Lights Out

Does anybody remember this golden oldie of a commercial:


A few years ago, in response to the environmentalist concern that standard incandescent light bulbs were destroying the world, the government passed legislation that makes it illegal to sell your basic light bulbs. Instead, starting in 2014, the only legal bulbs will be the toxic mercury-filled compact fluorescents (CFLs). The astounding thing about this decision, made back in 2007, is that the only reason to ban the incandescent was that it did not meet arbitrary standards of energy efficiency. Heralded as a progressive breakthrough toward "smarter energy," everyone assumed that manufacturing giants such as GE would simply convert their U.S. factories to making the new bulbs. Precisely the opposite has happened, as reported by the Washington Post:

The last major GE factory making ordinary incandescent light bulbs in the United States is closing this month, marking a small, sad exit for a product and company that can trace their roots to Thomas Alva Edison's innovations in the 1870s. …

During the recession, political and business leaders have held out the promise that American advances, particularly in green technology, might stem the decades-long decline in U.S. manufacturing jobs. But as the lighting industry shows, even when the government pushes companies toward environmental innovations and Americans come up with them, the manufacture of the next generation technology can still end up overseas. …

What made the plant here vulnerable is, in part, a 2007 energy conservation measure passed by Congress that set standards essentially banning ordinary incandescents by 2014. The law will force millions of American households to switch to more efficient bulbs.

The resulting savings in energy and greenhouse-gas emissions are expected to be immense. But the move also had unintended consequences.

Rather than setting off a boom in the U.S. manufacture of replacement lights, the leading replacement lights are compact fluorescents, or CFLs, which are made almost entirely overseas, mostly in China.

The "unintended consequences" quote above is laughable, because the government was warned. CFLs take a lot of hand labor to produce, and as a result is cheaper to produce in countries that, frankly, don't require union wages in their factories. So, by banning a bulb, the government has helped to close the book on a manufacturing heritage that's as old as … er … the light bulb.

Of course, I admit to a bias against CFLs. I just don't like them much. I prefer the good old soft white incandescent. I figure I've got about 2 years at best to stock up on them, before they simply won't be available anymore. The ban is simply one measure of "progress" that I could do without. Still, I'm certain that banning the bulb will extend the life of our planet by a least a month or two.

On a lighter note, this trip through YouTube looking at commercials from the '80s is kind of fun. Here's another nostalgic GE commercial I remember well. And one more.

Something's "fishy" ...

From the Chicago Breaking News Center, we have a proactive response to a serious, emerging threat. First, a quote from Sen. Dick Durbin (D) of Illinois:

"This is a serious challenge, a serious threat," Durbin said. "When it comes to the ... threat, we are not in denial. We are not in a go-slow mode. We are in a full attack, full-speed ahead mode. We want to stop this ... from advancing."

What is this threat? To build the suspense, I inserted ellipses in Sen. Durbin's comments above. The federal government has launched a "multi-pronged," $80 million counter-offensive to head off the threat of ... a fish called the Asian carp.

Now, all joking aside, it does appear that the fish is a threat to the existing fishing industry around the Great Lakes. The fish consumes a vast quantity of food daily, which negatively impacts the food supply available to fish native to those waters. Not only that, but these buggers can range from 40 to 100 pounds in some cases. That's a big fish by inland water standards.

Still, instead of assigning someone within the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to the task of overseeing the $80 million effort, the White House has appointed a "czar." In other words, an individual who may very well be unaccountable to Congress, whose oversight authority extends only to those working for the various federal agencies and bureaucracies (such as the Fish and Wildlife Service) except where proscribed by law.

Honestly, I don't think I have too much heartburn over the initiative. But I do wonder why it takes a "carp czar" to do the job. This just doesn't pass the ... smell test for me.

Non-Starter

Fall, at last, is in the air. While the kids were getting ready for school this morning, I stepped outside as is my wont on some days to find a brief moment of peace before the tumultuous torrent of tedium that is modern life unleashes itself upon my psyche.

Unfortunately the moment passed, as the boys loaded into the car and I reached to turn the ignition. Grind-click-click-click-click-click, and then nothing. Repeat twice. Sigh. I had grandiose plans of getting the car into the shop this week for a 100,000-mile refresh, now that I've hit 115,000 miles. Yet in my imagination, I had hoped to personally take the car to the dealer, rather than having to pay to have it towed there. I'm simply not proficient enough to deal with modern cars. I'm pretty sure that my problem is the solenoid and not the battery, but I suppose the starter cannot be ruled out. Nevertheless, I loaded the boys into the van, and left the car in the garage. Before the day is out, I'll figure out my next steps.

The disruption of routine is rarely welcome, and to be sure, I'm feeling rather discombobulated this morning. Yet all of this bizarrely serves to remind me that I probably need to go in soon for my personal 100,000 mile check-up, before I get laid out and am forced to have all sorts of unpleasantness thrust upon my being. Of course, this is quite too much information, and I am most certain that you would prefer I had kept that thought to myself.

All I know is, that if I don't get some deeply restful rest soon, all the coffee in the world will not get me started in the mornings.

But on a lighter note, this morning was beautiful.

Postscript (5:13pm): Not long after I posted the above, something immediately started nagging at the back of my mind. When this happens, it usually means I've jumped to the wrong conclusion somewhere. So I started replaying the sequence of events from this morning. It struck me that the dashboard clock might have been wrong, but I wasn't sure. So instead of rushing ahead to figure out transportation issues for the week, I decided to slow down and take a second look at the car before doing anything else.

I was convinced that I had replaced the battery just a couple of years ago, which is why I was quick to dismiss the battery as a possible cause. Too quick, that is. Lo and behold, it turns out that the battery was over 5 years old. So I took it out, ran down to the auto parts store, and verified that the battery indeed had gone bad. I bought a new one, came home and put it in, and the car is good to go. Well, it still needs the 115,000 mile maintenance, but at least it's not dead in the garage. $75 after a $25 prorated discount. I can stomach that. But I'll tell you what: I remember in the 90's being able to buy a battery for my old Ford Fairmont for $40, tops. $100 for a brand new battery? Sheesh. Must be some environmental disposal tax, eh? Oh well. Car goes vroom again.

Home-body

Blogging has been at a minimum the last few weeks, in part simply because my schedule and calendar have overwhelmed me. Unfortunately, I'm not sure it will ease up anytime soon. With so much cluttering my day planner (okay, no, I don't really use one anymore, but I probably should), most of my free-time has been consumed by other responsibilities.

One of those responsibilities taking up huge blocks of my time on the calendar is travel. From March 2009 to July 2010, I enjoyed a prolonged period of homefront assignments. In other words, I did not travel once during that period for business. This was a major departure from the norm, given what I do. However, since mid-July, I've been gone from home two full weeks, and on Wednesday will depart again for a short 3-day jaunt to Leavenworth, KS. That trip will be interesting, if only for the fact that I've never been there.

What I have discovered, however, is just how much of a home-body I've become in the last year and a half. I like coming home to my family every night. A trip now and then is okay, but as I face this trip, and additional business trips in late October and mid-November, well, I get tired just thinking about it.

So all things considered, home is a good place to be.

Battle Hymn

From John Hinderaker at Powerline comes this delightful rendition of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, performed a few years ago by a combined choir representing a number of schools in the district where he lives. In this post, he shares background, and encourages its use and viewing for any patriotic purpose.

I share it with you, not merely because of its patriotic legacy, but because I have always been deeply moved by the verses that speak so directly of the triumph of the Risen Christ, who will one day come again. And I confess, there is something profoundly emotional about hearing such words and melody from the mouths of children. Enjoy.


In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free;
While God is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! While God is marching on.

He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,
He is wisdom to the mighty, He is honor to the brave;
So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of wrong His slave,
Our God is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Our God is marching on.

Missing a Friend

I've been attending a business meeting here in Maryland this week. It has been a long couple of days, and unfortunately my head won't find rest with my own pillow until very late Friday night. Compared to my last trip this way, the travel particulars have gone fairly well - and I'm hopeful that Friday will afford me no new adventure tales to tell. But this is not my topic tonight, so I'd better move on.

One of the attendees at this meeting bears a remarkable resemblance to an old college roommate of mine, who passed away five years ago in a tragic accident. It took my breath away, because his appearance, his frame, his gait - all of these remind me so very strongly of Van. It is just uncanny. More than once, I've found myself thinking back ….

At first glance, it was an unusual pairing. I was nearing the end of my freshman year at Auburn, all of 18-19 years old. Van, if I recall correctly, was seven years older. Van and I struck up a friendship after serving together on the same work team during a Spring Break mission trip with the Appalachian Service Project. Van was generally quiet and reserved, while I was young and uptight and a bit too opinionated for my own good. I was still relatively new to my walk with Jesus, and it showed. But although he was often quiet, people usually paid attention to him when he spoke. I know I did. Which is why I was caught off guard when he asked me if I wanted to be his roommate. We were both active at the Wesley Foundation (we were voted co-rookies of the year together for the 1989-90 school year). But sitting there at the lunch table in the cafeteria, I jumped at the chance. First, I needed a roommate, and so did he. He had found a duplex on Oak Street down from the high school. It was a great little house. Second, and more importantly, I knew that I could be myself around him – something that isn’t always easy for guys to do with other guys. I knew instinctively that I could learn from him. I don’t know what his motivations were, if he had any. Perhaps he knew that I needed some mentoring. Whatever his reasons, God knew what He was doing. And I am blessed to this day because of it.

Both Van and I stayed in Auburn the summer of 1990. Van was in school (forestry), and I worked for the university. Both of us served on Wesley’s summer leadership council (I went on to serve the full school year). And while there should be plenty of memories from that time, as much time as we ended up spending together in the house or at Wesley, I don’t remember too many specific things. I do remember that Van would constantly be washing his Chevy Blazer. Our driveway was under a grove of sweet-gum trees, and the pollen output was unbelievable. Every night, without fail, he was outside with the hose washing off the pollen. I seem to recall one time where he remembered a little too late to roll his windows up before he started hosing it down.

We occasionally had people over at the house, but for the most part, home was our getaway place. I can’t tell you how many nights Van and I would sit in my fabulous red/orange Holiday Inn castoff lounge chairs watching television. (I still have those chairs, so you can imagine how old they are now). That was a good summer.

The 1991 Gulf War was the first major war that I was old enough to fully understand. Indeed, it was quite a personal thing for me, as my father was deployed for the air war portion of that conflict. It was during this time that I leaned on Van more than he ever truly realized. When the war started, school became very secondary to me. I remember being glued to CNN every waking hour I wasn’t in class. At least it seemed that way. At home, Van and I would sit there in silence watching the coverage of the war. We talked about it, of course, but more often than not, we would just sit there and watch. Van seemed to know when and when not to say something. And I knew he was praying for my dad, and for my family. Van didn’t offer platitudes, but he did offer understanding. It was what I needed. Looking back, I’m convinced that Van was the perfect roommate for me during that difficult time.

There are a plenty of other memories, but 20 years later, many of these have muddled together. There were plenty of laughs, trips to The Flush for ice cream, things of that nature. Those were good times. I learned a great deal from Van about how to approach life (and to be honest, I should probably remember and relearn those lessons). He was always careful about the words he spoke. Even when angry, he was very careful in his choice of words. Any critical feelings he may have had towards anybody, he usually kept to himself. He also knew when I was overreacting about something, and through his quiet approach would guide me back to reality. Then again, he may just have thought I was nuts. But if he did, I never knew it. The fact is, Van was the mentor I needed at that time in my life, whether he was aware of his role or not. I looked up to him. I asked for his opinion all the time. He had my respect, and I am certain he had the respect of many, many people. He was a good man. It is true, I don't think about him much anymore, because after all, that was a long time ago, and we were roommates for only the one year. But I do miss him. He was my roommate, my friend, and my mentor. God used him in my life. I can pay him no greater honor than to thank my Father in Heaven for allowing our paths to cross. And I am grateful that a chance meeting with a stranger this week has given me a chance to remember a good friend and brother.

Do Their Constituents Know?

One of the great things about America, indeed, one of our guaranteed freedoms, is embodied in the First Amendment. No, I'm not talking about freedom of speech, the press, or the free exercise of religion. Rather, I'm talking about the freedom we have to peaceably assemble, to gather ourselves in groups of shared philosophies, ideologies or interests.

To my knowledge, there are no outlawed political parties in the United States of America. In fact, I think the communists still operate a party apparatus. I'm sure there are a large number of socio-political groups out there. And they have a right to assemble and organize.

One of these groups is the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA). I don't have much to say about them, other than their ideology generally runs counter to what I believe, and what I believe America's Founding Fathers intended. I won't demonize people for having different ideas of society. But I do think when our elected politicians align themselves to certain ideologies or platforms, their constituents ought to know.

Yesterday, GatewayPundit at FirstThings.com noted that last October, the DSA published the names of some 70 current members of Congress that have aligned themselves to this socialist caucus. 70. Eleven of these sit on the House Judiciary Committee (almost half of the total number of Democrats on the committee).

I'm a little shocked, but I suppose I shouldn't be. Socialism has been a part of our national conversation in one form or another for almost a century. The debate is not going away anytime soon.

As I look at the list, though, I simply have to wonder: Do their constituents know?

(h/t: Claire Berlinski)

Honor of a Man

This story has quietly been making the rounds the last few days. President Bush and the former first lady made a surprise appearance at DFW to welcome home 150 service men and women from Iraq and Afghanistan.


I've never served a day in the military, but I was as moved by this as I was by the surprise Thanksgiving trip the president took to Baghdad in the early days of that war. He clearly remains steadfast in his commitment to those who once served under him.

The honor of a man is marked in part by how he honors others. There are those who seek to honor, and those who seek honor for themselves.

Do I miss the man who seeks to honor others? You bet I do.

River Walk

Far up on the northern plains lies a sleepy little town that often invades upon my dreams. To call it a town, indeed to call it sleepy, is perhaps a gross overstatement of its true nature. Yet even a walk through my thesaurus leaves me unsatisfied, so the description will have to do. Apart from the occasional car scattering rocks across the loose gravel roads, the only sound you are likely to hear is that of the open wind. A lonely little post office stands open, servicing those very few that still make their residence in this forgotten place. A railroad used to run through here, but like the long abandoned grain elevator standing vigil at the town's east end, all that remains are but shadows to what once might have been.

I've often wondered why such a forlorn place so often forms the setting for my dreams. These visits are not ones I would choose, were I able to effect such a cast. When my feet walk along the tracks, or across the gravel dust, the scene that forms takes the shape of the fantastical or the apocalyptic. These nighttime fancies are neither happy nor sad, but they are almost always overcast and dimly lit. In my waking moments, these dreams presage a sense of melancholy, although not overwhelming, that often lingers with me throughout the day. I find in such days a respite, I suppose, given to a quiet, thoughtful isolation of my inner self.

Like forgotten magic, this place features a strange juxtaposition of dream and memory. For though I have not set foot here in decades, I know every street, every house, every trailer. Here is my house, with its detached garage and basketball hoop. Next door was the old farmer and his wife, who every so often chopped the heads off of whatever domesticated fowl they happened to be raising that year. Across the road from them was yet another home, with the finished basement that served as a sanctuary for this pox-riddled teenager during a vivid midnight run through a tornadic storm. And across from that place, through a man-sized gap in the fence next to the horse barn, was the access to the river.

Turtle River, it was called. During the summer, it was a playground, my own Terebithia after a fashion. Trees walled its banks, and every so often provided spans on which to cross from side to side. These were private, precious days, a place I credit with my first awakening to the reality of self, the reality of life. Fun enough for summer, I suppose, but my memories of the river were fiercely shaped and hardened by the bitter cold of the Dakota winter.

Being fairly shallow, comparatively speaking, the river easily froze over when the temperature fell. Layers upon layers of frozen snow matted the surface, paving the meandering lane a brilliant white. Bare and brown limbs stood starkly on each bank, where coupled with the constant overcast of gray, often left one to wonder if all the color had gone out of the world. The days were short in that season, and the mercury often struggled to reach much beyond the single digits. Every exhaled breath could, in the absence of wind, literally hang in the air in front of your face. I've rarely heard such a silence as could be found standing on that river of ice.

Silence, and solitude. To this day, in my mind's eye, I can remember almost every turn, every fallen tree along the path of the river. The only sound as yards turned into miles was the sound of booted feet crunching through the icy snow. I say miles, although I'm fairly certain it was never more than a couple. Sometimes old equipment buildings would come into sight, but for most of the journey, it was just the gray, the brown, the white, and me. Step after step, bend after bend, I might as well have been the only person on the planet. I usually tried to remain mindful of the time, however, because as the day turned to dusk, the temperature would fall and dinner would be beckoning. After a number of trips, I'd settled on a turn-around point, always the same on each sojourn down the river.

That was a different time. A lot of life has passed by since those days, for me at least. Of that time, I remember a great many things, but what I treasure most were my river walks. The chaos of a newly awakened mind found a measure of serenity there, where all that mattered was really nothing at all.

I'm not certain what prompted me, but I looked up the town using an online map tool. I marked up the image and embedded it below (click to enlarge). Seeing it this way, unfortunately, steals away some of the perspective I have so firmly fixed in my memory. But when I close my eyes, I am able to walk the river in my mind, and can still see every bend from ground level view. All the way to my turn-around point. And back.

I've pondered from time to time, whether I will ever make a trip back to that town, to walk again the gravel roads, reflect upon my old house, or watch the river flow by. I will not say never, but I think that such a journey is unlikely. I've already been there. And in my memory, and in my dreams, I can be there again. I think that is enough for me.



A Portrait of Me: The Key
A Portrait of Me: River Walk
A Portrait of Me: Journey's Dawn
A Portrait of Me: I Am Prodigal

Britain's Military Drawdown

My knowledge of military matters as they pertain to geopolitics is sadly limited, but the news that Britain is considering a major drawdown in its military capability strikes me as something that should generate great concern for us, and not just strategically (emphasis mine):

In the most significant changes to Britain’s defences since the post-Suez review of 1957, ministers and officials plan to scrap large parts of the Armed Forces. ...

But the RAF will bear the brunt of the planned cuts. The Air Force will lose 7,000 airmen – almost one sixth of its total staff – and 295 aircraft. The cuts will leave the Force with fewer than 200 fighter planes for the first time since 1914. In addition, the Navy will lose two submarines, three amphibious ships and more than 100 senior officers, along with 2,000 sailors and marines.

The Army faces a 40 per cent cut to its fleet of 9,700 armoured vehicles and the loss of a 5,000-strong brigade of troops. ...

If implemented, the cuts will mean that Britain will almost certainly depart the world stage as a major military power and become what military chiefs call a “medium-scale player”.

Britain's Armed Forces have actually been in decline since WWII, relative to the role they play in global affairs. Prior to WWII, the British Empire had influence over a large portion of the world's population in every corner of the globe. Economic, political, and changing social attitudes over the latter half of the 20th Century have had a major impact to their military, but in spite of their decline in reach, the British Armed Forces retained a high-level capability that made them our most reliable partner in NATO. The special relationship we have with Britain, both politically and militarily, is the bedrock of the NATO alliance. Should Britain follow through on this reduction, the future of NATO becomes even more uncertain. The global balance of power is already fluid; the departure of Britain as a major military power will create a vacuum that someone will inevitably fill.

The fact that the drawdown appears likely should concern us. But we should also take careful note as to why the drawdown is being proposed. Britain is broke:

Britain, which is considered as one of the world’s most wealthy and powerful countries, faces the challenge of insufficient funds to protect itself against all potential threats.

“We don’t have the money as a country to protect ourselves against every potential future threat, we just don’t have it. The country is in an economic crisis, defence cannot be exempted from it,” British Defence Secretary, Liam Fox said.

Britain has a vast domestic entitlement system and astronomical national debt. They are even looking at dismantling their socialized health service, because it has become unaffordable and unsustainable. The most basic economic rule is paramount: there is only so much money a country can spend in any given year. Without going into a discussion of how our nation handles discretionary and non-discretionary spending as a budgetary matter, suffice it to say that as a percentage of GDP, the more you spend on domestic entitlements and debt service, the less that is available to spend on other needs, including defense.

The United States has the strongest, most able military in the world - today. But it would be naïve to think that we are not susceptible to the same pressures that may result in the retreat of Britain from the world stage.

Days Gone By

I do not count photography as one of my greater interests, but that does not mean I am unable to appreciate works of photographic excellence. I followed a link today to the photo blog of the Denver Post, which had on display a collection called "Captured: America in Color from 1939-1943". The photographs are the property of the Library of Congress.

Below are a few of my favorites, but I confess reducing that list to just these few was quite difficult. I may not be able to resist posting more of them. Click each image to enlarge.

Trucks outside of a starch factory. Caribou, Aroostook County, Maine, October 1940. Reproduction from color slide. Photo by Jack Delano:


Shepherd with his horse and dog on Gravelly Range Madison County, Montana, August 1942. Reproduction from color slide. Photo by Russell Lee:


Shasta dam under construction. California, June 1942. Reproduction from color slide. Photo by Russell Lee:


Boys fishing in a bayou. Schriever, Louisiana, June 1940. Reproduction from color slide. Photo by Marion Post Wolcott:


Please take a little time and go browse the gallery. These images from days gone by are a part of our own unique heritage. Treasure and appreciate each, and allow them to capture your imagination.

(h/t: Powerline)

All images courtesy of Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress.

Why I Write

About a year ago, I made a decision to begin applying myself to the discipline of writing - an exercise that by and large I had set aside several years before due to other interests or preoccupations. Granted, you could say I never truly stopped writing, given that concept and documentation development is a major part of my job. But as an extracurricular activity, I was severely "out of practice." So I committed myself to the restoration of a personal pastime, in the hopes of regenerating and renewing what creative gifts I have. E-Walker's Parade represents that attempt.

I write in many voices. Sometimes I write conversationally, at other times I write academically (although differentiated from scholarly). I find these to be the most simple for me. Higher scholastic writing, along with what I describe as more literary or poetic voices, these are more difficult for me. Yet every so often, when the words come together on the page in just the right order and in just the right tenor, it leaves a flavor on the tongue that fills me with pleasure. While everyone who writes longs for some level of peer recognition of the product, it is certainly possible to enjoy the formulation without the praise of man.

Writing helps me to anatomize the content of my mind, the cacophony of thoughts that frequently clutter my consciousness. (Perhaps that phrasing is too magniloquent, but then again, even using the word magniloquent is in itself, magniloquent). These thoughts are ignited by what I read, what I see, and what I experience. As they take fire, so does the imagination. This fire is fed by an undeniable need to understand the abstract, to interpret what I observe, to emplace a framework that describes the discovery or revelation of a truth. Left within the mind though, even for the most disciplined among us, maintaining that framework over time can be a futile effort. It further calls into question whether my perceptions, formulations and conclusions truly have substance.

Allow me to put this another way. I shared the following paragraph in a different venue not long ago:

When we apply ourselves to the task of observation and discovery, being not afraid to ask why and how, the imagination roars to life. Yet this construct, even with a disciplined mind, remains in the abstract - until the moment pen is put to paper. Capturing these thoughts on paper not only refines, but allows for a level of self-scrutiny - do my observations, deliberations and conclusions hold up to the light of day? Are they defendable, are they understandable, are they beneficial? A painter paints, a writer writes. It is both art and skill, inherited and learned. Putting thought to paper captures that thought, and refinement and editing polishes that thought. Without the act of writing it down, you may find that the thought is never expressed the same way again.

I suppose, then, I write because the activity gives me pleasure, and I write because the result has a purpose or is "unto something." Like the runner who runs because "he needs to run," I write because I need to write. Let others judge the value of the effort as they see fit. I am enjoying myself, and coming from me, that is saying something.

Summer's Too Short

Summer's too short. No, I'm not talking about the weather, especially since we continue to "enjoy" 100+ degree heat indices - and have been since June. My boys start back to school next Wednesday, the first week of August. By the time they walk through the doors to a new year of intellectual expansion, they will have had only a mere 9 weeks of "summer vacation."

Somehow, this just doesn't seem right to me. Granted, our school system schedules a week-long "fall break" in October, and a longer December holiday break than I remember having. Nevertheless, I regret the quick passage of a summer that affords me so little time to craft distinctive memories for my family.

My recollection may be faulty, but my early adolescent summers were highlighted by week-long Minnesota fishing trips, outside adventures (all day, be home in time for dinner affairs), long bike rides on country roads just to go bowling at the base bowling alley, little league, swimming, reading and whatever else I could do to fill the time. I don't recall complaining severely about "being bored," although I'm sure I probably did (my parents likely have a very different recollection about this point). Summer was about freedom and fun; each day was a new opportunity. Yes, clearly my glasses have a rose tint to them.

In talking with my wife, and with other parents, the biggest concern (and guilt factor) seems to be an ever increasing tendency to over-program our kids. Aside from the school year, my children do Scouts, piano, karate, and baseball. Their summer days are also programmed through a summer holiday care facility, as we are a dual-income household. Sure, they get to do fun activities, but it's all a part of the program. And we do take annual vacations as a family, but these are usually targeted for fall break, with each day scheduled fairly tightly. I honestly think one of our highlights this year was a simple weekend at a hotel about 40 minutes from home. That weekend had no real plan, just relaxing in the room, swimming in the hotel pool, and a restaurant meal or two. We've tried to squeeze in a few family movie nights and family game nights as well.

I'm certain that all those parenting books and articles that I don't take time to read likely have advice on this point. But what I've concluded is this: the reason my kids are over-programmed is directly attributable to the fact that I, myself, am over-programmed. I have beaten whatever spontaneity I have left into whimpering submission to the callous calendar of responsibility. In my parenting, I focus too much on creating experiences for my children, instead of giving them the freedom to create them for themselves. What they need are relationships, and room to learn how to cope with their own unique challenges.

I can't do anything about the school calendar. But perhaps there is a balance that can be struck. De-programming doesn't have to mean complete detachment or becoming uninvolved. My children still need me around, I'm sure. The truth is, however, they probably need me a little less.

That will be a difficult adjustment for me. The teenage years are right around the corner, though, so I suppose I'd better start sooner rather than later. Still, like so many other things in life, summer is just too short.

Citizens, Not Subjects

During my travels last week, I bookmarked a short article about a recent discovery made by the Library of Congress' Preservation Research and Test Division. (I didn't know the LoC had any such division, but I digress). Through the use of high resolution cameras and spectral analysis, the LoC discovered a key editorial change in the original draft of the Declaration of Independence (emphasis mine):

Jefferson originally had written the phrase "our fellow subjects." But he apparently changed his mind. Heavily scrawled over the word "subjects" was an alternative, the word "citizens."

The correction seems to illuminate an important moment for Jefferson and for a nation on the eve of breaking from monarchical rule: a moment when he reconsidered his choice of words and articulated the recognition that the people of the fledgling United States of America were no longer subjects of any nation, but citizens of an emerging democracy.

The correction occurs in the portion of the declaration that deals with U.S. grievances against King George III, in particular, his incitement of "treasonable insurrections." While the specific sentence doesn’t make it into the final draft, a similar phrase was retained, and the word "citizens" is used elsewhere in the final document. The sentence didn’t carry over, but the idea did.

Check out these images from the BoingBoing article on the LoC press release:



For those of us who have the blessing of birthright, and for those who have been legally naturalized, we would do well to remember that indeed, we are citizens - not subjects. We are subject to no king but the One in Heaven. Our political class would also do well to engage in some remedial education on this point, since they seem to have forgotten this reality in their push to govern what private businesses pay their employees and to conduct political background checks against citizens seeking information through the Freedom of Information Act - among so many other small, but significant intrusions by what is increasingly looking like the formation of a "ruling class."

A reclamation of the mantle of citizenship (and its rights and duties, thereof) by the general population may be the last hope to shore up an increasingly shaky system of checks and balances.

(h/t: Sense of Events)

Travel Woes

The art of storytelling is as diverse as the people who tell them. Some are gifted in the oral presentation of a narrative, captivating their listening audience through timely changes in tone, improvisation, and the occasional embellishment to maximize the enjoyment of the experience. Others tell their stories through the visual or media arts, still others through the written word. It has been said that in my own anecdotal offerings, that at times I may have moderately exaggerated or minimized a fact or two, turning an otherwise ordinary sequence of events or circumstances into a hair-raising tale of daring and adventure. Yet in the experience I'm about to relate to you, I fear that no prose I proffer can feign away the fact that every twist and turn of the travel nightmare that was Monday's trip to Maryland is undeniably and incontrovertibly true.

Normally, I prefer to do my airline travel early in the morning. Summertime in the South is frequently marked by afternoon thunderstorms, oppressive heat, and frustrating flight delays. Were I to get out in the morning, the probability of avoiding all that and getting to my destination early is usually pretty good. It allows me the opportunity to get to my hotel, get settled in and get a good night sleep before the next day's meeting or conference. On Monday, however, nary did I navigate my way North before noon. A fellow co-worker coming from a point further west was to meet me in Atlanta, so that we could share both the flight to Baltimore and a rental car to save on our travel budget. Those arrangements forced us into a late afternoon flight from Atlanta. My plan was to leave North Alabama around 1:00, and arrive in Atlanta with roughly 2.5 hours to spare. We'd get to Baltimore around 7:30 and to the hotel an hour later. Everything was going to plan, indeed right on schedule, until the time I actually arrived at the airport.

Mother Nature descended upon Atlanta with a fury. My 1:00 flight did not leave the ground until after 5:00. In the interim, we got on the plane, then got off the plane, got on the plane again, got off the plane again, with interminable delays and chaos in between. To be sure, I'd rather be stewing in the terminal during a delay than being turned into stew on a sweltering CRJ sitting on the tarmac. By the second deplaning event, I knew that making the connection to Baltimore would be all but impossible, even though it was delayed as well due to several ground stops in Atlanta (no flights in, no flights out). So after standing in line behind an increasingly edgy crowd of passengers, I asked the gate agent whether the better option would be to reschedule my departure to the first flight out the next morning. True, I would miss a half-day of my meeting, but it seemed to me preferable to the risk of getting stranded in Atlanta overnight. But no, my heroic gate agent informed me that I could still make it to Baltimore that evening, on the last flight out of Atlanta, scheduled for 9:30, putting me at my hotel shortly after midnight. Within 10 minutes of that conversation, we were instructed to board our plane for the third time - we had a 15 minute window to get the flight in the air, or it would be cancelled. Fortuitous, perhaps. But in the air, we did get.

As expected, upon arrival in Atlanta, I learned that I had missed the connecting flight. My travel partner was successful, however, and upon arriving in Baltimore he called me with an offer to wait until I arrived so that we could share the car. At the time, I was meandering between gates, as the gate assignment for my 9:30 flight kept changing. Then, my 9:30 flight was rescheduled for 10:55. I called my co-worker, and advised him to forget the cost and get himself a car, which he did. Meanwhile, I tried to contain my envy. The 10:55 departure then slipped to 11:50, and again to 12:55. Note that this is 12:55 a.m., Tuesday morning. By the time the wheels came up from the Atlanta runway, it was 1:15.

Mind you, this undoubtedly was frustrating enough, but nevertheless completely out of my control. As I winged my way over North Carolina, however, I realized that there was one decision I could have made differently today, that could have changed everything. Upon checking in at the airport, I was offered the chance to take an earlier flight into Atlanta - it was about to board, but I could have made it. Had I taken that earlier flight, everything would have ended differently. But hindsight is hindsight, and there was no sense navel-gazing about it. While sitting in Atlanta, I had called to verify that my car reservation and my hotel reservation would hold. I was assured in both instances that everything was taken care of, and my reservations would be waiting for me upon arrival. This would prove not to be the case.

I landed in Baltimore shortly after 3:00 a.m. You would think that a 5 hour delay in Atlanta would be sufficient for my luggage to find its way onto my plane. Apparently, fate and the baggage handlers weren't quite done with me yet, for those fine men and women determined that my luggage was desperately needed in Bloomington, Illinois. How did it end up there, you ask? Someone misread my label on my bag. Instead of sending it to BWI (Baltimore), they sent it to BMI (Bloomington). The baggage office at BWI was able to track it immediately, but noted it would not arrive back to BWI until 3:00pm Tuesday at the earliest. Given that there was nothing else I could do, I headed off to the rental car center by 3:40 a.m.

At this point, you would understandably think that with everything that did not go right for Jim so far, what are the chances that there would be a problem with his rental car? Can this story really get worse? Yes, it can! I walk up to the guaranteed 24-hour (name redacted) car rental service, to find all the registers closed, the lights off, and no one to direct me to a supposedly waiting car reservation. I spoke with the bus driver, and with the only other human being in the place (an agent for a competing car rental service), and both confirmed to me that my preferred service never stays open all night. By this time, it is 4:20 a.m., and I'm beginning to wonder whether I will even make it to my meeting at 8:00 a.m. So, although I had previously sworn off the competing service (another story which involves a 3-month harassment by that service's European office that I pay 352 euros for a car I never rented), I asked the agent if he had anything left. To my joy, he had two minivans left. The first he gave me did not have the key in the ignition, so I ended up with the other, which turned out to be the last vehicle available. By 4:50, I was on my way to the hotel.

Now, you can imagine what was going through my mind by the time I arrived at the hotel at 5:45. Was my reservation still there? By this point, I had been awake for 23 hours, and probably not looking or smelling my best. But I figured that the fact I had a preferred membership with that hotel chain would be something in my favor. So much for my figuring. The manager on duty informed me that my reservation was cancelled as a no-show. I think that the events of the previous 17 hours conditioned me in some way, because I did not lose my cool, but calmly explained that I had called to specifically request and ensure that my reservation held, and that my arrival could not be determined due to my troubles with air travel. I even had the phone record to prove it. With Murphy sitting on my shoulder, the manager told me that no note was placed into the system by the hotel clerk from the night before. So the night manager had no record of my request or my travails. So after giving me a gentle lecture about proper procedures, she then took pity on me (I suppose), and put me in the one room they had immediately available (clean, in other words). She erased my no-show penalty fee, and created a new 2-night reservation to replace the 3-night reservation. Without a doubt, I was tremendously grateful.

By 6:00 a.m., I was in my room. I washed my face and then rested for not quite two hours. I did not fall asleep, however. I got up about 8:30 a.m., drank some coffee, sent an email to let my co-workers know my status, and then drove a short distance down the road to Target to buy a change of clothes. I went back to the hotel, got showered and dressed, and arrived at my meeting shortly after 10:00. I would work the whole day, all the while marveling at the number of consecutive hours without sleep and its impact on my cognitive abilities. I tried to rest that early evening, but simply could not unwind enough to sleep, so I stared at the television without really paying much attention to what I was watching. I ordered room service, hoping that the meal would help relax me, all the while wondering about my suitcase. I decided to use the guest laundry to wash my clothes from Monday, just in case. Joyfully, after the 10:30 p.m. arrival of my luggage (which I learned was not waterproof), I finally drifted off to sleep sometime past 11:30 p.m. Tuesday evening, nearly 41 hours after I had woken up Monday morning.

The day Wednesday went well, despite only getting about 6 hours of sleep. I got another 6 hours Wednesday night. Thursday was another travel day, and was by and large uneventful. Even my luggage made it this time. I was home by 3:00 pm. It should not surprise you that I elected to take today (Friday) as a day off.

You may be tempted to believe that the above cannot possibly be all true. Believe me, I looked for the opportunity to add a trademark embellishment or two. But it simply wasn't there to be embellished. How disappointing, really. It takes some of the fun out of the telling. Sigh. I will say this, however. I have to make a return trip in August. You can be sure, travel budgets and travel companions notwithstanding, I'll be taking the early flight out.

Update 7/23: I decided to redact the names of the car rental services and hotel as not pivotal to the story.

Your Next UFO Sighting ...

Military technology is not a topic I generally visit, but as I sit here in the airport waiting on the first leg of my weeklong sojourn to Maryland, I came across this: a new prototype UAV (unmanned air vehicle) built by BAE. Actually, this is a UAV on steriods; technically it is referred to as a unmanned combat air vehicle (UCAV). Check this out:


Haven't we seen this movie before? You know, the one with Will Smith. About aliens. With that guy from Jurassic Park. And with that other guy in all those chick fli ... er, romance comedies.

Welcome to Earth. (I gotta get me one of these!)

Morning People vs. Evening People

I read an article a few days ago that made me seriously question the value of some of the research genetic scientists are engaging in these days. Apparently, the determination of whether men and women become "morning people" or "night owls" is of great scientific import. These scientists alleged that, indeed, we are genetically predisposed to enjoy certain times of the day, although they grudgingly allow for personality and environment-based influences. I cannot tell you what a difference this knowledge will make in my life. Eh.

Now mind you, I don't take the article seriously - if you read it you'll understand why (it's about marketing). Nor should you take this blog post seriously. But let's play along. According to the article, morning people are those who take charge, make decisions, have energy, and as a consequence are described as proactive, optimistic, and conscientious. "Evening people," however, have the desirable traits of creativity, intelligence, humor and sociability.

If this is true, does it then follow that non-morning people tend to be lazy, pessimistic and careless? Does it follow that non-evening people are dull, average, and reclusive? Morning people are stereotypically described as a happy, outgoing, bubbly bunch. Night owls are similarly stereotyped as an unserious, partying posse. Indeed, when I was in college, a number of us got into just such a discussion about morning people vs. night owls. The debate lines were drawn, and to my surprise, I found myself taking an unexpected Third Way.

'Tis true! I am a unique composite with neither a morning nor evening predilection. I staked my position thusly: Bubbly, morning people should be popped. Party-hardy late night types should be forcibly relocated from the block on which I live. My mornings begin with a coffee mug firmly affixed to my hand, and my evenings filled with peace and quiet solitude (allowances made for close family and friends, sometimes). I'm up by 5:30, by 10 am I hit my stride, which carries strongly until about 2 or 3 pm, at which point I begin to long for the evening, hitting the bed no later than 10:30 if I can help it. Between those magical hours of 10 am and 2 pm, I am productive, optimistic, creative, and sometimes even sociable. I consider myself always intelligent, decisive, and conscientious regardless of the hour. So if I am neither a morning nor an evening person, then what am I?

Quite clearly, the most appropriate description is that I am a grouch. A grump. A right old Ebenezer Scrooge. Except of course, between the hours of 10 and 2. Then, I surmise that I am almost tolerable to other people.

It must thus be concluded that I am an amalgam, or perhaps an enigma, clearly suffering from some sort of gene mutation. If it is true that I am at my most pleasant, most productive, most creative and most optimistic during a genetically predisposed window of 10 am - 2pm, then I suggest you catch me during lunch. How about Mexican? You're buying.

It's Like ...

I've been taken to school today, courtesy a brief essay published by Wolfgang Grassl entitled "Loss of Language, Loss of Thought." In this piece, Grassl laments the apparent degradation of critical thinking and the ability to express coherent arguments and abstraction. A few choice excerpts (emphasis mine):

What is being lost is the capacity to think in terms of cause and effect, of distinguishing between differing levels of argument, and particularly any appreciation for abstraction. Increasingly, students expect to be spoon-fed with concrete examples, operational instructions, mechanical repetitions, and pictorial representation. The loss of language is but a symptom of the loss of thought -- and losing thought means losing much more.

...

There is a curious reluctance to think about the nature of things, maybe as a result of decades of teaching that there is no such nature apart from what one wants them to be. Rather, students increasingly see the world phenomenologically -- as a haphazard arrangement of "stuff" and of events informed by the sensory impressions of their own experience but devoid of any structure.

...

Surveys show that the average American receives some 5,000 external stimuli per day and spends more than eight hours a day in front of screens -- television, computer monitors, cellphones, gaming consoles, and so on. Where in earlier ages people worked in their gardens, played an instrument, went fishing, read books, entertained guests, or engaged in conversation with family or friends, they have become passive and speechless consumers of canned content. These screens help produce a people that is losing its language. But more importantly, these people no longer see structures in their world but rather a bewildering juxtaposition of seemingly unrelated events.

...

The phrase "it's like" itself seems, well, like a trifle. But it is a symptom of an underlying and more serious malaise: The loss of an ability to think clearly and express these thoughts perceptibly is no trifling matter. It makes our younger generation, and possibly those generations that succeed them, susceptible to boilerplate thinking and ultimately manipulation by others. A speechless society, or one that can no longer enunciate its will clearly and with a large register of distinctions, is reduced to an ant heap.

That final statement is rather provocative, and I believe the conclusion it represents to be hyperbolic. I confess to a certain conceit with regard to written communication - indeed, I am frequently the "go-to guy" in my office for composition and editorial services on important proposal work. Yet I readily admit that at times I fail to apply myself to the discipline required to fully and succinctly articulate an abstraction or thought. In years of writing, I have been intentional about ensuring the accessibility of the topic to my audience. I have not so much focused on the impartation of those necessary thought processes that would enable the audience to construct and frame responses after their own fashion.

Perhaps the scourge of multiple-choice testing, not to mention the plethora of SAT/ACT study aids designed simply to help students prepare for and pass the test, is merely a symptom rather than the cause of this loss of language and thought. As I have often told the engineering interns I've had under my watch from time to time: being able to apply the formulas and solve the problems are important skills to be sure - but the ability to communicate your findings, both orally and in written form, is absolutely essential to future success and achievement. Further, the ability to communicate well enhances your opportunity as one who influences, rather than as one more likely to be manipulated by another.

It takes effort, to be sure, and the exercise is at times exhausting. It is also true, however, that exercise leads to agility, and agility positions us for increase in understanding and wisdom.

Then again, I may be completely wrong, as I have much yet to learn. I encourage you to read the whole essay, and draw your own conclusions.

The Essential Cohan

Today, I indulged myself to an all-too-infrequent treat: I sat down and watched James Cagney in Yankee Doodle Dandy. In this 1942 film, Cagney plays the part of George M. Cohan, the great Broadway actor, playwright, composer and producer from an era long since past. Many of the patriotic songs we grew up singing in grade school were penned by this giant of the stage, whose statue stands opposite Times Square.

I had hoped to pen something special to commemorate Independence Day. However, I found myself being the one needing a lift. As my leaky eyes will attest, there is no question that Cohan tapped into the essential American Spirit. May your celebration today be joyous, full of gratitude to God and to those who laid the foundation of our freedoms.


And be sure to click here, for the essential Cohan favorite, "Over There".

Update July 2012: Apparently Warner Bros. disapproves of developing a wider audience for classics such as these. The original YouTube account that I had linked to for the above videos was apparently terminated, meaning we can no longer enjoy these scenes online. I'm all for copyrights, mind you, but you'd think that a little common sense could be turned into a positive marketing strategy. Oh well, my apologies for the lack of videos. The blog post will remain, however.

Four legs good, two legs .. better?

Several months ago, during the healthcare debate, the House of Representatives considered a procedure that would allow the House to "deem-and-pass" the Senate version of the healthcare bill without actually voting on the Senate bill, but rather on a substitute bill. Eventually, they decided against the procedure, mostly due to the uncertainty of its constitutionality.

In the past few weeks, it has been reported that the current Congressional leadership had decided not to produce a budget for fiscal year 2011. Congressional budgets are not explicitly required by the Constitution. Article I, Section 8 enumerates the powers of the legislature, which includes this (emphasis mine):

The Congress shall have Power To lay and collect Taxes, Duties, Imposts and Excises, to pay the Debts and provide for the common Defence and general Welfare of the United States; but all Duties, Imposts and Excises shall be uniform throughout the United States;

I don't want to bore you (any more than normal) with all the legal precedent, but a Supreme Court ruling in the 1987 case South Dakota vs. Dole, 483 (U.S. 203) sheds some additional light on the power of Congress to spend. In essence:

(1) the spending power must be exercised in pursuit of the general welfare, (2) grant conditions must be clearly stated, (3) the conditions must be related to a federal interest in the national program or project, and (4) the spending power cannot be used to induce states to do things that would themselves be unconstitutional.

So Congress has the power to spend money, and traditionally (albeit loosely) aligns that spending to a budget. Representatives and Senators haggle over the amounts originally submitted by the President, until agreement is reached, at which point a series of spending bills, called appropriations, are passed by the Congress and signed by the President - at which point money flows.

This year, for various reasons - all political and likely directly related to the 2010 mid-term elections - the majority party has "cancelled" the traditional budget resolution process. Instead, they've decided to go the "deem-and-pass" route (emphasis mine):

Last night, as part of a procedural vote on the emergency war supplemental bill, House Democrats attached a document that “deemed as passed” a non-existent $1.12 trillion budget. The execution of the “deeming” document allows Democrats to start spending money for Fiscal Year 2011 without the pesky constraints of a budget.

Those "pesky constraints" are designed to maintain transparency and accountability for how Congress spends taxpayer money. And you thought the government was a fiscal disaster before.

Never before -- since the creation of the Congressional budget process -- has the House failed to pass a budget, failed to propose a budget then deemed the non-existent budget as passed as a means to avoid a direct, recorded vote on a budget, but still allow Congress to spend taxpayer money.

No one knows what's in that $1.12 trillion "budget" - or even that it only represents a percentage of the spending. (Note: The President's FY11 budget was totaled at $3.8 trillion.) There is simply no traceability to something that doesn't exist. To me, it goes beyond reckless - it reeks of incompetence, and a cowardice that strongly suggests an inability to legislate, lead, and govern.

Seriously, are there any grown-ups left up there? I'm starting to have Animal Farm and Lord of the Flies flashbacks.

"Greece Lightning"

No, the title of this post is not original - in fact, I borrowed it from the referring article. But check out this photo, copyrighted by the Associated Press. It got a link on Drudge today. Click to see a full size version at the Daily Mail.

The President's Right Decisions

While I have tried to be measured in what I post to this blog when talking about the current administration, I admit it is rare to find me in agreement with the direction and decisions made by the President during the past year and a half. However, I will most certainly give credit when it is due, and in the case of the war effort in Afghanistan, the President did the right thing yesterday, two times over. In brief, Gen. Stanley McChrystal took responsibility for what appears to be disparaging and possibly contemptuous comments made by his staff about various figures within the civilian leadership and administration, all published in Rolling Stone. (Disclosure: I have not read the article in its entirety). Gen. McChrystal offered his resignation to the President, who rightly accepted it. Then the President asked Gen. David Petraeus to accept what would rightly be viewed as a demotion from U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) to return to the field in service to his country.

Whatever one thinks of the current Afghan strategy (and note that I am skeptical that a country that has never known true organized institutions of government can possibly establish them in a mere decade), and whatever feelings one may have about unwieldy rules of engagement (over which I also have heartburn), the bottom line is this: there is absolutely no place for a general officer in a theater of operation to publicly denigrate his civilian leadership, or to allow such opinions to be expressed in the presence of junior officers, enlisted or civilians. To allegedly allow such an atmosphere of disdain to promulgate through his staff is unbecoming. Don't get me wrong - everything I've read about Gen. McChrystal seems to suggest that he is the type of general we need to help fight our wars. I do not disparage his knowledge, or his service. But this situation with the Rolling Stone article is untenable.

At the very least, Gen. McChrystal took the honorable course and offered his resignation. Without doubt, he was, and is free to hold whatever private views he has. The failure of judgment, intentional or not, reflected badly on the both the President and the military command. It nearly created a terrible mess that implicated all - with a very direct impact on those warfighters putting their lives on the line for us. They deserve better.

The President had a choice as well. He could have chosen not to accept the resignation, instead issuing a reprimand and then sending the general back to theater. I submit to do so would have been a sign of weakness that would have had a terrible effect on morale and discipline. Anything less than relieving the general of his command would have ultimately undermined confidence in the authority of the Commander-in-Chief among the ranks of our fighting men and women. Old-fashioned as it may be, honor still matters. Failure to punish such alleged contempt will do nothing but erode morale - already pushed to the limits due to what appears to be an indecisive, ineffective strategy with unworkable rules of engagement. But accepting the resignation, which the President did, could have easily left the entire operational strategy in shambles. Enter Gen. David Petraeus, who oversaw the successful Iraq surge strategy and operation in 2007-2008. Gen. Petraeus, who is neither superman nor savior, may very well be the only general with sufficient bona fides to stabilize, rescue and rework the Afghan strategy, at least in the eyes of the fighting men and women. That is both my speculation, and my hope. It is absolutely critical that the warfighter believe in himself, his friends and his leadership.

There may be a disadvantage, however. The move is militarily a demotion and a sacrifice of sorts for Gen. Petraeus, but one he appears to have willingly accepted. He will move from the command of U.S. CENTCOM (based in Tampa), responsible for overseeing military activities across the Middle East and Asia. Stepping down to lead the war effort in Afghanistan means he won't be directly in on the strategic challenges posed by an ever belligerent Iran.

But as the President said, "War is bigger than any one man or woman, whether a private, a general or a president." We face an uncertain future - we always have. But time and again, men and women of valor have risen to the occasion. Sometimes there is defeat, but at least in our history, often there is victory.

May that victory come soonest, that there may be peace.

Taking Chance

Last night, I sat down to watch Taking Chance, the 2009 HBO film starring Kevin Bacon as Lt. Colonel Mike Strobl, a Marine officer who volunteered to escort fallen Marine Lance Corporal Chance Russell Phelps to his family and final resting place. The movie trailer gives you but a taste:


Watching this movie is an intensely personal experience, and one that I would highly recommend. I'd even go so far as to suggest watching it privately, to allow yourself to experience the emotion without inhibition. Several of the scenes struck very close to home, too close, as if they were ripped right out of my memory.

The experience was a reminder for me, about why I do what I do. For as remote and indirect as my work may be, what I do is for the ultimate benefit and safety of those who serve on the front lines of freedom. The warfighter deserves my best effort, no matter how minor my role may be. May God bless and protect them all.

In the solitude of my viewing experience, I knew I would not be strong enough to hold back the tears. Yet as I reflect further, though, I realize I was mistaken.

For I am strong enough - strong enough not to hold back the tears. Strong enough to not even try.

Clue #1

Something tells me that I may need to clean out my gutters ...


When you leave things unattended for too long, things grow where clearly they should not.

Father's Day

As I sat in my chair this morning, enjoying my coffee with homemade expressions of love from my family by my side, I read a wonderful post on the topics of honor and fatherhood. If you are a dad, I recommend it to you as required reading. Some excerpts:

A good father reveals the nature of honor to his sons and daughters through his conduct. He is loyal to his wife and children, despite the easy temptations offered by the modern world. He works to build a better future for them, rather than waiting for it to be dropped in his lap, or demanding others provide it for him. He rejoices in this task, and his joy is so obvious that his family forgives his occasional moments of weariness or frustration. Through marriage, he has chosen duty over indulgence. He sees the intricate beauty of permanence, when the flickering neon light of passing fancy is more obvious. Honor is one of the many frequencies of love. ...

The honor we inherit from our fathers makes us adventurers, explorers, architects, and paladins. Without it, too many people become predatory, or sessile. Either way, those people are clay to be molded by the will of others. When we act in the name of our fathers, we bear the strength of history. Deprived of this strength, many are trapped forever in the present moment, with past and future beyond their reach. A good father teaches us that the past and future come as a set.

Read the whole thing. I can only hope that despite my imperfection and all too frequent failures in parenting, that my sons inherit some portion of this idea of honor - indeed one of the many frequencies of love.

Happy Father's Day to all.

Ranking Pixar

Toy Story 3 is opening this weekend in movie theaters. While going to see the latest Pixar feature is certainly on the to-do list, I believe I can wait until the second or third wave of movie-goers pass by. In the meantime however, ew.com decided to celebrate this 11th film from the studio that saved Disney animated family fare by ranking the first ten. Their list, in reverse order:

10. A Bug's Life
9. Monsters, Inc.
8. Ratatouille
7. Toy Story 2
6. Cars
5. Up
4. Finding Nemo
3. WALL-E
2. The Incredibles
1. Toy Story

Everyone is entitled to their opinion of course, so allow me to share mine. Granted, the number one Disney animated feature of all time is The Jungle Book, which of course will never be surpassed. Nevertheless, Pixar rejuvenated the Disney movie brand, and so here is my ranking, top to bottom:

1. The Incredibles
First of all, this movie features a fantastic soundtrack by Michael Giacchino. Besides the homage to the comic book & superhero genre, The Incredibles suggests that gifts and talents should not be suppressed for the sake of fitting in to whatever is normal. Rather, the uniqueness of gifting and talent should be cultivated for the good of others. Did I mention I love the soundtrack? Moderately quotable too. "We'll get there when we get there!" "What are you waiting for? ... Something amazing I guess." "That was totally wicked!"

2. Up
This one had to grow on me; at first I wasn't really sure how I felt about it. Over time however, I have come to deeply appreciate this story. I love the story of a love that doesn't end even when one passes away, but even more, I appreciate the insistence that as long as we live and breathe, we can continue to be an influence and make a difference in the lives of others - and in that journey, rediscover a joy and purpose in living no matter what our age. I can only hope and pray that I never stop living purposefully and productively. "Squirrel!"

3. Finding Nemo
I love this movie both for its story and the animation. I remember just being stunned at the ocean-life imagery on the big screen. Great combination of drama and comedy just makes this a fully enjoyable experience. I often go around quoting Crush, the great sea turtle, to the immense annoyance of my children. "Mr. Turtle is my fa-ther!" "Pschaw!" "To-tally!" "You made me ink!"

4. Toy Story
Classic movie, always enjoyable, and always quotable. The best part of the Toy Story movies is the all-star casting of voices. "You are a child's .. Plaything!" "Too infinity … " (you can finish the rest).

5. WALL-E
When I first saw this movie in the theater, I remember being fully enamored by the visual spacescapes. I confess though, I was somewhat put off by the environmentalist themes, although I get the fact that it was more of a prop than a preaching. The bigger statement, however, was illustrated in a society so beholden to online community that they nearly lost all sense of their humanity, until a sequence of events led to a simple human touch that in turn led to an awakening of sorts. A warning perhaps? Only quote that matters: "Waaa-llll-eeeeee."

At this point, I'll make note that while the order is different, my top 5 and that of ew.com contains the same movies. Hmm.

6. Monsters, Inc.
I love this movie for the gag comedy. It's just a great laugh, thanks to the efforts of Billy Crystal. "Put that thing back where it came from, or so help me, (BOM-bom-Bom-bom) …" "Mike Wazowski!" "I'm watching … always watching …"

7. Toy Story 2
I'm not a big fan of sequels in the Disney-verse. I thought Toy Story should have stood on its own. I did enjoy Toy Story 2, complete with the Star Wars spoofing. And again, great voice casting - especially Kelsey Grammer, Wayne Knight, and Wallace Shawn. "Buzz, Buzz! My backend's going to Baton Rouge!" "I'm Buzz Lightyear. No, I'm Buzz Lightyear!"

8. Ratatouille
In time, this one will move up the list. I do find myself enjoying it more each time I watch it. "Don't just hork it down!" is a favorite quote around our dinner table.

9. Cars
It may seem odd that I put this one down at number 9, but the reality is that numbers 6-9 are all pretty close. I enjoy them all. I did pass through a bit of Cars fatigue though, perhaps due to the over-marketing and the repetition (it was my boys' favorite for a while). Mater is most definitely one of the most enjoyable sidekicks around. "I don't need to know where I'm going, I just need to know where I've been." "Whoo-eee! I'm happier than a tornado in a trailer park!" "She just loves me for my bo-dy."

10. A Bug's Life
This one is my least favorite. I just never really could identify with it, and I probably won't bother to watch it again. "Ladies and gentlebugs! Larvae of all stages! Rub your legs together for the world's greatest bug circus!"

Well, there's my ranking. No doubt, Pixar makes great films. I can only hope that the other planned sequels for Cars and Monsters, Inc. are decent. I'm nervous that the rash of sequels is driven in part because of a dearth of new ideas. They certainly have set the bar high for themselves.

See you at the movies!

Watchman at The Gap

In many ways, I live an introspective life. By this, I mean that my mind never, ever ceases. I am always thinking, wondering, puzzling - and yes, worrying. I wonder about the nature of things, the behavior of societies, the motives of the heart; I am always, always observing. And it frequently exhausts me.

I find this to be both blessing and curse. The blessing comes in those moments of insight and revelation from above that fill me with hope and glimpses of understanding. The curse comes in those moments when the inner vortex temporarily blocks the light, resulting in paralytic depression. To say that I have a tendency to over-analyze everything would be an understatement. I am constantly seeking that framework, that context that provides order and meaning to the way things work, the way people are, the purpose for which we live. Such matters are inseparable from faith, because so much of individual and collective behavior is linked to a corresponding belief system, regardless of its definition. Actions (or inactions) are always driven by motive compelled by belief (for even "lack of belief" is a rooted belief system). Some of these are good, some are not - although they can be difficult to judge apart from some moral standard.

I listened to a sermon podcast this morning that reminded me that actions of kindness, mercy and grace - particularly offered to the stranger who is yet our neighbor - are merely the fruit of a relationship with Jesus Christ. It is not the actions themselves which enable salvation ("not by works") - but the relationship that transforms and empowers and stimulates us to service. "But someone will say, 'You have faith; I have deeds.' Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by what I do." (James 2:18)

As I pondered this reminder, I was further touched by a story that seems to be making the rounds in various international papers this weekend. It is the story of an 84 year old man, Don Ritchie, who over the past 50 years has personally intervened and prevented scores of suicide attempts at a cliff known as the Gap near Sydney, Australia. I urge you to read for yourself the accounts from the Sydney Morning Herald and the Independent. In the latter, I found myself profoundly moved by this excerpt (emphasis mine):

Lost souls who stood atop the cliff, wondering whether to jump, say their salvation was a soft voice breaking the sound of the wind and the waves, asking: "Why don't you come and have a cup of tea?"

And when they turned to the stranger, they say his smile made them want to live.

Mr. Ritchie, who lives across the street from The Gap, is widely regarded as a guardian angel who has shepherded countless people away from the edge.

What some consider grim, Mr. Ritchie considers a gift.

"You can't just sit there and watch them," he said, perched on his beloved green leather chair, from which he keeps a watchful eye on the cliff outside.

"You gotta try and save them. It's pretty simple."

How easy it is for us to become completely self-absorbed with our own struggles, fears, and preoccupations. We allow that inner vortex to block the light and in so doing, become convinced that we alone are suffering. Sometimes we feel like the one standing at the edge, wanting someone to come to our aid and getting frustrated when they don't. Yet we are not alone, and there is a voice calling, pleading, saying: Just turn around, step away from the edge, and walk in a new direction toward what you know is true. The believer is called to look outward, not just inward. To look upward, not just downward. To see that which is right before us - opportunities to be that soft voice, that friend, that intercessor that stands in the gap to prevent any more lost souls from leaping off the cliff into despair, disillusionment, depression and destruction.

It's all very simple, you see. Believer, you can't just sit there and watch. "You gotta try."

(h/t: Lori Ziganto)

Iranian Ships Headed for Gaza

I promise, I will blog about other topics this month. But this will bear watching over the next week. Potential for fireworks: 60%.

Iran is sending aid ships to blockaded Gaza, state radio said on Monday -- a move likely to be considered provocative by Israel which accuses Tehran of arming the Palestinian enclave's Islamist rulers, Hamas.

One ship left port on Sunday and another will depart by Friday, loaded with food, construction material and toys, the report said. The boats would be part of international efforts to break Israel's isolation of the Gaza Strip.

"Until the end of the Gaza blockade, Iran will continue to ship aid," said an official at Iran's Society for the Defence of the Palestinian Nation.

For now, it appears that the Iranian Republican Guard is staying on the sidelines, despite some preliminary noise to the contrary. It's going to be a long, hot summer.

Empowering the UN vs. Israel?

I confess, this gets under my skin. In ideal circumstances, the UN would strictly be an organization that provides a forum for international dialogue and diplomacy. Instead, it is treated too often as an unelected higher authority to which all nations should be subjugated. I tend to live in the camp that the UN should not trump any national interests, and that the UN should not have any authority in policing its member states. There are pros and cons to this, of course, but simply put, I believe the UN itself should not have any legal or judicial authority to prosecute nations or individuals in civil, legal or military matters. To allow such power to reside in the UN is to surrender sovereignty.

In the most general sense, the president should be a defender of America and her allies. Despite numerous differences in opinion with regard to policy, I will support a president who seeks to represent the American ideals of freedom and liberty to the world. But I'm finding it difficult to stomach the continuing turn against Israel this administration appears to be taking (emphasis mine):

THE WEEKLY STANDARD has learned that senior Obama administration officials have been telling foreign governments that the administration intends to support an effort next week at the United Nations to set up an independent commission, under UN auspices, to investigate Israel's behavior in the Gaza flotilla incident. The White House has apparently shrugged off concerns from elsewhere in the U.S. government that a) this is an extraordinary singling out of Israel, since all kinds of much worse incidents happen around the world without spurring UN investigations; b) that the investigation will be one-sided, focusing entirely on Israeli behavior and not on Turkey or on Hamas; and c) that this sets a terrible precedent for outside investigations of incidents involving U.S. troops or intelligence operatives as we conduct our own war on terror.

Why on earth are we turning against such a key ally? How does such a step possibly benefit the security interests of America and the Mideast? Is the administration simply trying to curry favor with "the world"?

The world is indeed going mad ... and so, apparently, are we.

Update 4:17pm: According to the Jerusalem Post, the administration is denying any intent to support a UN investigation into Israel's role in the flotilla incident. We'll have to wait and see what actually happens. Here's hoping the original Weekly Standard report isn't accurate.

Something Lighter - After LOST

If you were not an avid fan of ABC's Lost, this post will probably not make any sense to you. But those of you who did watch Lost, perhaps you can identify.

Things I've discovered or done since Lost ended two weeks ago:

1. Children? I have children?
2. Vacuumed 500 square feet of months-old sawdust. (really)
3. Primed 48 (blankety-blank) bookshelves. (really - I have the back trauma to prove it!)
4. Attended 4 baseball games in stifling heat and the threat of storms.
5. Watched it rain 8 or 9 inches (had to be).
6. Thanks to all the rain, mowed the yard 27 times. (minor exaggeration)
7. Realized that Star Trek:TNG is sooo 1980's. It was even 80's during the 90's.
8. Checked EW.com and Doc Jensen's Twitter page twice a day out of habit.
9. Rewatched the Lost finale with those useless pop-up notes from ABC, that only seem to say the utterly obvious.
10. Resisted the urge to run out the back porch screaming "WAAALLLLLTTTTT!!!!"

In closing, in honor of the contributions of the Dharma Initiative to the island mystery, a closing video from the Hanso Foundation, courtesy Jimmy Kimmel Live:


Sigh. Time to "move on." But it was fun. What a great, deeply thought provoking show.

Mideast Watch

It was bad enough that the government of Turkey sanctioned the attempt by so-called peace activists to run an Israeli military blockade of Gaza. This blockade, which even analysts for Reuters recognize as legal per international law, aims to stem the flow of non-humanitarian shipments into Gaza-direct. Legitimate humanitarian resources are readily allowed into Gaza, once inspected by Israeli officials. Remember, the blockade is in place because Hamas controls Gaza, and they like to shoot rockets from Gaza into Israel indiscriminately.

But the attempts to run the blockade have everything to do with political media show, and little to do with true humanitarian cause. The leadership of Turkey is flexing its muscle in the region, to the point where now the Turkish prime minister Erdogan is considering sending future flotillas against the blockade accompanied by the Turkish navy. He is even considering personally making the journey to Gaza to help break the blockade. To make matters worse, Iran also wants to play. They plan to send ships too. Turkish and Iranian ships against an Israeli blockade. I sure do hope the State Department is in overdrive here, even if behind the scenes.

I've quoted Professor Paul Rahe of Hillsdale College before. In a article for BigGovernment.com, he writes (emphasis mine):

There were six ships in the Gaza Flotilla. Only one of them was the source of any trouble, and it was a Turkish craft to a considerable degree manned by Turks. That Hamas and its allies should have staged such an incident is only what we should expect. That the Turkish government should have a hand in such a matter, as it evidently did – that is disturbing in the extreme.

If Recep Tayyip Erdoğan succeeds in his quest, there will be a major change in the balance of power in the Middle East. These days, apart from the Islamic Republic of Iran and its ally Syria, there is no state of any real significance in the Middle East that sponsors terrorism. But Turkey now appears to be coming down on the side of Hamas and Hezbollah, and that really matters. Turkey is a regional power of no mean importance. It has a first-rate army and a fine military tradition; and, when Turks throw themselves into a fight, they mean business. Turkey has weight.

Meanwhile, in Egypt, an epoch is about to come to an end. Soon, Hosni Mubarak, who has ruled Egypt for nearly thirty years, will pass from the scene. I would not be surprised if his successor, responding to the impulses felt by the younger generation, were to ally himself with the Muslim Brotherhood. There is a storm gathering in the Middle East, and at the White House, alas, it is amateur hour, for the United States now has a President who appears to be blithely unaware of the consequences – or worse: unconcerned or even vaguely sympathetic to the transformation about to take place.

Turkey is a member of NATO, which complicates matters significantly. The apparent trajectories of Turkey and Egypt, once able partners with the U.S. in general support of Israel's right to exist, is a troubling development. I will not go as far as Professor Rahe does in criticizing the White House, but it is troubling that they seem to have little to say publicly. Nevertheless, I would rather them exercise some caution, given that Turkey and Israel, though now apparently at odds with one another, are both still allies of the U.S. But if Turkey does indeed decide to cast its lot with Iran, Syria and terrorist organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah, we should be very, very concerned.

Little good can come from the standoff of Israeli, Turkish and Iranian naval vessels in close proximity. We shall see.