POLITICS: OBAMA MANIA

My cousin emailed me an article from the Drudge Report about Mr. Obama and ABC news. It seems that ABC is giving the White House a big open forum to present their plan for a nationalized health care system. It’s quite a propaganda coup for the president. He gets to push his plan with no opposition to whoever is bored enough to watch a couple hours of news one night next week. I would say that at least five or six million people will tune in for the festivities. Most of those millions are people who already agree with the president and are quite happy to be with him on the road to unbridled socialism. Some of the opposition will watch to try and get material for arguments against his plans.

The socialist steamroller keeps moving along as the president constantly denies its existence. GM gets taken over, to a large degree, by the government and Mr. Obama says that’s not really what is happening. Large financial institutions become even more entwined with the government through bailouts. Mr. Obama says it is strictly temporary and it’s only a kind of loan. Meanwhile the government, and one must assume that the White House has at least some input in governance, sees to the firing of executives, pushes for pay caps in a multitude of businesses and rolls out executive orders and proposes legislation putting its big hands into every part of the American economy. If that isn’t a move towards socialism then I’d like for Mr. Obama to truthfully tell us what the heck he’s doing. Meanwhile his party is bolstered by weak-kneed Republicans who don’t have enough grounding in basic principles to raise any cry of objection. They are, as always, more concerned with their next election than the saving of the Constitution and their country.

Some grassroots movements are underway but they can’t seem to slow down the juggernaut that Mr. Obama has under his control. As I talk to people in my rather limited circle of family and friends I can’t seem to find anyone who likes what is happening, even though a goodly number of those people voted for the president. But there must be plenty of people who do support the administration and its policies. There is no question in my mind about how far this super-liberal, socialist nut case will go in pushing his agenda. My small voice is raised periodically when I write letters to our inadequate senators and lone congressman. I also put up the occasional blog message and, once in a great while, a letter to the editor of our local newspaper. We need more voices. Maybe a recall movement against the president and a bunch of other politicians would be a good idea. The problem we face is complacency. The average American is too wrapped up in mindless activities and self-centered hedonism to be involved in the political process. So my rant is starting to fizzle as I contemplate the magnitude of the task of stopping the trends in government.

Someday, when one of my grandchildren asks about some point of ancient history that happened in 2009, the year that saw socialism caustically erase the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, I’ll try to explain how things happened and hopefully instill in them a revolutionary fervor, which they will need to escape the binding webs that are being woven today.

Have a fine day.

RECENT EVENTS

Recent events have given me cause to think a little bit about the nature of life and the circumstances of death. Those subjects are always close together in their constancy and in their mysteriousness. It’s also true to my mind that they have been written about so much that another few words won’t change the way anyone looks at them to any degree. Great writers have written volumes and lousy writers have written really bad poems about these subjects. And I probably fall a lot closer to the latter group than I’d care to admit. But at least my bad poems have been largely hidden from the general public. Anyway, as my dear departed mother-in-law used to say, that’s water over the bridge. I’m just going to describe a couple of recent events and you can fill in the questions and answers about the nature of life and death.

A classmate of mine from high school who I’d become reacquainted with on MySpace and then also on Facebook passed away last month. I found out that she died when I decided to check out her profile page after not hearing from her for a few weeks. She was one of those kind people who was always using those silly applications that send gifts and flowers or hugs and kittens to all her friends. But she also wrote more personal notes once in a while; particularly after she read some article or story I had posted on-line. She was very kind and encouraging in her notes about my writing. And she was very kind and generous in all her dealings with family and friends. Her name was Kathi Downes Gilliam and she was sixty two years old, a 1964 graduate of Hilton High School in upstate New York, and she was a fine and gentle person who will be missed a great deal.

A little over a week ago my wife and I were at a gathering of people in Gaithersburg with my youngest daughter and her fiancée. The hosts of the gathering were a young man who immigrated to the US from Ghana and his wife, a native born California blond girl who demolishes every stereotype about that particular iconic image. The young man was drinking a bit heavily because he was feeling particularly sad about the very recent passing of his mother. This gathering was one of many that would be held as a sort of series of wakes that Ghanaian folks have upon the death of a family member. This young man was unable to return to Ghana before his mom passed away and was struck almost as hard by this fact as by the fact of her dying. He hadn’t seen his mother for almost eight years although they talked weekly on the phone and exchanged videos and so forth. So he was in deep mourning and his excessive drinking was understandable. But the friends and family he has over here in this country were continuing the tradition observed in his homeland. The culmination of the period of public mourning was held this past Saturday with a big celebration of the life of the young man’s mother. There were a lot of people, about seventy I’m told, and a lot of food and drink. Music was played and stories were passed on. There were gifts for the family, mostly cash which would be sent over and used to help out during these hard times. My future son-in-law was at the party as was befitting his status as best friend of the bereaved young man. It all reminded me of old time Irish wakes which were also parties spurred by someone’s dying. Other cultures have similar traditions and it seems to be a cathartic and healthy way to deal with that kind of loss. We, more staid and conservative Americans, tend to be much more formal and repressed when it comes to sending someone off on the next part of the journey, although I have noticed a trend towards more celebrations of the life of the deceased than the old style focus on grief and sadness of the loss. I am pretty much a shambles when it comes to losing family members and participating in either public ceremonies of grief or celebrations of the individual’s life. Maybe if the drinking could start before the funeral proceedings then I might do a better job of participating. So next time the occasion presents itself I’m going to try that approach. Celebratory drinking, funny stories and good food will be on the program early in the mourning period. But in truth that approach will be much harder to take if the decedent is not an older person who has lived a full and productive life. When someone young and vital is suddenly lost then it’s much harder to follow through with a joyous approach. Perhaps a greater measure of faith in the certainty of what comes after would be an aid. But I don’t see those who are “true believers” being much more joyous or even certain that things will be better on “the other side”. I guess that the mystery of it all even creeps into their minds and doubtful thoughts intrude. Or maybe they grieve for themselves.

On a more uplifting note, my daughter and son-in-law had a birthday party for their youngest little guy. He turned three last week so some of his play group friends and a couple other folks came to help him celebrate. He was also lucky to have his eighty-seven year old great-grandmother at the party. It was a well done little event and everyone seemed to have a good time. The guest of honor was typical of three year olds, wanting to get to the present opening part of the festivities as quickly as possible. When he wants something he has a way of getting it, so the agenda was pushed right along; playing, eating, piñata, cake and ice cream. All of that was crammed into about thirty minutes and then his favorite activity began. Thirty seconds later all the gifts were opened and his full concentration was on the new toys he had. His guests were pretty much on their own at that point. So now that he’s three he can immediately discard the sometimes disturbing behavior of the “terrible two’s” and become a model citizen like his older brother. But I doubt if that will happen too quickly. He’s a joy anyway and we do love to watch him and his brother as they grow and change. And soon we’ll have a little girl to enjoy as well. That’s the kind of thing that makes life so darn good.

Have a fine day.

STARTING TODAY

Starting today I’m going to work on getting healthier. Starting today I’m not going to be so critical of people who don’t agree with me or fit my ideas of sanity and sensibility. Starting today I’m not going put off unpleasant chores. And starting today I’m going to be less cynical and more positive about things in general.

Those were my resolutions this morning as I leapt out of bed full of good intentions. But some things happened that challenged my new found goals and aspirations. First of all we were out of milk so I couldn’t have my “heart healthy” breakfast. Then I discovered that two of my prescriptions, required to keep me upright and walking, needed to be filled yesterday. And when I set out on my morning walk the rains came down spoiling the walk and messing up my nicely flowing locks. So there went ambition number one, the one about getting healthier.

So I decided to go to the convenience store and get a cup of coffee, a container of milk and a newspaper. As I was turning into the parking lot a young kid, with a cell phone up to his ear, in a big old Hummer with a blasting bass laden sound system cut in front of me and took up the spot I was heading for plus two more. Then as I went into the store two bimbo looking young girls with oversized boobs and streetwalking clothing, each yakking on their own cell phones, stood blocking the coffee counter oblivious to the world around them. After shoving them out of the way I discovered that my favorite flavor of coffee was empty. Taking a poor substitute to the counter I was confronted by a rude clerk finishing up a line of customers and dropping a “next register please” sign directly in front of me. The next register had twelve people waiting. When I was almost to the head of the line the lady in front of me decided to use her brand new debit card to pay for the two packs of gum she wanted. As she activated her card, using her cell phone, and held up the line for another five minutes the first clerk I had met re-opened and took the guy behind me and everyone else after him into her line. Finally I got out of the store. As I was leaving I was again cut off, this time by four young men on those stupid “crotch-rocket” motorcycles. After that, the longed for attitude of benevolence and tolerance I had been hoping to cultivate today was out the window.

When I got home I took a look at the bushes that need trimming, the two piles of debris that needed to be chopped up and hauled away and the little row of plants that my dear wife wants in the ground. Then I looked at the light mist falling from the gray clouds and quite easily postponed those unpleasant chores. Goal number three was abandoned with no trouble at all.

Since I didn’t have anything else pressing I sat down with the newspaper. I read a story about the proposed state budget and the foolish way that the new governor was planning to bring things into balance. I read a story about the federal government taking over a sixty percent ownership of GM. And I looked at the editorial page filled with letters from morons worrying about the terrible effects of legalizing marijuana for medical use. Most of those letters had irrelevant Biblical references and grammatical errors, further evidence of the ignorance rampant in the world today. I felt the hard shell of cynicism and negativity grow a couple inches thicker around my psyche. This was not the right day to be making “Starting today…” pronouncements. So I put them all aside and decided to write this little rant. And I feel better now, thank you.

Have a fine day.

RACIST RELATIONS

For the past couple of years I’ve been thinking about the status of black and white relations as the subject applies to me and my family. But I’ve always been hesitant about writing anything about the matter for several reasons. When Mr. Obama was running for and winning the presidency I had opportunities to comment on the subject but I was afraid that my political nattering would seem racist and there was enough of that going around at the time. Just for the record I think Mr. Obama is doing a crappy job as president, his dealing with GM being a perfect case in point. But to get back to the subject, race relations are difficult for me probably because of ingrained prejudices I might have or possibly because of how some members of my family also show evidence of even greater prejudices than mine. I’m doing better on my own personal set of prejudicial ideas and that has come about in large part because of my daughters. Those girls learned what I and a lot of other folks were preaching all those years ago, even when I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.

Our youngest daughter is engaged to a black African man. What’s more is they are expecting a baby in July. Our future son-in-law is a fine young man. He came from Ghana several years ago armed with a college degree and some ambition. Now he is a department manager at a home improvement store and working also at making a home and family with my daughter. Our other daughter married a fellow from Scotland (by way of England) and that was quite easy to accept. Initially I had a little trouble with the idea of a son-in-law from Ghana. The cultural differences between there and the USA are immense. And the racial issue was also in the back of my mind. But I met the guy and was very impressed. He’s extremely quiet and soft spoken. He’s respectful of our daughter and also of the rest of the family. He worries about his family still in Ghana and stays in close contact with all of them. So it wasn’t hard to get over the color difference pretty quickly. My grandsons helped show the way by their instant color blind acceptance of their new uncle to be.

This isn’t the first inter-racial marriage or engagement in our family. We have several mixed race nieces and nephews and second cousins. Our family reunion last year had evidence of the “rainbow” like quality of our family. And the rainbow has a bit of red around a few family members’ necks. Fortunately there aren’t any aggressively racist people just some that are quietly disapproving and stand-offish. For the most part the more openly prejudiced people limit themselves to comments and “jokes” among themselves. It would be good if everyone could be as color-blind as the children of the family but some things die hard.

Over the weekend my wife and I had the good fortune to visit the home of another inter-racial couple who are good friends of my daughter and her fiancé. There were some other folks there that had come to the US from Ghana. We were warmly welcomed and treated very kindly by everyone. We shared drinks and conversation, struggling a bit with the various accents, but laughing and having a good time. There was one impassioned conversation with a guy who has his own heating and air conditioning business. He has been in this country for quite a long time and is doing pretty well. He blames a lot of the difficulty in his homeland on the lack of opportunities in obtaining an education and in the tendency for the government to be like an overly benevolent parent while at the same time making it extremely difficult for people to establish a free economy. He said it is easier to become a minister and establish a church in Ghana than it is to start up a business. He claimed that the lack of education and jobs have created a constant flow of the brightest and most ambitious people away from their country. The result is a constant cycle of poverty from generation to generation. He also said that the efforts of expatriates to help the situation usually turn into non-productive give-away programs that bring in some material goods but no real improvements in education or job creation. So we had good conversation on that subject and many others. Arguments were friendly and never acrimonious. At the end of the evening photographs were taken of everyone and we left there feeling pretty good about our future son-in-law and the difficult journey he took to gain a better life.

So as we learn more and spend more time with those people and other people of color we find ourselves less conscious of differences and more aware of the things we have in common. We know there are black people who are as prejudiced as any hardcore white supremacist in the country. And there are many more people of all races who have an underlying, basic mistrust and possibly fear of those who are different from themselves. But I think that the answer might be in the increase of racially mixed marriages and families. A dilution of racial separateness can’t be bad. Children brought up in families with varying shades of skin colors will have a tougher time disliking people on that basis alone. Intermingling of cultures will lead to greater understanding. Traditions can be maintained but they can also be shared. Like most big changes these will take time and will usually involve one family at a time. We, therefore, are happy to be part of the movement and invite you all to join us.

Have a fine day.

THE RUNNING MAN: a short story

He first started serious training about six months after he lost his job. He had been searching for work and collecting his unemployment checks and working around the house. But the fix-up chores were all done now. No jobs or even interviews for jobs had been found. His wife had left him and moved out to Denver to live with the boyfriend she had once left to marry him. So he started his training regimen. He started with stretching and calisthenics for a half hour early in the morning. Then he ran for at least an hour, alternating between long steady periods of about twelve minutes and then hard sprints for about two minutes. It was grueling. After four weeks of this hour and a half routine he increased the training time to two hours adding another half hour of distance running mixed with sprints. After eight more weeks and still no job offers, and with unemployment checks coming to an end soon, he increased his training time to three hours every day.

He started carrying a backpack weighted with books as he ran. The backpack was a well cushioned affair and it was strapped tightly so that the straps didn’t chafe his skin. He ran along the streets and roadways of the small city where he lived. He took careful note of the small side streets and alleys that made up the intricate web that connected neighborhoods with one another. He learned how it was possible to cross the whole city, a distance of about four miles from east to west, or about six miles north to south, in relatively straight lines without running on any major thoroughfares. He discovered paths along and lightly used bridges across the small river that wound through the area. He found ways through cemeteries and school yards, around shopping areas and government buildings. And his strength and stamina increased and his speed became greater and greater. His thirty year old well muscled body could run for four hours straight now. He could sprint a mile in just over four and a half minutes. And he was developing a plan.

As he ran he would wave to the police officers in their cars or on their motorcycles. When he ran through the old downtown area any walking policeman would be greeted with a smile and sometimes a few words. People all over town became accustomed to his presence. He was the Running Man. And as he ran he took careful note of the businesses all over town. He noticed the liquor stores and convenience stores. He noticed the banks and loan companies and the check cashing shops. When he wanted to pay particular attention to a business he would stop and adjust his backpack or re-tie his running shoes. As soon as he was in some inconspicuous place he would jot down notes about what he had seen.

Everyday, rain or shine, the Running Man ran. Like the fabled Native American messengers he could run easily for most of a day without feeling exhausted. And if he needed speed he could sprint like an Olympian in the hundred meter race. After his last unemployment check had been cashed and spent and he had started dipping into his meager savings he decided it was time to get to work. He went up to Philadelphia to one of the outlet malls and bought several brightly colored sweat suits, paying cash. He went to a different store and bought ski masks and baseball caps with no logo on the front. He bought three black backpacks all of decent quality and waterproof. Then he went to a toy store and bought a couple of cap pistols that looked like the real thing. He was ready.

On a Friday morning the Running Man started running. Inside his back pack was another back pack with a sweat suit, a ski mask, a baseball cap and a toy pistol. He ran one of his usual routes until he got to a secluded space between two old buildings. He ducked into the space, took out his hidden clothing and put it on. He put the toy pistol in his waist band and with a back pack in his hand he went around to the front of the old buildings onto the busy street. He entered the check cashing storefront with his ski mask pulled down over his face. He pulled out the pistol and demanded cash. The nervous and frightened woman behind the counter put stacks of bills into the backpack he pushed in front of her. He told the woman to lie down and count to one hundred or he would turn back and shoot her. As she started counting he ran out the door. By the time she had counted to twenty-five he had returned to the hiding alcove, stripped off the sweat suit and hidden the backpack holding the clothing and ski mask. By the time she had counted to seventy-five he had strapped on the backpack holding the cash and was sprinting away wearing his usual running shorts and t-shirt. As he ran past the central police station he noticed the cars racing out of the parking lot towards the downtown area. He waved.

When he got back to his home he showered and dressed and had lunch. It was only after he had eaten lunch and come down from his adrenaline rush that he opened the backpack and counted the money. Since it was Friday, a big day for the check cashing shop, the amount in the backpack was a healthy $20,312.00. The Running Man smiled and after looking at his budget plan for the year figured he was going to be okay at least until Christmas, almost six months away. Meanwhile he could continue his job search and his training regimen.

The months passed. The Running Man ran and exercised but he still could not find a job in his line of work in his hometown. He could have moved to where he knew some jobs were available. But he liked his home and he liked being able to run on the familiar streets and paths. As he ran he deepened his knowledge of hiding places and evasive paths. He had picked up the clothing he used in the check cashing robbery from its secure hiding place. It was time for another plan because Christmas was coming. He needed money because he now had someone to buy gifts for. As part of his job hunting routine the Running Man would go to the public library to look at the newspapers. Since he was on a strict budget he had cancelled his own subscription. It was there that he had met the young woman who ran the computer education service for the library. After a few weeks of brief encounters he had asked her out and she had accepted. They had gone to a movie and dinner. The next Saturday morning she had joined him on part of his daily run. He was a little uncomfortable having a running companion but he forced himself to relax and slowed his pace to accommodate her. He was careful to run only in the parks and purely residential areas. After their run they had lunch and spent some time talking about the techniques and equipment of their shared sport. By the end of the afternoon the Running Man hadn’t once thought about his ex-wife and he realized that he really liked the Library Lady. That was how he thought of each of them. He was the Running Man, she the Library Lady.
To have money for her Christmas gifts and for a few more months of supporting himself he decided he would do a really high grossing confiscation. Even though he knew he was stealing he now liked to think of his method of getting money as wealth redistribution or confiscating funds from the unworthy. He thought he was becoming a modern day Robin Hood. So he selected his next project very carefully. A branch of an international bank that had been part of the recent rounds of government bailouts was on a major street on one of his running routes. For a week he ran the route locating the hiding places and cross paths and alleys he might need. People on the route became familiar with him, some being amazed by his sudden bursts of speed as he would sprint off and disappear from view. Part of his route was patrolled by a policeman on foot and he took every opportunity to say hello, but also to watch the pattern of the cop’s patrol. Then he went to a different branch of the same bank to observe security procedures knowing that all the branches of the same company would follow standardized practices. Finally he took note of when an armored car would make the regular cash drop to the bank so that the funds on hand would be at the highest level.

The day came for the operation and the Running Man was a little nervous but fairly confident. He readied his change of clothes and his toy pistol. He had practiced his muffled and gruff voice, rehearsing the commands he would use. As he reached the hiding place he would use he slowed, made sure that he was unobserved and turned in. He got his sweat suit on, readied his ski mask and toy pistol and went around to the front of the building. He went into the bank with the ski mask pulled down and approached the young lady at the manager’s desk, showed his pistol and ordered her to stay away from the alarm button or he would shoot every one in the place. Then he told her they were going to fill his bag, making sure that no dye packed bills would get into the collection. Within three minutes he was out of the bank and racing to his hiding spot. He got out of the sweat suit, strapped on his back pack and continued to run one of his usual routes. By the time the first police cars arrived at the branch bank he was almost half a mile away and saying hello to a police officer walking near a park. Staying calm at that moment was the hardest part of the whole operation, but it was critical in establishing his presence. He then finished his running routine and returned to his home. The Running Man knew he had entered the world of big time crime as he counted the almost one hundred thousand dollars in his stuffed backpack.

That night he had dinner with the Library Lady at one of the nicer restaurants in town. He was careful to pay the bill with his credit card, knowing that there was a possibility that his new cash supply had serial numbers that had been recorded by the bank. He and his companion talked for a long time about life and love and the past and future. It was apparent to both of them that they were on a path to a place beyond friendship. The Running Man knew he had to find a way to stop his part time job of robbing banks. Secrets couldn’t be a part of the life he hoped to share with the Library Lady. Their evening ended at her apartment and the hours passed into the first morning that they woke up together.

Using and banking the money in his backpack became another challenge for the Running Man. He went to a local casino and fed a few hundreds into several slot machines. After a small amount of gambling he cashed out of the machines and then redeemed his tickets. He did this in the four casinos within sixty miles of his home every day for two weeks. He made deposits of a few hundred dollars at a time into three separate bank accounts. When an account would accumulate a balance of five thousand dollars he would transfer most of the money into CDs. The hardest part of the money laundering plan was being random enough so that patterns could not be detected by police and FBI investigators. He knew that they were working hard to catch the unknown bank robber but he still felt confident that he was well ahead of his pursuers. And he kept on running. At least twice in the two weeks after the robbery he ran past the scene of his last crime. On one of those runs he was stopped by a man in a dark suit, obviously an FBI agent, who asked him if he had seen anything on his run on that day a couple of weeks ago. The questioning was brief and it didn’t seem as if there was any suspicion in the eyes of the agent.

A few days after he was questioned the Running Man and the Library Lady were talking about some of the things that people in love, and with an eye towards marriage, will talk about. One of the topics that came up was morality and where the gray areas between right and wrong become either truly good or really evil. The question had arisen when the Library Lady noticed a pile of overdue books stacked on the Running Man’s desk. She saw that they were almost three months past the due date and she mentioned that she thought keeping books that long could be considered immoral. He disagreed with her and said that as long as he paid the fines, which he considered an act of atonement, then the evil, if there was one, was extremely minor. She said that keeping the books might deprive someone of a necessary part of research. Or, she said, at the very least it was a selfish act to hold the books, or it could be considered a breach of contract between the borrower and the library. The argument never got heated and was accompanied by joking and smiles. But the Library Lady was uncomfortable with the answers she was getting. She wondered how far the Running Man was willing to stretch the limits of right and wrong.

The following morning the Running Man went out for his run while the Library Lady, who was suffering from a bad cold, stayed in his house. She wasn’t a particularly nosy woman but the uneasy feeling that had crept into her mind on the previous night hadn’t eased by sunrise. So she started, in a methodical way, looking around the house. She looked at a few bank statements. She saw an orderly collection of black backpacks in a back closet. In a dresser drawer she found three cap pistols that looked like very real guns. In a kitchen cabinet she found a small notebook with diagrams and cryptic descriptions of places and people. And finally in the basement, under the stairs and covered with a padded blanket, was another backpack which, when she opened it, revealed cash in neat bank wrapped stacks. She counted twenty thousand dollars in twenties and ten thousand in tens. She was upset. She had really high hopes for a future life with the Running Man. She didn’t know what her next step should be, a confrontation with him or a call to the police. In the end she sat down and waited for the Running Man to run home.

When he entered the living room and saw the Library Lady sitting with her feet on the floor at the end of the sofa the Running Man knew that she had discovered his secret. She quietly and with little emotion asked him how much of the stolen money he had spent. Being an organized and somewhat compulsive person, he knew the exact amount. She took out her checkbook and wrote a check to him for that exact amount. She then told him that he had to plan a way to return all the money to the places he had robbed. She also told him that he needed to give back the interest that he had earned as a fine or perhaps as atonement. If he could do all that she would not call the police. And if he loved her, as he had professed the night before, then they would both find jobs in a different city and move away together. All of the things she said and did were done quietly without tears and without rancor or judgment in her tone of voice. And so he agreed.

It took a week to anonymously set things right with the robbery victims. When that was done they started their separate job hunts working together. The Running Man stopped running and took up bicycle riding. And the Library Lady returned all her long overdue library books.

The End