The Last Decade Started Badly

by Pa Rock

It was late on New Year's Eve in the final hours of 2009 when the telephone call brought the shocking news.

My sister and I had buried our father earlier that week, and we were both spending the night in his large house trying to figure out what to do with all of the stuff that he had accumulated over his long life. Our kids had all been in town for the funeral service, and by this time most had either gotten back to their homes or were on their way.

When the telephone rang, Gail had already gone upstairs to bed.  My sister's oldest daughter, Heidi, was on the phone with the horrific news the her father (my sister's ex-husband of many years), Bob Smith, had just been killed in a car wreck in rural Texas along with his cousin,Bobby Jack Short, and that the family's youngest son, Reed (age 23) had been life-flighted to Amarillo where he was headed into a very critical surgery.   Reed's girlfriend, Jamie (who later became his wife), was also in the car and had suffered less serious injuries.  She was providing Heidi (a medical doctor) with updates by phone.

Bob and his cousin were driving the young couple back to their homes in Las Vegas after my father's funeral.

It was a long night of medical updates and frantic calls to airlines trying to arrange quick flights to Amarillo, but not long after sunrise on New Year's day, 2010, several of us were already on the ground in Texas and heading toward the hospital.  Reed had survived surgery and was lying deep in a coma.  He would remain that way for a prolonged time, and it was several weeks later before he was finally well enough to leave.

During the time that Reed was in Amarillo, the hospital halls were crowded with relatives, friends from high school, friends from college, and even his boss from Vegas.  His mother, Gail, never left his side, and Doctor Heidi was also constantly at his bedside.  Reed's siblings, Tiffany and Justin, flew back to Missouri and laid their father to rest, but they were soon back in Texas waiting patiently for their brother to regain consciousness.

And we waited, and waited, and it was the absolute scariest time that most of us had ever experienced.

But Reed, always a fighter, pulled through.

Now he and Jamie both teach in northwest Arkansas.  Reed coaches a junior high girls' basketball team and this past weekend they won a holiday tournament - and the coach was ecstatic - just as so many of us were when he finally woke up in that Amarillo hospital!

We love you, Reed!

(Note:  All of my postings from that awful time are available in the archives of this blog.)

Monday's Poetry: "Same Old Lang Syne"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve and Wednesday will officially usher in a new decade:  the 2020's!

The song "Auld Lang Syne" is traditionally associated with New Year's, and is often played and sung at the stroke of midnight as the year changes.   The song is rooted somewhere in the mists of history, but famed Scottish poet Robert Burns is generally credited with its preservation for modern times.  He sent a handwritten copy of a transcription to the Scots Musical Museum in the late 1700's along with this note:  "The following song, an old song, of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor ever in manuscript until I took it down from an old man."

And the familiar words were preserved:

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne."

Burns fleshed out the words and is generally celebrated as the poet who wrote it, a song that has become synonymous with New Year's in the modern world.

The late Dan Fogelberg was another poet whose works were often presented in song.  Fogelberg wrote a song which captured the spirit of old acquaintances reuniting, albeit briefly.   His  "Same Old Lang Syne" (sometimes referred to as "Another Auld Lang Syne") has a dreamy quality as it presents a longing for times gone by.   The song centers on the accidental meeting of a couple who had been lovers many years before - and looks at the bittersweet nature of their lives as they drink beer and reminisce in a parked car late at night.  It's a touching piece of work that folds in nicely with the folk song that Robert Burns preserved from prehistory.


Same Old Lang Syne
by Dan Fogelberg

Met my old lover in the grocery store
The snow was falling Christmas Eve
I stood behind her in the frozen foods
And I touched her on the sleeve

She didn't recognize the face at first
But then her eyes flew open wide
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse
And we laughed until we cried

We took her groceries to the check out stand
The food was totaled up and bagged
We stood there lost in our embarrassment
As the conversation lagged

We went to have ourselves a drink or two
But couldn't find an open bar
We bought a six-pack at the liquor store
And we drank it in her car

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
We tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how

She said she's married her an architect
Who kept her warm and safe and dry
She would have liked to say she loved the man
But she didn't like to lie

I said the years had been a friend to her
And that her eyes were still as blue
But in those eyes I wasn't sure if I saw
Doubt or gratitude

She said she saw me in the record stores
And that I must be doing well
I said the audience was heavenly
But the traveling was Hell

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
We tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to time
Reliving, in our eloquence
Another "Auld Lang Syne"

The beer was empty and our tongues were tired
And running out of things to say
She gave a kiss to me as I got out
And I watched her drive away

Just for a moment I was back at school
And felt that old familiar pain
And, as I turned to make my way back home
The snow turned into rain

Blood and Guts, Ozarks' Style

by Pa Rock
Dead Deer Dodger

Rosie and I are home after a four-hour drive along some of the backroads (and busy highways) of northern Arkansas.  The most iconic images of the drive were the dead deer lying next to the roadways - and the flocks of turkey vultures that would rise into the air each time a car would pass.   I have lived out in the woods of southern Missouri for five years now and have yet to hit a deer, but some of my neighbors have smashed into several.  In fact, I think a big part of the carnage is intentional because it seems to be used for bragging rights:

"I've hit four deer this year,"  Bubba brags.  "Oh yeah," Clem strikes back, "I had that many before Labor Day.  I'm up to seven now!"

My only boast is that two which were hit on the road close to where I live crawled up onto my land to die.

Also, the local newspaper is just now catching up in publishing all of the photos of hunters with the dead deer that they "harvested" in last month's hunting harvesting season.  Many of those "sportsmen" were children.

Deer blood and guts, on the highways and in the newspapers.  Red is fast becoming our most prominent fall and winter color.  Welcome to my world!

The Black Squirrel of Gamaliel

by Pa Rock
Road Warrior

Rosie and I have been in the car most of the day.  Late afternoon finds us in Fayetteville, Arkansas, as my sister's place, and we will soon be  out and  about visiting her grown children and their families.

It was a long drive across the Arkansas backroads this morning.  The only thing of interest that we came across, aside from the White Power advertising along the road near Harrison, Arkansas, was a black squirrel which ran out in front of our car on the highway as we passed through the tiny village of Gamaliel (pronounced "gah-mail-yah"), Arkansas.  Fortunately, it got out of the road safely.  I have never seen a black squirrel before and assume they (if there are more than one) are a rarity.

(I sincerely hope that Trump's idiot adult sons and Jimmy John the sandwich king don't hear about the black squirrel of Gamaliel!  The little cuss deserves a fighting chance!)

The little town of Marionville, Missouri, is famous for white (albino) squirrels and even has a big billboard on the highway advertising their natural oddity.   Supposedly a colony white squirrels live in a small patch of woods just off of the highway.  I think "Ripley's Believe It or Not" gave them a mention at one time.  I guess if nature can produce white squirrels, she can probably create black one's, too.

Headed home early in the morning.

Happy trails!

Dinner or Supper?

by Pa Rock
Human Garbage Disposal

In my continuing effort to write less about you-know-who and his Nazi infestation of OUR White House, I am continually searching for other topics to explore in this blog.  Some days I happen across something that captures my interest, but many days I am forced back into the dung heap of this unpresidential administration to dig through their refuse.  Today there was something in my email in-box that triggered some thoughts and memories - so I can leave the Big Orange Menace to his own self-mockery for the time-being.

I subscribe to a couple of dictionary websites which provide a word of the day.  Both sites, MerriamWebster.com and Dictionary.com also sponsor vocabulary quizzes and send out the occasional newsletter dealing with words and their usage.  Today Dictionary.com sent around an item which explored the backgrounds and usages two words which are often used - in various parts of the country - to refer to the evening meal.  The article was entitled:  "Supper versus Dinner."

After identifying the origins of the words, the folks at Dictionary.com said basically that dinner has seen more traditional use to describe the midday meal, and supper is a more common reference to the evening meal.  And I felt extremely validated because that is the way we talked out in the country where I grew up.  The meals of my youth were breakfast, dinner, and supper.  It wasn't until I "grew up" and moved off to the city to attend college that I was gradually corrupted into labeling those same three meals breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I had a basic speech correction course in college which trailed off into dialects and even addressed where certain words were most likely to be heard in which parts of the country.  "Pail" versus "bucket" and that sort of thing.  I remember meal names being discussed there with the instructor saying that breakfast, dinner, and supper were more common in rural areas where closer ties were likely to have been maintained with Old World English.

I also remember hearing about daily routines on my grandparents' small farm during the depression.  Everyone was up before daylight for a big farm breakfast, and then the men hit the fields for a full morning of very hard labor.  While they were working to keep the farm functioning and sustainable, the women were in the house cleaning up after breakfast and preparing a big noonday meal, one which they called dinner.  Dinner was, in fact, the main meal of the day.  The men would come in, eat hearty, and then head back outdoors to continue their physical labor in the sun, or rain, or even snow.  After dinner the women would set the food aside - much of which would be saved for another round at supper - and then they would go outside and tend to gardens and gather eggs - or stay indoors to clean or sew.  Everyone was busy all day long.

And the biggest meal of the week was Sunday dinner - again just after noon as families were returning from church.  Much of the food had been prepared before they headed out to church in the mornings, and the big gathering at the Sunday dinner table was a continuation of the church experience - sometimes with other relatives, friends, and even the preacher and his family dropping in to share in the meal.

And now, as noon rapidly approaches, this weary typist will set blogging aside and concentrate on what to fix for dinner!

Crazy Weather or Climate Change?

by Pa Rock
Farmer in Winter

When I was a child in elementary school, I remember two Thanksgivings in a row when we had snow in southern Missouri - really big snows.  And as a young school teacher in a rural school district in southern Missouri forty years ago, I remember long stretches of "snow days" every winter, breaks so long that we actually got tired of staying home and missing work.

That was then, and the times have definitely changed.  I have lived at my current home over five years.  I arrived in March of 2014 and had to scrape ice off of the porch before I could begin unloading the car.  But since that time we have had almost no icy or snowy weather - over a five year span!

Today as I type I am also watching a wasp that dropped out of the curtain and landed on the window sill.  He is a bit lethargic, but he is moving around.  My heater isn't on this morning, yet Mr. Wasp decided that it was time to end his winter's hibernation - or whatever it is that wasps do when they disappear during the cold months.

A couple of weeks ago I stepped outside before daylight one morning and got a strong whiff of a skunk.  I'm not sure what skunks traditionally do in the winter, but they usually are not out and about.  A friend said that he had seen a snake a few days ago.  Snakes, cold-blooded creatures, curl up in a hole and basic freeze for the winter, and if they are beginning to thaw, well that's just almost scary - Stephen King scary!

But that's the issue - we aren't having cold months, at least like those glorious cold and snowy months of my wayward youth.  Yesterday was Christmas and the temperature outside was seventy degrees Fahrenheit.    Seventy degrees - and sunny!  That's warm enough to thaw a snake!  At that rate the trees will begin budding any day now, and I'm surprised that the spring bulbs aren't already peeking up through the ground.

The old men sitting around the big table in the coffee shop may give Mother Nature or God credit for the "good" weather - or more likely Trump, but those of us who don't get our news from Fox are more inclined to see this as a man-made weather crisis, one that will likely have devastating effects on mankind.

Thats kind of talk that would get a person hooted out of the coffee shop.

Ten Years Ago on this Day

by Rocky Macy

Garland Eugene Macy
19 October 1924 - 25 December 2009

My father passed away ten years ago last night - in the wee hours of Christmas morning.  He was eighty-five-years-old at the time of his death and had lived a very full life.  Dad was born in rural Newton County, Missouri, to an alcoholic father who posed as a farmer and made a scratch living from milking a few cows, and a mother who was physically abused by her husband while trying to raise four children in Depression Era America.

My father went to a rural school in Newton County.  It was called Westview and it still serves as a school today.  Dad was smart, so smart in fact that his teachers promoted him from first to third grade. an act that caused some animosity among his friends.  After he "graduated" from Westview at the end of eighth grade, he moved to Neosho and lived with his Aunt Pearl Lowe and her family while he completed Neosho High School.   He graduated in 1942 and joined the Army Air Corps at Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis soon after.

Dad was the second oldest, and both he and his older brother Wayne saw service overseas in World War II.  They once, in fact, were able to meet up briefly in Wales during the war.  Several of their cousins were also in the war and served in various parts of the world.  Cousin Lee Macy fought in Africa.  Dad made staff sergeant while in Europe, and was involved in maintaining the gun sights in military fighter planes.  Many of his cousins called him "Sarge" after the war because he was the only one of the Macy clan to achieve that rank.

My father was wounded in a training exercise in January of 1945 in France and received the Purple Heart.

(My father's best friend in the military was a fellow named Joe Spake from Memphis, Tennessee.  Today I maintain occasional contact with Joe's kids.)

After the war Dad turned his attention to making money.  Like so many kids who grew up in the Great Depression, he saw money as the true measure of success.   He and his cousin, Dalton Macy, were both driving cabs in Neosho, Missouri, trying to make their grubstakes right after the war when they met a couple of the Sreaves girls from Seneca.  Dad wound up marrying Ruby "Florine," who would become my mother, and Dalton married Florine's younger sister, Betty Lou.

My father and mother bought into a small grocery store in Neosho while Dad continued to bring in a paycheck by working at Pet Milk.  Later, after my sister Gail was born we moved a few miles south to Goodman, Missouri.  Dad worked an evening shift at Pet, and some of my earliest memories are of sitting up late with my mother and listening to radio programs while we waited on him to get home from work.  I'm not absolutely certain of this, but I suspect that my mother worked part-time for her sister and brother-in-law, Christine and Bob Dobbs, who ran the Linwood Cafe on 71 Highway at Goodman.

About the time I started school at Goodman, my parents had saved enough money to go into business with the Dobbs.  The two couples built a new cafe and station on the highway across from the Linwood Corner where the old cafe was located.  The Dobbs' family had a home behind the new enterprise, and the Macys' built a new home on the adjoining lot.   I remember while all of that was going on that one of the girls in my first grade class told me that I was rich - an image that my father took pride in cultivating.

But while we always had food on the table, we were far from rich.

When I was ten and just leaving fourth grade, my parents sold their share of the business on the highway to the Dobbs' family, and we moved further south to Noel, Missouri, where my folks bought an eight-unit tourist court on the beautiful Elk River.   The six years that we spent running Riverview Court were some of the best of my life.   We all worked hard, but there was also plenty of boating, swimming, and fishing - and we made friends with regulars from around the Midwest who came to say with us year after year.

After taking over the court and teaching the rest of us to run it, my Dad went into the town of Noel and found a business to lease - A DX gas station. A few years later, after they sold the tourist court on the river - at a nice profit, I suspect - my parents bought a building on Main Street and opened an appliance store there.  Dad and my mother ran that for several years, and she also managed to get a cosmetology license and work part-time at a local beauty shop.

As the years wore on and Walmart began driving small town merchants out of business, Dad was able to sell his store and enter other pursuits.    He sold real estate for many years and bought rental properties when he came across bargains.   After my mother passed away in 1986, he began focusing on the stock market and managed to build up a nice portfolio before his death.

In addition to being focused on the accumulation of wealth, my father also had a strong commitment to his community, realizing that without a strong community, all of his business efforts would be for naught.  He served terms on our local school board, the city council, and was even a director of the local bank.  My dad was a strong proponent of the Chamber of Commerce and always played a role in town activities.

He was also not surprisingly a Republican - but more of a business-oriented Eisenhower Republican - and he wasn't afraid to break with his party when it was wrong.  I remember his commenting  on a vote he had cast in a state referendum not long before his death - a vote to allow people to carry concealed hand guns.  He said he had voted against it because giving people permission to carry concealed weapons was "just nuts!"

My father entered the world during the Calvin Coolidge administration and left just as Barack Obama was completing his first year in office.  He saw technology advance from home radio's operated off of car batteries to home computers and telephones that people carried with them in their pockets.  He had trapped and sold rabbits for 25 cents each as a kid, and as an adult he sold most of the people in town their first color television sets.

Ten years ago on Christmas Eve he slipped and fell on an icy porch - hitting his head - as he was delivering Christmas candy to his renters.  He made it home on his own, but later that night knew that it was time to call for an ambulance.  He lived in a big house, alone, with his nearest child, my sister, more than fifty miles away and me in Arizona.  The ambulance attendants let themselves in, found him in his bed upstairs, and took him to the hospital in Neosho - not very many miles from where he had been born eighty-five years earlier.  He passed away quietly soon after arriving at the hospital.

And ten years later Garland Macy is still missed by many - and especially by his family.  Rest in peace, old man.

The Lights Have Gone Out in Dog River

by Pa Rock
TV Freak

Several months ago I began streaming a Canadian sitcom that purported to be the most popular show in the history of Canadian television, and while that boast may or may not be correct, "Corner Gas" was definitely a very funny program.  The show ran from 2004 through 2009 and had 107 half-hour episodes.  It had an ensemble cast of eight characters, each of whom appeared in every show.

The show took place primarily in a gas station/convenience store that was attached to a restaurant. The gas station was "Corner Gas" and the restaurant was "The Ruby."  The businesses were located in the fictional town of "Dog River," Saskatchewan -  at a prairie highway crossroads "forty miles from nowhere."  (The filming location was the small town of Rouleau, Saskatchewan.)

The show's chief writer and main character was Canadian comic Brent Butt who played Brent Leroy, the owner of Corner Gas.  Brent had grown up in Dog River and, as a young adult, purchased the gas station from his parents, Oscar and Emma, who still lived in town and were always interfering in their bachelor son's life - or having him over to share the evening meal - every evening.

Brent's dad, Oscar Leroy (Eric Peterson), was a snappy old curmudgeon who was quick with a scheme to complicate any situation - and whose favorite word was "jackass!"  His wife, Emma, functioned to put the brakes on Oscar's wild ideas and practice the motherly arts of cooking, sewing, gardening, and pining for grand babies.  Emma also had a darker side and could create a fair amount of havoc on her own.

Lacey Burrows (Gabrielle Miller) moved to Dog River from Toronto when her Aunt Ruby died.  She took over the aunt's restaurant and named it "The Ruby" in her honor.  Lacey wanted acceptance by the local community, something which usually seemed to be just beyond her grasp.

Hank Yarbo (Fred Ewanuick) was Brent's lifelong best friend.  Hank seemingly never held a real paying job, and spent most of his time hanging around "Corner Gas" creating complications for those working or shopping there.  The other regular at the station was Wanda Dollard (Nancy Robertson) who "worked" there but seemed to spend most of her time sitting at the counter and reading the magazines.    Wanda always had a quick excuse for not actually doing any work.

The final two regular cast members were the cops.  Police Chief Davis Quinton (Lorne Cardinal) and his Deputy Karen Pelly (Tara Spencer-Nairn) had no real crime to fight other than rare traffic violations by passing tourists.  They spent their days helping with the misadventures of the town's other citizens - and napping in their patrol car.

There were a few other townspeople who roamed in an out of the episodes, but basically those eight carried the show and were involved in every episode - sort of like a "Gilligan's Island" but where the inhabitants were marooned on the Canadian prairie instead of an island.    Each of their lives complemented and complicated the lives of the other seven - on a weekly basis.

Canadian politicians, sports figures, and entertainers put in occasional cameo appearances on the show, along with some who were very familiar to audiences in the States - such as singer Michael Buble and actor Kieffer Sutherland.

The same crew came back together in 2014 to make an update to life in Dog River in "Corner Gas:  The Movie."  In the movie the mayor had lost most of the town's money by investing it in property in Detroit - because he reasoned that property values could not go any lower, but they did - and then he tried to recover those losses by playing the lottery.     The people of Dog River were faced with the challenge of either working together to possibly survive, or everyone pulling up stakes and leaving.  The movie had the same sparkling and witty dialogue as the television series and managed to tie up some of the loose ends left by the series - such as why Brent never left home and went to college, or what if there had been a romantic relationship between Brent and Lacey, or what the real story behind the people of Dog River always spitting when someone says the name of the next closest town - Wullerton (spit!).

Since the movie was completed one of the regular cast members has died, Janet Wright who played Emma Leroy, the building in Rouleau, Saskatchewan, which housed Corner Gas and the Ruby has been bulldozed - and the "Foo Mart" grocery burned to the ground, so it would appear that the lights have gone out in Dog River permanently.

That's a shame.

Of course, I also think it's sad that the people on Gilligan's Island were rescued!

(Note:  "Corner Gas" streams on Amazon Prime, and "Corner Gas:  The Movie" is currently playing on the IMDB Channel which is available through Amazon Prime.)

Monday's Poetry: "Young at Heart"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

I like music - and I like to whistle - and through my whistling I've butchered many a classic tune.  It doesn't take much to get me started, and whenever any of my senses pick up on something that puts me in mind of a song, I begin to whistle.  It doesn't make any difference where I happen to be at the time, I whistle.  I've whistled in schools, in churches, and on crowded passenger planes.  I find myself always whistling as I walk the aisles of Aldi's doing my weekly shopping - and it's always the same damned tune.

When I was a kid there was a game show on television called "Name that Tune" which ran from 1953-1959 and was hosted by Bill Cullen.   (Remember Bill Cullen?  He was also the host of the original "The Price Is Right" and appeared in several other game shows.). "Name that Tune" was brought back to television in the 1970's and has even made sporadic appearances on the tube in more recent years.  One of the features included in the show was a bidding segment in which contestants bid against each other to see who would attempt to name a tune (song) in the fewest notes.  "I can name that tune in six notes."  "Oh yeah, well, I can name that tune in five notes!"  And so on.

I was fairly good at the game.  Give me five or six notes and I could name most of the popular music of the day.  I have a very reliable ear when it comes to identifying the music of a certain era - an era recognized by people who can remember Bill Cullen!  And that reliable ear is what always gets me whistling at Aldi's.

The card readers at the checkout counters at Aldi's - at least at the Aldi's where I shop - have a distinctive three-note ring when they approve cards - a ring that can be heard across much of the store.  The three notes match the beginning three notes of a song made famous by Frank Sinatra and later recorded by Michael Buble entitled "Young at Heart."  The song begins "Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you, if you're young at heart."  And the first three notes of the card reader exactly match the words "Fairy tales" from the song.  And that sets me off!

Sometimes I imagine that I hear a loud groan as I enter the store, but surely not!

Young at Heart
by Johnny Richards and Carolyn Leigh

Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you
If you're young at heart
For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind
If you're young at heart

You can go to extremes with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams
And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your heart, or on its way

Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth
To be young at heart
For as rich as you are, it's much better by far
To be young at heart

And if you should survive to a hundred and five
Look at all you'll derive out of being alive
And here is the best part, you have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart

I Would Have Been Fired

by Pa Rock
Former School Principal

There was a controversy at our local high school this past week, one with distinct political overtones that went on to make the national news.  A group of students were handing out small rainbow flags to show support for the school's LGBTQ community, and shortly thereafter another group of students responded by unfurling a Confederate flag in the school cafeteria to show their support of the area's "southern heritage."

School district officials, realizing the "freedom of speech" issues which were at play - and no doubt wanting to avoid pick-up loads of angry parents driving circles around the school - initially released an innocuous statement talking about the student "banners" and freedom of speech, but later, as the matter began to ferment on social media and made its way into a few national news outlets, they came up with a more comprehensive statement which still said very little - but had much flowerier phrasing.  Basically the district was concerned with bullying but would do nothing to interfere with student rights of expression - at least at this point.

No disciplinary action was announced, nor did the school district propose any change in school policies - again - at this point.

The school superintendent and high school principal were both conveniently unavailable for comment, and the job of calming the press - and the public - fell to the Director of Communications and Community Relations.

Forty years ago I was a high school principal at a smaller high school in the same county.  At that time I didn't have the luxury of hiding behind some "Director of Communications" or other flack whose job it was to jump up and protect me from the press.  Every misbehaving student, pissed-off teacher, angry bus driver, or cook, or janitor was my problem, and mine alone.   In addition to being the first to arrive and last to leave on most days, most school nights found me on school buses riding to ballgames, several of which were seventy miles away.   It was a high stress job that led many of my contemporaries to alcoholism and early deaths.

Back in the day the big disciplinary controversies raged around students chewing gum, chewing tobacco, smoking cigarettes, and showing up at school or school events drunk.   One night while driving a drunk student home from a school dance - just to get him off of the premises - the young man threw up in my fairly new car - gallons and gallons.  Another student left a ball game early one night and began slashing bus tires with his handy hunting knife.  He also managed to slash one tire on my car.  I'm not sure why he stopped at one, but I took it as some awkward sign of respect.  Another time an extremely angry mother pushed her way into my office and shoved a seven-page handwritten letter into my hand.  She was upset because I had suspended her son for showing up drunk at a school dance, and her primary complaint seemed to be that since we all went to the same church I should have let him off with a reprimand.

It was a complicated job, with small town biases and values permeating every action.   After just a few years at the thankless job,  I left to sell real estate and then do social work.   It wasn't too long after I left school administration that the job got infinitely more complex.

Back when I was a principal we had a telephone in each of the school's two offices, and one pay phone in the hallway for students.  An ill student or one with a problem could usually use a phone in the office to contact parents.  But, and this is a really big but, there was not internet - and there were no personal cell phones.  Now there are - and now the job of running a school is much more complex and difficult.

When the flag situation hit the fan at our local high school earlier this week, everyone pulled their cellphones and began filming.  The incident was on Facebook before school officials likely even had an inkling about what was going on.    There was no controlling the story from within - it was already out there.  School officials chose to obfuscate and bury it as much as possible in verbiage - because they, like me forty years ago, have families to feed.   Decisive action would have likely generated a decisive reaction.

And I read all of the local accounts as well as a couple of national summaries, and decided that these young administrators of today know what they are doing.  If the same situation had occurred twenty miles up the road and forty years ago, I would have been fired!

Hate Hits the Heartland

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Fourteen-year-old Natalia was walking to her junior high school in Clive, Iowa, a small town just north of Des Moines, on a recent Monday afternoon to attend a basketball game.   As she strolled along on the sidewalk she was suddenly run down by a woman driving a large, older Jeep Cherokee.   After the driver was apprehended later that evening she declared that she had driven her vehicle onto the sidewalk and intentionally hit the girl because she was a "Mexican."

The driver of the hit-and-run vehicle was 42-year-old Nicole Poole Franklin.  She was arrested less that an hour later in an area convenience store where she was hurling merchandise and racial slurs at the immigrant operator of the store.  Ms. Poole Franklin told arresting officers that she was under the influence of drugs, and admitted to smoking methamphetamine less than an hour before hitting the junior high student with her large vehicle.  Police said that she was "fidgety and had dilated pupils consistent with drug use."

The victim of the hit-and-run suffered a concussion and massive bruising.  She was hospitalized overnight and missed a week of school.  The school responded with counseling for students and a program of direct support for the victim and her family.

The driver of the assault vehicle has been charged with attempted murder, and there is some talk of  also charging her with the commission of a hate crime.  She has a criminal history of being the aggressor in a domestic abuse situation.

Joe Henry, the president of the League of United Latin American Citizens Council #307 in Des Moines, told the Des Moines Register that racist attacks and hate crimes have been on the rise in Iowa since the election of Donald Trump.

But even with the recent rise in apparently racially inspired attacks, prosecutions of hate crimes remains rare in Iowa.

Donald Trump and his political enablers may tell themselves that his words cause no harm, but the view on the street - or on the sidewalk - or in the convenience store - is far different.  Hate speech divides and incites, and it reveals our very worst selves.  When Donald Trump flaunts his unhinged bigotry, he is attempting to define our entire nation.

We cannot let that happen.   The United States of America must be a place of vibrant diversity that is safe for everyone regardless of their faith, race, gender, or lifestyle.  

America is better than Donald Trump.

Friends and Computers

by Pa Rock
Social Commentator

(Note:  This week I had a couple of pieces of correspondence regarding friends.  One was from a neighbor whose last name I could not remember, and the other was an email regarding the death of friend whom I had known while working overseas.  Both stories were impacted by Google, situations which left me pondering the pervasive power of computers.)

Dennis:

I have a neighbor named Dennis who lives a couple of hundred yards down the same road as me.  We share a property line that is mostly a raggedy-assed fencerow overgrown with saplings and weeds.  I’m not sure which of us owns the sagging barbed wire fence, and Dennis probably doesn’t know either, but I have worked diligently for the five years that I have lived here trying to get my side of the fencerow cleaned out.

The first fall that I lived here Dennis put his little Chevy S-10 pickup out in his front yard along with a “for sale” sign.  I pulled in as soon as I saw the sign, introduced myself, took the truck for a spin – and bought it.  A couple of weeks later I received a Christmas card from Dennis.  Over the years, when I had chickens, I would occasionally take him eggs, but we rarely ran into each other for the most part.  Yet those Christmas cards kept coming – and I always sent one in return as soon as his arrived.    I didn’t have to remember anything because his name and address were right there on the card.

Easy peazy.

But this year Dennis changed things up.   His card arrived about mid-December, when it usually does, but this time he forgot to include his name and address on the envelope.   And I could not for the life of me remember his last name.

I usually keep old Christmas cards, but this year I have been moving things to the storage shed at the back of my property – and when I went to look for the old Christmas cards that I had packed away during the summer, I came up empty.  I walked down the road this afternoon and checked out Dennis’s mailbox, and it had his address – but not his name.  Then I went on Google and learned all about his house, including the current estimated value – but still came up empty on the name.

Finally I had a brain fart that produced a possible last name, and I googled that and hit pay dirt!  I now know Dennis’s last name, where he was born as well as his birthday, and the names of a couple of friends and several family members.  

The moral of this story is – if you think your life is private, don’t search for yourself on the internet or you are likely to be very disappointed!

And the card is in the mail!

(Next year I can even send Dennis a birthday card!)

Wencil:

Wencil was another friend of mine, but he passed away last March.  I only knew Wencil briefly – we worked in the same unit on Okinawa back when I arrived on the island in the summer of 2010.   He left and returned to the states a couple of months after I got there, and my friend Valerie – from Phoenix – arrived and took over his job.

Wencil was his first name, and that is all he ever went by.  As far as I can remember, I never knew his last name.

Wencil was a few years older than me and he had some obvious health issues.  He had a girlfriend back in St. Louis, but had come to Okinawa on his own on a two-year job contract.   One day, on a weekend, I discovered him sitting on a bench outside of the post office at Kadena Air Base, the base where we both worked.  He was disoriented and could not even remember his name.  That incident resulted in his hospitalization, and not too long after that he made a decision to pack it in and head home.

Wencil and I had both previously worked for the Missouri Department of Family and Children’s Services, me in southern Missouri and him in the St. Louis area.  We knew a couple of people in common, and after he left the island I would occasionally hear bits and pieces of what he was up to back home.  Mainly he was retired.

This week I received an email from one of the friends that we had in common in the St. Louis area.  She had learned via a message in a Christmas card that Wencil had passed away in March.  She included a few details about his passing.  I replied that I would inform some of the friends that we worked with on Okinawa.

I carefully typed a message to several friends from that era with whom I still have contact, and just before I hit the “send” button I gave it one last re-read.  That was fortunate because Google had changed his name from “Wencil” to “Pencil” throughout the body of the text.  I corrected the misspellings, and Google quickly corrected me again.  We went on that way through three attempts before Google grudgingly relented and allowed me to do it my way – but the email server still was unhappy and underlined each mention of Wencil with a red line – just as it is doing as I type this blog!

One of my friends who also uses a Gmail account replied later in the day saying that she had gotten my message and was sorry to hear about “Pencil.”

Google had the last word!

And it was “pencil”!

Rest in peace, old friend.  May your spirit soar and your lead never break!

Democratic Debate Stage Gets Tighter and Whiter

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

A few of the Democratic presidential candidates will meet in Los Angeles tonight for the sixth debate out of twelve that are being planned by the national party.  The first debate in the series was held last June 26th and 27th in Miami, Florida, with a field of twenty-two participants who were divided into two groups.  Since that time the party has used a complicated system of unique donors and poll results to winnow the field down to a manageable number.  This time seven will be participating.

Six more debates are planned, and if history is any indicator, the field for those events is unlikely to expand.

In addition to shrinking the number of candidates, the arbitrary criteria established by the party hierarchy for debate qualification has also served to make the field far less diverse than it was just a few months ago.  Tonight's forum will feature an oriental - businessman and entrepreneur Andrew Yang, two women - Senators Elizabeth Warren and Amy Klobuchar, one gay male -  South Bend Mayor Pete Buttigieg, and three standard-issue white males:  former Vice President Joe Biden, Senator Bernie Sanders, and billionaire businessman Tom Steyer.

All of the candidates on stage except for Mr. Yang will be caucasian.

Gone from the line-up are women of color, men of color, and Hispanic Americans.  Cory Booker and Julian Castro still consider themselves to be contenders, but, after being pushed off of the debate stage, they are more apt to be regarded as footnotes rather than headlines.  The group left on stage, if they were to remain silent, could be confused with a meeting of some Midwestern Republican state committee.  They are tighter and whiter than the garments in Mike Pence's underwear drawer.

It will be interesting to see where the Democratic Party goes from here.  The superdelegate class, a group that fifty years ago would have been known as the "party bosses," have an obvious clear preference for Joe Biden, but the front runner-apparent has  so far run a lackluster campaign that has been marked by gaffes and often seems to drift into a fog.   At seventy-seven Biden can be expected not to be the fastest horse on the track, though his handlers would prefer it if he could at least stay headed in the right direction.

Bernie Sanders, who at seventy-eight, is even older than Biden, is clearer-headed and more focused, but many of those in positions of power within the party don't like Bernie's message.  And last month Sanders suffered a heart attack while on the campaign trail, something his staff tried (unsuccessfully) to keep from the press and the public.

Elizabeth Warren, at seventy, is comfortably younger that Biden and Sanders, but those running the party also are not happy with her message.  While Warren and Bernie - and Yang -  tout left wing proposals geared to benefit working people, the Democratic Party leaders are seeking someone who will promote ideas that they regard as more mainstream - ideas critics argue which more closely resemble Republican plans and programs.

Pete Buttigieg, the 37-year-old gay mayor of South Bend, Indiana, is the final member of what the press is promoting as the "top tier" of candidates.  He has been pulling to the center on issues and making news by needling the signature programs of Warren and Sanders.  Mayor Pete's Achilles heel is that he can't seem to make inroads among black voters - some of whom have traditionally been hostile to the notion of equal rights for gays.

The Democratic Party convention will seat a large block of delegates who will not have to compete for their seats at the convention.  These people are called "superdelegates" and get to be a part of the convention based on  positions they already hold within the party.  Most are elected officials like US senators, congressmen, and governors.  The party heard complaints from grassroots activists within its organization that the superdelegates had too much power for those who did not earn their seats through the presidential nominating process - and it reacted by passing a measure which said the superdelegates could not vote on the first ballot at the convention, but if the process went more than one ballot, they could swoop in and make their preferences felt.

Party conventions for both parties have traditionally for many decades managed to settle on a candidate on the first ballot.  This time, however, without a clear frontrunner, that may not happen.  If it goes to a second ballot,  the superdelegates will come charging in and try to "save' the party from anyone they see as "extreme."

If they can't have Joe, they might possibly settle on Amy - or even move to resurrect Hillary.   Billionaire Tom Steyer might have an outside shot (he has already spent $47 million of mostly his own money on advertising) - and bigger billionaire Mike Bloomberg (a former Republican) could also elbow his way across the finish line.  Bloomberg has spent $117 million of his own money on advertising just within the last month.

But there is one thing that the party bosses - superdelegates - will not do.  They will not put anyone with progressive notions at the top of the ticket.  If it goes to a second ballot, Bernie, Warren, and Andrew Yang can all kiss their chances goodbye.

And then the party will be free to focus on trying to look more like Trump's Amerika.

Impeachment Day!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Today is the day that many of us have been patiently awaiting for a long damned time.  The House of Representatives will subject itself to six hours of debate and then this evening the full House will vote on two articles of impeachment against Donald John Trump.  The members of the House will decide whether they believe that Trump misused his power as President by trying to coerce the government of Ukraine into investigating one of his political rivals, a charge that Trump has already basically admitted, and whether he obstructed justice by withholding evidence and witnesses in the House's impeachment investigation - a matter of record.

The House is expected to vote almost entirely along party lines, a move that will result in approval of the two articles because the current House has a Democratic majority.  From there, the articles are expected to be sent to the Senate for a trial which Senate leaders have all but guaranteed will also be highly partisan - and the Senate has a Republican majority, at least for the time-being.  It would take a two-thirds vote in the Senate to remove Trump from office, something that will not happen unless the unexpected occurs and an incident of critical import hits the fan prior to that vote.   There is also some discussion that the House might wait to send the affirmed articles to the Senate until a point in the future when they might receive more serious consideration.

But for today at least there are likely to be two votes on impeachment sometime in the early evening.  Any congressman who fails to toe the line and spew the talking points of his or her respective party can expect to experience major difficulties at the polls next November.

Republicans who impeached Bill Clinton just over twenty years ago are warning that a vote to impeach Trump will result in all Democratic presidents for the foreseeable future being impeached, whether they are deserving of that dishonor or not.  Fundamentalist ministers are talking about war in the streets if their pussy-grabbing president is impeached, and fat old men on motorcycles are warning of some sort of Harley apocalypse in the event that Congress takes its Constitutional duty seriously and impeaches Trump.

That's today.

Yesterday the American people had their say.  In demonstrations across the nation, some of which were larger than the "crowd" at Trump's inauguration, people took to the streets chanting, singing, and waving signs calling on Congress to do its job and impeach Trump.  It was a festive exercise in the rights of assembly and free speech, one guaranteed to provoke the Wrath of Don.

But the old lion appears to be losing his teeth (something he tried to project onto Nancy Pelosi earlier this week), and his once mighty rage has dwindled to little more that a faint roar on the wind.

History is being made today, and we all need to be paying attention!

Resist, persist, and drive the bastards out in November!

Molly the Busy Mom Turns Forty-Three

by Pa Rock
Proud Papa

I sent my daughter an email earlier this morning wishing her a happy birthday and telling her that I remember where I was forty-three years ago this morning.  I remember it clearly - and I find that reassuring in a time when it seems like I am starting to forget so much.

The labor that brought Molly into this world was induced, and once the process started she came so fast that I almost didn't get my scrubs and hospital gown on in time to make it into the delivery room for her arrival.  When she was born she had beautiful little golden red curls of hair plastered to her head and looked like an angel.  Today she still has curly golden red hair.

Molly was born at a fairly new hospital that was one of the biggest in the area.  There were over thirty newborns in the viewing room later that evening when my parents arrived to see their new granddaughter, and Molly was on the front row with her little red curls.   As my mother stepped up to the window she knew which baby she had come to see and pointed at Molly saying "That's our baby right there!"  Molly's other grandmother came the next day - along with her mother (Sophia Wiederkehr Doerpinghaus - Molly's great-grandmother).  Gramma Aggie was carrying the largest poinsettia that I had ever seen!

Now Molly is a mother herself with three children ages eight to twelve.  She is a traditional mom by today's measure in that she seems to be constantly in her car taking kids to their various schools - and home again - as well as to all sorts of activities.  It seems - at least to this outsider - that she is continually racing from one place or event to another, yet amid all of the family hubbub, Molly still finds time to work as a personal assistant to a handicapped individual.  I get tired just watching her rush about, so I can imagine how Molly must feel at the end of a "normal" day.

But enjoy it while you can, Molly.  Soon the kids will all be gone and your major activity will be sitting back and reminiscing about how much fun things used to be!

Much love on you birthday!  I am very proud of you!

Major US Newspapers Support Impeachment

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

With the full House of Representatives set to hold historic impeachment votes against a sitting president this week, many major US newspapers are rushing to have their say before the votes on the two articles of impeachment are taken.

Trump, realizing before he even took office that America's news sources were going to be problematic for him, decided the best approach was to neutralize them with loud, unsubstantiated claims that they were continually lying about him and that all of their news was "fake."  For the most part that approach seemed to work, especially among Trump's less-educated base and the people who were used to being spoon-fed state propaganda by Fox News.  Trump was a loudmouth and a bully who controlled the news through brazen intimidation and the strength of his own personality.

But with Congress finally standing up to Donald Trump, portions of the news media, and in particular major newspapers, are also beginning to fight back against his outlandish attempts to control and shape the news.  And it seems to be the impeachment story that is finally beginning to take unfettered wing with America's newspapers.

Over the past couple of weeks more that a dozen major US newspapers have published editorials favoring the impeachment of Donald Trump.  The current list includes:  USA Today, Salt Lake Tribune, New York Daily News, Chicago Sun Times, San Francisco Chronicle, Baltimore Sun Times, Los Angeles Times, Washington Post, Boston Globe, Orlando Sentinel, Philadelphia Inquirer, Tampa Bay Times, New York Times, St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and the Honolulu Star Advertiser.

The Houston Chronicle is expected to take a position in the matter prior to the Wednesday vote in the House, and many suspect that the major newspaper in the red state of Texas will also join in the call for impeachment.  Some are even arguing that The Arizona Republic may join in the effort - but this blogger will believe that when he sees it!

Two other major US dailies - The Chicago Tribute and The Detroit News - are calling for Congress to censure Trump rather than impeach him

Trump's strength apparently rests where it always has:  the Rust Belt, the Deep South, and America's wide swath of rural areas.

So the whole impeachment process may be a hoax, a witch hunt, or whatever Trump's tiny racing brain thinks it is at the time he is tweeting, but there are editorial boards in some of America's more vibrant cities who think otherwise.  And those of us who feel that Trump has grotesquely overstepped his authority as president may be comforted with the knowledge that we are not alone.    A lot of very important newspapers share our views!

Trump Says FBI is "Scum"

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

(Note:  This is a Trump outrage that occurred last Tuesday evening.  Trump has been flinging feces so fast and furiously this week that it has taken me awhile to get to it.   Apologies.) 

Hershey, Pennsylvania, used to be famous for one thing - it was the home of some of the world's finest chocolate.  Now it has one more claim to fame.  Hershey, Pennsylvania, is the place where Donald John Trump finally tipped over the edge of reality and went absolutely, totally insane.  Sooner or later it had to happen someplace, and last Tuesday night Hershey won the honor of being the place where Trump officially lost the battle with his demons.

When the Mueller investigation was announced a couple of years ago, Donald Trump told close associates and friends, in colorful language, that the investigation would be the end of his presidency.  But as it dragged on over months and then years, Trump became more and more emboldened in trying to paint the investigation into Russian meddling into the 2016 election as a "witch hunt" and loudly flapping his jowls while proclaiming his total ignorance and innocence regarding the attempt by a foreign power to rig a U.S. election.

Trump was extraordinarily pissed at his attorney general at the time - Jefferson Beauregard Sessions, III - for allowing the investigation to proceed in the first place.   After two years of trying to goad Sessions into resigning, he finally fired him.  Trump replaced Sessions with William Barr, a partisan toadie who made a valiant and fairly successful to interpret the results of the investigation and control news about the findings.

Things were looking good - but Trump wanted more.  He wanted to promote the notion that the Mueller investigation had been an intentional effort by the "deep state" to discredit him, and that the FBI had been complicit in some sort of plot against him that extended back into the 2016 election - sort of a "we didn't cheat, but they damned sure did!"  Trump had Barr investigate the actions of the FBI through its own Inspector General.

Last week the IG completed that investigation, and while both Barr and Trump anticipated good news, instead the IG found that the FBI acted properly in regard to any involvement that they might have had in investigating Russian meddling in the 2016 elections.  There was nothing to substantiate Trump's bizarre notion that the FBI had been trying to defeat him in 2016

That wasn't what Attorney General Barr wanted to hear.

And that damned sure wasn't what Donald Trump wanted to hear!

So this past Tuesday evening in Hershey, Pennsylvania, Trump went on a rant regarding the FBI.  He roared to the crowd that there were "great people" in the FBI, but that the agency did not have good people in leadership positions.  (The current head of the FBI is Christopher Wray who was appointed to that spot by Trump in 2017.)   Trump went on to refer to the FBI as "scum."

Dumbfounded, I thought of how much the world had changed since the 1960's.   Back then the wild, unwashed masses would say things like that about the FBI, but now here was the President of the United States calling the nation's premier law enforcement agency "scum."

And he was doing it loudly - at a public rally - in Hershey, Pennsylvania!

Even Richard Nixon did not sink to that level of insanity!

Congressman Jason Smith, Wash that Hand!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

This past week my congressman (kinda, sorta), Jason Smith, a Republican out of Salem, Missouri, sent around a brochure touting his achievements in Washington.  According to the front page, the mailing was "prepared, published, and mailed at taxpayer expense."  That's a nice little perk for incumbent congressmen that their opponents would have to pay for out of their own pockets.  (Politicians taking care of themselves, one must suppose - it is what it is.)

Smith, a 39-year-old bachelor who sleeps in his congressional office on the few days that Congress is in session (a nice, untaxed benefit), became infamous a couple of years ago when he yelled at Democratic Rep. Tony Cardenas of California - while Cardenas was at the podium - that he should "go back to Puerto Rico!"   Smith later apologized for his boorish and adolescent behavior.

But back to the brochure that came in the mail this week:

The document was primarily a campaign brochure that featured a some photos of the congressman meeting with constituents - and a couple of shots of him with Trump.   There were also a few effusive statements about Trump's "successes" in office - most of which were spurious at best.  The fact that the brochure was primarily a campaign document was revealed on the cover which featured an article entitled "Impeachment Update:  A Partisan Witch Hunt" which was posted right next to the recipient's name and address so the poor sod - in this case me - could not miss it.  Apparently in addition to being Trump's partisan stooge,  Congressman Smith is also his pet parrot!

The most memorable quote in the entire newsletter also ran on the cover page.  In a highlighted box just beneath a picture of Smith and Trump,  was a title that read "Congressman Smith Continues to Stand Hand in Hand with the President."

"Hand in hand?"  Really, Jason?  Aside from the unwanted gay imagery that remark conjures up, the notion of anyone even touching Trump's hand is repulsive!  Was it the same hand that Trump has used to grab women by their genitalia?  Is it the hand that probed the mouths of Miss Universe contestants while checking their teeth?  Is it the same hand that he uses to flush over and over and over again because of his bizarre toilet fetish?

Congressman Smith, you and I are unlikely to ever agree on any important issues, but we should force ourselves to agree on acceptable standards of public health.  You can't do anything about the abject filth surrounding Donald Trump and his billionaire lifestyle, but you can - and you must - take basic precautions with regard to your own health.  If one of your hands has been in contact with one of Trump's tiny hands - you should wash yours, vigorously!  Use a wire brush and some of Granny Clampett's lye soap and scrub that sucker for all its worth!

Wash that hand, Congressman!  Wash that hand!

(No need to thank me for the sage medical advice.)

Trump Picks a Fight with a 16-Year-Old and Loses Bigly!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Donald Trump was recognized as Time Magazine's "Person of the Year" back in 2016 after he shocked most Americans by winning the presidency - kinda, sorta.   Trump went on to claim his fluke electoral college victory as one of the most decisive presidential elections in history, a blatant lie that signaled the width and breadth of bullshit that would be flowing from "his" White House for the next four years.

Ever since receiving that honor from Time, Trump had openly pined for a repeat of the award.  Franklin D. Roosevelt managed to win it three times, and old Joe Stalin bagged it twice.  Surely someone as great as Trump ought to be good for multiple wins.  Even his arch-nemesis Barack Obama had won the award twice - and Obama had even managed to win the Nobel Peace Prize!

The unfairness of it all!

Donald Trump wanted to be "Time's Person of the Year" for 2019 so that he could have bragging rights in the 2020 campaign season.

But that didn't happen.

This week Time Magazine announced that the winner of the high honor for 2019 was someone who actually deserved it:   16-year-old climate activist Greta Thunberg of Sweden.   Trump, never a graceful loser, immediately took to Twitter to the insult the child who had snatched his award.  He had this to say:

"So ridiculous.  Greta must work on her Anger Management problems, then go to a good old fashioned movie with a friend.  Chill, Greta, Chill!"

(That's called "projection," where a person with a psychological or emotional issue - such as chronic anger - tries to project his own issue onto someone else.  Trump uses projection almost daily to deal with people who try to keep him tethered to reality.)

Social media, in particular, got wound up over Trump insulting a child - just days after Melania had been in such a huff because a congressional impeachment witness had simply mentioned Barron Trump in citing an example of the differences between presidents and kings.  Melania, not surprisingly, had nothing to say about her husband brazenly insulting a child over Twitter.

But a former First Lady of the United States did have something to say.  Michelle Obama posted this tweet to Greta:

"@GretaThunberg, don't let anyone dim your light.  Like the girls I've met in Vietnam and all over the world, you have so much to offer us all.  Ignore the doubters and know that millions of people are cheering you on!"

Yes, we are!

Michelle's response was a pitch-perfect rebuke of Trump the Bully, but it probably wasn't necessary.  Young Miss Thunberg appears more than capable of handling a low-intellect primate like Trump.  She has already changed her Twitter bio to read:

"A teenager working on her anger management problems.  Currently chilling and watching a good old fashioned movie with a friend."

Touche, Fat Boy!  You have just had your large, flabby butt nailed to the floor by a sixteen-year-old girl!   Maybe you can use that in your campaign!

Catch and Kill

by Pa Rock
Reader

For the past several days I have been reading Catch and Kill:  Lies, Spies, and a Conspiracy to Protect Predators,  the inside story of an investigative reporter who along with several colleagues put their lives and careers at risk while doggedly pursuing a story that ultimately torpedoed  one of the biggest names in the film industry as well as several prominent individuals in television news.   The book's author is Ronan Farrow, and he was also the central figure in the investigative process that brought down movie mogul Harvey Weinstein, Today Host Matt Lauer, and some other well known names in the news and entertainment industry.

While still a young person by almost anyone's standards (he will be 32 next week), Ronan Farrow has already built a formidable reputation as an investigative journalist and author.  The New Yorker magazine shared a Pulitzer Prize for Public Service with The New York Times newspaper - an award that was based largely on reporting that Farrow did for The New Yorker which ultimately ended the career of Harvey Weinstein and became a pillar of the "Me Too" movement.

Catch and Kill is an overview of some of the prominent cases involving sexual predators to have hit the press over the past few years, several of which were tied to the efforts of Ronan Farrow, his production partner Rich McHugh, and their news crews.  But the primary thrust of the book is the extensive and complex investigation of Weinstein.

The title comes from an old journalistic practice that has only recently begun to be recognized and understood by the general public.  Under the practice of "catch and kill" a publication or a particular publisher would buy up certain exposes and stories about prominent individuals and then put those stories aside so that they could do no harm.  One notorious example that Farrow touches on is David Pecker, the CEO of American Media, Inc, which publishes the National Enquirer as well as other tabloids.   Pecker bought all stories about Donald Trump over several years and then kept them out of print.  As a part of the purchase, the people who knew and wrote the stories had to sign agreements to never sell those stories to other news sources.  The stories had been "caught" and "killed."

But that was just the tip of an iceberg about how rich and powerful men use their positions and money to commit sex crimes against vulnerable individuals.  The men commit their crimes with impunity, and because of their power, the victims are often made to feel responsible for the incidents and powerless to retaliate.

One of the mainstays in Ronan Farrow's reporting on Harvey Weinstein was a Hollywood actress named Rose McGowan.  McGowan told Farrow of being raped by Weinstein at the Sundance Film Festival in 1997.  In her discussion with the reporter she talked about the complicity of the underlings who propped up their boss in his lecherous attacks.  Her remarks are indicative of how hard it is to strike back at a powerful adversary.

"McGowan described a system - of assistants and managers and industry power brokers - that she furiously accused of complicity.  She said staffers averted their eyes as she walked into the meeting, and out of it.  (The meeting where she said Weinstein sexually attacked her.). 'They wouldn't look at me,' she said.  'They looked down, these men.  They wouldn't look at me in the eye.'  And she remembered her costar in 'Phantoms,' Ben Affleck, seeing her visibly distraught immediately after the incident, and hearing where she'd just come from, and replying, 'God damn it I told him to stop doing this!'"

After the bravery of McGowan and a few others in stepping forward, the dam eventually burst, and now more than eighty women have come forward to tell of their own assaults by Weinstein.

And that is the core of this story.  The rich and powerful have the means and ability to get away with almost anything.  Farrow describes nearly two years of following leads on Weinstein when he was confronted by powerful people whom Weinstein had contacted in an effort to have Farrow's story killed.  The reporting was originally being done under the auspices of NBC, but as the piece was nearing completion the news management at the network suddenly pulled the plug on the story.  Farrow then took his material to The New Yorker which published it and took in a Pulitzer  in the process.

Farrow, who graduated from Bard College with a degree in philosophy at the age of fifteen - and is now an attorney licensed in New York, placed himself at great personal risk in pursuing this story.  Weinstein not only attacked him through personal contacts that he had with his employers, he also brought in an elite Israeli spy team to follow Farrow and report on his contacts regarding the story.  Once Weinstein knew who was talking to the reporter, he could then turn his attention to threatening the witnesses into silence.  After NBC decided to quit pursuing the story, Weinstein took credit among his friends for getting the project killed.

Weinstein also used Ronan Farrow's personal family story of sexual abuse to attack the motives and credibility of the reporter.  Farrow, the biological son of actress Mia Farrow and director Woody Allen, survived a very public family explosion as a child when his sister reported that she had been a sexual victim of Woody Allen.  As the family was torn apart in the press, Woody Allen moved out and married his step-daughter, Soon-Yi Previn, Ronan Farrow's adoptive sister.  Weinstein bellowed loudly that Farrow, with that particular background, was using his reporting as personal therapy and could not be objective.

Fortunately for responsible journalism,  The New Yorker magazine thought otherwise.

Catch and Kill is an exceptionally fine piece of investigative journalism, on par with Woodward and Bernstein's All the President's Men.   It is an alarming look into the ways that  sexual predators operate, often with impunity and absolutely no remorse.    They are monsters with power who have no qualms at all about using it.

This book is highly engaging and engrossing.   May the author's zeal for justice continue to burn brightly and never be diminished!  His work is what Pulitzer Prize-winning journalism looks like!

CBP is Dreaming of a White Christmas

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The "flu season" can last anywhere from early October until May, with the peak months being December through February.  We are just entering the "peak" season.

I heard on the radio this morning that my state - Missouri - has already had fifteen hundred reported cases of influenza (the "flu"), and three deaths have resulted from the virus.   Our neighboring state of Kansas has also had three deaths this year.  We may be in for a very rough "flu season."

Missouri and Kansas and other parts of the "flyover" nation have it better with regard to dangers from the flu as more crowded urban areas, because our population is more spread out and less dense.  In the cities where people tend to be more elbow-to-elbow, the risk of becoming infected with the flu virus is more prominent than it is in the countryside, but with the ease of modern travel - no one is truly safe.

San Diego County, at the south end of California, is a very urban area, packed to the rafters with people seeking sunny skies and a warm climate.  So far this season San Diego County has had over seven hundred reported cases of the flu, at at least six deaths attributed to the virus.  The elderly are most at risk, and also people who live in confined spaces - such as institutions.  Also, people who do not receive annual flu shots are deemed to be more at risk of catching the flu than those who do receive the shots.

Yesterday four medical doctors and two other individuals were arrested outside of a Border Patrol facility in Chula Vista (San Diego County), California.  Their crime?  Attempting to set up a clinic to give flu shots to immigrants who were being detained at the facility.  The U.S. Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) would not allow that to happen, saying simply that they had never permitted inoculations in the past.

The group of protesting good Samaritans calling itself "Doctors for Camp Closures," intended to give the shots at no cost to anyone.   They were responding to the death of a 16-year-old Guatemalan boy who died of influenza while being held in CBP custody.

The CBP agents based in San Diego County, much like their brother agents in Arizona who race about the deadly Sonoran Desert finding and emptying life-saving jugs of water, appear to have no regard for human life - at least not brown human life.

Encouraging policies which will lead to the deaths of refugees and immigrants appears to be a conscious choice of the Trump administration - a well planned and executed choice deeply rooted in the racist policies of people like Donald John Trump and Stephen Miller.

When will America be moral enough to stand straight and declare that everyone has a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness regardless of their skin color or where they happened to be born?   How much longer can we continue to allow racism to define and defile our country?

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Were Also Refugees

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Last year - or maybe it was the year before - I mentioned some nativity scenes around the country that seemed to  be critical of the Trump administration's cruel treatment of immigrants and refugees.  Not surprisingly, this year churches are still using nativity scenes to make political statements.

But there is some disagreement about what is and is not political.

The United Methodist Church in Claremont, California,  has a nativity display this year that is drawing a great deal of coverage and comment.   The display shows the Holy Family separated into three individual cages, each topped with rows of barbed wire.  Mary is standing in one cage, Joseph in another, and the Baby Jesus is lying in a cradle in a third cage - between those of his parents.  It is a very moving exhibition that is bringing some visitors to tears.

Reverend Karen Clark Ristine, the lead pastor of the church, said that she views the display as "theological" rather than "political."  She noted that Jesus and his parents were refugees themselves when they fled to Egypt to avoid Herod's slaughter of male babies.  She said that her church was using Holy Family imagery to spark compassion for today's refugees.

Those demanding to see Christ be more pervasive at Christmas may view these particular nativity scenes as overreach.   Others, however will disagree and loudly claim that separating family members, caging refugees, and denying health care - such as routine flu shots - to these desperate people is not Christian in any sense of the word.

Jesus may have to return to settle the matter, but with Trump's joke of a border fence, getting into the country shouldn't be too much of a hassle!

The Bird Feeder

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

One of the projects that I have managed to complete during the brief snatches of decent weather over the past couple of weeks is to get my bird feeders set up.   Last year I had the tree removed that had held my feeders, so this year I had to come up with something different.

The tree stump was still there, occupying space in front of my living room window, right where I desired the feeders to be.   I brought in a couple of those long metal poles with hooks on the end for hanging baskets or hanging bird feeders and drove them into the ground next to the stump.  Then I drug out several decorative blocks that had been stacked behind the house serving no purpose - and made a large ring around the stump and he feeder poles.  I covered that space with white gravel.

Next came the old bird bath which I cleaned, and it now sits atop the tree stump in the middle of the display.  The bird bath features a couple of garden gnomes.  I also had some metal garden gnomes scattered around which are now part of the project .

Finally, three unique and very distinct bird feeders hanging from the hooks - all filled with hen scratch and sunflower seeds.  The little birds began showing up the very next morning!

I built it and they came!

The birds and I are ready for winter!

The Bird Feeder
by Patrick Kain

Crowded 'round the feeder . . . winter guests, both large and small,
jockeying for position, one for one, not one for all.
Winter winds have dealt them, yet another unkind blow,
with seed pods hidden safely, 'neath the deep and drifting snow.
A proud and stately redbird, ruffled feathers, fiery bright,
a sparrow, finch, and titmice, stoking heavily for the night.
Comes a jay in bright attire, casts a cold unnerving stare,
then rousts his small competitors, until he's had his fare.
A grackle, uninvited, bullies in to claim his due,
scatters seed about him, scowls at others 'til he's through.
A squirrel approaches warily, a glance-first left, then right,
then scampers up the feeder post, sends perchers into flight.
A chickadee approaches with a hope for seeds quite small,
shuns others bickering on the rails, he'll feast on that which falls.
Finally, lengthening shadows, beggars scatter to the woods,
hopes buoyed for a tomorrow, for today, their God was good.

Toilet Gate

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

This past Friday Donald Trump held a small business "round table" at the White House.  The event was set up as a forum to allow Trump to brag about his support of small business and his commitment to cutting red tape.  But before Trump's show got underway, he took a few minutes to address the press on some of his thoughts on the modern world.  (Many of the points that follow in the Trump diatribe he has addressed before, but on Friday he seemed to be consumed with the notion of bringing it all together.)

During his extended ramblings Trump discussed his theory that new plumbing fixtures designed to save water actually result in more water use, his belief that much of the country does not need to save water, and his opposition to the new style of light bulbs which he claims are more expensive than the old ones - and make him look orange.

(The new bulbs are actually less expensive because they last much longer than the old ones - and tanning beds and body make-up are both rumored to play a part in Trump's orange skin tone.)

Here was his oozing stream-of-consciousness as captured by The Raw Story:

"The light bulb - they got rid of the light bulb that people got used too.  The new bulb is many times more expensive and - I hate to say it - it doesn't make you look as good.  Of course, being a vain person, that's very important to me.  It's like - it gives you an orange look.  I don't want an orange look.  Has anyone noticed that?  So we'll have to change those bulbs in at least a couple rooms where I am in the White House . . . We  have a situation where we're looking very strongly at sinks and showers.  And other elements of bathrooms - where you turn the faucet on, in areas where there's tremendous amounts of of water, where the water rushes out to sea because you could never handle it - and you don't get any water.  You turn on the faucet and you don't get any water.  They take a shower and water comes dripping out, just dripping out, very quietly dripping out.  People are flushing toilets 10 times, 15 times, as opposed to once.  They end up using more water . . .  So EPA is still looking at that very strongly, at my suggestion.  You go into a new building, or a new house or a new home, and they have standards where you don't get water.  You can't wash your hands practically, so little water comes out of the faucet.  And the end result is you leave the faucet on and it takes you much longer to wash your hands . . . For the most part you have many states where they have so much water, it comes down - it's called rain.  They don't know what to do with it . . .A lot of things we do are based on common sense.  If I didn't get elected you wouldn't have a steel industry . . . We weren't going to have a steel industry.

If this is where our President's head is at, someone needs to flush - repeatedly, if necessary!

Twenty-Fifth Amendment now - before it is too late! 

People with Too Much Money

by Pa Rock
Social Critic

An unusual piece of art caused a bit of a stir at the Art Basel Miami Beach this past week.  Italian artist, Maurizio Cattelan, who had been absent from the art fair scene for the past fifteen years, reemerged with a piece that became the talk of the art show in Miami.

According to reports Cattelan went to a local market and purchased three bananas.  Then he took his bananas, along with three strips of duct tape, back to the exhibition where he taped the three bananas, individually, to a wall.  The first two sold quickly for $120,000 each, and the third was still hanging awaiting someone to meet its asking price of $150,000.

One may assume that the third piece of "art" included either a bigger banana - or a longer piece of duct tape - than the other two.

The artist entitled his work "Comedian," a label that was very apropos -  because it left many laughing - and Maurizio Cattelan undoubtedly laughed all the way to the bank!

The art came with no instructions as to what the new owners should do when their purchases begin to blacken and rot.  Perhaps they could turn them into loaves of banana bread and tape them to the walls!

In related news, police are still searching for another work by the same artist.  Several years ago Cattelan sculpted an 18-carat working gold toilet that was valued at around six million dollars.  It was recently ripped from the wall and stolen from Bleinheim Palace in England where it had been serving a less-than-artistic utilitarian purpose.

Cattelan's toilet was called "America," and had originally been part of an exhibition entitled "Victory is Not an Option."

British police are taking the theft of the golden toilet seriously.  So far five arrests have been made, but the toilet itself has not been flushed out.  A reward has been offered.

And finally, as long as we have relocated this story to England, a British couple are offering a "golden" job opportunity for the right applicant.  The couple, who describe themselves as business executives who spend a lot of time traveling internationally, are seeking someone reliable to be a live-in caretaker for their two golden retrievers, Milo and Oscar, at their London home.  The right candidate will be willing to work Monday through Friday and occasional weekends for pay between $38,676 and $41,254 per year - along with room and board.  Included with the dog-sitting would be some housework such as "cleaning, occasional laundry, and light cooking."

A couple who maintain a nice home in London primarily for the benefit of their dogs, might also enjoy the status of having a $120,000 banana duct-taped to their living room wall - or a six-million-dollar golden toilet in their water closet.

The rich are different from you and me, but there are times when one suspects that we are definitely smarter than them!

Just sayin' . . .

Melania Strikes a Full Maternal Pose

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Melania Trump, who seems to recognize her own limitations as First Lady, usually manages to stay out of the public view, but last week she threw that caution aside and spoke out against what she saw as an invasion of her son's privacy by Congressional Democrats.

Pamela Karlan, a law professor from Stanford, was speaking to the first House impeachment hearing on Wednesday where she was discussing the differences between Presidents and Kings, and in attempting to illustrate some of those differences she pointed out that while Trump could name his son "Barron,' he had no powers to make him an actual "baron."  Only a king could do that.

It was meant as a humorous way of pointing out the differences between the powers of Presidents and Kings, but Republicans who are generally humorless - and always looking for an easy way to stir up their base - quickly began gnashing their teeth over the grievous insult of America's First Child.

Codifying some hastily drawn up Republican talking points into a  tweet of faux outrage, Melania - or one of her aides - had this to say:

"A minor child deserves privacy and should be kept out of politics.  Pamela Karlan, you should be ashamed of your very angry and obviously biased public pandering, and using a child to do it."

Several other Republican hacks quickly piled on, intellectual giants like Rep. Matt Gaetz who referred to the professor as "mean," and Mike Pence who said the impeachment hearings had reached a "new low."

Indignant Republicans generally failed to realize the irony of their outrage.  Many Republican officials have been openly contemptuous of Greta Thunberg, the sixteen-year-old climate activist from Sweden, and she has even been mocked by Donald Trump, himself.  A sixteen-year-old is a child,  no matter what Jeffrey Epstein and his sleazy buddies thought.

And then, of course, there is the extreme hypocrisy which comes with the GOP's long-standing abuse of minor children at our southern border - immigrant children who are being taken from their parents and then "lost" in America's foster care wasteland, or kept in cages and denied medical care, - even to the point of death.   Woe unto us all if Barron Trump ever had to endure anything like that.

But Melania and Republicans don't get outraged by massive examples of child abuse, like children living and suffering in cages.  In fact, when Melania left the White House last October for a visit to a captive child compound in McAllen, Texas, she was wearing a jacket with large white lettering across the back which read:  "I really don't care, do u?"

And yet she expects the whole world to rise up and be indignant with her because her son's name was used in a congressional hearing to make a point.

Melania, I agree that your son, or any politician's child, should be kept out of political discourse.  It's too bad that Barron was mentioned at the hearing, but the innocuous comment made about him will have no lasting impact.  Children taken from their parents and shuffled off into a cruel land of cages and foster care will suffer from that trauma for the rest of their lives.  If you are really an advocate for children, throw that damned jacket away and head back to McAllen and force the nation to pay attention the the very real crimes that are happening to children in places like that!

You have the soapbox.  Put it to a good use!