do with me. Accepting that is hard in a couple of cases, but I'm sitting with acceptance that what needs to be will be.)

I think having a sense of purpose is important to everyone. Purpose is what drives our lives. This is not a cancer thing or a chemo thing. And right now it is serving me powerfully and well.

Patriotically Going Into The Military

Now to write what I came here to write.

I'm listening to an Audible Original presentation called "Strong Ending: From Combat to Comedy." It's really very good. Not sure how someone who is not an Audible customer can get at it, but it is both entertaining and informative.

It's like a documentary. It focuses on vets of the Afghan and Iraq wars and how they deal with their PTSD or other issues by learning how to do stand up comedy.

Part of the introduction of each vet in the piece is hearing them say that they joined up because they were patriotic and saw serving as what a patriot would do.

And I listen to that part of their stories, and I think, "Wow! That never occurred to me."

I enlisted in the Air Force to avoid being drafted. It was June of 1969, and I had just lost my student deferment. (Turns out you had to go to class to stay in college. Who knew?) I was also pretty newly married with a child on the way. Because I was now 1-A for the draft, which meant Next Up, so I couldn't get any sort of job. No one wanted to hire someone they would have to offer a job two in two or three years when he got out. That was how it worked.

So, I picked the Air Force in order to avoid being drafted into the Army and sent to Vietnam. That didn't work, but I won't talk about that here. (It might actually be in one of the older posts in this blog I you're interested.) Patriotism did not factor into my decision at all. If I go into the service, my wife has medical care for her pregnancy and baby's birth. I had to go anyway, might as well help my incipient family while I did it.

Of course, in 1969 there wasn't a lot of patriotism going around. Most of the flag wavers I knew at the time I viewed with suspicion. Perhaps I was more of a skeptical patriot than an anti-patriot, but I did not believe in the saying "My country right or wrong." Sorry Mom. I know you did. And in terms of dealing with most civilians, we who wore the uniform were viewed with fear and suspicion. It was not uncommon for higher command to suggest to us that we NOT wear our uniforms off base or while traveling. (I was never treated rudely, but I was accosted more than once. Some people felt empowered to make me account for my actions and the actions of the entire Department of Defense. (People! I'm so low on the totem pole, I have to crawl up to see dirt.))

Actually being in the military made me more patriotic. Going through the rituals of Reveille and Retreat daily, standing formations, seeing others get awarded medals for their work, gave me reasons for being somewhat patriotic. I was one of those people who ended up serving for my buddies (I guess they're called battle buddies today). I never served for God, Country, or Flag. I did, and do, take my oath of enlistment seriously ("...to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States from all Enemies, foreign and domestic..."). All the rest of this stuff is just bullshit to me. Sorry if that offends you. (No, no I'm not sorry. Deal with it.)

But back to why I went. It was more controversial where I grew up to NOT go than to go. We didn't really know at that time that the government was lying to us. Yes, the anti-war protestors said they were lying, but they provided no credible evidence. The Pentagon Papers were not released until 1971, and like a lot of charges and counter charges the truth got mixed up with the noise (kinda sounds like today, eh?). The few people who knew the truth either died without talking or, like Robert McNamara talked only decades later at the end of their lives.

None of this has made me feel more patriotic. I get misty-eyed when I think of the good men I served under and with who died or who were so messed up by their experiences that death might have seemed preferable to the destinies they faced. That's not for me to say. What is for me to say is that we who served were people good and true who fought with each and for each other, and those who did not die in the fighting would have died in place of any of those who did.

I don't think that's what y'all mean by patriotism, but that's the best I've got for any of you.

Treatment Update

Once again it has been awhile since I posted. Not as long as the last gap but long enough. I'm not really here to write about my cancer, but I'll start with a quick update. (I write this as if I think somebody is reading it, but I don't think anyone is. So I can be completely honest.)

Finally started chemo in late August, doing 7 hours of chemo for two weeks with one week off after. So two on one off. Did this for three cycles, then they did a Contrast CT scan to see if it was working (working in this case meaning slowing the liver cancer that will kill me before the 2020 election if the doctors are right). It was not working. Didn't slow the metastatic liver cancer at all apparently.

Doctor had said this was the best set of drugs to treat me. Now they were stopping it, because it wasn't working. That sucked all by itself. Seemed to mean to me that the max 18 month window was shrinking, though when I asked my oncologist she said no, she had a new combination of drugs (which I still call 2nd best) to try. After she convinced me that it was worth it to try (I still wonder), I agreed.

These drugs--there are 3 this time--are administered slightly differently. The first two are done in the infusion center. Takes about 5 hours. Then they hang a pump on me, and I get the 3rd drug (called, I am not joking, 5-FU) over 48 hours. So I take my chemo home on Monday afternoon and go back Wednesday afternoon to have the empty pump removed.

So from Monday afternoon through now (Saturday morning) I feel various stages of not good. This past week, I've slept a lot. And I have felt more nauseous this week than in the whole of the previous months of chemo.

On the positive side, Doctor says preliminary blood tests after the first set of two treatments show positive results. We'll see how the next scan goes. I'm a little unclear about when that scan will occur. This chemo is one week of drugs and one week off, no doubt to recover from the first week. Two of those one on one off constitute a set. Are we gonna go three months (which I thought she said last time we talked about it) before the next scan, which puts us into February, or will they scan after three sets, which I think puts the next scan in January? I dunno. We'll see.

So that's the update. Maybe by next weekend I'll be feeling human again. In the meantime, I have set a goal of making it to October 6, 2019.

No, it doesn't make it easier

Not knowing how my death is going to happen or when do not make it easier. However, since I have no discernible symptoms, the hardest part seems to be the part when I'm telling people. And it's only hard on me because no one else was prepared for it. (Was I? Yes and No. At 68 I know I've lived longer than 99% of everyone who ever lived, but in the modern world it seemed I should have expected another 20 or so years. "Send not to know the day or the hour.")

But the hard part of this is that so many people react so badly to the word 'Cancer.' What people say to me and how they say it says more about them than it does about me. Everybody is so damned afraid of dying and particularly dying with cancer. Early 21st Century Americans have forgotten that they are all going to die.

So the minute other read my facebook posting about my recent diagnosis, these fine people (and they are) begin projecting on me their own fears. It becomes "how would I react to this?" and "I would fight this" and eventually "Here's a cure I've heard of."

I'm not fighting this situation. I'm accepting it. I'm waiting for options to unfold, then I'll make my best choice among the options I have. All I need from my circle of friends and acquaintances is support. I don't need advice. I don't really need prayers; however I know many fine people who will feel the need to pray for me. It's okay. I have yet to be hurt by a prayer and I have seen many prayers helped by their praying. So have at it if you need to. If you see at some religious or spiritual gathering, and I'm acting reverential, know it for what it is: respect. I know many fine people who I respect, and I would not disrespect their beliefs by rudeness.

Things to think about as I begin the process of dying

These questions keep recurring as I begin this process of dying, especially as I still feel fine and eat normally.
Should I have a procedure to reduce the size of my bladder? I have BPH, which is a benign enlargement of my prostate. With the current medication I am on, it is not a painful condition at this time. While I am told that the procedure itself is nothing more than uncomfortable, I would point out that I would have a catheter in my penis for about 3 days after the procedure. I am not looking to add pain to my life at this time. What to do?
In this situation, are all of the medications I currently take what I should be taking now? Will have to consult with doctors on this one. You know they're gonna add meds as this goes along. Despite all of the medical professions statements, mostly they don't check the med lists to see if there are problems. In fact, the pharmacists do a better job than the doctors do, in my experience.
Subscriptions: Should I renew any of them? If so, which ones?
Don't think I want to start any new book series.

The big worry though is how to see that my wife gets the care and support she needs. I've been her at home caregiver since her foot surgery last October. She can walk now (finally) but not much. She hasn't driven in a couple of years because I didn't think she was safe anymore, but she's gonna need some way to get around. She wants to go into assisted living in the town where her daughter lives, and I think she's right. How can we make that happen before I'm too sick to go there? If I've learned nothing in the past couple of years it's that you can't even get help when you ask for it, when you seek it out.

Enough nonsense for the moment.

Probably should change the titie

Given that I'll be 69 in about 8 weeks, I don't think I'm middle aged anymore. I would change the title of this blog if it mattered. But since I'm not aware of anyone else reading this little speck of the Internet and since I have less time than I had expected even earlier this week, I don't think I'll bother.

Yes, I have gotten a terminal diagnosis, at least in a preliminary form. Results of an abdominal MRI show "innumerable lesions scattered throughout the liver....The findings are consistent with widespread metastatic disease." That's metastatic cancer of the liver for those unsure of what those words mean.

It helps me to say it and keep saying it. It also helps me to remember what I've said to others for the past five or more years: that I've had nearly 50 bonus years. I should have died in Vietnam, but not only did I not die, the only scratches I got were from busting my knuckles on generator maintenance. I may also have barked my shins a time or six; after all these years it's hard to remember.

In about three weeks, after they've done a biopsy and a PET scan, the oncologist will give me a definitive diagnosis of what kind of metastatic cancer it is and where in my body it came from (since, apparently, all metastatic cancers come from some other part of the body. Who knew?)

But none of that does more than refine the plain fact that I have liver cancer and that liver cancer is incurable.

I do not feel sick. Nothing special hurts. There are no new lumps or bumps or bruises. My input goes out the back end pretty much as it always has. I know I have BPH; I was gonna take a procedure to shrink the bladder. (Now I don't know if I need to. More on this in a sec.)

Given that I'm coming up on my 69th birthday, I thought I was doing okay: needed to lose weight, needed more exercise, was getting close to needing a knee replacement. None of this seems to matter now.

Now I'm going to focus on having fun and being as comfortable as I can be for whatever time remains. I don't even know what that means. I'm waiting for the meeting with the oncologist so that I know what to expect of my body going forward, what I can do to help myself, what medicine is willing to do to help me. I'm not interested in any treatments or procedures to cure the incurable. I am decidedly NOT interested in making my last days/weeks/months/??? miserable chasing some ephemeral 'cure'.

All life dies and makes way for new life. No one is indispensable. Mine is not some great life than multitudes will mourn. It is an ordinary life, and I will be cremated as much because I don't know six people willing to carry my coffin, at least not locally who are physically able. So I'll give any organs they want to medicine for recycling (though liver cancer may preclude their use. And I'll shuffle off this mortal coil.

That's enough for today.

It Has Been A While

My, my, but it has been awhile since I wrote here. And much has happened. For example, on my 60th birthday, last Monday, I suffered three tears in the retina of my left eye. After a laser procedure on Tuesday, I've been struggling with the recovery, which is not going as well as I might like.

But that's not what brings me back here. An interesting thought occurred to me yesterday. (Aside: Ah, it just started raining. Local time is 9:22 am.) My in-laws are busy moving my mother in-law down from Richfield, OH to Columbus, while also cleaning out my wife's uncle's place in Berea, OH. As they were cleaning out the uncle's house, they came upon his collection of hunting weapons from the days when he was able to hunt. Apparently, he has about a dozen or fifteen shotguns and rifles, that they were dividing up among those who want them.

I was asked if I wanted any of them, and I said, "No." Without any forethought I added that I thought the weapons should go to those of my Republican in-laws who are so afraid for themselves and their country these days. They obviously need more protection from their fears than I do, since I don't fear any of the things they fear.

Now I'm not saying that my relatives are especially fearful; they are not. But several of them, God bless 'em, are Republicans, and they seem to give a lot more credence to the fear-mongering that continues to be the central theme of the Republican Party these days, as it was the central theme of their 2008 election platform.

Frankly, I'm much more afraid of Republicans right now than I've ever been of anything in my life. It's not that they voice their concerns about the direction of the country; that's pretty standard political fare for the party out of power. It's how they express their concerns.

I'm afraid of people who carry guns to Presidential speeches.

I'm afraid of people who question the legitimacy of the newly elected President.

I'm afraid of people who seize any opportunity to whip up the fearful for their own benefit.

I've listened to the people trotted out as spokespersons for the tea party movement, and I've listened to Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck and their like, and I've listened to Sarah Palin. And I hear nothing positive from these people. All I hear in fear, and how I should be afraid of this or that possible (but in reality impossible) thing that the Obama administration is going to do. And I know they want me to be afraid of these things.

But all they do is make me afraid of them.

With rare exceptions--George Will springs to mind--conservatives are operating off of George Goebel's playbook. Tell lies; tell big lies; tell them repeatedly: and the people will believe.

I believe Franklin Roosevelt said it best, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." To which I would add--and the people who traffic in fear for their own ends.

Republican Hate

Since Richard Nixon, the Republicans have always skated on the edge of hate speech: against Democrats, against people of color, against gays, against anyone who wasn't a white Christian (with a capital C). They've done it carefully and selectively and with an eye to pushing the limits rather than crossing the line. 

Nixon's Southern Strategy, which successfully pried the formerly Confederate South from the Democrats 100 years after the Civil War set the tone that has been followed ever since by the party faithful and the conservative blabosphere (see Rush Limbaugh for the icon of that segment of humanity). Make the issues what white middle-class people are afraid of: integration of schools and neighborhoods. But call it local option or freedom to choose without government interference or activist courts. 

Now, with Barack Obama seemingly poised to win the presidency, the Republicans have become increasingly desperate. As the economy has become the central issue of the campaign, the McCain campaign's answer to the economy--on which they are being drubbed--is to make the campaign a character assasination of Obama. 

And as they do that, their campaign events are becoming increasingly rowdy. In addition to the negative, sometimes hateful, things being said about Obama from McCain-Palin surrogates and members of the crowd, some reporters are saying that they are hearing people in the crowd yelling to kill Obama. Of course, the official campaign is quick to distance itself from such calls for the assasination of a political opponent, but they do it with a wink and a nod.

I know people are angry at what is happening in the economy right now. People are angry and frustrated and want somebody to blame (other than themselves). But if Obama is assasinated before the election, or even before he takes office, I will blame John McCain for fostering the environment.

There are too many nutcases in the world who will hear this stuff and decide to take it upon themselves to save America from the devil Obama (or any black man). By catering to the fears and hatreds of people, the Republicans risk destroying the Republic, turning us into another country ruled by fear and loathing. We have enough of that.

John McCain says he puts country first. Well, he damn well better start doing it, or he will be the man I remember as the one who stuck the knife in my country's back. 

An American View of a European View of the American Election

In an article I found online tonight, Jonathan Freedland writes in the Guardian that Europe, and in his view the world, will be deeply disappointed in America and Americans if we don't elect Barack Obama in November. (here's a link to the article: The World's Verdict Will be Harsh if the US Rejects the Man it Yearns For).

I first ran into the "European View" of American politics when I lived in Ireland in 1985-6, during the Reagan Years. I knew several Irishmen who felt that the American elections were too important to be left to the American electorate. Their point, which has some merit, is that they in Europe, and indeed most of the world, are very much impacted by who occupies the White House. They didn't like Ronald Reagan as President. They felt he rattled the sabre too much. And it's certainly no secret that Europeans, and much of the world, don't like the incumbent.

The reader of this blog knows that I don't like the incumbent and that I favor Senator Obama over Senator McCain. At the same time, I lack an appreciation of the "European View," or the World View, if you want to expand the European View the way Mr Freedland does.

In my view, Europeans want to control the US while using the US to do their dirty work, and in my view Americans won't have that. Europeans love to look down on America and Americans while happily taking our money and our military protection. I think it's time Europe, which prides itself on being a world player, step up and be a world power. Right now, the US is the only military power in NATO. Great Britain and France can do a little bit on their own, but not much. The rest of NATO cannot leave its borders without US military assistance.

Europeans love to tell us how to use our military power, but they refuse to have any of their own. They love to tell us where we need to send peacekeepers (see Kosovo), but they cannot send any peacekeepers anywhere on their own without our logistical support. Their presence in Afghanistan is because we foot most of the bill. We fly them in and out, and we supply them.

My view, and I think the view of most Americans, is that Europeans need to pay what we pay for the military that protects them (from Russie, for example) before they can have any say in what we do or who we elect. And they need to get off their high horse about who we elect.

Another Media Frenzy

Some headlines from around the country about "the Palin pregnancy."

"In Political Realm, 'Family Problem' Emerges as Test" New York Times

"McCain fought money on teen pregnancy programs" Associated Press

"Palin: Just how well was she vetted?" MSNBC

"Gov. Palin and her daughter, Bristol" Albany Times Union, NY

"Republicans rally around their VP candidate" Staten Island Advance, NY

"Everybody has an opinion on Bristol pregnancy" San Francisco Chronicle

"We're Sorry, but Palin Baby Daddy Levi Johnston is Sex on Skates" New York Magazine

Okay, after that last one, I think I've seen enough. Those headlines don't come from viscious bloggers with no sense of responsibility. No, they come from some of the most respected news organizations around the country.

We don't have anything more important to cover in this campaign than the out of wedlock pregnancy of a seventeen year old girl? We have to slander someone who may or may not be the father to sell magazines? Somehow I thought there was a difference between New York Magazine and the Star tabliod sold at my supermarket.

I guess not, eh?

I'm no fan of Sarah Palin. There are a lot of things she stands for that I am in strong disagreement with. But do we need to drag her daughter through the mud because John McCain showed the bad judgment to select her as his running mate? And do we need to gratuitously drag the name of the putative father through the mud too? I think we can, and should, do better than making this campaign about the sex lives of teenagers.

The only issue that the Sarah Palin candidacy should bring up is the one about how a President McCain makes decisions. Personally, I see an impetuousness that is unsettling. Is that how a McCain presidency would be: dithering till the last moment then choosing the spectacular but ill-conceived option?

McCain wanted Lieberman or Ridge. But the Conservative christians of the Republican Religious Right would have neither and threatened to turn the normally staid Republican Convention into something that resembled the 1968 Democratic Convention. So McCain caved and gave them their ideological sister.

Would a President McCain cave to Vladimir Putin in so craven a manner? I'd like to think not. But even scarier, would McCain issue Putin some ultimatim, like withdraw or we'll bomb you, and start a major war with the Russians? I'm not so sure gambler McCain, impetuous McCain would not.

And, to me, that's the only issue about the Palin selection: what it says about McCain's judgment and his decision-making process.

Oh, and since the vice-presidency really doesn't have much in the way of formal duties--and the McCain selection of Palin fits with his own view of a weak and ineffective vice-presidency--I think the lady will have plenty of time to tend to any family business that needs her attention.

(My real hope is that after a couple of heady months of campaigning, she can tend to her family from the comfort of her Alaskan Governor's Mansion, or whatever they have up there.)

More on Atrocities

Well, since the war has stirred me up again, I might as well work on it some more here in the blog. After all, who reads this nonsense anyway?

What upset me was the atrocity talk. Always it's American atrocities in war. Seldom (I'm tempted to say never) are the atrocities of the other side (Vietcong, Al Qaeda, Iraqi insurgency, or even whatever comes next--and it will come) even mentioned.

Once early in the Iraq war, I was corresponding with a flaming pacifist who told me that it was acceptable that an Iraqi could blow himself up in an Iraqi market killing Iraqis, but it wasn't okay that one stray American bomb should kill one civilian. I was so angry I couldn't see straight at the unfairness of that double standard. I'm still angry at the double standard.

Most people don't know (and some who do know simply refuse to believe) how hard the American military works to avoid civilian casualties. I do know since that was part of my job when I served in Vietnam. Someone would call in a target request for what were no doubt enemy positions that needed to be eliminated. If the position was too close to a village, we couldn't strike it. If it was in a pagoda, we couldn't strike it, even if the enemy had put a .51 cal. machine gun in it and was shooting at our helicopters.

I know, I know that others can tell stories exactly opposite to what I've said above. Everyone seems to know the quote by an American officer during one of the Tet offensives about how he had to "destroy a village to save it." I know atrocities happen. I'll say it again: All War is Atrocity. There is no such thing as a good war, a clean war, a war without atrocity. Every action in a war is an atrocity. And yet I also know how hard most of the military works most of the time to prevent more bloodshed than is necessary to carry out the mission. I've even had fighter/bombers abort runs on cleared targets because they didn't like the chance of missing their target and hitting something they didn't want to hit.

But we don't hear those stories, do we? Is it that we don't want to know? Is it that we've made up our minds already? It is obvious to me that Al Qaeda, Hezbollah, Vietcong, and other insurgencies that come to mind, do not have thoughts about "collateral damage" (to quote a terrible euphemism for killing innocents) unless it is to determine how to get more random death into every attack.

I guess the thing that still upsets me, even as I approach my 59th birthday, is the unfairness of one-sided criticism. Unfairness has always bothered me, and I guess it always will. I know life isn't fair, and I don't like that. I know that, in this modern world, we make arguments because we want to win the debating point, not because we want to improve understanding (ours or others), and I don't like it.

Democratic Party Unity

You know, everywhere I look these days I find stories about the disunity of the Democratic Party. Will Bill and Hillary (no last names needed) fully support the Obama-Biden ticket? Will Hillary's supporters get over their mad and support their party's nominee? Will the Democratic Party unite this time around?

I'm reminded of a quote attributed to the humorist Will Rogers, who was the Jon Stewart of the Twenties and Thirties: "I belong to no organized political party; I'm a Democrat."

Democratic Party unity is not the issue and won't be the issue on election day. The economy and race will be the defining issues of this campaign. If Obama can keep his campaign focused on the economy, where the polls say the electorate trusts the Democrats more than they trust the Republicans, he has a chance to win. In a normal election, he would win.

Let's face it, when it comes to security, national or otherwise, people look to their personal finances first. Do I have a job? How secure is my job? How secure are my savings? How good and how secure is my health care when I need it? These issues far outweigh the threat of terrorism in our land, and both parties should know this.

However, if the issue is, becomes, or remains (depending on your point of view) can I trust Obama as my President, then he'll have a hard time winning. And the fundamental key to that trust issue is Obama's race and his weird name. (I'm sorry, but to most of white America Barack Obama is a weird name.)

For him to win, he majority of white America has to see that their economic interests are more important to them than their fear of a black President.

The G-D War...Again!

I was listening to the public radio program To The Best of Our Knowledge this past weekend. The program was called "Rethinking the Sixties" (you can listen to the program if you want at this location http://www.wpr.org/book/080824a.html.

It was, as usual, a thoughtfully produced program about certain aspects of the theme. And it really set me off to hear Tom Hayden rejustifying himself 40 years later. And there was another piece right after that on the My Lai Massacre. That one got me angry. (Well, okay, maybe Tom Hayden started it, but the second piece was no walk in the park either.)

It really annoys me that all the Vietnam War is remembered for are a few atrocities and the "fact" that we lost. I'll leave the won/lost debate for another time. I mean does anybody ever really win a war? In my opinion, we're still paying the price of winning WWII. (again, another topic for another time)

Yes, people, there were atrocities in Vietnam. There are atrocities in every war. In fact, I'll give you this fact to chew on: ALL WAR IS ATROCITY, period full stop. The whole damn thing about a war is atrocious. War is a war crime. There is no good war.

If you don't believe me, then go back and look closely at WWII. Here are a few random examples. When the Japanese Navy attacked the US Navy at Pearl Harbor, they were so conscious of trying to avoid civilian casualties (not on the naval base itself) that they did not hit the fuel storage tanks that would have crippled the Navy's ability to respond to anything in the Pacific because they chose not to risk creating civilian casualties. (The off-base casualties that did occur came from American antiaircraft fire shells that fell back to explode in Honolulu.)

The US responded with unrestricted submarine warfare, in contravention of the Geneva Conventions and an act for which we justified fighting Germany in WWI. By any reasonable measure, we were more guilty of a war crime in that than the Japanese were in the attack at Pearl. And we followed it up with loads and loads of aircraft bombings of purely civilian targets in both the Pacifc and European theatres of WWII. War crimes all. Atrocities all.

But then what is done to a human body on the field of battle is an atrocity, too. All war is a crime, but we only prosecute the losers and the unlucky. The rest of us have to live with what we saw, heard, did, or even didn't do.

What I'm really tired of is hearing only from those who haven't been there and don't know what it's like to even be in the area but who think they have the right to judge the actions of others who were there.

Thanks for letting me vent. This whole business just riles me up so I can't hardly think, let alone write, sometimes.

Nothing is ever as simple as the willfully ignorant would have us believe.

From AP: People Hearing too much about Obama

In a story running today from AP in Washington: "Barack Obama may be the fresh face in this year's presidential election, but nearly half say they're already tired of hearing about him, a poll says. With Election Day still three months away, 48 percent said they're hearing too much about the Democratic candidate, according to a poll released Wednesday by the nonpartisan Pew Research Center. Just 26 percent said the same about his Republican rival, John McCain."

Is it any wonder? Even McCain talks more about Obama than he does about himself of his positions, policies, and plans.

Early Thoughts on the Presidential Campaigns

Though you might find it hard to believe, it's early in the current race for the American Presidency. Neither of the major parties has yet formally anointed their nominees or held their conventions. No dueling press conferences, I mean debates, have yet taken place. No surprising developments, either here or abroad, have taken place.

I go back a ways in experiencing Presidential campaigns. The first one I remember, though I was ten at the time, was Nixon-Kennedy. The current campaign reminds me a lot of that one (at least as I have studied it since; my recollections as a kid are limited to rooting for the Catholic, which I was at that time). That campaign had a young, inexperienced, charismatic Senator up against, a well-known, politically experienced, reasonably handsome sitting Vice President.

Prejudice played a big factor in that election, as it does in this one. Lets not kid ourselves by all the media talk about how this campaign can't be about race. Frankly, it's all about race. As you know, I'm an old white guy. My life experiences and acquaintances are more like those of John McCain than they are like those of Barack Obama. The same is true for almost all white Americans. The same is true for most Americans. Americans who studied in an Islamic school in Indonesia are rare. So we're not going to have had a lot of the same formative experiences that Senator Obama has had.

We should acknowledge that race relations are tenuous at best in this country. (Frankly, they're pretty tenuous at best all over the world. All people seem to prefer "their own kind" to those who are of a different race or ethnicity from us. American race relations actually led to a bloody war that only partially settled anything. I lived through the Civil Rights movement of the Sixties, and that advanced the rights of minorities (at the expense, it must be noted, of the privileges of the majority), but the Civil Rights movement did not advance race relations. We still live in primarily segregated neighborhoods, go to primarily segregated schools, and attend extremely segregated churches (that is, when we attend church at all). So anybody who isn't a white male (like John McCain) will be viewed with unease and suspicion simply because he's different.

I was a big fan of John McCain in 2000. I thought that what the Bush campaign did with its dirty campaign against him in the primaries was despicable, especially coming from someone who used what loopholes he could to avoid service in Vietnam where John McCain became a hero for getting shot down and imprisoned by the North Vietnamese.

So it saddens me greatly to see the turn the McCain campaign has taken with its negative ads portraying Obama as an empty suit, at best. All the ads that are getting play on the news (I have a DVR and don't watch commercials) are negative, negative, negative. According to those ads, Obama is responsible for higher gas prices, would rather lose a war than an election, doesn't support the troops, and has the brains of a Paris Hilton.

What happened to the campaign of ideas that John McCain promised us? Should be elect John McCain because he can't draw a crowd in a phone booth? Because he can't give a soaring speech? Because he was a POW?

I would have voted for the John McCain of 2000. I won't vote for the one I'm seeing right now.

I'm Back

I see it has been some time since I posted here. That's no big surprise. It has been some time since I wrote much of anything.

Shortly after the previous post--that is over a year and a half ago--I was diagnosed with mononucleosis. Finally I had an explanation for why I was so tired all the time. Oh my testosterone was low, in fact I'm taking shots for it because it remains low, but it was the mono that was really the culprit in my being tired all the time.

I haven't worked since the end of February and for the past year and a half I've been pretty much a slug. You can't do much for viral diseases but let them run their course. The virus involved here is the Epstein-Barr Virus. Once again I have proven myself in no way exceptional as I haven't found any treatment that has helped.

About a year ago, one of my doctors started trying things. Mono doesn't last as long as mine was lasting, so he (we; I mean I did agree) decided to add a stimulant. We tried one thing and another and another. Nothing seemed to hurt much, but nothing seemed to help. So a month ago, I complained about all the medication I was taking and he agreed to try a drug holiday.

I don't know exactly what has happened, but I'm starting to feel better. Heck, I could not have written a blog entry a year ago, or even two months ago. So I have to feel that I'm making progress. I'm off my anti-depressant as well as all of the good doctor's stimulants. Things are not perfect, but I have more energy and I'm trying to build my stamina back up.

That's enough for now. I'll post again later.

Testosterone

I've been taking testosterone cream the past three days, because a recent blood test showed both that hormone and my potassium were low. Going into this third day, I can say both that I feel better and that I do not feel better. In general, I feel less fuzzy-brained; that is more alert and engaged in the world around me. At the moment, however, I feel as tired as ever and as ready to take a nap as ever. Oh, and it's 9:40 am as I write this, and I've only been awake for three-plus hours after a seven-plus hour night of sleep.

My wife seems to think the testosterone should make an almost immediate difference. Indeed she has been raving about it since I started Wednesday morning that I seem more alert and engaged. I do feel a difference, and yet I'm not happy with the overall level of fatigue I feel. Right this moment, I want nothing more than to curl up and close my eyes and drift off to sleep. I suppose the next stop is the sleep doctor again. Do we need to change my pressure again?

I guess there are no magic bullets.

Short Update

I have some partial answers about my fatigue of the past few month. Got a blood test and found out that both my testosterone and potassium levels are too low. Doctor's office wants to re-test potassium next month, and Doctor has prescribed some testosterone cream for me to use. However, the insurance has to specially approve the prescription. So we're waiting on that.

Question: How is it that a health insurer deciding what medications I can have is better than a government agency deciding that? How is it that the current system is better than any government run system? Since insurance companies are in the business of collecting and investing premiums--rather than paying claims--how is their paternalism better than letting me have what my Doctor has prescribed for me?

I guess I'll never know the answer to those questions.

I'm Back...Sort of...Maybe

So, where the heck have I been for the past several months?

Nowhere really. That's the problem with depression, at least mine. I don't go anywhere or do anything or enjoy anything. As far as writing is concerned, I haven't had the energy--I haven't cared enough--to write anything. My life feels like a total mess right now, and I'm not even writing now because I care. I'm simply waiting for an online poker tournament to start.

That's how I've been passing my time: playing online poker. I'm down several hundred dollars from a combination of bad play and bad luck. I guess it's all bad play. Even when you get beat on the river by a lucky player who doesn't know what he's doing, you can trace it back to your own mistakes.

I've really learned a lot about poker in the past four months. I've learned even more about myself. Particularly, I've learned that I lack patience. I'm getting better at it, but I'm nowhere good enough at being patient.

But more than anything else, I'm enveloped in a deep, abiding sadness: what the folks a hundred years ago called melancholy. I do what I have to do, but I have no initiative to do more. I don't care whether I life or die, but I guess I do more to live than I do to die.

Where does this melancholy come from? I wish I could isolate a cause and deal with that cause. So many things have happened, and yet nothing is changed. I'm unemployed again. The contract I was on when last I wrote mercifully ended at the end of September. I say mercifully because they had long since run out of work for me to do. I got another contract in November at another place, but that lasted all of three weeks, and I got that work done early, too. Only these people were smart enough to cut their losses.

I guess it's time to face the facts that no one really wants the skills I have. Problem is I don't feel like acquiring new skills at the moment. I don't feel like doing much of anything.

In face, I've tired of this. Perhaps I'll write more later, but my tournament is about to start. Maybe I can get lucky.

Embracing Death

Yes, it has been a bit, and I apologize to the few people who read this space. Life has kept me busy, and I'm glad of it.

My wife continues to heal from her surgery. She's been in rehab for over a month now, and her progress is great. We both have hopes that by this time next year she will be completely healed and feeling better than she has in a long time.

She also had a sleep study and will be getting a CPAP of her own within the next week or two. More cause for celebration as that will help both her rehab and her overall, general health.

---

I realize that the above is an odd way to begin an entry entitled embracing death, but I wanted to get that information out. And in a larger sense, it is part of the topic. In order to embrace death, we have to embrace life. And in order to embrace life fully, I believe we have to embrace death first.

I've been reading a series of articles in this week's Columbus Dispatch, www.dispatch.com, on the trials and tribulations of someone being treated for cancer. And the series has touched me deeply. As you know, in the last few years I've lost a brother, a sister, and my father to cancer. I continue to undergo regular colon cancer screenings since I continue to produce pre-cancerous polyps. So I have a vested interest in the subject.

I want to say here and now that I honor the choices of my siblings and my father to take treatment for their cancers and to fight to live as long as possible and even to entertain the hope, right up to near the very end, that they could defeat their cancers. In my opinion, my father wanted to die. He took the cancer treatments that he had as a means of being more comfortable in his last year and dying with less pain than he would have experienced otherwise. My sister fought to the very end, and again in my opinion, I completely understand why she did. She had two young daughters that she wanted to see grown up to successful, happy young women, and she was in love with life and in her prime herself. My brother I did not know very well in his later years. He had severed his connections with the family and chose not to even let us know that he was sick or dying. His choice; it was, after all, his life and his death.

For myself, though, I doubt that I will take treatment to prolong my life if I'm diagnosed with cancer. It is a lot to put oneself through with only a hope of living longer, a hope that is too often dashed. And it is a lot to ask of one's loved ones to put them through the rigors of being a caregiver and caretaker.

Increasingly, I'm thinking of cancer as one of those signs we get that our part in the great cycle of life is coming to an end. All life ends. We come into existence, live a time, and die. All living things follow this cycle.

Western culture today seems to have the feeling that if we don't live to a dotage filled old age, we haven't lived out our lives completely. My experience of most living things is that they die much sooner than their full lifespans, as we understand them. Disease and destruction claim more living things than old age does.

No, I don't know how I will feel when eventually I am diagnosed with cancer (assuming I don't get hit by a truck first), but I want to have these thoughts somewhere where I can read them to remind myself that all things come to an end. I want a dignified even joyous end, Spirit willing. I have lived a fruitful life. It has been the best life I have been capable of living, and when my time comes I want to embrace that final part of my life and not run or hide from it.

I want it to be said of me, "Gladly did he live and gladly die, and laid himself down with a will."

The Political Silly Season

If you have any doubt that we're deep into the political silly season that will culminate in the fall 2006 Congressional elections, all you need to do is look at what Congress has deemed worthy of spending their time on lately.

There was the Defense of Marriage Amendment that failed in the Senate. This amendment would set into the US Constitution the idea that marriage is only and always between one man and one woman.

There were also several laws intended to enshrine the idea that English is the only official language in the US.

Then we had the "debate" over whether to set a deadline for withdrawal of US troops from Iraq. This one was particularly pathetic in that the Democrats couldn't agree on a strategy or on tactics for implementing that strategy.

And now we've had an amendment that was defeated by one vote in the Senate to make burning the American flag a crime against the Constitution, again by amending the Constitution.

Meanwhile, deficits continue to rise. This Congress has taken pork barrel spending to new heights (or depths). It's hurricane season again, and we haven't cleaned up from last year's messes along the Gulf Coast. (At least, I suppose, the damage can't be as bad that way. If it's already destroyed and not rebuilt, it can't be destroyed again.) The war in Iraq and the wider war on terror drag on, as they inevitably must. North Korea still has nukes. Iran is hell bent, perhaps quite literally, on acquiring nukes of its own. Oil prices continue to rise, as do global temperatures.

Yet Congress has nothing to say on these important issues. They're busy worrying about what goes on in the bedroom or during protests or how people talk to each other.

I suppose it could be worse. They could actually be trying to do something.

The Horrors of Half-War

In Congress, the fashion these days is to debate whether or not we should pull out of Iraq and when we should do it. The Republicans, whatever their misgivings, stand behind President Bush and call for US troops to stay in Iraq until the Iraqi government can defend itself and defeat the insurgencies that boil around Iraq. The Democrats, wanting to be different but not knowing how, debate whether to set a date certain for withdrawal of US forces or the stick with what I think is a bad plan. Nobody is debating a third alternative which just might end the insurgency sooner rather than later and allow US troops to come home much more quickly.

I propose that we truly occupy Iraq. I propose that we put in the three hundred to five hundred thousand troops that would be needed to effectively occupy Iraq. That would allow us to permanently station troops in every city and town instead of having to periodically mount and remount offensives to "clean insurgents out" of strongholds that they will simply re-occupy when we leave, as we always do.

From the outset, the Bush Administration has wanted to minimize the "footprint" of US forces in Iraq so that it wouldn't seem like an unfriendly occupation rather than a friendly liberation. However, the latest polls show that most Iraqis think they are being occupied anyway. And yet we are doing a lousy job of occupying Iraq. There is no peace, no stability, no infrastructure being rebuilt, no progress. And we don't have these successes because our force is too small. We haven't been able to take and hold anyplace in Iraq. We haven't been able to create one secure place in that country, apparently, other than the Green Zone in Baghdad, which was once the palace complex of Saddam Hussein. Apparently he knew how to pick a defensible location in his own country.

By not having enough troops on the ground, we created conditions for the looting that took place in the immediate aftermath of Hussein's government. We allowed, because we could not prevent, the looting of vast stores of weapons and munitions that have provided the insurgent groups (and their are many) with all the weapons and ammunition they needed.

Worst of all, once the insurgency really got underway, not having enough troops to occupy the country meant that ordinary Iraqis--the ones who just want peace, security, electricity, and water--have had no one to protect them from thugs and each others' fears. One of the key elements necessary to fight an insurgent war is to have the people either on your side or afraid to be against you. Since we don't have enough troops to protect people who might actually help us root out the insurgents with tips and other intelligence, we don't get the information we need about insurgents' activities to round them up or kill them before they can execute their plans.

To win the hearts and minds of the citizens of any country, you have to make them safe and see that they have access to the resources necessary to fulfill their basic needs. To win the hearts and minds, you need boots on the ground and lots of them. If there's a cop you know on every corner and that cop can protect you from the thugs in the neighborhood, you'll turn the thugs in to make yourself and your family safer. If there are more thugs around than cops, then the thugs own the streets and you dare not inform on them because of what they will do to you and your family.

Half-way measures almost always produce failure. Believe it or not, we never had enough troops in Vietnam to secure that country, and we suffered a lot of the same problems we face again in Iraq. Having created this mess, by knocking off the only institution that maintained order in Iraq, we are morally obligated to these people to restore order. And that's gonna take a lot more troops on the ground. We should have done it in 2003. I think that if we had, we'd be out of there by now, or at least well on our way.

So what I think really needs to be debated in Congress is doubling or tripling the forces on the ground not arguing over whether or not to set a date by which we'll be out of Iraq.

Aches & Pains

Sometimes I think I should have titled this journal Pains of a Middle-Aged Man. Lately, I've been dealing with leg and foot problems. For some reason the Achilles tendon on my left foot has been acting up. When I stand after sitting or after sleeping at night I can't put weight on my left foot because I get tremendous pain from my left heel. I have to work it or stretch it in the morning before I can put any weight on it. And when I get up from my desk, I move gingerly, and often with a limp for the first few steps.

I went to my chiropractor last week, and she suggested a stretch using a wedge under my feet while I sat. That, unfortunately, seemed to cause even more problems, especially in my upper legs. So I do shorter term stretches.

And I've been having trouble with my thighs. I don't exactly know how to describe the pain. It feels like an electric current running through my thighs when it's really bad. It feels like a mild tingle when it's not so bad. I mowed the lawn a couple of days ago, and by the time I had finished I was in excruciating pain, like a heavy electical current being applied all through both thighs. Only sitting down helped. I can't seem to find muscles that are responsible for it, but I'm guessing somewhere in my lower back some muscles are locking up tight.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, growing old is not for the faint of heart. It's damn hard work.

No Rest For The Weary

Being a full-time caregiver is not my vocation. I've been able to take care of my wife's basic needs and the basic needs of the house, but I find it leaves no time for myself. For example, Saturday and Sunday were very nice days here, the first nice days in nearly two weeks of overcast, rain, and wind. But I didn't get out to play golf or even hit golf balls. There was laundry to do and groceries to buy and a lawn to cut. There were also the usual daily chores of dishes and feeding dogs and walking dogs and feeding my wife and I. Then, because she is still essentially housebound, I needed to entertain her, if only to sit with her and watch television.

My wife does her best to give me time and space. She accepts my need for quiet and to rest a bit between tasks. I know it frustrates her that I don't do everything she would do or do it when she would do it or do it the way she would do it. I try to be accommodating, but I guess I'm an inflexible old coot when it comes to some things. And I get frustrated with the constant up-and-down of waiting on her and the dogs. Sometimes, to my personal mortification, I have been snappish with her and complained about all the work I have to do, work that she does routinely I might add.

I'm such a wimp. I can't even take care of the one person who stands by me no matter what I do without complaining about how it affects me and my life. (It truly is all about me. Don't anybody ever tell me I'm unselfish or giving; I have proof to the contrary and witnesses.)

Coping With Everything

My coping skills are low these days. I'm prone to anger. Mentally, I tire easily. I'm not handling disappointment or the general insecurity of life very well.

So I go for a regularly scheduled visit to the sleep clinic, and they suggest that I need a new chin strap. According to their theory, my current chin strap is so old that it's not really keeping my mouth closed, which is why I'm getting additional air into my abdomen while I sleep. That also explains, according to them, my interrupted sleep and my mid-afternoon fatigue.

If all of that is true, it probably accounts for my irrascibility, too. Not only am I tired, I'm also tired of being so grouchy. I used to be a nice guy with a generally sunny disposition. I'd really like to find that guy again. Maybe I will, but after over four years of treatment for sleep apnea, I'm not getting my hopes up.

What A Couple of Weeks

Two weeks ago tomorrow my wife went into the hospital for back surgery. The surgery went well, and she is recovering well. She had a herniated disc in her lower back (L4-L5 for those interested in such things) and had been in excruciating pain from it. Surgery was the only option.

And I am EXHAUSTED from the work I've done in caring for her since the surgery. She was in the hospital until that Friday afternoon of the surgery week. It was four days and three nights in the hospital, but they weren't easy days for me. Mainly, I was at her bedside seeing that she got what she needed. She was in so much pain that they gave her dilaudid (sp?) shots, which made her loopy and tired. So she slept a lot, but it was fitful sleep, and she seemed to take much comfort from me being there and getting her something to drink whenever she awoke briefly.

So I was already tired when I brought her home. As I said, the recovery has been slow, though I see positive signs every day. Still, I've had the cooking, cleaning, laundry, dogs, and her to take care of. I've been constantly "on call" for whatever she needed. I haven't minded any of it, but I have been exhausted by it and unable to do anything pro-active unless it was laundry, feeding the dogs, or feeding us.

Now, after two weeks, I'm back at work with not only a much greater appreciation for what it takes to keep the household running but also for what full-time caregivers go through. It's hard work. It's both physically and mentally demanding, and it never does any good to get angry with the patient. They can't help how they feel. And for most of this time, I was alone doing this work, with no one to talk to and no one to give me a break from it. And it just wore me out.

I'm glad to be back at work, where the pace is slower, and I don't feel the constant demands on my time. Just writing this short entry is nice. I didn't have the energy to do it at home the past two weeks.

There are more things I should be writing about and more things I want to write about. Perhaps there will be more entries today and in the days to come. It's unfortunately obvious that they don't have much to keep me busy here at the moment. (That, too, is a worry, but it's one I'll put off for now.)

Men Looking At Women

I'm currently reading Norah Vincent's new book, Self-Made Man : One Woman's Journey into Manhood and Back. I find it a fascinating story of a woman who masquerades as a man in order to become as much a part of the masculine world in America. She is on a quest to understand, as a woman, what it means in our society to be a man, or at least a male of the species.

I've finishes a couple of chapters so far, and one idea has jumped out at me. She comments early in the book about how it feels to be a woman walking the streets of her neighborhood under the gaze of the men in her neighborhood. It is not a pleasant experience for Norah. She feels like a piece of meat. She feels violated by the men's eyes, which do not merely look; they gaze. And the gaze is not loving; it is possessive, superior. It is the gaze of one who is dominant upon one who is subordinate. It is a gaze that takes and devours and states quite bluntly that under the right circumstances--as defined solely by the man--she would be taken literally.

She contrasts this feeling of vulnerability with a later one of invulnerability when she walks the same streets looking like a man, with a man's walk and a man's gaze. In this trip, the same men who gaze dominatingly at her as a woman, avert their eyes when they perceive her as a man. She surmises that men don't gaze dominatingly at another male unless they expect to fight. Instead, these men glance her way, when she appears to be a man, and then studiously look away, avoiding any hint of a confrontation.

How do I look at women? Do I look at them the same way I look at men? I hadn't really considered it before. What I have noticed is that when I'm in a confined space, as for example an elevator, women do not look at me. They look away. They stand as far away as they can in the small space and avert their gaze. Often their postures are defensive with arms crossed and eyes downcast. Often I feel their fear of me, the unknown male, in an enclosed, isolated spot. I do not fear them, but I sense they fear me.

Yet I have to admit that I often look at women and have sexual thoughts. Frankly, there are some women who because of body type, facial expression, even hair style that when I see them I want to have sex with them. I can't put it plainer than that. I lust after these women, and often I don't know them. Certainly I don't know them very well, even if I work with them. And women that I do work with that fit my parameters (it really doesn't matter what those parameters are) I do more sexual kidding with, though I try to always be careful to keep it away from harassment (though who can tell these days?).

However, it's not a reciprocal game. I don't get hit on. I am oblivious to anyone who might be looking at me and lusting after me. Even as I write that the very idea seemly laughable. I don't see myself as someone to be lusted after.

And perhaps that is the basic point that Ms. Vincent is making. In our male-dominated world (and, yes, even here in America with its official policies of sexual equality, it is a male-dominated world), men lust after and chase after women; not the other way around. Even when Ms. Vincent is describing the dating scene from her male perspective, it is the man's job to pursue and the woman's job to defend, if not her honor then at least her personal integrity.

But I'm not in the dating scene. I'm not going to have sex with another woman, even as I remain interested. But I still look, and I still look with lust. There is a married woman in my neighborhood who gardens in sweatpants and a t-shirt. She's a small, thin woman, and I doubt she has much in the way of tits, and yet I can't help wondering when I see her if she's wearing a bra. There's no visible sign of it under her loosely hanging t-shirt. And when I'm talking to her, I'm also trying to surreptitiously see if I can see a nipple poking into the fabric of her shirt. And I'm as certain as I can be about anything that I will never initiate a sexual advance toward her.

Still, it is obvious to me, and I suspect it is to her, too, that I am voyeuristically interested in her body. She probably sees the lust in my eyes, and she's probably put off by it.

###

Well, it's two weeks later, and I've finished the book. Ms. Vincent's insights are fascinating and ring true. Granted, I haven't been in all of the situation Ms. Vincent put her alter ego, Ned, into, so I can't judge all of it. Yet each incident she describes 'rings true' to me for analogous situations. Often during the reading I found myself flashing back to some situation that felt the same or similar.

The book is equally fascinating for Ms. Vincent's insights into herself and her own pre-conceived notions of men of various classes. We learn, for example, that the "working class" men of the bowling alley are much more tolerant than she supposed. She finds the stereotypes she brought with her into the bowling alley don't hold up to scrutiny in the actions of her teammates or others.

Self Made Man is an excellent look at the differences between the sexes from a wholly different perspective--a woman dressed as a man who passes for a man. I highly recommend it for anyone looking for a good, thought-provoking read.

The Midnight Angries

I've got the midnight angries tonight. It's this morning actually. As I write these words it is 1:49 am. I don't know what time it'll be when it's posted, because I don't know when I'll finish writing it. Even then, I'm not sure when, or if, I'm going back to bed.

So, what's got me so jacked up? It started when a man sent me an email decrying the high cost of gasoline and suggesting that if we Americans boycott Exxon-Mobil, we can bring oil prices down by 50% within a week or two.

Why would that make me angry? Good question. For one thing, I consider the price of gasoline in America a trivial concern. Compared to most of the world, we're not just rich, we're filthy rich. No other nation on the face of the earth is richer than we are. I'm a middle-class white guy in America. Almost everyone I know is middle class and white in America. We've got it made in the shade, and we're complaining about gasoline going up to $3.00 a gallon. What's $3 a gallon gasoline to a middle class white American? It's nothing.

I remember when I was in Vietnam, there was a program for sending Vietnamese officers to the States for training, and the Vietnamese were clamoring to get into that program because they got paid $400 a month while they were in the States. They saw that as the height of riches; that's how poor they were. I know because that's roughly what Uncle Sam was paying me to be in Vietnam at that time, and I was having trouble making ends meet back in the States.

But I wasn't poor like the Vietnamese were poor. I took running water and indoor plumbing as a matter of course. Believe it or not, in most of the world, it is not. Nor is electricity. We get all bent out of shape if the power goes off in a storm. Well in a lot of the world, there is no power to go off. Take a look at that pretty picture NASA did of the Earth at night, and you can see where the developed world is and where the "third world" is by the lights. Most of those dark areas are inhabited, but they're too poor to have electricity, except for the very rich who make their own.

And we blame the poor for being poor. And we complain about how hard our lives are, we white middle class Americans. Fetched any water lately? Fetched any water and been in mortal fear for your life? Have you done anything in your life lately that put you in mortal danger? Probably not. For all the bitchin' and moanin' we do about crime in America, we're a very safe country to live in. I can get in one of my cars right now (right away you know I ain't poor; I've got more than one working, road worthy vehicle) and head out in any direction from where I live here in the heartland of America and not have to fear robbers or bandits or highwaymen. Oh, I could be robbed or beaten or killed, but the odds, frankly, are against it.

Want to try that in Central or South America? How about Africa? Asia? Frankly, I wouldn't want to try it in any of those places. And most of the world's population lives there, not here.

People here are complaining about the price of gas, while forgetting (because it really doesn't touch them directly) that we're in a war. We're in two wars, actually: one in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. For convenience sake we call it a war on terror. Now war calls for sacrifice, doesn't it? That's why war should not be entered into lightly. So, what's the sacrifice, my fellow citizens? Gasoline is three dollars a gallon. That's such a small sacrifice when you think about what our parents (or grandparents) had to put up with in World War II. They had gasoline rationing, and price controls, and rationing on a whole host of items, including food.

Now let's take another look at that price of gasoline. What was the price of gas in 1970? That was before the oil crisis of the mid-seventies. I don't think we were paying fifty cents a gallon; it was probably more like 35 cents. To be on the safe side, let's use 40 cents a gallon as the price at the pump in 1970. And let's imagine that in the past 36 years (1970 to 2006) prices and wages have gone up, on average, 6% a year. Again, I don't have precise numbers in front of me, but I remember the double digit inflation of the 1970s and 80s, and I know inflation has been a lot lower in the last 15 or so years. So let's assume a six percent inflation for the past 36 years. Watch what happens to that 40 cent a gallon gas at 6% compounded over 36 years. (That means, by the way, that the price doubles every 12 years).

1970 $0.40
1982 $0.80
1994 $1.60
2006 $3.20

Guess what? That 40 cent a gallon gasoline that I was buying in 1970 should cost over $3 a gallon today!

Look, folks, the real deal is that we don't have any reason to be complaining. Especially if you're a middle class white guy like me. We've got it made compared to the rest of the world. Speaking for myself, I've got a nice house, two nice, running automobiles, two color televisions with cable, one digital video recorder, three Internet ready computers, hot and cold running water, 24/7 electricity (and water). I have heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer, and I've got plenty of cheap food that I can get in safety 24 hours a day. What, pray tell, do I or any other white middle class American really have to complain about?

Frankly, it just seems selfish of me to complain about a little budgetary inconvenience when people are dying to get into this country to work at terrible jobs for terribly low pay and awful working and living conditions BECAUSE IT'S BETTER THAN ANYTHING THEY HAVE IN THEIR NATIVE COUNTRY. Am I so mean and selfish and greedy that all I care about is my own inconvenience?

And you know what? I could lose my job tomorrow, and I could lose my house and my cars and all the other stuff, and I would STILL be better off than most of the rest of the world. I'd rather be poor in America than anywhere else in the world.

You know, I love my country, and I love my fellow citizens. Americans are invariably first on the scene when there's a natural disaster in the world. We sent our Navy to the tsunami stricken areas of the world when no one else could get there, and we send people all over the world to help others in need. It is a source of justifiable pride in this country that we do so much for others when they're in need.

The shame is that we could do so much more if we weren't so selfish and self-centered. And I do not exclude myself from that. Readers of this blog can't help but notice how self-centered I am. I'm constantly focusing on my health and complaining about anyone and anything that interferes with my personal pursuit of happiness.

Yes, I live in a glass house, and I throw stones from time to time. But I don't hear anyone else telling people like me to count my blessings and do more for the less fortunate. I got no room to complain, and I don't think most middle class white Americans do either.

Dead Birds

Do pigeons (doves) pair-bond for life? I think they must, and the quick research I did on the Internet would seem to suggest that, but the information was not definitive.

I ask this because yesterday afternoon, I saw two pigeons acting strangely in the parking garage where I work. One was standing stock still as I came within three feet of it while the other did not fly away but simply walked, and none to steadily away. They were situated near a low wall in a relatively sheltered area of the garage, but they were also in an area that had a lot of pedestrian and vehicular traffic. I would think that the pedestrian traffic in particular would have made them unwilling to linger there, but it did not seem to.

I first saw them around 2:30 yesterday afternoon. When I saw them again, around 4:00 pm, as I was going home, one of them looked dead, but the other one was roosting next to it in a corner formed by a structural pillar and a wall, they were not more than three feet from there I had first seen them.

They were still there this morning, though the living one was turned around and probably still trying vainly to rouse its mate. They're gone now (9:45 am). Someone removed the dead bird. I don't know if the living one his hanging out near its dead companion or has moved on.

What's the protocol when you come across a bird mourning for its dead mate? Do you pass by and leave it to its grief? Do you remove the dead carcass as a health hazard? Do you rescue the living one? Do you say it's just a bird and unworthy of even these few words I have written?

Rest in Peace.