Middle of the Road

Several months back I listened to an NPR interview by Terry Gross of Ari Fleischer, our President's first press secretary. Mr. Fleischer was pleasant enough to listen to and after fifteen minutes or so I found myself thinking he probably was a bit too smooth, but maybe not a such bad chap.

But as the interview continued I began to develop a strange disquiet that lasted through the end. I began to notice that Mr. Fleischer kept referring to the Left and the Right, Liberal and Conservative, when discussing political issues. I started to listen for any reference to the Middle. But it was as if the Middle did not exist. I began to wonder what ever happened to our citizens in the Middle. We used to have a Moderates in this country. Really.

There was a time in our recent past when it was OK to be a Moderate, center-of-the-road. Both political parties had Left and Right wings, nuts they were often called. Moderates from both parties listened to the more extreme views of their brethren - the ideologically torqued up - and then supported programs and policies that found common ground. They usually carried the day and we muddled through.

Those who looked for their thrills close to either edge were very often bright, committed and attractive. But they were understood as being quite dangerous if allowed to take center stage. Both Hitler and Stalin and the Weathermen and J. Edgar Hoover had more in common than they would care to admit. They serve as a caution to us all.

But things have changed. With a stridency seen but very occasionally in our short history, Americans are now being pulled - or pushed - to one side or another. Everyone seems to have talking point, not ideas. We are citizens of Red States or Blue States, like it or not. Our fourth estate, the eyes and ears of democracy, are now mainly seen as shills for one side or another - as if every issues just has two sides! Politics is now a blood sport, with the line between political dialogue and entertainment fading fast. Liberals v. Lions at 4:30. Conservatives v. Lions at 5. We now have a whole generation who have seen nothing else. They think this is normal. We may debate as to how we got this way, or whether is it a good or bad thing, but here we are.

Jim Hightower, the self-proclaimed America's #1 populist, has scorned those seeking the middle of the road. He wants us to commit to one side of the other, believing of course that most will join him. He reminds us that the most dangerous place to be now is in the middle of the road, the new ragged edge of American politics.

Push come to shove I know which side of the barricade I would join. That part is easy for me. But for the time being I would rather get my thrills searching for that center again. It wasn't so bad.

Wheeee!

Yesterday the 3 PM temperature at the local airport was 81 degrees (F). This morning at 7 AM it was 43 (F), a 38 degree drop in sixteen hours.

I think autumn just knocked on the door.

More Railroad Earth

Last Saturday evening was the fourth and last of our string of live music week-ends. For the third time we were in Charlotte at the Neighborhood Theatre, this time spending an evening with Railroad Earth. My daughter, her fiancee Michael and her old friend Chuck joined us, first for a wonderful dinner at Boudreaux's and then for the music. The evening was just about perfect. But the best part for me was after the show, in the parking lot.

Railroad Earth filled the main stage of the theatre nicely and opened at about a quarter to nine. Our seats were about four rows back, center. The sound was perfect as was the sightline to the stage. The dancers in front of the stage did not obscure our view. As there was no opening band, RRE played two sets. After the first my wife and I staked out a position at the foot of the stage with the dancers where we spend the remainder of the evening.

The guys came back after the break and just smoked. As it was their eighth show in nine days, I was amazed at their energy level. I was stationed underneath John Skehan, the mandolin player. From this position I was able to hear the music partially through his stage monitor - all the better to marvel at his contribution to the band's sound. I don't think I have ever heard the band any better. I sure hope a copy of the show appears on archive.org.

After the show - three encores - we said our good-byes and headed for the parking lot behind the theatre. As we turned the corner into the lot we saw a small crowd at the back of a van. Moments later we heard music and saw some guys playing away. Curious, we walked over and saw Skehan playing with folks we did not recognize. They were in a tight circle - banjo, guitar, bass, hand-held drum, and John. They were watching each other like hawks, occasionally calling out chord changes.

So here was John, after already playing for three hours, jamming after midnight in a parking lot, just for the love of making music. That, folks, is what it is all about.

After a couple of tunes we headed to our car and drove away, smiling.

On the Earthboard later I found that John was playing with the Lost Ridge Band from Boone. Tim and Andy joined in the parking lot set after we left.

Damn, what a night.

Harriet Miers, Best Justice Ever?

You may have been surprised over the past few months as the chickens have been coming home to roost around the White House that I have had little to say. With his approval levels dropping below 40%, his associates under multiple investigations, his war in Iraq not going particularly well, his blatant cronyism under the spotlight, his handling of the economy faltering, his international standing about as low as an American president has ever been, and his second term agenda in deep trouble, it has been a long time since G.W. Bush has had much to feel good about. Maybe he should go to the movies; or maybe not. But I have been content to just let history play out the rope with which he is entangling himself with little comment.

But I was just blown away by his choice of Harriet Miers as the next Supreme Court justice. I really don't know whether to laugh or cry. With one announcement he has managed to confound his friends and foes alike, and expose at the worst possible time his consistent lack of sound judgment and personal integrity. I almost feel sorry for the guy. Almost.

More than for him I feel for Ms. Miers. Minimally qualified, except through her devotion to a man who became President, it must be very painful to have to endure the hostile scrutiny of practically everyone with her main defenders all working at one address. With friends like the President's "conservative" supporters, she does not need enemies. She may well be a great person, smarter and more hard working than most. But she has fallen in with thieves. It is getting personally ugly, and may get more so.

Almost as informative and amusing has been the roiling about of the more reactionary elements of our political establishment, almost as entertaining as watching a dog chew on its own leg. Sometimes the best you can hope for is that these folks get the opportunity to really say what is on their minds, and that someone is listening.

The recent "interview" of Robert Bork by our bow-tied Tucker Carlson was a joy to behold. Besides the uneasy image I had reading the transcript of two dogs smelling each other, I found it amazing that Bork was willing to say, in effect, that his main objection to Ms. Miers appointment was that she may carry with her to the court a somewhat open mind. Interpret for yourself:

TUCKER CARLSON, MSNBC HOST: Are you impressed by the president's choice of Harriet Miers?

JUDGE ROBERT BORK, FORMER SUPREME COURT NOMINEE: Not a bit. I think it's a disaster on every level.

CARLSON: Why? Explain the levels on which it's a disaster.

BORK: Well, the first one is, that this is a woman who's undoubtedly as wonderful a person as they say she is, but so far as anyone can tell she has no experience with constitutional law whatever. Now it's a little late to develop a constitutional philosophy or begin to work it out when you're on the court already. So that - I'm afraid she's likely to be influenced by factors, such as personal sympathies and so forth, that she shouldn't be influenced by. I don't expect that she can be, as the president says, a great justice.

But the other level is more worrisome, in a way: it's kind of a slap in the face to the conservatives who've been building up a conservative legal movement for the last 20 years. There's all kinds of people, now, on the federal bench and some in the law schools who have worked out consistent philosophies of sticking with the original principles of the Constitution. And all of those people have been overlooked.

So for Mr. Bork - shown here in a bow-tie of his own and thankfully still a private citizen - it is necessary to have developed a "constitutional philosophy" before considering the facts and context of a case brought before the court. And not just any constitutional philosophy will do. It should be one he agrees with. Lord help us if Harriet Miers ever gets a chance to vote based on something she might learn after taking a seat on the bench.

The interview also had a wonderful little moment provided by Mr. Carlson.

BORK: ... It's odd that Justice Roberts, who is now the chief justice, and who will probably be an excellent choice in many ways, also had no track record that was easy to follow.

CARLSON: Yes.

BORK: Now this woman, who has even less of a track record.

CARLSON: None at all, it seems like. But her defenders' flaks from the White House, some of whom we've had on the show.

BORK: Flaks, eh?

CARLSON: Flaks, you know, professional spinners.

BORK: I know the word, I just was interested in this. Go ahead.

CARLSON: Yeah, that's essentially what they are some decent people, but repeating a line that's been devised by the PR office of the White House - claim that she is a great pick because she brings diversity of experience. Not only is she a woman, and that supposedly - for reasons I don't quite understand - is very important, but beyond that, she has followed a different path than most Supreme Court nominees. She hasn't been a judge, et cetera.

First he calls White House defenders - not supporters - of Miers "flacs." Then he damns them with faint praise by describing them as "decent people." Finally he does not quite understand why diversity of experience or her gender might be important on the Supreme Court.

Listen up Tucker. If you were not white and male - like most of our Supreme Court justices have been and are - you just might find it easier to understand.

These guys can't be as thick as they appear. Or can they?

Shakori Hills

Last weekend was another adventure in music and camping as we attended the Grassroots Festival of Music and Dance, better known by the site name, Shakori Hills Farm. The music and rain were outstanding.

Note to self: When pitching a tent on an incline in the rain, do not extend the plastic ground cover six inches outside the tent on the uphill side.

The festival program describes the event as a "music lovers paradise," listing rootsrock, country, zydeco, latin, african, bluegrass, oldtime, gospel, blues and reggae as the music to be heard. They did not exaggerate; all were there. There was even a swing band in the dance tent Saturday night.

Only in its third year, the festival is smaller and more intimate than LEAF or Floydfest. Yet it was smoothly organized, at least to this observer. There were no alcohol sales on site which probably contributed to the mellowness. And, like the others, the event is very child friendly, which again contributed to the sense of family and community. The photo above is of the beginning of the children's parade on Sunday.

The food vendors were outstanding. And located in the middle of Chatham County near the North Carolina Triangle, the festival is convenient for daytrippers.

Several of my favorite performers who I had seen recently were there: Donna the Buffalo, Railroad Earth, The Duhks, and Kellin Watson. But the best part of any weekend like this is stumbling across people I had never heard of playing great music. I spent most of the time with a smile on my face, just drifting from stage to stage when something caught my ear.


Once again Miss Rachel won the outstanding camper award.



But the competition was close as Tobias and Michael, students from Sweden and Taiwan, who are spending a year at my wife's university, adapted smoothly to the many new sights and sounds - as well as a soggy tent Friday night.

In short, it was a great weekend. And the rain? No Problem!

The World Book

I can still remember that morning when I was nine. Mr. Spangler, our local World Book Encyclopedia salesman, sat on our front porch and sold my mother this 1955 edition. I remember the smell of the samples, the colors of the different bindings, the salesman's pitch about the positive influence on my education, and mother signing on the dotted line for the installment plan. It was the summer before I was to start the fourth grade, and the beginning of the end of my childhood. Mother told daddy after the fact that evening. I remember him being mildly annoyed about not being consulted. But if he had any real objections they did not keep the boxed volumes from arriving a few weeks later. I was so excited. I remember helping open the boxes, putting them in order, and carefully looking through each one. I had always been a reader. In my school library in the Childhood of Famous Americans series published by Bobbs-Merrill with the orange - and sometimes blue - covers were my favorites. But this was different. This was grown up stuff. It didn't happen all at once - the World Book initially was a bit over my head - but within a couple of years I would often pick up a volume and keep turning pages until something caught my fancy. I would read until satisfied and repeat the process. By this time my father had built an addition to our house which included the bookcase where they still reside and the window seat below where I would read for hours on end. Mother complained that I would rather read than eat. Initially it would have been hard to credit my academic success to the World Book, for I had little. I was an indifferent student by the time I reached high school, a worse one by the time I finished. I was bright enough, my teachers said. But I did not apply myself. True. The classroom seem small to me by then; my attention was easily diverted. I was more interested in sports, cars, and that rock and roll on the AM radio. And I did not know it then, but the 60's were coming to get me. But I had developed on that window seat with those red World Book's a love of reading, the printed word, and learning. Those loves would later form the foundation of my better-late-than-never attempts to educate myself, with - or in spite of - the assistance of institutions of higher learning. I have often wondered what would have happened to me if my mother had not signed on those dotted lines that summer morning.

the subdudes

Over the weekend my wife and I were back in Charlotte at the Neighborhood Theatre to hear the subdudes. It was my first time hearing them live after owning all of their albums since they formed in 1987. Maybe it was the Low Country Shrimp and Grits at Boudreaux's Louisiana Kitchen next door before the concert - or the beer - but I would rank their performance last Saturday night in my personal all-time top 10. And I have heard a lot of live music over the years. Damn, they were good.

I know this is beginning to sound like a broken record. (does anyone reading this have any idea what a broken record might sound like?) Like most of my favorites, the subdudes don't sound like anyone else. With a core instrumentation of guitar, accordion and tambourine, years of living and playing in the New Orleans area, and a sitting on the front porch Sunday afternoon sensibility - subdued - their music defies a clear label. All I know is I love it.

It sounds like an old story. A group of veteran musicians gets together for a one-night jam almost on a whim. Something clicks; they like it. They play some more, take a name and build a following. They tour, make CDs and tour some more. But critical praise and a small but loyal fan base barely pays the bills. And the road weary band plays a farewell gig ten years later where they started. The place? The legendary Tipitina's in N.O. The band? Our subdudes.

But wait, there is more. The musicians continue to work. Five years later two ex-subdudes invite another ex-subdude up on stage for a song or two. The crowd goes wild. Discussions are held, bands merge. The 'dudes (three of four) are back - older, wiser, and with more musical ideas to share. Life is good.

That was 2001. Fast forward to August 2005. Hurricane Katrina hits southeastern Louisiana, hard. The homes of the guitar and bass player are severely damaged. They and their families evacuate before the storm and are safe, but now live with family and friends. Several gigs are cancelled or rescheduled but they come to Charlotte October first and just play their asses off. The photo below from the show does not begin to capture the energy.

Very few musicians live well. Even the very best, the most dedicated at their craft and to the enjoyment of their audiences, frequently have trouble making ends meet. Sometimes they are their own worst enemy. Other times the guys with the suits rob them blind. In any case it does not take much sometimes to tip them over the financial edge. For many musicians Katrina was sufficient.

Along with the usual messages in the forum section of the subdudes' website recently was a post from the band's management forthrightly acknowledging that the band and its members and families are hurting financially. They are now considering playing at private parties as part of their touring. For musicians of this quality to be willing to play in living rooms says a great deal to me about their dedication and their need. They have gone so far as to establish a relief fund so their fans have a way to help out. And they are far from alone. A quick look at the Tipitina's Foundation website paints the larger picture.

So if you have the opportunity and connections, inquire about bringing the subdudes to a venue near you. Contribute what you can in relief of all the musicians who bring so much happiness to the world. Support live music, as I will be doing this weekend.

And check out the subdudes. What the Neighborhood Theatre wrote on its poster might be true, quite possibly the best band, ever.

Influenza

Last year John M. Barry, author of Rising Tide, published his latest, The Great Influenza - The Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague in History. I just finished it. According to the White House it was one of three books G.W. Bush took with him to read on his hurricane shortened August vacation. I wonder if he did.

While scientists are now arguing in public about just how many people may die in the next pandemic coming to a neighborhood near you, I found the book fascinating for two reasons unrelated to the influenza virus itself and the untold millions (50? 100?) who died.

First was his opening description of the abysmal state of American medical education and practice in the mid and late 1800's and those who, by the time the pandemic occurred, made the best of American medical practice the equal of any in the world.

The second was the governmental and institutional response to the rapid spread of the disease and deaths. Given that the cause was unknown (most thought it was a bacteria) and no cure was available (there still isn't), maybe we should cut the elected officials, medical establishment, print media, government officials some slack. However the repeated poor coordination among governmental agencies, failure to heed professional warnings, and willingness to lie to the public during a time of crisis cost many citizens their lives. Does this sound familiar? There was a war on then too.

Turns out historian John Barry lives in New Orleans (Tulane & Xavier Universities). Seems like instead of having to research trouble, this time trouble came looking for him. You can read more about and by Mr. Barry at the excellent History News Network web site.

That individuals act badly in times of crisis should not surprise us. Fear and ignorance are not pretty, a bad combination. And since mankind is constantly turning over we can't count on individual experience for much. But institutions are different. They were created to express the best of our collective knowledge and wisdom. They were created to pass knowledge across the generations. That the institutions we depend on can so easily fail, repeating the mistakes of the past - in 1918, 1927, as illustrated by Barry, and before our eyes in August 2005 - should be sobering for all of us.

Karen Hughes

Last March 14th, Condoleezza Rice, Secretary of State, announced that Karen Hughes, a former key Bush advisor, was to serve as Under Secretary of State, Public Diplomacy and Public Affairs - a position with the rank of Ambassador. She was nominated in June, confirmed by the Senate a month later, and sworn in three weeks ago.

Described by David Boaz of the Cato Institute in 2001 as "the Power Behind the Curtain," Mrs. Hughes had left Washington in 2002 to spend more time with her family in Texas. Now that her son has started Stanford, Mrs. Hughes is willing to spend more time away from home. She is currently in the Middle East, representing you and me, to the Muslim world. You see, her mission is to change the perception of foreigners - especially Muslims - about the United States. According to Ms. Rice, foreigners have been subjected to "hateful propaganda" and "dangerous myths" about our country. It will be Mrs. Hughes' job to counteract these myths and propaganda and "get out the truth." As the Washington Post put it, she is "to reinvigorate the campaign for hearts and minds overseas." I wish her lots of luck.

The selection of Mrs Hughes is remarkable less by the six months it took her to get on the job than by her almost complete lack of qualifications. Her offical State Department biography reads:

Ambassador Karen Hughes was nominated by President George W. Bush on June 29, 2005 to serve as Under Secretary of State for Public Diplomacy and Public Affairs. She was confirmed by the United States Senate on July 29, 2005 and sworn in on Sept. 9, 2005. As Under Secretary, Ms. Hughes leads efforts to improve America’s dialogue with the world. She participates in policy development and oversees three bureaus at the Department of State: Educational and Cultural Affairs, Public Affairs, and International Information Programs.

Ambassador Hughes previously served as an advisor to President Bush for more than 10 years. As Counselor to the President for his first 18 months in the White House, she was involved in major domestic and foreign policy issues, led the communications effort in the first year of the war against terror, and managed the White House Offices of Communications, Media Affairs, Speechwriting and Press Secretary.

She served as Director of Communications during the President’s 6 years as Governor of Texas, and was the communications director for his successful 1994 and 1998 gubernatorial campaigns and his 2000 presidential campaign.

Ambassador Hughes returned to Texas in 2002 but continued to serve as an informal advisor to the President and was a communications consultant for his 2004 re-election campaign. She is the author of Ten Minutes from Normal, the story of her experiences working for President Bush, and she helped write the President’s autobiography, A Charge to Keep.

Ambassador Hughes is a former Executive Director of the Republican Party of Texas and a former television news reporter for KXAS-TV, the NBC affiliate in Dallas/Fort Worth. Ms. Hughes is a Phi Beta Kappa and summa cum laude graduate of Southern Methodist University, where she earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in Journalism. She is an elder and long-time Sunday school teacher in the Presbyterian church.

While Mrs. Hughes may be a smart as the come, a trusted presidential advisor, and as good a person as a sunday school teacher can be, one is struck by her complete lack of training or experience dealing with foreign governments, institutions or individuals. I have more experience in foreign countries and with foreigners than she does.

Further, however talented at communications and public relations - spin, if you will - Mrs. Hughes will find that foreigners watch our country very closely, and have for a long time. They know much more about us than we them. They don't think they have a perception problem. They think they have a reality problem. And they are right.

Indeed her elevation to this post seems to shout that the Bush administration sees our problems overseas as more the resulting from the ignorance, gullibility or malevolence of foreigners than of anything we may have done to squander the almost universal support we had from the rest of the world after 9/11/01. I have a box of rocks in my garage - pea gravel actually - that is smarter than that. That attitude is just not going to win friends or influence people.

While irony seems to be everywhere these days, it seems almost beyond belief that in presenting Mrs. Hughes to the world as our "P.R. Ambassador" this administration can no better illustrates its belief that reality matters less than perception. Lincoln had a saying about that. And Ron Suskind the telling quote in his New York Times Magazine article, Without a Doubt, last October:

The aide said that guys like me were "in what we call the reality-based community," which he defined as people who "believe that solutions emerge from your judicious study of discernible reality." ... "That's not the way the world really works anymore," he continued. "We're an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality. And while you're studying that reality—judiciously, as you will—we'll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that's how things will sort out. We're history's actors . . . and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do."

If there is any silver lining in Mrs Hughes' efforts on our behalf it may be that she has the capability to learn despite the blinders and filters of neocom ideology. Confronting reality often enough abroad she just may return to the President's ear with the message that only changes in American policy, not changes in U.S. propaganda, will boost our image abroad. In other words, reality matters.

I am not holding my breath.

Pickles

I don't remember when my mother started making 14-day pickles. There seems to have always been jars in the basement waiting to ride back with me after every visit home.

Earlier this summer I noticed only a few remaining. I asked if she was going to make pickles again this year. She told me no; she said she was getting too old for all the time and work involved. I suppose at 86 she is old enough to decide such things, but I was a little taken back.

Upon returning home I discovered a copy of her pickle recipe she had typed for me many years ago. So I decided to rescue one of her crocks and make some of my own.

We'll see if these are as-good-as-mother-used-to-make, but I doubt it.

The Duhks

Last night, as Rita annoyed the Gulf Coast, my wife and I traveled to Charlotte and the Neighborhood Theatre to hear the Duhks (pronounced Ducks, not Dukes), a band of 20 somethings from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. I had heard them briefly - and at a distance - at Merlefest and thought they would be great in a small venue. I was right.

Those of you who know me realize that I am often most taken by music that is difficult to categorize, hard to stick a label on. The Duhks are right down my alley. In fact, when they were featured on NPR's All Things Considered last February the piece was titled: The Duhks, a Tough Band to Pigeonhole. As the "Live at NPR" piece began:

The Duhks defy easy categorization. Fans and acquaintances have used phrases like "Blue Rodeo meets Celtic rock," "progressive soulgrass" and "Destiny's Child meets the Chieftains" to describe the Canadian band.

After a couple of songs I leaned over and asked my wife - who has heard just about as much music as me - if she had ever heard anybody like them. "No," she said slowly, "I don't believe I have." Then she smiled. I guess we are both Duhklings now.

Here is a press kit photo from their web site. While it does do justice to their youth, it does not give a clue to their mature musicianship - or their new tattoos.

Opening the evening was the Kellin Watson Band from Asheville, one of my favorite places in the Universe. In fact Kellin must have attended UNCA about the same time as my daughter. Unlike my daughter, Kellin told our crowd that she did not graduate, preferring to seek her fortune as a musician. She may have made a good decision.

To my ear she sounds like a wonderful cross between Rickie Lee Jones and Joan Osborne. She writes much of her own material and her guitar is definitely not a singers prop. Like her friends the Duhks, Kellin is musically mature beyond her years.

Sitting in the darkened theatre I was once again reminded of the magic of live music. And I thought of all the great music being played at that moment at small clubs and converted movie houses like the Neighborhood - great music you don't hear on the radio and is often hard to find in stores.

And I also thought that not long ago it would have surprised - and maybe bothered - me that I would enjoy so much music played by "kids" half my age. Not anymore. As I was reminded again last night, it's the music that matters.

Next week it's the subdudes. Red beans and rice anyone?

Out of the Woods

As you may have surmised, I have been on the road again. After a quick visit to the Northern Neck on family business - and an overnighter at my mother's - I recovered my sailboat from the woods behind my wife's parents home near Blacksburg.

After sitting unprotected for about eight years, the 13-foot Lone Star is in better shape than she has any right to be. Two new tires and repacking wheel bearings and the rig was ready for the six-hour trip to its new quarters in our backyard.

I purchased the Eyleen about twenty years ago from an estate. The previous owner had sailed her in his retirement on a small lake near Asheville. Of course it had more damage than I realized at the time and she spent many rehab hours in my basement atop Mineral Springs Mountain.

I had been sailing only once before buying a sailboat of my own. That afternoon on the Chesapeake Bay was life altering. I had never been so relaxed and alert at the same time as the small craft responded to both wind and wave. Because I had been in and around small boats as far back as I could remember I was sure that my almost total lack of sailing experience was not going to be a problem.

Our peaceful maiden solo voyage ended abruptly on a #!@*!! sand bar in what appeared to be the middle of the channel near Morehead City in 1987. Damage to my "new and improved" centerboard assembly was considerable. After awkwardly tacking back to shore she has remained on her trailer ever since. Not wanting to take her with us immediately when we moved to Wisconsin, I parked her in the Virginia mountains in 1997 - out of sight, out of mind, at least until recently.

Will she sail again? Don't count the Eyleen out quite yet. Stranger things have happened.

Duck

This is the beach and U.S. Army Corps of Engineers' Field research pier at Duck, North Carolina this morning. The wind at that time was only about 25 knots (~29 mph) with 8 foot waves.

My mother has a timeshare condo about a quarter mile to your right. I have walked that beach many times over the years.

Several years ago using this same website I saw the end of the pier underwater as another hurricane approached.

Ophelia was still about 100 miles south.

Slow Dancing with Ophelia

If Ophelia spends anywhere near as much time over land as she has off our coast, we've got problems.

I think the color balance - the greens, the blues - between the last satellite image and the colors of this blog are a much better match than today's. Don't you agree Kevin?

Dancing With Ophelia

It looks like we in the Carolina's have a hurricane to call our own. Although not nearly as powerful as Katrina - or Hugo (see 9/2/05 post) - she could still do some damage.

While she makes up her mind about exactly where to go I think I'll consider about what to do if she visits here.

Dancing With Katrina

Media coverage has seemed fixated on the flooding of New Orleans and the poor governmental planning and disaster response. But east of the Big Easy is where the real death and distruction from the "natural" portion of this disaster took place.

Before the storm hit the Gulf Coast two young newspaper reporters, Josh Norman (right) and Mike Keller of the Sun-Herald, started a rather light-hearted blog, first called Dancing with Katrina, but now named Eye of the Storm. I stumbled across their blog early on Tuesday, August 30th, when the magnitude of what they had lived through was just beginning to sink in.

They have continued to post, both from the perspective of journalists and survivors. Reading forward from their first posts on that Sunday evening and carefully looking at their photos - like the one from Pass Christian above - is as close to being there as I would care.

Maynard G. Krebs

You may remember Gilligan; I remember Maynard, my first TV role model.

"WORK!?"

I was thirteen when Maynard introduced me to Dizzy Gillespie and Thelonious Monk. While the other seventh graders identified with Dobie, Thalia, Zelda, or Milton Armitage, my main man was always Maynard.

"You rang?"

Maynard was TV's first acknowledgment that things might be getting strange among the youth in the safe-as-milk 1950's. When The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis first aired in 1959 Maynard, as the stereotypical beatnik, was just a goofy oddball, a foil. Ten years later - think Woodstock - there were millions of us, Maynard's spiritual descendents.

"Like, I'm getting all misty."

I am sure somewhere in a closet at my mother's home are my bongos. Really.

R.I.P. Bob Denver. And thanks.

Rising Tide

Like you I have been watching with horror the second landfall and aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. The pictures of the devastation of the Gulf coast reminded me of that early morning of September 22nd, 1989 when another category 4 hurricane, Hugo, plowed inland toward my home in the mountains of North Carolina, snapping trees, closing roads and causing considerable damage to life and property. I was lucky; the worst for me was losing power for six days. As I traveled around North Carolina in the days and weeks following I saw first hand how much damage a major hurricane can do, even hundreds of miles from the ocean.

However, the damage along the Gulf Coast this week is much worse than I went through, and much more than a natural disaster; it is a very human one. I am not referring to the horror, misery and heartbreak of the victims. I am writing of the human decisions to build inappropriate structures in inappropriate places. I am writing of inadequate preparation and poor execution of emergency plans. I am writing about the private wealth and public poverty that turns unavoidable acts of nature into avoidable tragedies. I am writing about New Orleans.

As heart rending are the stories of Mobile, Slidell and Gulfport, the breaching of the levees around New Orleans and the slow covering of the city with floodwaters after the hurricane had passed has become the focus of our attention. Maybe it should. Few other cities provide a better example of poor city planning, with science and solid engineering taking a back seat to ignorance, greed, and the worst of U.S. politics.

In order to understand what is going on in the Big Easy now one must understand a little history, a history of the river and those who would "tame" it. I would recommend as a starter John M. Barry's 1997 book, Rising Tide: the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How it Changed America.

New Orleans itself was spared damage from the flood of 1927, caused not by a sudden hurricane but months of rainfall in the upper midwest. But nearby, down river St. Bernard and Plaquemines parishes were deliberately flooded by a levee breach carried out by the leading power brokers of New Orleans. As Mr. Barry tells the story in an interview found on the PBS web site:

You know, the 1927 Flood was two stories. It was man against nature, but it was also man against man. And part of the story in man against man involved the city of New Orleans, which in 1927 was a much more vibrant and vital city than it is today. It was, by far, the leading city in the South, economically dwarfed, literally double and triple Miami, Houston, Dallas, Nashville, Louisville, any of its rivals. And one of the things that the people in New Orleans who ran the city were concerned about was fear of their investors, who were mostly in New York and Boston, of what the Mississippi River might do to New Orleans in a big flood. So here, you had this tremendous flood coming down the river and, oddly enough, it didn't threaten New Orleans. And the reason it didn't threaten New Orleans was because there was no possible way that that water was ever going to make it to New Orleans. The levees upriver had to break. They had to, as, in fact, they did. For example, the river spread out 70 miles from Vicksburg to Monroe, Louisiana. But before that happened, while people in New York were worrying about whether or not they should put more money into New Orleans and invest in the port and so forth, the city fathers decided to demonstrate that they would never, under any circumstances, allow the river to threaten the city. So what they did was decide to dynamite the levee about 13 miles below the city and flood out their neighbors. Race had nothing to do with this. They were almost all poor whites who were flooded out.

INT: Describe what happens when levees break upriver.

JB: When the levees upriver break, it lets water out of the river. So, therefore, the level in the river gets lower. In fact, in every flood there's concerns about sabotage, 'cause if the levee on one side of the river breaks, that side floods, but the people on the other side of the river are safe. And, in fact, there were at least a dozen people killed in separate gun battles in 1927 over attempts to sabotage the levee. And, in fact, in Vicksburg, the record on the Vicksburg gauge is not 1927. The reason is the water had spread out to Monroe, Louisiana, 70 miles away. So, obviously, that's going to lower the water level.

INT: Tell me Jadwin's response and Hoover's response when they were asked to weigh in on the levy.

JB: Well, before the City of New Orleans could do this, they needed permission. And they needed it from both the governor and the federal government. Hoover was then Secretary of Commerce. He and Jadwin (Corps of Engineers) were actually coming down the river on an inspection boat and one of the New Orleans elite took a motorboat up the river to meet on board. And Hoover and Jadwin greeted this New Orleans delegation warmly and as soon as the people from New Orleans started to explain what they wanted, Hoover stood up and walked out. He wanted no part of it. He was already running for President and this was too dirty for him. He simply said, “That's General Jadwin's business,” ‘cause Jadwin had the legal authority. And Jadwin finally went along only if New Orleans promised to, among other things, fully compensate the victims of the dynamiting, which they freely promised. And, in fact, 54 leading men of New Orleans, the president of every major business, the president of every trade association, the city council, the mayor, and so forth, they all signed a pledge that they would, in fact, compensate the victims fully. A couple years later when the claims came in, they'd paid off pennies on the dollar and there were roughly 10,000 who were flooded out of their homes. When the water went through, there was absolutely nothing left. And their homes were gone, their means of making a living disappeared, and they got an average of $80 a person, something like that.

There is much more to the 1927 flood, and Rising Tide, than this incident. After reading the book one understands much better just how New Orleans became ringed with levees and one gets a feeling what needs to be done to keep such a disaster from happening again.

I could not help but remember the crime of those city fathers against their neighbors as I watched the waters rise this week on Canal Street. Maybe what is playing out today on the streets of New Orleans is a crude cosmic payback to the city, albeit a bit late. Sadly, once again, the poor are paying a disproportional costs of folly.

THE WEEK

Shortly after lamenting on this blog of the sad state of U.S. weekly news magazines I received a promo letter for a magazine I had never heard of, The Week. It sounded interesting and seemed cheap. So I sent in the subscription card and waited. In short order I received my first copy.

Turns out The Week was first published in England less than ten years ago; the U.S. version is not quite five. In layout and tone it reminds me of the Economist. I suspect that is not an accident.

From their web site here is part of the Editor's letter introducing the U.S. edition:

Every week, our staff will scour more than 100 newspapers, magazines, and Web sites. We’ll distill into 40 pithy pages the best of what we find—the most important news, the most provocative commentary, the freshest ideas. In clear, concise writing, The Week will update you on the key controversies in government and politics. We’ll brief you on news and comment from the rest of the globe. We’ll highlight the most interesting stories from health, science, and business. We’ll tell you what the critics are saying about the latest in films, TV, theater, and the arts. To spice the stew, we’ll stir in some gossip and some fun. You’ll not only know what happened. You’ll know what the best minds are saying—conservative and liberal, independent and partisan, thoughtful and passionate. Our only agenda: To make reading The Week one of the most informative—and entertaining—experiences of your week.

I believe they have succeeded. I doubt I will ever feel the need to subscribe to Time or Newsweek again.

Jim Dorsett, 1929-2005

From the Roanoke Times, August 17, 2005

Long-time Christiansburg resident James H. Dorsett, died on August 14, 2005 after an extended illness. Jim, as he was known to family and friends, had three careers as minister, professor and publisher. Throughout his life Jim was committed to issues of social justice and social and community activism.

He is survived by two daughters, Meghan Helen Dorsett and Carol Lindstrom of Christiansburg; sister and brother-in-law, Jean and Robert Dodds of Amboy, Washington; sisters-in-law, Lois Dorsett of Wichita, Kansas, Cora Thiebaud of Covington, Washington, Peg Dorsett of San Francisco; stepsons, Frank and Robert White of North Carolina; and numerous nieces and nephews. Jim's family and friends will remember him fondly as a man who loved to read, to surf the internet, to tell stories, and to laugh.

Born September 24, 1929 in Jefferson City, Missouri and raised in Coalstrip, Montana, Jim received a BA in English from Wichita City College (now Wichita State University) in 1951. He married his college sweetheart, B. Helen Bennett, in 1953. The two shared a passion for railroad modeling, music and politics. Jim attended McCormick Seminary in Chicago and earned a bachelors degree in divinity in 1954. For the next several years Jim served as a minister and mediator for the Board of Missions to rural communities in Montana and Missouri. Jim had churches in Lewistown, Hilger, Whiplash, and Roy, Montana, and Otterville and Tipton, Missouri.

In 1963 the couple moved to Columbia, Missouri so that Jim could return to school; he received a masters and doctorate in sociology from the University of Missouri in 1969. Jim taught at Virginia Tech from 1969 until 1976, focusing on rural sociology and poverty, social theory, religion, and the history of social thought. Many of Jim's students remained in contact with him and continued to be inspired in their own careers and lives by his teaching and his example.

In 1976 Jim left the academy to form Dorsett Publications, an outgrowth of Jim and Helen's interest in scale modeling. In 1963 Jim and Helen had founded Dorsett Miniatures; in 1964, they published the first Cabinetmaker's Guide to Dollhouse Furniture, and in 1976 began publishing The Scale Cabinetmaker, which was published for twenty-two years, until Jim's retirement. Jim and Helen bought the Christiansburg Depot in 1983; their painstaking renovations allowed the Depot to be placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1986. They subsequently renovated the Lee Building in 1988 and opened the Cambria Emporium the next year.

In 1990, shortly after completion of these projects, Helen began a fierce struggle with cancer and died in August. Jim continued to publish TSC with the help of his daughter Meghan. In 1993 Jim's life was enriched when he married Mary Marye White. In 1996 Jim retired from Dorsett Publications and ceased publication of TSC; Jim and Mary enjoyed several more years together before her death in 2000.

Jim continued active in community affairs. He served on the board of directors of the New River Valley AIDS Coalition, was active in starting a local chapter of Habitat for Humanity, chaired the witness committee of the Christiansburg Presbyterian Church, and was a long-time member of the Democratic Party. Throughout his life, Jim was committed to anti-poverty and anti-war programs and to working for civil rights, including gay/lesbian rights.

A memorial service will be held at four o'clock Friday at the Christiansburg Presbyterian Church; a celebration of Jim's life will begin at 5:30 at the Christiansburg Depot. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that contributions be sent to Habitat for Humanity or Blue Ridge Public Television or that those interested in honoring Jim's memory devote five hours of their time to a community project of their choice. Online condolences may be sent by visiting www.hornefuneral service.com.

Road Trip Report

As my lack of posts might have indicated, I have been on the road. On the past two week-ends I have attended two reunions - the 76th Edwards family reunion at the King William Court House Sunday before last and the 30-year reunion of the Class of 1975 of King William High School last Saturday. Their senior year was my first as Assistant Principal at KWHS.

In between I managed to do some research - did I ever mention that I am writing a book or two? - at libraries at UVA, the College of William and Mary, the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, and the Virginia Historical Society. I also worked in a visit with my old friend John, my new friend Layla, and said goodbye to the family friend and minister who officiated at my wedding ten years ago. We will miss Jim Dorsett. Good man.

I also had two short visits with my mother, one also with my daughter, and spent some spare time preparing for my fantasy football draft, which was held last night.

Other than that I have not been up to much.

Oh, I managed to pick up a cold/sinus infection/whatever that manifested itself for the first time last night. Tomorrow I travel to Fayetteville to have new rotors mounted on front wheels of my car.

When I return Analog Man might have the energy to give one - or some - of these events the attention they deserve on these pages. Or he may not.

Cancer

Because my father died almost 25 years ago from an especially preventable form of cancer, melanoma, I have become especially sensitive to the sound of that word, cancer. Unfortunately, since then my extended family has had additional reasons to loath the word. Recently cancer has hit even closer to home.

While cancer has always been with us, cancer rates seem to be increasing. As best as we can tell, many cancers are dependent on lifestyles and environmental factors. In simple language, they are the result of choices we have individually made or situations we have created for others. We are doing it to ourselves. As disturbing as that may sound, this is actually good news because that means WE CAN DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!

My daughter - as usual - has a few suggestions.

Belief v. Values

This spring National Public Radio (NPR) began airing a series of radio essays - personal statements from listeners - Mondays on Morning Edition and All Things Considered under the title This I Believe. Based on a 1950's radio program created and hosted by Edward R. Murrow, the program sought, in Mr. Murrow's words, "to point to the common meeting grounds of belief, which is the essence of brotherhood and the floor of our civilization." As he described it in 1951,

In this brief space, a banker or a butcher, a painter or a social worker... will write about the rules they live by, the things they have found to be the basic values in their lives.

According to the This I Believe web site,

Each day, millions of Americans gathered by their radios to hear compelling essays from the likes of Eleanor Roosevelt, Jackie Robinson, Helen Keller and Harry Truman as well as corporate leaders, cab drivers, scientists and secretaries -- anyone able to distill into a few minutes the guiding principles by which they lived. Their words brought comfort and inspiration to a country worried about the Cold War, McCarthyism and racial division.

Revived by a group of veteran radio producers led by Dan Gediman and Jay Allison, Mr. Murrow's idea of looking for "common meeting grounds" has been expanded. Again from the This I Believe web site,

In reviving This I Believe, Allison and Gediman say their goal is not to persuade Americans to agree on the same beliefs. Rather, they hope to encourage people to begin the much more difficult task of developing respect for beliefs different from their own.

Notwithstanding the difficulty of balancing looking for "common ground" and "respecting differences," the series is well done, interesting and thought provoking. The title is also misleading.

Those of you who have known me over the years must realize how difficult it is for me to write anything negative about NPR or its programming. I am an NPR junkie. All of the presets on my car radio are to public radio stations. I am a long time listener, about 30 years worth. But This I Believe has it wrong. Worse, the problem started with Ed Murrow, the patron saint of radio journalism.

The common themes within these radio essays are generally values, not beliefs. Values and beliefs are not the same thing. Granted, these words are often (mis)used interchangeably. But there is a reason these different words exist. They mean different things.

From Websters, 1913 edition,

Believe - To exercise belief in; to credit upon the authority or testimony of another; to be persuaded of the truth of, upon evidence furnished by reasons, arguments, and deductions of the mind, or by circumstances other than personal knowledge; to regard or accept as true; to place confidence in; to think; to consider; as, to believe a person, a statement, or a doctrine.

Further, when we explore the usages of Belief we find,

Belief -

1. Assent to a proposition or affirmation, or the acceptance of a fact, opinion, or assertion as real or true, without immediate personal knowledge; reliance upon word or testimony; partial or full assurance without positive knowledge or absolute certainty; persuasion; conviction; confidence; as, belief of a witness; the belief of our senses. Belief admits of all degrees, from the slightest suspicion to the fullest assurance. Reid.

2. (Theol.) A persuasion of the truths of religion; faith. No man can attain [to] belief by the bare contemplation of heaven and earth. Hooker.

3. The thing believed; the object of belief. Superstitious prophecies are not only the belief of fools, but the talk sometimes of wise men. Bacon.

4. A tenet, or the body of tenets, held by the advocates of any class of views; doctrine; creed. In the heat of persecution to which Christian belief was subject upon its first promulgation. Hooker.

Here we see the strong connection between belief and faith, and between faith and religion. We also see the distinction between belief and knowledge, especially personal knowledge gained through the senses. Belief is, in essence, a necessary "best guess" as to the nature of things about which we have little or no personal knowledge. It helps us through the day, gets us through the night. Personally I strive daily to increase the number of things I know while proportionally decreasing the number of things I believe. But I know others have different values.

Values, withing this context, are generally principles, standards or qualities considered worthwhile or desirable by the person who holds them. Further, values are frequently described as a basis of behavior, the foundation of choices made by individuals or groups. Values, like beliefs, may be shared and passed from generation to generation, formally or informally. These guiding principles may indeed grow out of a belief or system of beliefs. Or they may spring from life's personal experiences, the retelling of which making good radio. Or a combination of the two.

Both values and beliefs have their place in the world and may be related; but they are not the same. Murrow knew this in 1951, writing in the quote above of "the rules they live by, the things they have found to be the basic values in their lives." (emphasis added) But he selected This I Believe as the program's name. I suppose his Bible-belt roots made it easier to choose the more rhetorically powerful title over one more accurate.

Am I making too much of this? Probably. Is the distinction I am trying to make important enough to change your radio listen habits? Of course not. This I Believe is a wonderful series. It is worthy of your time. Unfortunately the title invites muddy thinking caused by poor use of language. In that it is far from alone, nor the worst offender. With words like beliefs, values, and faith being applied once again into our political discourse - like dry rub on ribs in Memphis - I am getting more than a little sensitive to the misuse of our language, deliberate or not. More on that topic later.

My Favorite Blogs, An Update

Several blogs, and bloggers, I enjoy deserve special note.

Chris at Locust Street has completed his series on the Seven Deadly Sins. They are wonderful reads, certainly better than any musings I would have.

Sue's nycdilettante continues to add interersting content and features. This site is starting to look crude by comparison.

And Jesse of Travels with Maureen, Jesse and Abby, along with other members of his family, has started a "blogazine" (sorry Jesse). It is truly wonderful, an example of this new electronic medium at its best. I invite you to join me from time to time visiting at butternoparsnips.

FloydFest 2005 Report

That Canadian cold front sliding south seemed to stall over the Blue Ridge Parkway. The result last weekend was three days of music, a gathering of the tribe, and rain.

But one does not go to FloydFest unprepared, nor let a little rain spoil the fun. Frowns and grumpiness were in short supply as the music carried on through the fog (clouds actually) and sprinkles. Our Base Camp was home to my wife and I, and my wife's sister's ex-husband, their daughter and granddaughter. We had a very good time.

The high point for me was the "family style" gathering late Saturday night at Camp Stillwater, located just a few yards from our base camp. Todd Shaeffer performed solo for about an hour under a large tent, the hub of activity for a contingent of Todd’s (and RRE’s) friends and extended family from New Jersey. As if one needed further proof of the magic of live music performed with skill and feeling, it was under that tent Saturday night. Many thanks to the Stillwater gang for the invitation.

I thought Railroad Earth played especially well, both on the Main Stage Friday night and under the dance tent Saturday afternoon. Certainly the crowd Saturday was about twice the size as last year, the first time I heard the band.

Music has been a large part of my life for over fifty years now. Part of what has sustained my interest has been the ability of musicians from time to time to create something new out of the traditional. Railroad Earth seems to do that, at least to my ears. Skilled musicians individually, together these guys are doing something greater than their sum of their parts.

Here are some photos from the weekend.




Base Camp








RRE, Friday Night, Main Stage






RRE, Saturday Afternoon, Dance Tent







FloydFest, Promenade










Winner, Best Camper

FloydFest 2005

We are heading to the Virginia mountains to meet a welcome Canadian cold front, three days of music and a gathering of the tribe.

Railroad Earth will be there again, as will Donna the Buffalo. (Acoustic) Hot Tuna (Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Casady) will be new this year, along with the usual assortment of bluegrass, folk, cajun, african, and generally whatever music.

It is not too late to join us at the drum circle or meet us in the dance tent.

The Economist

Several posts back, my June 21st "Giving Us the Business," I wrote that

...both Time and Newsweek have degenerated to the point where I am not sure whether I am reading a serious news magazine or a tabloid aimed at Wal-Mart checkout lanes.

I meant that, but more in sorrow than anger. A simple side-by-side examination of current issues and ones from thirty years ago would be a good starting point to document the decline. If one throws in the persistently right-wing "U.S. News and World Report," a publication that has always remind me of ink and paper looking for an excuse to be a magazine, American weekly news magazines are in sorry shape.

Please allow me to suggest an alternative, The Economist. Published around the world but still very true to its roots, the Economist is British. From its excellent website the publication's roots are exposed:

Established in 1843 to campaign on one of the great political issues of the day, The Economist remains, in the second half of its second century, true to the principles of its founder. James Wilson, a hat maker from the small Scottish town of Hawick, believed in free trade, internationalism and minimum interference by government, especially in the affairs of the market. Though the protectionist Corn Laws which inspired Wilson to start The Economist were repealed in 1846, the newspaper has lived on, never abandoning its commitment to the classical 19th-century Liberal ideas of its founder.

Yes, I probably have of issues with their point-of-view, their politics. But their reporting is first rate, as comprehensive and fair as can be found in the English language.

The Economist is not inexpensive; advertisements are minimal and seldom intrude. The type is small and they expect effort on the part of their readers. When they don't like something they are very straightforward. They don't pander, especially to a U.S. audience. They cover world news; they are seriously comprehensive. It is a refreshing read.

Of special note are the illustrations which frequently express an often bizarre British sense of humor that counterbalances the relatively dry, businesslike prose.

But my favorite section of each edition is the Obituary. Always one to an issue, these full-page send-offs frequently note those that Time and Newsweek ignore or only briefly mention. For example, The July 9-15 issue featured Jack Kilby, co-inventor of the intregrated circuit. He shared the Nobel Prize for Physics in 2000. Never heard of him? He helped transform how you live. Maybe you need a different news magazine.

Others recently highlighted deaths included Lillian Lux, star of the Yiddish theatre, Adolfo Aguilar Zinser, an "outspoken" Mexican diplomat, Hamilton Naki, an unrecognised surgical pioneer (He was black and South African), Albert (“Smiler”) Marshall, aged 108, the last British cavalryman of the first world war, and Bob Hunter, one of the founders of Greenpeace. They published a photo of Bob in his early years with a sign stuck to his shirt that said "Fuck Off." I can't imagine Time or Newsweek doing that.

But my favorite recent obit was that of Maurice Hilleman, a pioneer of preventive medicine, who died on April 11th, aged 85. The obit said that

Mr Hilleman developed some 40 vaccines, among them for measles, hepatitis A and B, chickenpox, meningitis and pneumonia. He developed the one-shot vaccine that can prevent several diseases, such as MMR (measles, mumps and rubella). When in 1988 President Reagan presented him with the National Medal of Science, America's highest scientific honour, it was said that he had saved more lives than any other scientist in the 20th century. His peers said that he had done more for preventive medicine than anyone since Louis Pasteur.

I had never heard of him. Without The Economist I doubt I would have. Thank you Mr. Hilleman; job well done.

Why I Love/Hate Golf

This past week I decided to hit a small bucket a practice balls at a driving range on my way north to visit my mother. For the purpose I took five clubs out my bag - PW, 8, 6, 4, & 3-wood - and put them in the back seat of my car. I also took my golf shoes. Thus armed I arrived in the early afternoon Wednesday and proceeded to hit the ball as poorly as anytime in my life this side of the age of twelve. I was awful. I started looking around to see if anyone was watching. It was embarrassing.

I did not really expect to hit the ball well. All I wanted to do was to get a bit back in the groove having not touched a club in about eight months. But there was no groove to be found. I hit them thin and fat, high and low, left and right. One eight-iron looked suspiciously like a sh_ _k. It was as if my mind and body were paying no attention to each other. When I slinked back to my car I considered that it had finally happen, I had completely lost my golf mojo, and it was not coming back.

On my return trip I again passed that driving range. Impulsively I decided that I had not had my fair share of self-abuse. So I turned around and paid another six dollars for a small bucket of balls.

This time from the first shot I knew something was different. As I proceeded all the shots were solid. My eight-iron was flying about 160 yards, high and straight. The six-iron was longer. The four-iron flew like I was hitting my driver. Spooked, I stopped after about half a bucket and sat down. What was different? I had made a small adjustment in my stance based on something I saw in Tiger Woods' set-up at the British Open. Was that it? There was only one way to test that idea, go back to the stance I used three days earlier.

But I didn't. Veterans don't tempt the golf gods. I returned to finish off that bucket, almost every shot as well struck as I can manage.

As I walked back to my car I could be heard saying, "What the hell was that all about?"

Tomatoes

Last spring as I was setting out my tomato plants, our neighbor, Mrs. Sims, told me that the previous year the neighborhood squirrels had pulled all her tomatoes off their vines, ruining her crop. After living in her house for over 50 years she had "never seen anything like it."

Warned, I planted many more plants than really necessary thinking I would just produce more tomatoes than the squirrels would care to eat. I was wrong. They took almost all of them. From about 20 vines I think I beat the squirrels to about three tomatoes.

Meanwhile Mrs. Sims' nephews surprised her one week-end with the homemake cage pictured above. As a result her three plants produced enough for her to give me some of her extras. I vowed this year would be different.

This spring I completed a cage of my own, 16 feet long, 8 feet wide, and 7 feet high. Tim "The Toolman" Taylor would be proud. As I planted late, my tomatoes are just coming in. So far the squirrels have not figured out how to get in.

The tomatoes sure taste good, almost as good as outsmarting those little punks. I snapped a picture of them trying to figure out what to do next.


Post Script - Wednesday, July 20th, 10:39 A.M.

DAMN BIRDS !!

Bellyfish

My daughter has launched version 2.0 of her blog, now named Bellyfish.

As she started off with a photo of me from years past, I decided to follow suit.

Introducing the Divine Miss M (sorry Bette) practicing keeping one hand on the wheel. Her gestures have become more mature.

No, this will not lead to dueling photos. She must remember I still have the Wonder Woman photo.

OBX

After attending a family wedding and a relaxing week on the coast of North Carolina, we are back home. Life is good.

Now back to what passes for normal around here.

It Had to Happen

I am not sure which is more amazing, that it plays music or that it contains - at present - about 150 songs.

I supposed that now that I have an iPod they are no longer cool. TS.