…And So We Honor Those Who Fought

My father in his WWII Army Air Corps jacket.

Monday was Memorial Day. When I asked my most conservative friend, a self-proclaimed patriotic member of the modern Tea Party, what he did on this important national holiday, he proudly claimed to be working. Now, granted this is probably a more noble way to spend a day than shopping holiday sales at the mall or hanging out in the backyard with a burger flipper in one hand and a brew in the other. Yet, it seems to fall short of the mark when it comes to honoring those courageous enough to serve their country in battle.

While most sane people will tell you war is the least productive enterprise with the greatest economic, as well as human, drain on our society, Memorial Day pays tribute to the warrior and not the war.  My brother-in-law, who fought in Vietnam, reminded me as we stood near the tombstone of my father, a veteran of World War II, the original name was Decoration Day, because it was a time for the children of those who had died to decorate the fallen heroes graves.

We walked across the cemetery to a place where people gathered to listen to a choir sing a tribute to each of the branches of the military. Even though budget cuts removed the customary flyover, spirits weren’t dampened as white homing pigeons were released and guns were fired into the air.

Photo of Nixon and his four brothers on a wall
of the house where he was born.

For the remainder of the day, I convinced my sister and brother-in-law to join us for a tour of the Richard Nixon Library, which was open to the public without charge during the holiday. One of the historians pointed out that our thirty-seventh president shared a common bond with John Kennedy, his archrival in his original bid for the White House. They were both Navy men, a worthy footnote on Memorial Day.

As we strolled through the exhibit commemorating the centennial anniversary of Mr. Nixon’s birth, I discovered the nickname he received in the Navy was Nick Nixon. Those of us who were college students when he ordered the National Guard to thwart a protest at Kent State University an

d four unarmed students were killed had some nicknames for him, but Nick wasn’t one of them.

I'm standing in front of the helicopter that carried
presidents Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon and Ford.

Of course, then there was Watergate. Few need reminding he is the only man ever to resign the office of president. Yet, a tour of his library is a reminder of what he was able to accomplish. He was born and raised in a house his father built from a kit. After fighting in World War II, becoming a lawyer, congressman, and U.S. senator, he became vice president at 39 years of age. Despite humiliating defeats to both Kennedy for president, and Pat Brown for governor of California, he returned to win the White House during one of the most turbulent times in our nation’s history. His legacy includes opening diplomatic relations with China, forming the Environmental Protection Agency, defending Israel from annihilation, lowering the voting age so those who fight for their country between the ages of 18 and 21 can participate in the electoral process, and ending the draft. It’s good to be reminded on Memorial Day that patriots are neither good nor evil, but humans with many sides.

Three Strikes and No Sex…It’s a Winner

"You heard me. Roll up your sleeves and get to work."

Hate to say it, but it took two TV celebrities to point out what should have been obvious to any thinking individual in the first place. A year ago when Mitt Romney emerged as the inevitable winner of the Republican nomination and Barack Obama was still reeling from his 2010 shellacking at the hands of the Tea Party, it looked like the clean cut Latter Day Saint would replace the first African-American president. But, “Yo, yo, wait a minute dawg,” as Randy Jackson, 12 year veteran judge of American Idol stated, “He’s in it to win it!” This point became amazingly clear in November, when the President swept back into office for his second term. However, it was Jay Leno, someone Conan can tell you knows a thing or two about sweeping back into office that pointed out that Obama is probably the first politician to be facing 3 scandals and none of them involve sex.

"So, with all your money you couldn't just buy your way in?"

Leno, who just happened to have former candidate Romney as his guest that night, can now retire in peace. So, let’s break it down. The first scandal, Darrel Issa, a California congressman, and FOX news, the Republican network, attempted to use to bring down Obama before his re-election. It involves something called “Talking Points.” Apparently, the word spin is out of fashion. Issa and FOX keep building the story of how poorly protected the embassy in Benghazi was, but it’s not a winner because the President said right away he wanted to get to the bottom of why Ambassador Stevens and three others were killed. Now, the question has become whether the President called the act terrorism soon enough, or did he orchestrate a demonstration in Egypt over an anti-Islamic video circulating on the Internet, which was already a talking point when Stevens was killed.

Then, there is the matter of the IRS not granting tax-exempt status to some Tea Party organizations. Come on, the biggest tax collector is supposed to do favors for an anti-tax group. Even the President voiced his outrage at this one. After all, he doesn’t want his tax-exempt groups scrutinized unfairly when his party is out of office. This is truly idiotic. Why give any of these groups that proliferate those horrendous political ads across our television, computer and even smartphone screens tax-exempt status?

Third, the question arises as to when it is all right for the government to investigate the investigators. A free press is a must in a free society. However, one not need subscribe to any conspiracy theory or watch too many FBI, CIA or Homeland Security movies and television programs to realize journalists can be spies, too. Of course, if I found out one of these creeps bugged a conversation I was having with my 85-year-old mother I would feel violated, too. I’d also laugh my head off thinking about the agent trying to make sense of such a conversation. I have to wonder if Eric Holder’s mother might not think her son could find a better job.

"Don't worry, honey. I've got your back."

Finally, the matter of sex had to come up. Everyone remembers Weiner’s junk, Spitzer’s high priced call girls, and Monica. Obviously there is no rational explanation for this behavior, thus the term dickhead. Although she has often been maligned as a relentless proponent of all her husband does, Michelle, is without a doubt the most smokin’ First Lady since Jackie took us for a stroll through the White House and every ounce as tough as Nancy in the red dress. Say no more. 

It’s Been A Mother…I Mean It’s Mother’s Week

Heather and her mother.

For some people Sunday was the most important day of the year. While others consider it a conspiracy perpetrated by the greeting card industry, and Hallmark in particular, the less cynical find the second Sunday of May to be a day of inspiration. Is it not a virtue to take a moment out of our too busy to do anything lives to render a little gratitude and appreciation for the one person without whom we would not exist?

In this world that looks for irony in nearly every situation we face, it seems to be the epitome of irony that the name given to our revered matriarch is the term we use to lower someone to the most profane position. Our language has become so callous in regard to the sanctity of this most important social role, to the point where simply changing the final syllable from er to a makes it all right to defame the institution. Further defamation can be obtained simply by changing it to an adjective and adding it to the most vulgar of profanity, and still not having to invoke the entire syntax but merely the initials, m. f.

Heather's boyfriend and his mother.

Needless to say, this is a prime example of how women continue to be assaulted for no male has ever complained about being called an f. f.  Should any reader know of an instance that contradicts this statement, I would gladly print a retraction.

Over the past fifteen years living in Southern California, my siblings have joined together with me and taken our mother to brunch on her special day. At the same time we saluted the maternal contributions of my sister, wife and sister-in-law. This year, however, the one daughter who has returned to the O.C. decided she and her boyfriend would like to take her mother (i.e. my wife) and his mother to their favorite restaurant.

Even with the trifecta of scandals the president faced this week: Benghazi talking points, IRS pressuring conservative groups, and covert analysis of media phone records, he must be glad to only have Michelle’s mother to appropriate time to the second Sunday in May. Family politics, especially when they involve changes, no matter how natural they seem in the course of evolution, require diplomatic skills far surpassing those of the finest of foreign ministers and secretaries of state.

My brother, my mother and me.

Fortunately, all was not lost. My sister, who spends far more time in Southern California than either my brother, my mother or myself spend in her central coast region where she lives, was unable to make it here for this Mother’s Day. However, my brother did take our mother along with his family to brunch at a nearby restaurant. We joined him and Mom at a courtyard outside the restaurant where they had eaten, and shared some cool conversation in the shade of a few trees. As a result, none of the lovely souls that perpetuate our family were reduced to an adjective. 

Welcome to the Wild, Wild West

Around a hundred and fifty years ago, famous newspaper editor Horace Greeley said, “Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country.” Based on the traffic here in Southern California I find more than a few people took Mr. Greeley’s advice.

Jaymes and I get on the buckboard.

Growing up in the Midwest, my own impression of the West was largely colored by that great American institution, Hollywood. Either after coming home from school or on Saturday morning, I could be found watching one of the many small screen westerns. There was Wyatt Earp, Wild Bill Hickock, The Cisco Kid, Hopalong Cassidy, Maverick, The Rifleman, Have Gun Will Travel, The Restless Gun, and my personal favorite Hi Oh Sil…oops, I mean The Lone Ranger.  Sunday nights presented us with a more domesticated version of the so-called Wild West when Ben Cartwright and his three sons gathered around the Ponderosa ranch in Bonanza.

The rock formation on the left, Bell Rock,
contains a strong vortex.

With the swirl of modern technology: airplanes, automobiles, cell phones and computers found at nearly every turn, my friend Jaymes and I jumped at the opportunity to answer the call of Sedona. Tucked in the red rock between Prescott and Flagstaff, Arizona, a short distance from the Grand Canyon and only a few hours to the border town of Yuma or the famous scene of the Earp shootout at the O.K. Corral in Tombstone, Sedona could pass for the latest incarnation of that bygone era when a man strapped on a six-shooter and rode their horse into town looking for a two-bit shave and a saloon to quench his thirst. If that’s the imagery floating through the corridors of your mind you need not read any further. That’s not the journey we took.

Where does the trail lead?

We did climb up on a buckboard, and there was a horse stable on the grounds where we stayed. There’s a good chance we could have organized a hootenanny were we so inclined, but we opted to leave our lassos and boots behind and capture some of the Wild, Wild West those cowpokes may have missed. According to legend, the area surrounding Sedona not only contains some of the most beautiful mountains, canyons and creeks in the western hemisphere, but deep within these landmasses are strong spiritual forces that guided many natives who lived here for hundreds of years.

All right, this is a satirical blog, and some of you are probably laughing at the idea of conjuring up mythical phenomena instead of just galloping around on a horse or buzzing around on an ATV. I even had a pair of magnets that look like silver bullets. No doubt, I could have put on a mask and assumed the role of my alter ego, but I ask you, where would the masked man be if not for the spiritual guidance he received from his native guide? See you round the bend kee-mo-sa-bee.

Something In the Air

Santa Ana winds blow my neighbor's palm trees.

‘Cause the free wind is blowin' through your hair

And the days surround your daylight there

Seasons crying no despair

Alligator lizards in the air, in the air

About 40 years ago a California group with the audacity to call themselves America wrote these weird lyrics in a song named for a popular highway that hugs the coast north of Los Angeles. As I’m writing this article the Santa Ana winds, as they’re known, are whipping through the tree tops and knocking over the trash containers that line the street waiting to be emptied by the trucks with the robotic arms that make their weekly stop today. Even if alligator lizards are not among the debris being strewn by these mighty gusts, one might hope some of it might strike some clueless individual and make him question his sanity or at least scare him into leaving.

Santa Ana winds knock palm fronds to the ground.

In March I reported how the reality show with the housewives from Orange County, where I live in California, had decided to return to our state from their low rent accommodations in Texas. At the same time, my friend back in Wisconsin was kind enough to send me an article about how bad things are here and how the state is losing commerce to low rent, low tax red states. Ironically, some Stanford professor who refuses to leave wrote the article. My friend assured me the economy in our leftist, socialist state was going to implode and at least half of its 30 million inhabitants would leave.

Over the past couple months I’ve had the opportunity to test this theory. As nearly everyone is aware Los Angeles is once again the site of the nation’s worst traffic. A logical hypothesis everyone can understand is when the populace leaves the state the number of commuters will drop precipitously allowing those remaining to travel at speed limit. Unfortunately, Interstate-5 continues to slog along even late in the evening making the 35-mile trip take between an hour and an hour and a half in either direction. You can be sure once the commute is reduced to a comfortable half hour drive it will be duly noted right here at Hi Oh Silver.

Valentine's Day at Laguna Beach...why would anyone want
to live here when you can enjoy a red state like Idaho
for a whole lot less.

Regrettably, some of the liberal media is once again stirring the pot with ill-advised stories of the state of California having sufficient revenues to offset the $25 billion dollar debt it built up during the recession. Sure voters, many of who should have left the state by now, did pass the education referendum sponsored by Linda Ronstadt’s former boyfriend, but even Sherry Bebitch Jeffe, a leftist professor at the University of Southern California Price School of Public Policy, notes “…it’s only a temporary fix. And so you’re going to see another cycle of boom and bust.” http://www.npr.org/2013/04/29/179762891/after-belt-tightening-some-states-are

-back-in-the-black

So, forget Horace Greely’s words, if you haven’t already, and “Go East, young man, go East.”