Since You Asked, Mr. President

Yesterday I received this letter from the President. That’s right, I’m not talking about some letter from some president of some organization. I’m talking about the POTUS, the number one honcho of these here United States of America, none other than Mr. Barack Hussein Obama, himself. I know it was him because it bore his signature—all right, so it wasn’t his left-handed scrawl but rather a typed first and last name, but it was his signature nonetheless.

Like all good friends Barack smiles when asking for money.

So, here’s what Mr. President had to say.

Mark (he prefers my given name to Hioh or Hi) -- Here’s the simple math (he knows most Americans aren’t well versed in Algebra and Calculus):

Republican outside groups (these are the ones with the 503 numbers that the Citizens United ruling by the Supreme Court protects from having to release who is giving and how much, so the prez and Dems are making a guestimate—that’s part guess part estimate) are outspending us 3-to-1 in key races. If we allow that to continue, they could have their strongest majority (unless they suddenly get enough votes to override your presidential veto I don’t see how it can get any stronger than it is right now) yet for the last two years of my presidency.

And you know what that means -- they’ll make it harder than ever to do the things we need to do (a quick reminder of what we are doing rather than the nebulous “things” might be more helpful) to move this country forward.

He sent me this picture to let me know
he means business.

As you may have guessed by now my good friend, Mr. President, wanted me to donate to the congressional campaign of the Democratic party.  No, he’s not running again—the constitution only allows a maximum of two terms as president, and unless he were to die or be impeached (and just because half the country thinks he is doing a poor job does not qualify as an impeachable offense) he will serve for two and a half more years. Of course, if he did get his way and the Republicans lost control of the House and the Democrats retained control of the Senate he would have nobody to blame for dismantling his programs

Now, he's angry because he heard
Speaker Boehner is going to sue him
for some of the executive orders he gave. 

Instead of trying to outspend the billionaires behind the Tea Party revolution and the outside groups with their smear campaigns, I want my good friend to use his influence to curb the horrendous waste of money spent on election campaigning. While my friend, Barack, may feel good about raising over a billion dollars to run his campaign, the young senator from Illinois who originally claimed he would use public campaign dollars to finance his way to the White House garnered more of my admiration.  Stop asking those of us who have given three to five dollar donations to double and quadruple our next contribution.  We know the rubber chicken dinners, which cost tens of thousands of dollars to attend pay for most of the television ads we are disgusted with after first viewing and completely alienated by the time they conclude months later. If you want to leave a real legacy everyone can get behind, find a way to curb spending by both government and by those seeking public office in the government.     

A Salute to Fathers Everywhere

I’ve heard people say Father’s Day, like Mother’s Day, Secretary’s Day, Boss’s Day, and so many others, was invented by the greeting card industry.  If accurate their creation marks a triumph for capitalism and the entrepreneurial spirit.  Even as we shift formats from print to digital greetings, the chance to celebrate proves a conduit for expressing our enthusiasm for our special relationships.

With my arm around my middle daughter.
The oldest is missing from the picture.

When we are children there is little difficulty locating our mother or father. They’re usually in the next room unless we are part of those dysfunctional families that are strewn throughout contemporary literature, television and motion pictures.  However, after reaching adulthood the struggle to find a parent home, even on their designated day, becomes increasingly difficult.  Some people have speculated—I believe the same ones who credit the greeting card industry with inventing Father’s Day—this is the reason cell phones came into existence.

With everyone including my son-in-law
 on the sofa in the living room.
(One of the dog's last photos.)

Since my oldest child decided to present me (or maybe it was her husband) with my Father’s Day gift a month early—my first grandchild (see previous posts)—I celebrated with her at her home two thousand miles away several weeks ago.  My youngest daughter, who lives a mere four hundred fifty miles away, was already planning to come home this weekend for her best friend’s wedding shower, so I didn’t get to see her in the flesh this past Sunday. However, I did phone calls from both of them, leaving those speculators to say, “told you so.”  There had been talk about Skype—a mythical version of in the flesh—but due to baby’s naptime and travel to Phoenix from Tucson for a farewell party for a friend moving to Michigan, we settled for the old-fashioned auditory phone conversation.

My three lovely daughters at the oldest's wedding.
It's what makes being a father special.

Naturally, the piece de resistance was my wife with her broken ankle taking me to brunch at the Alta Vista Country Club in nearby Placentia.  Not only did they have a wonderful selection of bagels, blintzes and chili relleno, but the chef made a mean omelet and the carrot cake was scrumptious.  Besides the splendid food the wait staff kept the orange juice and champagne coming throughout the meal.  As far as we know this is not only the only venue to have a brunch priced under twenty dollars, but the only place not to raise their price on Father’s Day.  But far beyond any father’s reasonable expectation my middle daughter, the young lawyer who chose to come back from law school in New York to practice in Southern California, and who along with her boyfriend who was to have surgery for a torn ACL the next day had taken me to dinner earlier in the week, left her recovering significant other to join her mother and me on my special day.  Now, I ask you, does it really matter if a greeting card company invented the event?

Finding the Right Balance

Have you ever experienced waking from a dream with the sensation of pulling out of a fall?  Not quite fully awake the feeling of falling abates replaced by an equilibrium. Even though your body lies atop a supportive mattress with a safe distance to the edge where a short, but real, fall could actually occur, breathing stabilizes and you feel relief because you found the right balance. If only life were so simple.

Our pool now sparkles with clear water.

I remember as a boy discovering a sign with a formula for achieving such balance. It read: sleep 8 hours, work 8 hours, fun and recreation 8 hours.  The sign was posted in some business establishments. Then, someone who thought he knew better than the person responsible for the original draft added, “but not the same 8 hours.”  Apparently, this person didn’t believe in multitasking.

World renowned counselor and soothsayer,
Senor Opus--created by Berke Breathed

When I was 8 years old I broke my leg. It was a corkscrew fracture that didn’t involve the shin or any surgery.  The young intern who worked with the specialist who put my leg in a cast was so impressive I decided I wanted to become a doctor. My mother was pleased. Not having all the information necessary to make a life changing decision of this magnitude my career path remained in tact until I reached high school and realized a quality grasp of chemistry was required to attend medical school, which unfortunately is a precursor to becoming a doctor. It made little sense to me since no chemicals were involved in the setting of my leg. Not only did I not make it through chemistry in either high school or college, but I struggled in biology, another requirement for those medical schools. Again, I contend there were no plants or animals involved in the doctoring of my injury. My plan was thrown asunder.  A more determined personality might have charged on in pursuit of a career in medicine recognizing the imbalance between the instructional design and the actual practice. Many people I know consider “bedside manner” an important trait in a physician. I am certain I could have weighed heavily on the attributes needed to project a congenial bedside manner as a means of countering my limited proficiency in chemical and biological applications to bring the right balance to my career.  Unfortunately, especially for my mother, I lacked such vision.

Some of the chemicals used to achieve the right balance.

This week I did however find a way to find the right balance to rid myself of a problem that so many of us encounter lurking in our backyard.  Yes, I’m talking about algae in the pool.  While striving to find a balance between the amount of time I spend writing, sleeping and recreating, I noticed the little yellow creatures that cling to the plaster at the bottom of our pool were not being sucked up by our robot.  My lovely wife, Debbie, who is dying to get in the pool and exercise her broken ankle, told me I could call upon Paul, our former employee who prior to our retirement came by weekly to clean our pool.  Possibly influenced by watching the first few episodes of Breaking Bad I determined to take the challenge of ridding our environ of the invaders and restoring the right balance to the water.  After a short lesson on chlorine and phosphorous at our local pool store and consulting my aura counselor—Senor Opus,  I proceeded to brush the sides of the pool, run the pump through a backwash procedure, recharge my filter with DE and add copious amounts of chemicals to the cloudy water.  Amazingly, it worked. Order has been restored and I have achieved the right balance. Now, if I can just do the same for the rest of my life the direction I am headed may appear as clear as the water in the pool.

An End to Liberalism

When I was in college during the Vietnam War era, those protesting the conservative tradition of fighting for your country whether it is right or wrong were labeled liberals.  As I grew older and looked at definitions both in and outside the dictionary, it became apparent liberal also meant a broad or generous application of some commodity or resource.  Conservatives proclaimed those with a liberal agenda wanted to “tax and spend” copious amounts of other people’s money.

It's just yellow laces.
Maybe, it will start a new tradition.

Recently, the need to end liberalism came into sharp focus when my old college roommate, himself a college liberal, noted I was a conservative but just wasn’t willing to admit it, yet. Looking around and assessing my lifestyle I concluded he was absolutely right. Outside of yellow laces in my black gym shoes and a pair of brown and gray saddle shoes my wardrobe is very mundane.  To be honest, I wore a tie nearly every day of my teaching career, a tradition that died out a long time ago.

Really, they're just wingtips
with suede.

Although I enjoy traveling and eating out, we spend most nights preparing our own meals and clearing off our own table. I drive one of two cars the newest of which is 13 years old. No matter how open-minded I attempt to be I do not partake in anything where copious amounts of something are consumed.

I guess I am conservative.  That’s why I’m so concerned about the liberalism showing up in what had previously been deemed conservative individuals.  Probably, nowhere is it more evident than in the political process itself.  For years good solid conservative citizens have fought against the liberal practice of forming special interest groups to raise millions of dollars to buy elections and influence legislative agendas. They claimed unions and other communist infested organizations perpetuated this practice, which was antithetical to democracy. Yet, it is these same conservative citizens who fought to get the Citizens United policy of money as free speech that led to these well-intentioned conservatives spending liberal amounts of money to purchase elections.

For most of our country’s history these conservative individuals have fought to keep federal money and policy out of education, demanding local autonomy. Today, some of these same conservatives want funds at all levels to support a voucher system that would allow the free flow of liberal amounts of money to flow to private and parochial schools.

How liberal can you be with $18 in your pocket?

Finally, the one item that concerns me the most about the move of conservatives to more liberalism is their desire to move from a platform of law and order to one supporting the proliferation of weapons.  Not only have more states broadened their policy toward concealed weapons, but also the number of places where a person can wear his gun on his hip has risen to a point that exceeds the gunslinger days of the Wild West.  My college roommate explained to me that when everyone has a gun there is less chance anyone will attempt to use it.  Knowing how well everyone drives, supposedly after having to learn how to operate a vehicle and passing a stringent test, I’m not sure I would want to be inside a store, restaurant or bank when somebody purposefully stepped forward to rob the place and a bunch of well-intentioned citizens drew their weapons and attempted to apprehend the perpetrator.  My sense is the liberal amount of gunfire would probably result in a liberal amount of injuries.  It’s time to put an end to liberalism.

Back Home

Four Generations

The past two weeks I have been wandering various portions of southeastern Wisconsin. My main purpose in traveling to the place of my birth was to meet and hold my grandson, Simon born to my oldest daughter, Beth and her husband Matthew four weeks ago today. From the moment we stepped in the door of their colonial three blocks from the shores of Lake Michigan, even before he was laid in my awaiting arms, while he slept—his preferred regiment throughout the day, ate—sometimes not providing the two to three hours interim needed to replenish the nutritional supply or shit—supposedly breast-fed babies fecal material tends toward less than solid form with little to no odor, he never lacked for love and attention. Eye contact is not his strong suit. When they were open they gravitated toward windows and shiny objects.

Who can resist the Simonster?

Our first home-away-from-home was my cousin’s lake cottage. Several whitetail deer bounded fifty yards in front of our rental car as we drove along the farmer’s road leading to the cottage. We watched in amazement as Simon’s attention span grew from seconds to minutes as he engaged the world around him. The thirty-minute drive from the cottage to the colonial breezed by those first few days.

Then, we drove north a hundred miles to spend the first week with my in-laws. Debbie has three sisters she left behind when we moved to California seventeen years ago. Our first night away from our grandson we took part in a Wisconsin tradition. We went to Tanner’s, a friendly dining establishment in Kimberly for Friday night fish fry. While cod was available, the lightly breaded lake perch (which bears no resemblance to ocean perch) was delicious.  Other highlights of the weekend included karaoke at a local tavern, a house warming for the new home my nephew bought and a visit with my old college roommate, Mike, in Black Creek. Before we parted company he assured me the country and world’s problems could be easily resolved: “Just exterminate the Democrats.”

Simon helped heal Debbie's broken ankle.

Our return to the Milwaukee area and the joys of grand parenting was punctuated by two unlikely events. I made a third and final visit to my daughter’s chiropractor to improve my back’s health after a sudden move of luggage in a car trunk while still in California had rendered it bent over and hurting. The second event occurred when Debbie went to capture a fabulous sunrise along the beach on the eighth of our sixteen-day trip.  She caught her foot on some seaweed and tripped fracturing her ankle. An ATV was used to convey her to the ambulance once the paramedics were able to properly splint the wound. The orthopedic surgeon explained she suffered a trimalleolar fracture and he set it with a number of plates and screws. The before and after x-rays proved quite remarkable.

We moved to a friend’s home about half the distance away from Simon and his parents. Beth brought Simon for a visit the next day, and by the following day I was picking up Friday night fish fry to share in the house. By Sunday morning Debbie was laying off the painkillers and she rode out to the town near the cottage to have brunch with my cousin and his family. She gained enough mobility by Tuesday we were able to travel thirty miles across the city to have dinner with a friend of mine from my days in graduate school in Madison.  Coincidentally, his son, who just graduated from St. Norbert College, is moving to Madison to start his career.  I think it’s a sign of what’s ahead for Simon.

You Asked For It…Not Really, But Here It Goes, Anyway

One of the great sages, symbols of an era, and arguably the finest singer of the twentieth century, Francis Albert Sinatra, came out of retirement on several occasions to treat his fans to another dose of his impeccable style.  During one of these lapses, I had the good fortune to obtain tickets to see one of those final performances. Though his range had contracted and his rasp was thicker with years of cigarette smoke coated vocal chords, the evening remains memorable nearly forty years later. The question remains, however, why would anyone give up even one day of retirement?

Authors Jane Porter, Suzanne Redfearn and Anita Hughes
at Canyon Hills Library in Anaheim.

I’m glad you asked that question. Since my retirement nearly two years ago in the spring of 2012, I spent a year substitute teaching, volunteered to lead along with my wife a reading club for adults with down syndrome, tutored a high school junior to improve his writing skills, served as a judge of youth writing at the county fair and am slated to be a board member of my synagogue for the coming year. A year ago I gave up the substitute teaching to focus on my writing.

I looked up from my book to snap this sunset.

Last month I had the privilege of attending the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books at the University of Southern California campus. After one of the panel sessions, I introduced myself to one of the authors, James Magnuson, who in addition to being the director of the Michener Center for Writing at the University of Texas is a native of Wisconsin and fellow graduate of the university in Madison. His warmth and congenial discussion of the homeland and becoming grandparents was a treat, but he topped it off by having me send a copy of my manuscript to him.

Simon

Last Saturday, we attended an author’s forum at a local library. Three authors, who write mainly women’s romance and suspense, discussed the writing process, getting published, and their books.  While their genre is different from my own, the steps they took to become authors, their journeys to find a literary agent and getting their books published, as well as the motivation necessary to continue the craft were all the same as what I find myself mired in currently.  One thing they all stressed was the need to continue to write.  A goal I had heard before and was repeated several times that day is to write a thousand words a day.  That’s about twice the length of my usual post at this blog or between three and four double spaced pages.

Another important area they said writers need to focus their energies on is reading.  So, while Debbie snapped her photos of the sunset at Laguna that evening I read a portion of Magnuson’s latest novel, Famous Writers I Have Known. It also led me to the decision that while we are in Wisconsin I will focus my efforts on reading and relaxing, while getting to know our new grandson (see last week’s post).  When we return on May 29^th I will catch up on writing this blog.