A Letter to Our New Leader Regarding "our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor...":
We wish you Godspeed in your efforts to restore us.
When you were asking the American people for the power of the presidency, you inspired many of us with your remarkable vision. Now that you have the power in hand, you must remain very vigilant to stay on course, be true to yourself, and take every opportunity to question those about you—just as you promised to do.
We are certain that there are those cynics who will wish failure for your administration, but a failure of your ideals will set back our country, our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor a hundred years. Vigilance! Good Fortune! All options considered! And humor when it is appropriate—is our wish for your administration.
We the citizens must act as your partners. We have named a lot of things we need to Yes We Can change. And if we can name them, we have power over them.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
"our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor..." continued
A Letter to Our Legislators Regarding Our Sacred Honor:
Yes, it was indeed time for a change.
But at even a hint that Social Security is on the ropes and you are going to cut it in half, or worse, get ready. Perhaps you are rich enough to afford a house with a small apartment for your aged parents, but not many of the rest of us are.
And let’s not forget that we are sending our young men and women into two wars many thousand of miles away. Back when my generation was fighting a war, we knew we were in it. We had rationing of gas and meat, and automobiles could not be purchased. Are we so rich that we can now afford both guns and butter, (or bread and circuses—we surely have had a spate of those) so let’s have it all lest the citizens catch on to what is happening? Look at downtown Main Street…does it seem that the country is at war? Could we not have had additional security measures without invading two countries that have traditionally fought amongst themselves and -– probably — always will because that is their inborn nature? They don’t need us to deliver democracy to them. They need to see the advantages of having it for themselves.
And the way it has been looking lately, well, democracy here has been taking a beating. If politicians were forced to take truth pills, how interesting life would become.
Yes, it was indeed time for a change.
But at even a hint that Social Security is on the ropes and you are going to cut it in half, or worse, get ready. Perhaps you are rich enough to afford a house with a small apartment for your aged parents, but not many of the rest of us are.
And let’s not forget that we are sending our young men and women into two wars many thousand of miles away. Back when my generation was fighting a war, we knew we were in it. We had rationing of gas and meat, and automobiles could not be purchased. Are we so rich that we can now afford both guns and butter, (or bread and circuses—we surely have had a spate of those) so let’s have it all lest the citizens catch on to what is happening? Look at downtown Main Street…does it seem that the country is at war? Could we not have had additional security measures without invading two countries that have traditionally fought amongst themselves and -– probably — always will because that is their inborn nature? They don’t need us to deliver democracy to them. They need to see the advantages of having it for themselves.
And the way it has been looking lately, well, democracy here has been taking a beating. If politicians were forced to take truth pills, how interesting life would become.
"...our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor...", continued
A Letter to People in a Position of Trust Regarding Our Fortunes:
The single most objectionable facet of our present predicament is that a very large part of our present economic crisis was caused by bankers, banks, and insurance companies. I have to ask, How could you possibly lend money to people who would never be able to pay it back? And, What reasoning would cause our legislators to trounce on our sense of fair play and bail out people who have no equity in their houses lest they lose them? I don't mean those people who have lost their jobs, but those who made too little money to buy the house in the first place.
You say the answer is that you were paid enormous sums of money to do this and although some people were aware of it, nothing was done? What? I would like it very much if criminal charges could be brought against you.
There are too many contemporary times when our fortunes have been scrapped. Example: that financier who made off with a reported 50 billion dollars from friends and charitable organizations. I think you could start a small country with 50B$. It is probably enough to support a census of 7,000 people, with nice homes, schools, a hospital, small manufacturing facilities, an organic farm for produce—instead the money apparently went for personal aggrandizement. What?
The single most objectionable facet of our present predicament is that a very large part of our present economic crisis was caused by bankers, banks, and insurance companies. I have to ask, How could you possibly lend money to people who would never be able to pay it back? And, What reasoning would cause our legislators to trounce on our sense of fair play and bail out people who have no equity in their houses lest they lose them? I don't mean those people who have lost their jobs, but those who made too little money to buy the house in the first place.
You say the answer is that you were paid enormous sums of money to do this and although some people were aware of it, nothing was done? What? I would like it very much if criminal charges could be brought against you.
There are too many contemporary times when our fortunes have been scrapped. Example: that financier who made off with a reported 50 billion dollars from friends and charitable organizations. I think you could start a small country with 50B$. It is probably enough to support a census of 7,000 people, with nice homes, schools, a hospital, small manufacturing facilities, an organic farm for produce—instead the money apparently went for personal aggrandizement. What?
"...our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor..."
Dear Kids:
I know that times are tough. And they are going to get tougher. It wasn’t too pleasant for your grandparents during the Great Depression, either.
There was a Clint Eastwood movie where the protagonist made the statement, Decide what you want to be, and then start acting like it. My children, I hope you decide to be fair, sane, supportive of your partner; laugh at some things, ignore some unimportant things; and don't waste any day or any asset while you live.
I know that times are tough. And they are going to get tougher. It wasn’t too pleasant for your grandparents during the Great Depression, either.
Back then, I don’t recall the word “career” being used extensively; what was important was a J-O-B. The ultimate ambition was to stay afloat, to hold one's own, no footsteps backwards, as it were.
Today, we would do a disservice to ourselves if we were to try to use this old thinking philosophy, and "settle for less". We can't "settle for less" of nutrition, nor less of education, nor less of progress, nor less of purpose. But, we can and should "settle for less" of falling for what we have been told is the good life—a house we can’t afford, a car that guzzles gas, politicians who line their own pockets, a lack of honesty, the siren call of the miracle electronics toys, the great divide of religions that preach love and deliver hate... (wait a minute, how much time have you got?)
There was a Clint Eastwood movie where the protagonist made the statement, Decide what you want to be, and then start acting like it. My children, I hope you decide to be fair, sane, supportive of your partner; laugh at some things, ignore some unimportant things; and don't waste any day or any asset while you live.
Now, about my title:
The last line of our Declaration of Independence, penned by Thomas Jefferson, says "we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor." What magnificent words. Many of the signers of the Declaration were aristocrats, wealthy, and had a lot to lose. In fact, their names were kept secret for six months since, for each, that signature on the Declaration pledged his life, his fortune and his sacred honor.
Other revolutions in this world were begun by men who had less to lose. Our American forefathers, however, had everything to lose and only one thing to gain: freedom. So, in order to secure freedom they pledged to each other their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Not Snow, nor Sleet, nor Gloom of Night Can Stay These Carriers
In this day and age, you would receive a look of utter incredulous-ness if you say,
I don't do email.
Well, I'll grant you it has its place. Ordering stuff. Replying posthaste to your boss who lives and works in Minneapolis, thus forestalling a site visit. Buying stocks before the market goes up (joke).
But let's consider. While email has its place, how would you like to receive a love letter? A letter of condolence? Get well soon card?
Words transferred at the speed of light, spat through cyber space (I think it is really really cold out there) and then printed on paper when your printer has enough ink left just seem so, well, impersonal.
Words carefully written by a beloved hand on bond stationery, possibly slightly scented, covered with fingerprints, with a stamp that was actually licked and therefore contains exclusive DNA and attached with care to an envelope... well, they are more personal. So what if it took a week to get to you? It was worth waiting for. These words, you can carry around for a long time in your pocket, or next to your heart. (Unless, of course, they begin: "Dear John".) The pursuit of romance is enhanced by the forethought, preparation, and delivery of a very personal message that exudes "I love you, I miss you, I can't wait until we can be together again."
Email just doesn't cut it. And don't mention text messaging, that destroyer of the English language, to me. ARGHH!
On the other hand, we all know the story of the soldier who diligently wrote to his sweetheart twice a week, only to come home after six months to find that she had married the mailman.
Face up to it: in this world, you have to take chances.
I don't do email.
Well, I'll grant you it has its place. Ordering stuff. Replying posthaste to your boss who lives and works in Minneapolis, thus forestalling a site visit. Buying stocks before the market goes up (joke).
But let's consider. While email has its place, how would you like to receive a love letter? A letter of condolence? Get well soon card?
Words transferred at the speed of light, spat through cyber space (I think it is really really cold out there) and then printed on paper when your printer has enough ink left just seem so, well, impersonal.
Words carefully written by a beloved hand on bond stationery, possibly slightly scented, covered with fingerprints, with a stamp that was actually licked and therefore contains exclusive DNA and attached with care to an envelope... well, they are more personal. So what if it took a week to get to you? It was worth waiting for. These words, you can carry around for a long time in your pocket, or next to your heart. (Unless, of course, they begin: "Dear John".) The pursuit of romance is enhanced by the forethought, preparation, and delivery of a very personal message that exudes "I love you, I miss you, I can't wait until we can be together again."
Email just doesn't cut it. And don't mention text messaging, that destroyer of the English language, to me. ARGHH!
On the other hand, we all know the story of the soldier who diligently wrote to his sweetheart twice a week, only to come home after six months to find that she had married the mailman.
Face up to it: in this world, you have to take chances.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
How Dog Evolved, Part II
Come to think of it, I don't believe that Dog made the first overture towards Man by venturing into his cave, lured by the fire and the smell of roasting meat, after all (see "Molly's Lament").
Dog was too smart to trade his independence for a handout and an occasional kick in the ribs. This is what I think happened:
Early Man stumbled upon Dog's nest when his parents were out hunting for food themselves, leaving the litter behind. Man grabbed a couple of pups and took them back to the cave intending to use them later in a stew.
But Man didn't count on Little Woman or the Children. Once they saw how cuddly and cute Pups were, how they followed them around the cave, how they warmed their hands, and how they licked their faces... a bond began to grow between Pups and Man's better half and his heirs. Dogs belonged. The deal was clinched.
Later, when Man came with his knife to claim the pups for the stew pot, Woman and Children set up such a fracas it made him angry, but just at that moment, both pups growled and stared beyond the fire at the mouth of the cave. Man looked too, and there, approaching, was danger -- a snake -- a bad snake -- one that could cause death after a great deal of pain and suffering. Man, warned, took up his club and dispatched the would-be intruder. For supper that night, they had fricassee of Snake instead of Puppy stew, with a fancy snake pelt hide to trade at the coming jamboree to boot.
And so they became more at ease with one another; Dog would edge closer to the Children, keeping them warm at night with his body heat. Man began to notice, too, that when he went hunting, Dog followed him and made it easier; they would stop and dog would stare at anything that was edible. Man would look in that direction, too, and could identify his prey sooner, return home quicker, than times before Dog when he would return home empty-handed.... it was cold out there and he appreciated the assistance.
The extra time that Man gained enabled him to make better tools, too, and make himself useful to the family in ways that he had not had time for before. Dog also foraged, digging up edible roots which Man tried, and liked. Before Dog learned better, he also would bring home small game, but after Man invariably confiscated the prey, Dog learned to satisfy his own needs first. Still, there was enough brought home to keep him valuable.
Sometimes, there were also other Men who were indeed hunting for the Man. Strangers. The Dog alerted the Master about them, too, saving him and the children from ambush. Pups had proven their worth. The word spread. Dog prospered, as did Man.
The first step had been taken that would produce a new dimension in Man's life, and not always (but for some fortunate ones) a better life for Dog.
There are places in this world where dogs are still used for food. These places still must be in the Stone Age, regardless of the fact that most of the things we buy may come from there. That's another story.
Dog was too smart to trade his independence for a handout and an occasional kick in the ribs. This is what I think happened:
Early Man stumbled upon Dog's nest when his parents were out hunting for food themselves, leaving the litter behind. Man grabbed a couple of pups and took them back to the cave intending to use them later in a stew.
But Man didn't count on Little Woman or the Children. Once they saw how cuddly and cute Pups were, how they followed them around the cave, how they warmed their hands, and how they licked their faces... a bond began to grow between Pups and Man's better half and his heirs. Dogs belonged. The deal was clinched.
Later, when Man came with his knife to claim the pups for the stew pot, Woman and Children set up such a fracas it made him angry, but just at that moment, both pups growled and stared beyond the fire at the mouth of the cave. Man looked too, and there, approaching, was danger -- a snake -- a bad snake -- one that could cause death after a great deal of pain and suffering. Man, warned, took up his club and dispatched the would-be intruder. For supper that night, they had fricassee of Snake instead of Puppy stew, with a fancy snake pelt hide to trade at the coming jamboree to boot.
And so they became more at ease with one another; Dog would edge closer to the Children, keeping them warm at night with his body heat. Man began to notice, too, that when he went hunting, Dog followed him and made it easier; they would stop and dog would stare at anything that was edible. Man would look in that direction, too, and could identify his prey sooner, return home quicker, than times before Dog when he would return home empty-handed.... it was cold out there and he appreciated the assistance.
The extra time that Man gained enabled him to make better tools, too, and make himself useful to the family in ways that he had not had time for before. Dog also foraged, digging up edible roots which Man tried, and liked. Before Dog learned better, he also would bring home small game, but after Man invariably confiscated the prey, Dog learned to satisfy his own needs first. Still, there was enough brought home to keep him valuable.
Sometimes, there were also other Men who were indeed hunting for the Man. Strangers. The Dog alerted the Master about them, too, saving him and the children from ambush. Pups had proven their worth. The word spread. Dog prospered, as did Man.
The first step had been taken that would produce a new dimension in Man's life, and not always (but for some fortunate ones) a better life for Dog.
There are places in this world where dogs are still used for food. These places still must be in the Stone Age, regardless of the fact that most of the things we buy may come from there. That's another story.
21 or bust...
In my new life, when I was finally making the Good Money ($18K a year), one of my responsibilities included counseling families who had made the placement of a loved one into our nursing home facility.
One daughter, distraught about the fact that her mother was sick, on the verge of death, and unknowledgable about the working of the finances and her responsibilities towards her own children at home, also bereft, had her questions answered. Temporarily (at least), I allayed her fears, including the guilt that always accompanies the fact that she could no longer handle it all herself; and she arose and started to leave my office. I accompanied her to the door. Suddenly, she stopped, turned, and hugged me. She blurted, "You are so good!" I hugged her back, and I said "They pay me to be good. Before I got this cushy job, I had to be good for nothing..." She laughed.
It was about time for her. And, it established for me a job description that I honored for another thirteen years. My faith-based employers' name was on the bottom line of every paycheck. It was a good job. There was a mission: to reach out and uplift all to a greater knowledge of and service to God. Not deeply religious myself, I nevertheless recognized a vision when I encountered it.
My company was forward-thinking. Annually, they brought in all of the managers from their far-flung outposts and treated them to educational seminars, introduced them to the newest management du jour techniques, and at the end, served up a recreational event. Sometimes, this was a boat trip up the river, other times a visit to a historical place. But there was this one time in particular that I remember, when they staged a carnival type soiree, that I just have to share.
They hired a troupe of actors, dressed them up as Speakeasy employees: beautiful girls as card dealers and hunky good-looking men carrying machine guns (I think they were props), and gave us all a bundle of pretend chips and turned us loose in the fracas. We had to knock on a door, and say (through the peephole) "Ron sent us." (Ron, the Vice President of Operations, the very man who hired me over the young college graduate for my job; bless you, Ron.) I didn't know what to do when I got the invitation. I didn't know anything about gambling other than driving the car in city traffic. So I called my son, Charley, and asked him which game I should play that would give me the best advantage. Which game could I play in which I would have a chance of not losing the playwad the first rattle out of the box? (At one time, Charley harbored notions of becoming a Vegas dealer.)
"What games are they playing, mother?" Charley asked.
"Well, it says poker, roulette, blackjack..."
He stopped me. "Play blackjack. The odds are better for the player."
So blackjack it was. I got inside the room. It really looked, well, real. I was not the first one in, and the air was filled with smoke, the sound of poker chips being clinked, the whir of the roulette wheel table, the excited noises of the gamblers and the dealers: "Place your bets." I found my way to the blackjack table. I placed all of my chips down in front of me. There was lots of room; hardly anyone else was playing. The dealer looked at me and I looked at her. I asked, "Now, how do you play this game?" They weren't the only actors there at the time.
So they told me, and I placed a minimal bet. During the course of the evening, I won a few and I lost a few. Then the gambling gods decided to smile upon me. The "gangster thugs" began to give me their attention; wasn't there just one of them there when we started? I counted about four and one or two had drifted around to my side of the table... and I am sure, well suspicious, that they were able to get a glimpse of my... what did they call it? Hole card, that was it.
I noticed, too, that we were at the end of the time line, and that my boss (my Hero Ron) had strolled over to the blackjack table, too. Oh oh. Arithmetic, don't fail me now.
Final round. I pushed a sizeable stack of chips out onto the table. Why not? We're going to go out big here, or not at all. I was dealt two jacks. Jack of hearts up, jack of spades down.
I looked puzzled. I called for a definition of rules. Interest perked up. "I'm not certain," I began, "but isn't there a rule about, if you get two of the same value you could, er, split your bet and wager on both cards? What's that called? Help me out here..."
But of course, the dealer replied, you may do that, knowing that I was leaving "20" up for grabs. I glanced at Ron. He winked at me.
I took a deep breath. I pushed all of the chips I had left on the table, dividing them more or less into two piles. I moved the jack of hearts showing to the right. I revealed the jack of spades that had been hiding to the left. "Let's do it!" I said.
The guards moved closer; I could feel and hear their breathing on my neck.
The jack of hearts got an ace of spades, down.
The jack of spades got an ace of hearts, down, by god.
...
The dealer said, "I'll pay 21."
I revealed my hidden aces.
I said, "Good. Pay me. Twice."
...
We could use the chips we ended with to bid on auctions of prizes. I got a camera. And I sure had a good time. My relationship with Ron seemed to improve. And I realized that being good for nothing all those years had some residual benefits.
One daughter, distraught about the fact that her mother was sick, on the verge of death, and unknowledgable about the working of the finances and her responsibilities towards her own children at home, also bereft, had her questions answered. Temporarily (at least), I allayed her fears, including the guilt that always accompanies the fact that she could no longer handle it all herself; and she arose and started to leave my office. I accompanied her to the door. Suddenly, she stopped, turned, and hugged me. She blurted, "You are so good!" I hugged her back, and I said "They pay me to be good. Before I got this cushy job, I had to be good for nothing..." She laughed.
It was about time for her. And, it established for me a job description that I honored for another thirteen years. My faith-based employers' name was on the bottom line of every paycheck. It was a good job. There was a mission: to reach out and uplift all to a greater knowledge of and service to God. Not deeply religious myself, I nevertheless recognized a vision when I encountered it.
My company was forward-thinking. Annually, they brought in all of the managers from their far-flung outposts and treated them to educational seminars, introduced them to the newest management du jour techniques, and at the end, served up a recreational event. Sometimes, this was a boat trip up the river, other times a visit to a historical place. But there was this one time in particular that I remember, when they staged a carnival type soiree, that I just have to share.
They hired a troupe of actors, dressed them up as Speakeasy employees: beautiful girls as card dealers and hunky good-looking men carrying machine guns (I think they were props), and gave us all a bundle of pretend chips and turned us loose in the fracas. We had to knock on a door, and say (through the peephole) "Ron sent us." (Ron, the Vice President of Operations, the very man who hired me over the young college graduate for my job; bless you, Ron.) I didn't know what to do when I got the invitation. I didn't know anything about gambling other than driving the car in city traffic. So I called my son, Charley, and asked him which game I should play that would give me the best advantage. Which game could I play in which I would have a chance of not losing the playwad the first rattle out of the box? (At one time, Charley harbored notions of becoming a Vegas dealer.)
"What games are they playing, mother?" Charley asked.
"Well, it says poker, roulette, blackjack..."
He stopped me. "Play blackjack. The odds are better for the player."
So blackjack it was. I got inside the room. It really looked, well, real. I was not the first one in, and the air was filled with smoke, the sound of poker chips being clinked, the whir of the roulette wheel table, the excited noises of the gamblers and the dealers: "Place your bets." I found my way to the blackjack table. I placed all of my chips down in front of me. There was lots of room; hardly anyone else was playing. The dealer looked at me and I looked at her. I asked, "Now, how do you play this game?" They weren't the only actors there at the time.
So they told me, and I placed a minimal bet. During the course of the evening, I won a few and I lost a few. Then the gambling gods decided to smile upon me. The "gangster thugs" began to give me their attention; wasn't there just one of them there when we started? I counted about four and one or two had drifted around to my side of the table... and I am sure, well suspicious, that they were able to get a glimpse of my... what did they call it? Hole card, that was it.
I noticed, too, that we were at the end of the time line, and that my boss (my Hero Ron) had strolled over to the blackjack table, too. Oh oh. Arithmetic, don't fail me now.
Final round. I pushed a sizeable stack of chips out onto the table. Why not? We're going to go out big here, or not at all. I was dealt two jacks. Jack of hearts up, jack of spades down.
I looked puzzled. I called for a definition of rules. Interest perked up. "I'm not certain," I began, "but isn't there a rule about, if you get two of the same value you could, er, split your bet and wager on both cards? What's that called? Help me out here..."
But of course, the dealer replied, you may do that, knowing that I was leaving "20" up for grabs. I glanced at Ron. He winked at me.
I took a deep breath. I pushed all of the chips I had left on the table, dividing them more or less into two piles. I moved the jack of hearts showing to the right. I revealed the jack of spades that had been hiding to the left. "Let's do it!" I said.
The guards moved closer; I could feel and hear their breathing on my neck.
The jack of hearts got an ace of spades, down.
The jack of spades got an ace of hearts, down, by god.
...
The dealer said, "I'll pay 21."
I revealed my hidden aces.
I said, "Good. Pay me. Twice."
...
We could use the chips we ended with to bid on auctions of prizes. I got a camera. And I sure had a good time. My relationship with Ron seemed to improve. And I realized that being good for nothing all those years had some residual benefits.
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