2023 in Review

 2023 was, bluntly, a bitch.  

My wife unexpectedly passed in March.

Were she famous, a future history book might say something along the lines of "Katherine, age 57, passed suddenly, following a heart attack (due to low blood pressure caused by a GI bleed), in the morning of March 17, 2023.  She left behind a husband and 6 children, ranging in age from 31 to 9."

What would not be said was the affect her passing left on her kids, the youngest four still in school, or her husband, now raising them as a single father.

The full effect on the children can only be guessed at - after all, they are still growing, and coming to terms with their loss.  All four have gone to some form of grief counseling, and are adjusting as well as could be hoped. 

The husband - me - has not fared as well.

All tasks once divided between the spouses now falls to me.  That is not anything new to humanity - single parents have probably existed since marriage was instituted - but it both new and unexpected to me.  My kids are adjusting to the new division of labor, cleaning when made to, picking up when forced, and making dinner (and washing dishes) when reminded.  All in all, we are surviving.

All future plans have gone away - there will be no "long weekend" trips along the gulf coast to discover potential retirement spots, no expected trip with the family to Disney, or Hawaii, or anywhere else, for example.  No days spent dreaming of sipping coffee in our twilight years, no weekends spent watching the grandkids.  All vanished, suddenly.

As for me, I find the present both disturbing and oppressive, where my life is filled with things I must do - responsibilities - and very few wants get fulfilled.  When I have free time, I tend to focus on the bleak - that I have a greater than zero chance of dying before I see all my kids graduate high school, for example.  

I have searched for companionship.  I find I am not in a "normal" spot - At 57, there are many single women my age, through divorce or death.  Most are near retirement, and empty nesters - I am neither.  When I look at women who have kids still at home (and looking at an 8 to 10 year runway for graduation), I find myself with more in common with mid 40's than mid 50's - except I have little else in common with mid 40's women.

When I step back and look at the big picture, my life is good - I have 6 kids who are becoming (or are) productive members of society.  My bills are paid, I have heat and food, and a car that runs fine.

I just want more.  

There are no "normal" kids in Foster Care.

Let's be honest - foster care is the least objectionable option from a bunch of bad possibilities.

No child should be without their parents, so for DCS to decide that a child is better off AWAY from their parent than with them indicates that the parents have made a long series of poor decisions, whether addiction, alcoholism, neglect, or physical, emotional, or sexual abuse.

To be placed in Foster Care normally means that there are no blood relatives that are stable enough, or willing, to take care of the child.

To decide that a stranger is better able to care for this child than a parent or relative must mean that the other options were horrible.  And the child, freshly removed from his home, has just entered a new world - the "Foster Zone". 

My wife and I have been foster parents for a few years now.  It is certainly not something I recommend for everyone - or anyone - but it has brought some very special children into our life.  Our goal, as we have told the children in the first few days of care, is to watch over them and keep them safe until they can be returned to their parent(s).  They become "ours" on the first day, which means age-appropriate chores, following the family rules about behavior, bedtime, and such, and generally becoming a part of our family for the time they are here.

Our first foster boy was here 6 months (when the plan was for 2 or 3 months).  We found out, with him, that 1) DCS and our foster agency don't normally lie to us, but they really have no answers to any questions, and 2) Raising children traumatized by being removed from their parent is VERY unlike raising your own child - they have different ideas of what the rules should be, they don't believe their parent did anything wrong (even though there was abuse by the only parent), and will see any form of affection toward the foster parent as a betrayal of their own parent.

There are many joys of fostering children.  Rarely have I seen how big a difference can be made in a child's life as simply providing stability to a pre-school child - a consistent bedtime, 3 meals every day, a warm bed to sleep in, a safe place to play - the things that I never thought about until I met someone who lacked them.  But with each joy there is a sorrow - trying to comfort a 2 year old who doesn't understand why mommy isn't coming for her visitation again, for example.

We have had Weston for 2 years, 1 month, and 15 days.  His mother, like so many other parents of foster children, has problems with addiction.  For the first 15 months or so, the plan was for reunification - returning him to his mother - but she was unable to abide by the required guidelines.  After 15 months, DCS pursued a TPR - Termination of Parental Rights - at which point he became a ward of the state.

We have been winding our way through the system for adoption since then.  Now, after what seems like an incredibly long time, my wife and I are about to finalize the adoption of Weston Garrett Davis.
I am almost 52 years old.  I will be 66 when he graduates high school, and 70 when he graduates college.  I question my sanity.  I have always questioned my wife's sanity.

BUT he will make life more interesting, and my youngest daughter is something she never thought she would be - a big sister.

I suspect we will have many difficult discussions about his biological mom.  He will be told that he was chosen to be part of our family, that even though he wasn't born to us, he was PLACED here.  And hopefully that will be what he needs.

Who knows how he will feel.  He may struggle, as many adoptees do.  Or he may be the most perfectly adjusted person in the world.

Either way, wish him a "Happy Adoption Day" if you see him.  He knows it is a big deal.  He just doesn't understand why, yet. 

Back to the Back...

Let's be honest - I would frequent Rodney Dangerfield's stores in "Back to School" - the "Big and Fat" stores,

I had no say in the "Big" part - I come from a long line of taller than average males on both sides of my family.  The "Fat" part is almost assuredly 100% me.  But, my weight has been stable for 15 years or more, so I think I am what I am.

Last August (2016), I was doing something fairly simple - putting a trailer on a hitch - when I felt a twinge in my back.  By that evening, the pain was excruciating.  Several sleepless nights and unproductive days followed.  The pain improved, slightly, but always returned as bad, or worse.  My doc put me on a round of steroids, which helped a lot, and muscle relaxers, which did not help at all, and suggested a specialist, who needed an MRI before he would see me.

Squeezing into the cannon breech that is the MRI was made easier by my choice of music, my wife holding my hands, and an almost fatal amount of Xanax.

Eventually, December rolled around, and my appointment with the specialist arrived.  The diagnosis was not pretty - severe Spinal Stenosis through my entire lumbar region.  The incident in August had perhaps caused the muscles to flare up, but it did NOT cause my continual pain.  Doctor's advice?  Wait until I couldn't stand it anymore, consider spinal injections to delay the surgery if I chose, then surgery - full L1 - L5 Laminectomies.

I left, pleased to have a diagnosis, but disappointed that nothing would be done for an indefinite period of time.

After Christmas, I had an epiphany - The longer I waited, the older I would be, AND the older I would be, the slower my healing would progress.  Not only that, but I had no desire to remain in pain for an undefined period of time until some arbitrary threshold of pain was exceeded.  The back problems had already cost me one year of deer hunting, something I truly enjoy, and I was not anxious to lose another.  I called the doc, and set up an appointment for March, which the surgeon agreed to if I took some physical therapy first (since insurance would probably require it anyway).

Physical therapy was torture.  I am sure some of the exercises were strengthening my core, but my round of PT ended with me in more pain and with less mobility than I started with.  Returning to the neurosurgeon mid-March, surgery was scheduled for April 20, 2017, and the nerves began to kick in.

The day of surgery I was surprisingly calm.  The back had quieted down for the last couple weeks, as if it was trying to avoid the impending end of its control over my life.  They wheeled me into the surgery room and - suddenly I was in recovery.  A little over 4 hours had passed, and I knew my mind was not functioning fully yet.  I kept staring at the clock, trying to keep time from slipping from me again.

After being placed in my room, I was able to rest, and eat a little.  The pain with medication was bearable, but the drain in the middle of my back hurt to lay on, and moving to my side was uncomfortable, but I was able to sleep without waking to shooting pain down my legs for the first time in almost a year.  Sitting upright brought a sharp jolt of pain at the small of my back, and standing was a matter of willpower over the discomfort.  But stand I did, with the help of a small nurse and a walker.  Later, the same day of my surgery, I walked the halls - mostly because I wanted the catheter out, and needed to be able to get up before they would remove it.

Three nights I spent in the hospital, each day better and more active than the last.  When I left, i still needed a walker, but the pain was less daily.  I was down to oral pain killers, and a muscle relaxer.  Sitting was still more uncomfortable than standing or laying down, but I could manage for a while.  I was able to return to working, from home, on that Monday, 4 days after my surgery.  The Norco took away my pain, but also a good bit of my logical thinking, so hopefully I made no permanently bad decisions the first couple days home.

A major threshold was crossed one week after surgery.  I had stopped the pain killers, and my pain was LESS than it had been before surgery.  Sitting was still uncomfortable, but standing and walking was almost pain free.  I ordered a walking stick from Amazon (since it is much cooler than a cane, and made me look more like a slightly warped old-testament prophet rather than a broken down old man).

A month after surgery, I returned to the surgeon.  My incision was healing nicely (although it itches like the dickens), and all of my restrictions (lifting, bending, turning, riding the lawn mower, getting back on my motorcycle) were lifted - except one.  It will be another month before I can golf.  So, until then, I can blame my poor performance on the golf course on my messed up back.  Once I begin golfing just as bad as before, though, I'll need a new excuse.

If you have back problems, talk to a knowledgeable specialist.  Yes, there are horror stories about failed surgeries, especially with spinal fusion (something I have not had to consider).  But if the pain can be relieved, it should be considered.  Recovery is not easy - when is any recovery easy? - but in my case, it was very manageable.

Thanks for reading.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your next president is...

Yesterday was Election Day in the US.  American's voted, and Donald Trump is our 45th president.

Talking heads, political pundits, and Pol-Sci professors will exam this election for years, about how the media got the polls wrong, and how the demographics of the voters favored Trump, and so on and so on.  I have my own opinions on why an individual with no political experience was elected - and it will not come as a shock to anyone who works for a living. 

First, the thought of Hillary Clinton continuing Barack Obama's Liberal-Progressive agenda was unacceptable, where many of us are much worse of than we were under George W. Bush due to higher taxes, healthcare costs, and general governmental impositions. 

Secondly, Hillary Clinton was a strongly disliked career politician, and her failure to separate herself from Obama's policies was a mistake.  Her continuing private email scandal (and, let's face it - if it were you or I who mishandled secret information the way she did, we would be in jail - just ask Chelsea Manning), and the WikiLeaks dump of the Podesta emails confirmed the belief that she was untrustworthy or criminal.

Lastly, I think people were just pissed off.  I personally voted predominantly Republican, although I did support Libertarian candidates (including Gary Johnson) where possible.  Through a corrupted primary process, the candidates were not really the choice of the people, and these certainly were NOT the best people for the highest office in the land.  But, between those choices, the people voted for change, rather than more of the same.  A tip for future candidates - when you are courting undecided voters, calling the Americans who disagree with you "Deplorables" is probably not going to win you any votes.

Now, as a conservative, I am not really thrilled with The Donald.  I don't see him as a true Republican, and I can see continued gridlock in Washington as he deals with a truly conservative House and Senate.  I suspect he will be petty in seeking revenge for slights, and he just seems un-Presidential.  But, leaning Libertarian, I can't say I would be upset to see very few laws passed.

I'd like to comfort those Liberal friends of mine - and I think I still have a few.  Trump will not be as bad as you think.  He can't be any less transparent than Barack Obama (who pretended to be the most transparent president, while increasing government surveillance of citizens, and embraced the Patriot Act powers that so many hate), and he may actually restore a bit power to the states (rather than trying to consolidate all power at the Federal level).

My advice to everyone - breath.  Unless your name is Donald Trump, you didn't win anything last night.  Your family still needs to be protected, your community needs to heal, and the country is still in need of change (although we may disagree in which direction it should go).  Be gracious in victory, kind in defeat, and begin working towards a better America in your own family, community, and state.

America has survived Civil War, scandals, and terrorism.  Surely we can find a way to survive each other.

Peace and Love to you all.

Hooray for Our Side

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right,
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you

The above quote is from one of the songs that, in my mind, defines the 1960's, "Stuck in the Middle with You" by Stealers Wheel.  It shows the insanity that the late 1960's became, where civil discourse broke down, violence against authority heated up, and many were confused as to which side, if either, really represented America.

Another similarity I see with late 1960's music is from Buffalo Springfield's "For what it's Worth":

     There's battle lines being drawn
     Nobody's right if everybody's wrong

 and later:

     Singing songs and carrying signs
     Mostly say, hooray for our side

Everything old is new again.  The times are once again turbulent, people are more interested in pushing an agenda than debating and deciding what is best.  Everyone has their mouth open, but their ears closed.

Take the Black Lives Matter movement.  Does it appear Blacks are disproportionately killed by police?  Maybe.  In my (very limited) research, it appears that officers MAY be more heightened during a confrontation with a black man than a white man.  Blacks ARE disproportionately represented in prison. However, I do not see rioting as a solution.  If the black leaders are truly leaders (and I have my doubts), they should be directing their followers in methods that DO work - boycotts (hitting those in charge in their pocketbooks) work.  Organized demonstrations work.  But when the demonstrations become disorganized, or violent, they are counter productive.

In this case, as with so many others, people tend to be categorized in one of two different groups - Pro-BLM, or Anti-BLM.  For me, personally, and many of my friends, the issue is much more nuanced.  I cannot support the violence, or the outright disrespect being shown to the police officers, or the generally anti-white rhetoric being bandied about.  I do believe there is a problem with blacks being antagonized by police (in general), but I refuse to lump the good police officers in with the bad as an institution.  I also believe that addressing the way police perceive blacks and other minorities needs to include black-on-black crime, something that is killing blacks at a rate unheard of for a civilized people.     

The same lack of nuance exists in the presidential race.  The first debate is tonight, and I will, for the first time since Bush-Clinton-Perot, refuse to watch any of it.  I have already decided who I cannot vote for, and they are both invited to the debate.  Trump never let a fact get in the way of his version of the truth.  Hillary never let laws get in the way of profit or personal choices.  I trust neither of them.  I also have questions about the Libertarian candidate, Gary Johnson, namely whether he is truly a libertarian or just another politician.  

I identify as a Fiscal Conservative, and normally vote Republican, but I find myself leaning more and more Libertarian as government grows.  For those unsure what a Libertarian really is - and I was one of them relatively recently - I personally prefer this definition from "The Challenge of Democracy (6th edition)", by Kenneth Janda, Jeffrey Berry, and Jerry Goldman:

Liberals favor government action to promote equality, whereas conservatives favor government action to promote order. Libertarians favor freedom and oppose government action to promote either equality or order.

Now, before you start hitting me with "Any vote for Johnson is really a vote for ", let me hit you with a couple of facts.  Fact one, I don't care who wins, it is going to suck either way.  Fact two, living in Indiana, my vote won't mean jack - the state will go for Trump, and my single vote of conscience will not affect that.  IF I lived in a battlefield state, I might feel differently, but I don't, so I don't.

What I would like to do - and I encourage all my friends to try this as well - is to LISTEN to both sides.  They may not change your mind, but you may begin to find common ground, and lower the noise enough to actually see the issues.

Remember, vote early and often!

Why we don't eat at Denny's anymore.

   Today was another sad day, another mass-homicide, with some anti-Christian guy opening fire at a bunch of unarmed students in Umpqua Community College in Oregon.  President Obama wasted no time cajoling the "people" to elect officials who would do what he wants - enact "common Sense Gun reforms", although we clearly disagree on what "Common Sense" means.

   The president is correct in one aspect - we have become hardened to the realities of people obtaining weapons and killing innocents.  Whether it is white racist opening fire on a prayer group at a predominantly black church in the South, or a Gay, Black liberal man killing a white reporter and her cameraman, we have become calloused to the fact that lives are being taken.

   President Obama blames the easy availability of guns for this.  I respectfully disagree, and see that as a means of forcing his agenda on the American people.  I see bad men doing what bad men do - act violently - in places where law abiding citizens have been disarmed.  Before 9/11, the most deadly terrorist attack on American soil was Timothy McVeigh, who used his hate, some fertilizer, and heating oil to blow up most of a building in Oklahoma City.  Andrew Kehoe used dynamite to kill 38 school children in Bath Township, Michigan.  People who are planning to kill have no need of a specific weapon.  Even the Jonestown Massacre was mostly carried out with poison.

   What I see as the problem, especially in a well armed society like the US, is that most of these mass shootings take place in "Gun Free Zones", places that someone - The federal, state, or local government, the military, or the proprietor - has determined that law-abiding citizens must be unarmed.  There is a famous picture taken after Muhammad Youssef attacked the Army recruiting office in Chattanooga, Tennessee, showing the bullet riddled front door, along with the "Gun Free Zone" sticker.  Had the military been armed, he might never have been able to drive to the Navy facility and kill the 4 Marines and the Navy man.

   I understand there are some places that should be gun-free.  Jails, for example.  Court houses, where emotions could - conceivable - take over a normally stable individual.  But a Movie Theatre?  A restaurant?  A shopping mall?

   Sorry, I don't believe they should be "Gun Free".  See, I am an armed citizen, a LCH (License to Carry a Handgun) holder from Indiana.  And I do, on almost all occasions, exercise that right.  I understand the law - I know that if I pick my daughter up from school and stay in my car, my gun can remain in my holster (in Indiana - YMMV), but if I am walking her inside, I must secure it in my portable gun safe.  I understand that some states do not honor my permit (called Reciprocity), while others do, and I plan interstate drives accordingly. 

   I also understand, because I am a law abiding citizen, that some people have a fear of guns.  I choose to carry my weapon concealed, but I have friends who open carry.  Since you, as proprietor, have a right to dictate what goes on in your establishment, I will - when possible - honor that.  Denny's does not want any guns in their restaurant.  I comply, by staying out of them.  The local mall has a "Gun-Free sticker" on their doors, and I avoid going in there.  Some movie theaters have the "Gun Free Zone" stickers, and I choose others. 

   What I will not do is disarm myself for the sake of convenience. 

   I see my job as father and husband to protect my family, and that includes against physical violence.  I have never had to draw my weapon, and with the grace of God, I never will.  I have, on two different occasions, placed my hand inconspicuously on my weapon's handle when there was commotion around me.  Both times I watched, and the situation was diffused by either the participants, or me. 

   Being licensed to carry a weapon is not a license to be aggressive, like George Zimmerman.  It carries with it responsibilities beyond what a normal citizen is expected.  Two unarmed men shouting at each other is an argument.  If one of them is me, I have a moral responsibility to diffuse the situation - walk away, give in, separate from the altercation.  I am armed, and I know it - while the other does not.  If I goad him into escalating the situation, I am - morally, and possibly legally - at fault for whatever happens.

   But I will protect my family.  A criminal bent on destruction would find me a fairly accurate shooter, and viscous in my defense of my children.

   They just won't find me at Denny's.

We really needed a bigger boat.

Bad things sometimes happen when you go deer hunting.

People have been shot, fallen from tree stands, or had heart attacks from the strenuous hiking or tracking.

You can add "Drowning" to that list.

Two weeks ago, on opening day my hunting buddy Dan bagged himself an 8-point buck with a muzzle loader around the Patoka lake, just south of French Lick.  He was alone, because I was home sick with the flu.  Rather than drag the heavy (176 lbs field dressed) deer the couple miles back to the truck, he drug the deer a few hundred feet to the lakes edge, walked back to the truck, drove to a dock put his 12 foot canoe in the water and paddled around to retrieve the deer.  There may not have been much time saved, but the work was much less strenuous.

When I was finally able to go hunting, yesterday (11/29/2014), Dan - functioning as my field guide - decided we would put the canoe in the water with our gear, and paddle out to a piece of land that is difficult to access by foot, and should have very little hunter presence.  The air was warmer than it had been, above freezing for a change, but the wind was whipping at a steady 15 miles an hour, with higher gusts.  The lake was choppy, with 2 foot swells.

We put the canoe in anyway.

We traveled across the first inlet, heading into the wind, getting battered.  I made Dan put in before we rounded the point, and I hiked across the peninsula, arriving at the other side before him.  We talked, and while I figured it would be an hour or more for me to hike around the next inlet, I did not want to get back in the boat, so he paddled on, while I hunted my way around the inlet, seeing tons of Deer sign (and quite a bit of beaver-felled trees).

When we met up after the morning hunt, a bit after 11:30, we decided to head out, and either try a different location for the afternoon or evening, or just head home.  The wind would be working with us on the way back, so we hoped to make good time.

I still did not want to get back in the canoe, but my feet were blistering up since I hadn't worn these boots in over a year, and the idea of walking back wasn't appealing either.

We rounded the first peninsula and worked across the inlet without taking on too much water, but the ride was far from pleasant.  I wanted to go ashore, and walk around the last inlet, figuring if my gear stayed in the canoe, I could make decent time, but Dan assured me that we were only a few hundred yards from the dock, and we would make much better time this way.

We rounded the last point, and every wave began putting a little bit of water over the aft starboard gunwale.  A little closer, and little more water.  My feet began getting wet.  Then my ankles.  Then water began flowing over with abandon.

"Dude, we are going down!" I yelled to Dan.

"No, we're not!  Just a few hundred yards!" Dan yelled back, even as the water began taking the boat down.

I looked at my watch.  It was 12:15.

I am a good swimmer.  Even though I have grown fat and lazy, I remember my years of swimming lessons quite well, and I haven't lost much speed in the water.  But this is something completely different.  My life preserver was pulling my hunting jacket up, forcing me down.  My bib quickly filled with water, pulling me down.  My boots felt like they weighed a ton.

I was drowning.  "Dan, help me!" I called out.  When I could catch glimpses of him, he was swimming for shore - the right thing to do, but disheartening for me.  I swallowed way more water than I intended.

The water was cold - I was colder than I have ever been before, even though the temp was probably in the low 40's.  I struggled to stay afloat, and was losing.

Eventually I took off my life preserver but continued to hold it, and managed to untangle and get out of my hunting jacket.  I distinctly remember watching the jacket float away, and thinking "why, if it floats, was it pulling me down?"

Dan had made it to a buoy a hundred yards from shore.  I headed for him.  "Get my boots off, Dan!" I begged.  He swam towards me, and managed to cut the laces on one boot.  I pulled the boot off, and like the jacket, I watched it float away.  A few minutes later I made it to the buoy, but my heart sank when I realized it was useless to hold on to, and would do nothing to help keep me afloat.

I prayed.  Instead of some intervention, or some rescue, what I received was a deep peace.  I was going to die.  And that was OK.  I relaxed a bit and thought about the family.  I have life insurance, not enough for them to be rich, but enough to pay the bills.  Social Security will help with raising my girls.  It will be tight, I thought, but they will survive.  I gave in to hypothermia, and waited to die, watching Dan reach shore and collapse on the rocky beach.  "Let him live" I prayed.

I was still alive.  I was growing bored of waiting to die.  I knew my brain was not working right, because I kept looking at my fingers and was disappointed that they were paper-white instead of blue.  I began fumbling with the bib, trying to remember how it came off.  I found the zipper, and slid my shoulders out from the suspender straps.  It fell off my shoeless leg easily, but got hung up on the remaining boot.

I rolled the life jacket up and wedged it under my arm pits and across my chest.  Water was still splashing over my with every wave, but I could feel the wave coming at my feet, and hold my breath.  I kicked towards shore.

Somewhere in the last 50 yards the bib fell off over my boot.

Eventually I made it to shore, and was able to walk up, with the rocky beach cutting my right foot through my sock.  I had on a sweatshirt, my underwear, two socks, and my left boot.  I stood there, realizing that the air was even colder than the water.  I could hear Dan talking to someone.  "Is George still in the water?" a female voice asked.  "Yes, send help!" Dan said.  He had used his "OnStar".

I walked up the boat ramp.  I realized that I could not feel my feet, which made it much easier to walk on the rocks.  Dan's truck was running.  A guy I had never seen before put me in the passenger seat, and took off my boot and socks, then gave me a hat and tossed a jacket over me.  Dan pulled off my sweatshirt.  It was 12:45.

I had been in the water 30 minutes.  Dan had probably been in 20.  We were both freezing cold.  The Department of natural resources did arrive - 30 minutes after I was out of the water, when feeling was returning to my fingers, and my breathing had slowed almost to normal.  The ambulance showed up 15 minutes after that.  They examined us, suggested we go to the Emergency room, and made us sign papers stating that we were refusing to go to the ER.  We could see some of our gear floating in the lake, heading to the far end of the inlet.

Around 2:00, after the DNR and ambulance people left, Dan walked along the beach and collected what gear he could find.  My backpack was there, having floated 500 yards or more.  His backpack was not there, but his jacket was.

We both came home alive, and that made it a good day.

In the end, we lost some things:

Me - Wallet with $300 or so in cash, and the time to cancel all my cards, get a new LCH, Drivers license, etc.  A Mossberg 500 shotgun with slug barrel - $400.  My cell phone.  My keys.  8 slugs.  My glasses - $300.  Probably $1000 worth of stuff.

Dan - Mussleloader with Scope - $700.  The redfield scope on my Mossberg - $250.  His backpack and all his gear - another $100 or $200.  And the Canoe - $600.

All in all, more than $2500 at the bottom of Patoka lake.

But coming home with the same number as we left with - priceless.

The brotherhood

For all my non-biker friends, let me decode a ritual you may have seen.

Bikes, when they pass each other, wave.

Sometimes it is a big ole wave, fingers spread, palms forward, like a toddler waving to a parent in a crown.

Some guys just lift their fingers off the left handlebar grip.

More recently it seems to be a closed hand, with two fingers extended together, usually pointed down.  (The Jersey single-finger salute is not encouraged, and you could end up with black and blue marks on your body for using it.)

Originally - or at least as early as I can remember - the wave was more of a "Black Power" clenched fist, with the elbow at a right angle.  This is the wave I use - mostly because my current steed has a very upright style, and it is easier to raise my hand up than to drop it below the bars. 

Every biker seems to have their own opinion on who should be waved to  Some bikers only return a wave, never initiate one.  Some only wave to bikers riding the same brand or style bike that they are riding - Harley being the most common example of this snobbery, although sport bikers sometimes only wave to other crotch rockets.

I wave to everyone on two wheels.  And I do mean everyone.  I have waved to scooters, mopeds, and every bike I have passed.  Heck, I have even waved at a full grown man on a mini-bike that had a seat that couldn't have been more than 8 inches off the ground - and he was ecstatic, if his return wave was any indication.

My reasoning is that we - the two-wheeled riders - are a community.  Whether I am riding solo, or riding with my association (http://www.cmausa.org/), or as part of an event, I have a bond with every other biker out there.  I stop for every one I see on the side of the road.  I am much more likely to say "Hello!" at a stop, even if we are just putting gas in the tanks. 

In short, bikers are my brothers and sisters.

There are some that look rougher than others, sure.  But they are still God's creatures, and they deserve my respect, and prayers, and, if they need it, whatever assistance I can render.

No matter what they ride, or what their patch says.

Here, for your enjoyment, is a collection of WHY different bikers don't wave.

Top 10 reasons sportbikers don't wave:

10. They have not been riding long enough to know they're supposed to.
9. They're going too fast to have time enough to register the movement and respond.
8. You weren't wearing bright enough gear.
7. If they stick their arm out going that fast they'll rip it out of the socket.
6. They're too occupied with trying to get rid of their chicken strips.
5. They look way too cool with both hands on the bars or they don't want to unbalance themselves while standing on the tank.
4. Their skin tight-kevlar-ballistic-nylon-kangaroo-leather suits
prevent any position other than fetal.
3. Raising an arm allows bugs into the armholes of their tank
tops.
2. It's too hard to do one-handed stoppies.
1. They were too busy slipping their flip-flop back on.

Top Ten Reasons Why Harley Riders Don't Wave Back

10. Afraid it will invalidate warranty.
9. Leather and studs make it too heavy to raise arm.
8. Refuses to wave to anyone whose bike is already paid for.
7. Afraid to let go of handlebars because they might vibrate off.
6. Rushing wind would blow scabs off the new tattoos.
5. Angry because just took out second mortgage to pay luxury tax on new Harley.
4. Just discovered the fine print in owner's manual and realized H-D is partially owned by Honda.
3. Can't tell if other riders are waving or just reaching to cover their ears like everyone else.
2. Remembers the last time a Harley rider waved back, he impaled his hand on spiked helmet.
1. They're too tired from spending hours polishing all that chrome to lift their arms.

Top Ten Reasons Why Gold Wing Riders Don't Wave Back

10. Wasn't sure whether other rider was waving or making an obscene gesture.
9. Afraid might get frostbite if hand is removed from heated grip.
8. Has arthritis and the past 400 miles have made it difficult to raise arm.
7. Reflection from etched windshield momentarily blinded him.
6. The espresso machine just finished.
5. Was actually asleep when other rider waved.
4. Was in a three-way conference call with stockbroker and accessories dealer.
3. Was distracted by odd shaped blip on radar screen.
2. Was simultaneously adjusting the air suspension, seat height,programmable CD player, seat temperature and satellite navigation system.
1. Couldn't find the "auto wave back" button on dashboard.

Top Ten Reasons Why BMW Riders Don't Wave Back

10. New Aerostich suit too stiff to raise arm.
9. Removing a hand from the bars is considered "bad form."
8. Your bike isn't weird enough looking to justify acknowledgement.
7. Too sore from an 800-mile day on a stock "comfort" seat.
6. Too busy programming the GPS, monitoring radar, listening to ipod, XM, or talking on the cell phone.
5. He's an Iron Butt rider and you're not!.
4. Wires from Gerbings is too short.
3. You're not riding the "right kind" of BMW.
2. You haven't been properly introduced.
1. Afraid it will be misinterpreted as a friendly gesture.

Top Ten Reasons Why UJM Riders Don't Wave Back

10. Something's buzzing around the tank.
9. Do you hear than noise the valves are making?
8. Trying to push start.
7. Just felt something shimmy.
6. Trying to isolate source of resonant shudder.
5. Hypnotized by digital gear indicator
4. Needs that hand to affect on-the-fly repairs
3. Previous owner replaced #3 with a 2.5
2.5. Mentally reviewing which parts use SAE and which use metric.
2. Wait, there's a number 2? This bike never had a #2, did it? ****!
1. Can't see your tank badge to determine what brand of bike you're on.

Why scooter riders don't wave back:

10. If you knew what a 10" wheel was like at 50mph, you wouldn't let go of the bars either.
9. And risk droping the PBR 12-pack?
8. Didn't see you - catching a few winks on the way home from an all night clambake.
7. It's a mod vs. rocker thing.
6. They just let the cloud of blue smoke trailing behind the scooter act as their "wave".
5. Hey, if you want 140 mpg, you gotta keep your elbows and knees in and your hands down on the bars.
4. The forty year old original hand grip on their vintage Vespa would fly apart if they let go of it.
3. Yes, I saw you. No Gucci - no gesture.
2. They're being filmed during a commercial shoot for a trendy lifestyle product nobody really needs.
1. Why do motorcyclists keep pointing toward the ground with two fingers when they ride by? What is that? What does it mean?

Race, guns, and George Zimmerman

George Zimmerman was found "Not Guilty" last night.

I really didn't think, logically, there could have been any other decision.

The prosecutor was bullied by the media (those with both a liberal and anti-handgun bias) into charging Zimmerman, when the case never merited bringing Second Degree Murder charges in the first place.  If the prosecutor who took Zimmerman to trial is an elected position in Florida, he may find himself out of a job soon.  (And, if his is an elected position, it may explain why he arraigned Zimmerman in the first place, when most legal pundits thought the case was weak.)

Luckily the 6 jurors had more sense than the media, and Zimmerman may have some semblance of his life back.  Zimmerman, however, still has to live with the fact that he killed a 17 year old black man.  He has to live with the fact that he is a minor celebrity.  That he may even be a target for people "looking to get justice for Travon Martin".

That we each have a right to defend ourselves and our families is a basic, God-given right, but that was not what the trial was about.  Did Zimmerman go "looking for trouble"?  Maybe.  Was he injured in a confrontation?  Most assuredly - his basic description of what happened hasn't changed since his initial statement to police.  Was Martin a bad kid, looking to get into mischief?  Probably not, but he did make a bad decision to physically confront Zimmerman.  Did he deserve to die?  Absolutely not, but, to quote Clint Eastwood's character in "Unforgiven", when it comes to death, "deserves got nothing to do with it."

There were a hundred ways this situation could have gone differently, most of them better  Unfortunately, once there was a shot fired, every anti-handgun media outlet jumped on the bandwagon of proclaiming second amendment supporters as "Gun Nuts", with the argument that had Zimmerman been unarmed, the outcome would have been the "correct" one - Martin would have beaten the snot out of Zimmerman.

The anti-racist groups overreached and tried to make this about racial profiling - possibly before realizing Zimmerman was a minority himself.  I have heard reports that this is just "Old South" justice, that the "Black Man gets no justice".  But that is an oversimplification of the case - if the dead man had been white, and the accused black, it would have changed little - a person, who is being physically assaulted, has a right to defend themselves - and if you are in Florida, or any other "Stand your ground" state, you have a right to use deadly force if you believe your own life is in danger.  Period.  The law is colorblind.

What if Martin had been armed?  Then he would have had a right to call the police, confront his follower, and hold him until police arrived.  Had Zimmerman jumped Martin, then Martin could have, legally, defended himself with deadly force.

I am sorry for the family of Trayvon Martin, I truly am.  But just because he died does not make him innocent of his fate.  He made a couple bad choices.  He attacked a man that was, unknown to him, licensed to carry a firearm, and armed.  I hope this serves as a cautionary tale to every other person out there - you do not know who is armed, so it is probably best to assume everyone is.

The media is liberally biased - although my liberal friends will try and argue it isn't.  Like the OJ trial in the 1990's, this is yet another case to pit the minorities against Caucasians - never mind that Zimmerman is a minority.  There will be protest across the country over the next week or two, and probably renewed call to further restrict the right to keep or carry handguns.  Teary eyed reporters will show the Martin family in shock - because the media and the "Black Leaders" lied to them, pretending there was a winnable case against Zimmerman. 

There are no winners in this case, except for maybe the "Black Leaders" and the media pundits on both sides of the isle.  They will continue to make money of of Martin's misery.  Zimmerman will find himself sued in civil court, I am sure.  He may win, but most likely (since the burden of proof is so much lower) he will be forced to pay thousands or millions of dollars for doing something that was perfectly legal.  Everyone loses.

As for me, I will continue to do what I do.  I carry a handgun much of the time.  With God's grace I will never have to use it, but I will protect my life or my family of needed.

After all, as the old adage goes, "It is better to be judged by twelve than carried by six."

The Sequester Shuffle

Ok, I admit to being cynical.  I believe a politician is only good in their eulogy.  I strongly support the old joke about "How can you tell when a politician is lying?"  (Their lips are moving.)  But the sequester spin is rapidly moving from sublime to ludicrous.

"Godwin's Law" states that "As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches 1."  We seem to have hit that probability with the sequester already - although, admittedly, we were close before it ever started.

The problem with this, and possibly a corollary to Godwin's law, is that once such a comparison is made, any productive dialog ceases.

WE HAVE ARRIVED.  I have seen conservative posts suggesting that the military is being ramped up for a possible totalitarian state, with Obama as it's head.  I have seen members of the president's cabinet suggest that Republicans are purposely trying to make the country default, to make the president look bad.

Sorry, but I call "Bullshit!" on them both.

Just because someone views things different than you does not make them the enemy.  I assume we both want what's best for the world, for the US, and for ourselves (possibly not in that order).  We all need to understand that arguments (in the true legal sense) are not a bad thing - quite the contrary, the are a necessity in a free and open society.

In my mind, the bigger concern is not the sequester, or gun rights, or Obamacare, or the National Debt, or bringing our soldiers home, or even the Federal Deficit - it is the seemingly already decided idea that the Federal Government has ANY say inside the states.  Perhaps I missed it, but doesn't the 10th Amendment still apply?  "The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people."  That means that the Federal government has been overstepping it's authority for a very long time.

And I'd like to see it stop.  Returning to States Rights would solve a lot of problems.  Gun rights, for example.  Massachusetts wants to ban all weapons not propelled by air?  Let them.  You live in Mass and don't like it?  Move.  Texas gives all newborn babies a concealed handgun license, a small revolver, and a case of ammunition?  Great.  Don't like what Texas does?  Move.

California has great beaches, but is too liberal?  Maybe Florida fits the bill.  All American citizens have more say in their State government than in the Federal Government.  So, shouldn't the States have the most responsibility to their own people?

Forget Washington - the politicians who live there are unredeemable.  Focus on your local governemnt, and your county, and your state.  You may, just maybe, have a positive impact.

P. J. O'Rourke observed, in "Parliament of Whores", that giving money and power to government was like giving whiskey and car keys to teenage boys.  And he's right.  I just don't want to be along for the ride.  

Thanksgiving

The celebration we now term as "Thanksgiving" is a bit unique in the world.

As instituted by George Washington (November 26, 1789, "as a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favours of Almighty God"), it was a day for prayerfully acknowledging God, and thanking Him that we had just won our freedom.

It was not re-instituted as a national holiday until 1863, by Abe Lincoln, when it became an annual event.  (Of course, Congress tampered with it in 1941, making it the fourth Thursday in November, giving an extra week of Christmas shopping on years when the last Thursday is just too darn close for retailers.)

On this day, I'd like to list what I am thankful for.
First, my life in Christ.  Without that, everything else becomes meaningless.  I am unworthy, yet I am still accepted into the family of God.

My precious wife, although you are now 11 time zones away from me, we will be reunited in just a couple weeks, and I can feel your love all the way over here.

My family, who supports me in every way, and even understands me sometimes.

My time in India.  It has been an awakening experience, showing me not only what another culture is like, but also giving me greater insight into my own, US-centric worldview.

My job.  Too many people I know dislike their job, or are trying to find one.  I have a job I normally enjoy, and seems to be stable - or will be, when I return to the US.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.  Take some time to give thanks, "with grateful hearts the many and signal favours of Almighty God"

Depression depresses me...

According to Wikipedia (the reference for people too lazy to look things up and verify for themselves): 

Depression is a state of low mood and aversion to activity that can have a negative effect on a person's thoughts, behavior, feelings, world view and physical well-being.  Depressed people may feel sad, anxious, empty, hopeless, worried, helpless, worthless, guilty, irritable, hurt or restless. They may lose interest in activities that once were pleasurable, experience loss of appetite or overeating, have problems concentrating, remembering details, or making decisions and may contemplate or attempt suicide.  Insomnia, Excessive sleeping, fatigue, loss of energy, or aches, pains or digestive problems that are resistant to treatment may also be present.

I believe I an suffering from depression.  Now, before you go calling the suicide hotline on my behalf, lets be blunt - depression is a MOOD.  Many times it is temporary, and in my case I believe this to be the case.  I think that when all my India packing is complete, and my feet are back on American soil, most, if not all, of my symptoms will vanish.  But for now, when combined with my ever-present anxiety and my panic attacks - well, let's just say it isn't much fun.  If it continues past my return home, then I will have myself evaluated by a professional. 

I find myself thinking about death a lot.  This is not necessarily bad - we each will die, and coming to grips with that is probably part of the human condition.  I find myself lethargic, constantly tired, and able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat.  I have begun suffering from indigestion after every meal, whether it is spicy, or bland.  My anxiety and panic attacks kick in, and I swear I am having a heart attack - until I belch, and all the pressure vanishes.  I find myself walking a lot, just to relieve the gas - also, probably a good thing.

I chose to keep my middle child, my 12 year old daughter, in India with me.  I do not regret it, but she figures into my fears now as well - What if she has another allergic reaction?  What if my fears are realized, and I pass out or do suffer a medical emergency?  What if - well, fill in the blank.  There are a lot of scary possibilities when you alone are responsible for a child half a world away from anything familiar.

I am down to my last 3 weeks, give or take a few days.  I intend to do as much as I can, on what I have referred to as my "Fairwell Tour of Bangalore".  Yes, I know it is normally spelled "farewell", but I also know Bangalore can be more Fair or Carnival than anything else, so I'll keep the spelling I like, thank you very much.  I have much work to accomplish, and a lot of "fun" things to do as well.  These last weeks and weekends will be busy, and I want to enjoy them.

I don't want to be worried every minute of every day - yet I seem to be.  Constantly.  I find that my last weeks is what should be a joyful time are marred, and I have nobody to blame but myself.

I just wish I knew how to fix it.

All dressed up, and nowhere to go...

I suffer from panic attacks.

For those who do not know what that means, it means that, periodically, I will have the incredible sense that I am going to die, that the world is collapsing, and that I absolutely MUST get away from - well, from wherever I am.  My heart races, my fingers tingle, my chest tightens, my breathing becomes more erratic, I may feel like I am burning up with fever, or freezing cold - or both in rapid succession, and I feel like I am going to die.  Adrenaline floods my bloodstream.  I am in full "fight or flight" mode, but with nothing whatsoever to fight, and no way to get away from myself.

Panic attacks, to put it bluntly, suck.

I am not alone.  Some estimates are that as many as 40% of the population will have at least one panic attack.  Some of us will have many, many more - and worrying about them can induce them.  Caffeine - which means my beloved percolated coffee - can also trigger them.  And, like most of my emotional, physical, and mental problems, they are hereditary - So, Thanks for nothing, Dad.

My question is how do I handle them.  Rushing to the ER every time I have a panic attack will make my insurance a bit annoyed, drain my bank account, and put me on a first-name basis with my ER staff.  Doing nothing - my normal means of dealing with them - works in all but the most severe panic attacks.  The more severe ones - well, they really suck.

I have tried - truly, wholeheartedly, tried.  I prayed that God would remove the spirit of fear.  Unfortunately, it doesn't help.  Now before my Christian friends point out that perhaps my faith was lacking, let me remind you that Christ himself criticized his disciples for having faith less than that of a mustard seed.  I am sure my faith is lacking.  But I don't think that that is the reason for my panic attacks.

I have also tried take Alprazolam, also known as Xanax.  It works, mostly.  My doctor is afraid of dependence, so I am not supposed to use it until I am actually experiencing a panic attack - when I may or not have it with me.  Luckily, from what I can tell, no one has ever died from Panic Attacks - you just feel like you will.

So, if you suffer from Panic Attacks, or Panic Disorder, or Generalized Anxiety Disorder, tell me - what works for you?  How do you fight yourself through a fear, when you KNOW it is a baseless, unrealistic fear, but your body goes on reacting as if it is petrified anyway?

Thanks...

My political ramblings

As I get older, I find my political views are changing.  This is not necessarily a positive for either of the presumed presidential candidates, though. 

Living in India, I have found people (or at least those represented by the newspaper's views) to be childish.  Actually, that is probably too strong a word - Childlike is probably better.

They expect the government to protect them from - well, pretty much everything.  Famine, war pestilence?  Check.  Adult themes on television, as evidenced by banning "The Dirty Picture", a critically acclaimed movie, which was denied a showing even after ALL the edits suggested by the sensors?  Check. 

I wonder what is next.  Do Indians (or anyone) have the right not to be offended?  I certainly hope not - Part of Freedom is the ability to offend people. Yes, it is tempered - I don't have the right to scream "Fire" in a crowded movie theater.  But don't I have rights to express myself?  Why should anyone have the right to oppress my expression?

In the US, there are a few things that would define me as "liberal".  (Very few things.)  Gay marriage, for example.  It's not that I support it, or oppose it.  I just don't care.  If two people want to get married, and spend money for a wedding, why should I care whether they are both male, or female, or white, black, Asian, Hispanic, or, to be honest, human?  There are some people who will argue that soon people will be marrying dogs and cats.  Again - who cares?  No tax breaks for marrying a non-human, and everything seems fine to me.  Of course, since the animal can't sign divorce papers, good luck changing your mind later...

Drug laws - they aren't working.  I don't know what they should be, but looking at what we have, there is a pretty good example of "What not to do".  I am for the decriminalization of certain drugs, and believe that they should be treated like cigarettes and alcohol - regulate and tax the snot out of them.  Another Liberal check for my political viewpoint.



I am strongly in favor of Capitol Punishment.  Murderers can escape (like the Texas bunch did), and they can kill again.  Capital Punishment guarantees that they don't murder again.  A check for the Conservative column.  And I am against Abortion.  Check two in the Conservative column.  (BTW, I find it a little hard to understand any person who thinks killing murderers is bad, but killing unborn babies is ok.) 

Where I am very conservative is finances.  While my personal finances don't always reflect appropriate decisions, I expect my government to be frugal and cautious with MY money, and everybody elses money, also.  I don't expect Government to take care of everything.  I believe Ford (not Jefferson, as is often mis-attributed) was right - "A government big enough to give you everything you want is a government big enough to take from you everything you have."

What I want MOST from my government is to be left alone.  The less involved with my life the government is, the happier I am.  Jefferson did say "The natural progress of things is for liberty to yield, and government to gain ground."  (Thomas Jefferson knew small government was best.  He also hated debt and banks, so two more pluses for TJ.)  Big government - Like our current president embraces - scares the bejesus out of me.

I find more and more I view myself as "Libertarian".  I want the government to stay out of my hair (so to speak) and out of my love life/financial life/childrearing decisions/everything else.  I am also enough of a realist to recognise that a Libertarian candidate will NEVER succeed at the national level.  (OK, Never may be too strong - how about "not in the next few years".)  So - I vote with the candidate that most agrees with me between the big two. 

You can find out who most agrees with you.  Check out http://www.selectsmart.com/president/.

Mors Omnibus Communis

The Latin makes the post sound interesting.  I'll save you the trouble of using Google - It means "Death comes to all men" (or, "all things").

I have been sick the last three days, with a fever and muscle aches.  This is the second time in a month, which is not normal for me.  Coupled with the sickness, though, is a form of - not depression, exactly, but a constant focus on my own demise.  I am sure many people go through this, a kind of grieving process for your own mortality.  (I know - I Googled it, and "Accepting own mortality" has 12 million hits.)

Perhaps it is this phase in life - the acceptance that one's life is finite, not the knowledge of it, but the full total acceptance - that leads to "mid-life crisis".  After all, why think about death when you can buy a sports car, ditch the wife for a silicon-implanted 20-something, and pretend you have a new lease on life? 

Maybe I could go the other direction, and become an old man before my time.  Take up dominoes, play checkers in the front lawn with an old coon hound, watch Lawrence Welk, and complain about all the "Noise" the radio stations are playing.

Nah, that doesn't sound like me either. 

Shakespeare wrote "Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once."  I always believed that it was the running away that caused the "coward" to "die" a thousand times, but now I wonder if it isn't the worry, anxiety, and fear that the Bard was referring to.  If so, I am a coward.  I have tasted death hundreds of times, in my worry and fear.

I am a Christian.  I believe there is an afterlife.  I believe in the resurrection of all men.  "It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgement."  I don't fear death, but dying scares the crap out of me.

I wonder why it bothers me so much.  I am a reasonably logical fellow.  I accept that everything that lives will die.  There just seems like there should be an exception for ME.  That seems selfish.  Ok, an exception for you, too.

Maybe it is because this is one of the areas where I have NO control whatsoever.  I didn't get a vote.  I was never asked my opinion.  I can't opt out of it.  I can't choose to pay a tax rather than go along with it.  (Yes, that was a dig at Obamacare)   (Side Note - I find it funny that spell check suggests replacing Obamacare with Macabre.) 

I assume this, like other overwhelming situations, needs to be handled using "Elephant Mastication".  (How do you eat an Elephant?  One bite at a time.)  Some things make it easier to take a bite.  This blog, for example, helps.  A warm bed with a soft body makes the nights feel less dark and scary.  Even knowing that all mortals before me faced the same inner turmoil makes gives me hope that I also may come to fully accept it.

Dylan Thomas wrote a famous poem, urging his father to fight death, to not give in.  It starts: 
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."


I feel he was wrong.  When it is time, I pray that I will face my death with dignity, that I will be able to comfort my family with my acceptance. 

I know my life will end.  I just pray it is not too soon.

Trials and Tribulations

Stuff happens.

While that is not really profound, I find that I always expect things to just "Happen" when they should, for things to just work, and for plans to always come together, despite knowing that life is messy and complicated.

Recently my daughter spent some time with us in Bangalore, India. Her time here was enjoyed by all, and it was a difficult parting on Wednesday, when she returned to the US.

Through a mutual decision, we chose to keep her cell phone suspended, and to move her to her own plan. The phone was ordered, and arrived at our home in the US before she left, so she knew her phone would be waiting for her - but it also meant the trip would be taken without a cell phone.

Since I normally am unable to get cell service overseas anyway, and the layovers were expected to be relatively short, this seemed like a minor inconvenience. The biggest problem would be getting the limo company to know exactly when she was arriving, so I decided to closely monitor her flights, and update them myself.

She had her iPod, a pair of laptops, her mom's debit card, and a sunny disposition, so we figured she would be fine.

The trip is never easy, normally running 32 hours or so from door to door, being locked in 2 planes of over 8 hours duration each, and never really having a place to sleep, rest, or unwind. (I believe my family is the reason other passengers drink heavily.)

In my daughters case, it was much worse than normal. From what I have learned, her flight from Bangalore to London was uneventful (which, when flying half way around the world, is as good as it gets), where all plans when out the window.

Her flight from London to Chicago was delayed, then delayed again, then cancelled for hydrolic issues. Knowing a little bit about planes, I know that hydrolic issues in the big boys is a major problem. In addition to raising and lowering the landing gear (something needed for a 'landing' rather than a 'crash landing'), hydrolics also control the flaps and rudder - you know, so you could climb or descend, and actual steer the plane. Important stuff, all. Much better to cancel the flight, than risk people's lives.

The cancellation put her in a bind. She had no way to let us know what was going on, and she really didn't know what to do. (Me, I always play to my strengths - I become the loud, angry, XXXL American that nobody wants to deal with, until somebody lets me know what is going on and makes things right.) When the decision was made to cancel the flight, she ended up in a line a couple hours long, but did eventually get tickets for the first flight to the US the next day (to Washington DC), a connection to Indy 3 hours after the scheduled landing in DC, coupons for meals, and a hotel room for the night.

She was also able to borrow a cell phone, and call my Skype to let me know what was going on. While I knew the flight had been cancelled, I didn't know what arrangements had been made, so the call was very helpful, even though it came at 3:00 AM India time. I altered the reservation for her ride to the new date and time, and asked her to send an e-mail or call from DC if there were any changes.

She also had to get her checked bags, lug them with her to the hotel, drag them back to the airport, and recheck them, all in an unfamiliar airport, where they don't speak English, but British.

Since Murphy and his law are alive and well, her flight was delayed by two hours. Remember, she had no way of telling us anything, but I am monitoring the situation. Assuming that the one hour between the new "Expected" landing and the departure of her flight to Indy was not sufficient to go through passport control, get her bags, go through customs, recheck her bags, pass through security again, and make it to her gate, I notified the limo company of her new planned flight (almost 5 hours later), and did the best I could to get her a message - Apple's iMessage service, facebook private message, and letting her fiancee know (because I figured if she was given one phone call, it wouldn't be to me).

While she is familiar with the procedures in Chicago, our nation's capital seems to have put her off her game. She apparently spend several hours in line going through Passport Control (Immigration), and by the time she cleared customs she was pretty upset. She borrowed another cell phone, and called us (again, 3:30 AM India time), crying and stressed.

I calmed her down a little, explained that I already knew she was going to miss her connection, that I figured she was going to be booked on the flight that she was, in fact, booked on, and that arrangements had already been made for her transportation from Indy international to our home. She had plenty of time, she should try and relax, get something to eat, and enjoy the fact that the trip was almost over.

She told me that she was unable to check her mail, because her devices were all dead, and the hotel in London did not have adapters (and she was - wisely - not going to pay $30 for an adapter when we already had half a dozen, just not in her possession). The hotel also did not have an alarm clock, nor a "Wake up" facility, so she put the TV to CNN, which had the time constantly on the channel, and woke up frequently to check the time, and ensure that she didn't oversleep.

The final leg of her journey was uneventful, the limo service was where they were supposed to be, and she was home just after 1:00 AM - about 24 hours later than planned.

In all, her trip home was 8, 655 miles, and it took her 55 hours. She averaged over 157 miles an hour. It was a rough trip, but infinitely easier than what the same trip would have entailed a century ago.

My point for this post, though, is not to just to state what a long difficult trip this was for her, but to observe that life itself is like this trip - a series of difficulties and trials that must be addressed, and overcome or worked around. While I am sure she was miserable, she learned some things about people, and herself, from the experience. It didn't break her, it will make her stronger and more resilient, and that means the experience served its purpose as teacher.

We all have trials and tribulations. Some are short lived - a fender bender, a rough trip, or standing in line to deal with an overworked and stressed out British Airways employee. Some trials take longer - a layoff, a change of address, financial difficulties.

I wondered what exactly the difference was between a trial and a tribulation. Google, as always provided the answer. A trial is a test - something that tests your resolve, determination, and commitment. A tribulation, while similar, is a difficulty which costs something - same root as in "paying tribute". Trials can be overcome without any permanent loss.

I believe some trials can become tribulations if not dealt with properly. Financial trials can become tribulations easily. The loss of a loved one is always a tribulation, but the loss of a job is not, and can be overcome.

I pray that we meet all our trials head on, and they never grow into tribulation.

Lisa Irwin...

Lisa Irwin is the latest missing child (in her case, Infant) to make the news. The father returned from his job at 4:00 AM to find the whole house lit up, the front door and a window wide open, and no baby anywhere.

Today's news (October 7th, 2011) is that the parents have stopped cooperating with police.

Now, I remember the JonBenet Ramsey case a decade and a half ago, and there are some strange similarities. JonBenet was not kidnapped, although there was a ransom note. Instead JonBenet was murdered, and the detectives in that case seemed to have botched it about as badly as could be. One of the first things they did was to focus on the family as suspects.

Now, I am sure whenever a spouse is murdered, some large percentage of the time the killer is the surviving spouse. I am also sure that when a child goes missing, the parents or a close family member are involved a large percentage of the time. But as an accountant I knew used to say, "Figures don't lie... but liars figure."

Percentages don't really mean anything in an individual case. Just like "America has 90% employment" doesn't mean squat if you are searching for a job.

I suspect that the police began aggressively questioning someone in the family - the mom, the dad, a brother, whoever - because that is what detectives do. I am not implying that they should stop doing it. Police deal with criminals on a daily basis, and, after a while, I think it makes them a bit suspicious of everybody.

But not everybody who is working with the police is a criminal - like, say, the family of an infant who has been snatched from her bed. While the investigation may eventually lead to a family member, it should not start there. People in emotional distress behave differently depending on the individual. Some cry and scream and shout - like outsiders expect. Some drop into a state of shock, and maybe distance themselves from reality, becoming cold and distant. This, of course, would be viewed suspiciously, even though I suspect it is perfectly natural.

So what will become of young Lisa Irwin, and the family, and the police in Kansas City, MO? Statistics say that, if she was truly kidnapped, she will be returned home - eventually. Of the 250,000 kidnappings a year, only about 100 result in fatalities, and almost all of them occur within the first couple hours.

Of course, statistics don't mean much for this one family.

They will be in my prayers.

They need to be in all our prayers.

Movies, movies, movies...

My wife and family returned to the US several weeks ago, and I find myself with more time on my hands than I'd like. Since there is another expat here without family, we have spent quite a bit of time exploring Bangalore, and watching movies.

After finishing an old Showtime series, Dead Like me, and the mediocre movie that was made a few years after the series ended, we turned to an independent film with Jeff Bridges called "Tideland".

Now, I enjoy movies. Some of my favorites are not Hollywood, but are independent, or foreign, or the originals that Hollywood remade (Like "Quarantine"? See the original Spanish language, "[REC]")

The great thing about independent film is that the director and producer are not constrained by bean counters worried about recouping money. Independent films can be cheaply made ("Blair Witch Project"), push the envelope ("Reservoir Dogs"), and earn critical acclaim ("Night of the Living Dead").

Unfortunately, some are - I was going to say "bad" but that doesn't seem to fit. A bad movie, to me, is "Battlefield Earth". To this day I hate John Travolta for stealing 2 hours of my life. Even Independent Films that I dislike normally have some redeeming quality, some aspect that I like, or that works.

My case in point is "Tideland". If I would sum up the movie in a single word, it would have to be "weird". Or maybe "unique".

The movie focuses on a girl, Jeliza-Rose, who is about 10. Her parents are drug addicts, and both die within the first 30 minutes or so of the film, leaving her alone (which, in her case, is not much different than having 2 drug addicted parents).

What follows is a escalating sense of weirdness. She yearns for family, and comfort, and love, and finds it in the mentally handicapped man-child next door, while the man-child's sister functions as a sort of "mother" to the strange sorry little band.

If the purpose of art, whether painting, sculpture, or movie, is to evoke emotion, this movie succeeds. It is not a light movie (a "Popcorn Flick"). Some parts are downright disturbing. But when I look back after sleeping on it, I find it left me with a sense of hope, that things would improve, and maybe Jeliza-Rose had found the family she wanted.

Since it is now October, and the Halloween season is again upon us, I am going to be forcing my friend to watch some horror movies - my favorite genre. "Trick 'r Treat" is definitely on the list, as well as "The Devil's Backbone" and "Pan's Labrynth" from Guillermo del Toro (and maybe his earlier work, "Cronos"). Since my friend scares easily, I am leaning more to creepy rather than truly terrifying.

Suggestions welcome...

Caylee and Casey Anthony

I don't know who killed Caylee Anthony.

And, other than the killer(s), neither do you.

Like many Americans, I followed the investigation and trial on the internet, print, and occasionally television. There is little doubt that Casey's actions were suspicious, and she certainly won't win any Mother (or Daughter) awards. But I also wonder if we followers were not manipulated by the media, whether for ratings or otherwise, into assuming guilt on her part.

I have had the privilege of serving on a jury, although for a civil case, not criminal. While many potential jurors expressed a desire to "escape" Jury Duty, the ones actually chosen were, above all, conscientious, taking our responsibilities VERY seriously. Were I ever on trial, I would want the jury I was on, or another just like it. We debated, and argued, and at times fought - but we all kept an open mind, and were swayed by persuasive arguments. We debated for about 5 hours, after a 5 week trial. It was a wonderful experience, and I am glad I had the opportunity.

The Anthony jurors heard ALL the evidence, not just the pieces released to the media. They knew when they were picked that their decision would be scrutinized, whatever the outcome. Sure, some may have wanted to be on the jury for the potential benefits and media attention. Others thought, like I would have, that they could be fair and impartial, and that if THEY were on trial, they would want a person like themselves on the jury.

I will not question the jury's decision. I am disappointed that the killer(s) remain free, but if there is blame, it should fall to the prosecutor who either tried the wrong person, or failed to provide persuasive arguments.

As for Casey, she is living one of two realities. Either 1) She did get away with murder, and she will have to live with this for the rest of her life, as well as the notoriety and scorn that will follow her. She has a criminal record, and a job will be difficult. Should she choose to "cash in" on her fame, she may find herself stalked and threatened by some less stable members of society. She has alienated her family, friends, and many strangers. I don't envy her life.

The second possibility is that she truly is innocent of murder, although she may be guilty of terminal stupidity and sociopathic indifference to her child's welfare. She will live her life legally innocent, but with the vast majority of the country convinced of her guilt. She will eventually fade from the headlines, but it could be years before people forget her name or face. (Seriously, who remembers what Andrea Yates looks like?) She may eventually have some semblance of normalcy, but it will be years from now, and, if she is truly innocent, she will have served many years in a prison of her own making.

Killers do walk free. Karla Homolka, of "Ken and Barbie Murders" fame, is free from prison and parole, and is purportedly living in the Antilles. Mob killers have gotten new lives, and some even manage to avoid re-arrest (unlike Sammy "The Bull" Gravano).

I believe Casey Anthony should cease to be a newspaper headline. The government had its chance, and she was found "not guilty" by her peers. Leave her be. But I mean REALLY leave her be. No book deals. No paid interviews. No reality show contract.

Let her fade from memory, until the next courtroom drama or missing child turns our fickle heads. The sad thing is that there is always another one coming up, just over the horizon. Another kidnapped child held prisoner, another murdered baby, another heinous crime, and we, the public, love to be titillated.

Perhaps it is us, the public, who is most wrong in all of this. Or perhaps it is the newspapers, who have long since strayed from "information" to "entertainment". Or maybe the blame lies with the talking heads, with Nancy Grace and her ilk, who speak with authority about things they really don't know.

Wherever the blame lies, I know I must bear some of the responsibility. I watch the shows, I read the papers, I get emotionally involved in a case that has no bearing on me, or my life, and I allow my emotions and feeling to be manipulated by the media.

Casey Anthony, if you are innocent, I pray you get in this life what you deserve. Which, come to think of it, is also my prayer if you are guilty.

Excuses, excuses, excuses

I thought long and hard about whether I should condemn an entire country of almost 1.4 Billion people for the actions of a few hundred million, but I figured "What the heck, it's my blog." See, in the US we have people who make excuses and are never on time. They are called "contractor's", and in tough times, they are typically the first to go bankrupt.

In India, though, the normal person is an excuse maker, tardy, undependable, and lazy. Waiting 3 days for the TV repairman was the push I needed to have this whine session.

I called on Tuesday morning. He promised he would be here in the afternoon, so I diligently left money with the wife, knowing in the back of my mind he would not arrive. He didn't. When I called later on Tuesday, he said he would be here first thing Wednesday morning.

Wednesday morning I called, to verify his arrival. The story was his technician had called out, and he would come personally Wednesday afternoon. I put on my best "pissed off American" attitude, all the while figuring I was right on schedule for a Thursday morning arrival. Wednesday afternoon came a phone call from said TV repair shop owner, as I knew it would, this time explaining that his truck broke down on the way to fix my television. He was so very sorry, but he would be here Thursday morning. I told him he had until 11:00 AM Thursday, or he could just stay gone.

Thursday morning I again called, and he is "on the way" - he promises an arrival by 11:00... Or 11:15 at the latest. I figure noon, but I won't tell him that. I'll update this if he actually arrives.

-- UPDATE - at 11:10 I got a call from him, he is stuck in traffic, but will be here in 30 minutes or less. Further updates coming, I am sure.

--UPDATE 2 - at 12:05 the repair man arrived. He took the TV apart, took a circuit board out, and promised to have it repaired and returned no later than Tuesday. And I believe him, almost.

Now, this could happen in the US - heck, it has happened in the US. But what is frustrating is that it is a constant in India, everything requiring another person, organization, or entity results in a series of excuses before finally delivering a 80% solution, late and more expensive than promised. Everything. It is draining. I find myself constantly on the verge of frustration, because I know, whenever things are going smoothly, they will shortly change.

For any expats here, I will offer some advice that I have had some success with. First, clearly state deadlines - preferable 2 days earlier than you originally need it, so when the time slips - and it will - you can still make your original deadline. Second, be the grouch. I have tried to be the nice guy, and my politeness is mistaken for weakness. When I play the mean, nasty SOB, things happen in a more timely manner - not when I want them, but a lot sooner than they would otherwise. Thirdly, and most important, learn that time functions differently in India. They call IST "India Stretchy Time" for a reason. Have a workaround, or distraction, handy. If it is unimportant in the big scheme of things, like the television, don't be afraid to get someone else. You won't have it fixed any sooner, but the excuses may be more inventive.

Now, there are some notable exceptions. My driver is very dependable, as is my nanny/cook/maid. Many of my co-workers have adopted a more American attitude of time, deadlines, ownership, and commitment. For all I know, though, the dozen or two people in my immediate sphere are the only people who are like this.

What it does mean, though, is my attitude is a little better when I am in the States. Internet in the US just works, or Comcast gets a call, and it is fixed or an ETA of resumption of service is given. Here, a phone call is to the technician, who may fix your problem, or may say it is at the "main provider" - meaning it is out of his control, and he is not calling them to find out what is going on. Electrical connections in the US are relatively safe and consistent, while in India they are a mish-mosh of electrical tape, bailing wire, spit and prayers. Plumbers are professional in the US, even though they have them funky butt-baring pants, while in India plumbing leaks are routinely fixed by wrapping a rag wound the pipe and tightening it until it is only a slow drizzle.

I am not exaggerating about the 80% rule. It is the norm. If something Almost works, or kinda works, or even is broken in a different way, then it can be considered repaired, and crossed off the list. When a friend had a bathroom leak repaired, the plumber left with the wall unpatched, a gaping hole remaining, where he had to access the pipes. "I am a plumber, not a mason" the man replied. When the mason came a week later, and patched the wall, much of the mud had dried on the floor, and left difficult to dislodge clumps. The implication was that cleaning up was not the mason's job.

Sometimes I think saying 80% is being generous.

There are bright spots. My youngest was in the hospital last week, and the doctor, while late and difficult to understand, seemed competent. The nurses, while not as attentive as I would have liked, seemed capable. The hospital itself was a bit primitive, and the bed was a board with a slender piece of foam, but she is better, and that is what counts. Or maybe I just expected the worst, and was pleasantly surprised it was not as bad as I feared.