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.

Back in Bangalore

I arrived in Bangalore a week ago, and today I had my annual "Favorite Experience" - registering myself at the Foreigner Regional Registration Office.

Now, normally I cringe anytime I have to deal with ANY government agency. The DMV, for example, frustrates me enough that I delay renewing my license until the last minute - like everybody else.

In reality, though, not all government offices are inefficient and painful. Like lawyers, it's the 95% of them that give the rest a bad name. OK, maybe that is an exaggeration. My mom has dealt with the Social Security Administration, and the office near us is decent. The BMV I go to north of us is fine. But, with many things in India, dread surrounds my annual encounter with the FRRO.

The FRRO itself has relocated, which is good. The last location was on a major one-way street in the heart of the city (Infantry Road). The building looked like it had stepped out of "Gunga Din". The desks behind the counter were piled high (taller than me) with multiple stacks of files which looked like they had been there since the British left in 1947. The entire office staff looked like someone had gone down to central casting and requested "a bunch of generic Government employees". Everyone, the employees and the customers, looked miserable.

Now, though, the place is a little off the beaten path. The seats are more comfortable (think doctor's office rather than stack-able vinyl). The whole area is lighter, and feels less - depressing. The office staff is the same as before, but it seems that since the customers are not so tense, they have lightened up a bit also. I counted not one, not two, but three smiles during my two visits.

Yes, two visits.

See, you have to go with this stack of paperwork, which is looked at by a bunch of people, before you are sent upstairs - so it can be looked at by more people. Eventually you get to a pair of women who tell you what to pay. But wait, even paying is complicated. It must be a Demand Draft - like a cashier's check. So you need to text the amount to the company guiding you through this process, they get a DD, and they scoot over to you, so you can take the bill and your passport to the cashier and leave...

For about 3 hours, when you must return to pick it up, verify everything is right, and FINALLY be free until the next year.

Or, in my case, be free until my family arrives in the beginning of March.

Which brings me to my problem with Bangalore now. See, I was enjoying being home, playing with the kids, seeing the family, basically being normal - or at least as normal as I get. Work is busy, but not engaging enough yet to fully distract me from the fact that I am alone in a country of a billion and a third people.

Mostly, I miss my wife. We reconnected this time in a way we had not for quite a while, and it was awesome, and it was horrible to leave.

My sole comfort is that they will be here in a few weeks, and then I will have someone to show around, to experience India all over again through fresh eyes, to see the craziness and the absurdity, to taste and smell the exotic delights all around us, in this very foreign land.

And, of course, the possibility that I might be somewhat normal again.