Brothers in Arms . . . usually a waste

I am writing this entry on the plane as it flies over Alaska on the way to Japan. I suspect that if I look out of the windows on the right side I might see Sarah Palin’s house and if I check the other side I might see Russia. Right now, I’m quietly marveling at the technology all around me. My laptop is plugged into a 120V outlet in the seat, an LCD screen in arm-rest offers a choice of over 300 movies or I can select my favorite tracks from over 200 CDs. The music selection is wonderful: everything from Elvis to Enya or Bach to Billy Holiday. Outside, it is -60 degrees Fahrenheit but I am cocooned in an aluminum tube hurtling towards the international dateline at 550 miles per hour listening to Simon and Garfunkel sing about the “Sounds of Silence”.

The music system allows passengers to select tunes from any number of CDs and play a personal “Jukebox” to wile away the hours. Among the gems I’ve included on my jukebox is “Brothers in Arms” by Dire Straits. I can’t listen to this tune without being grateful for the circumstances in my life. My parents were both in their late teens and early twenties when they served in the armed forces during WW II. I was born at the end of that war and came of age when the law requiring two years service in the forces had been abolished. The UK was not involved in Viet Nam so unlike some of my colleagues here, I was spared that conflict. Now, I am too old. My son registered for Selective Service when he became 18 but as the years pass and he advances I have strong hopes that he will be spared any involvement in armed conflict. I fervently pray that my grandson and granddaughter will also be spared. That’s her picture at the end of this paragraph. She is still too young to be embarrassed by a doting granddad or be teased by friends. I’m not too sure that applies to her “big” brother so we’ll omit his photo.)

I expect many people will think my feelings are selfish. Maybe they are, but they are also a combination of profound sorrow and deep anger. Sorrow for the wanton loss of youth and all the wasted potential those lives contained; anger at the people my age who keep failing to find alternative means of solving problems and so squander those youthful lives. My feelings are not restricted to the US. I mourn the loss of youth on all sides and my curses are democratically directed at all leaders. But the crux is we claim to have higher ideals than some other folks.

So, I also get angry each Sunday when, with so many other American citizens, I go to church to worship the “Prince of Peace”. We recall the way Jesus forgave His killers. We read and memorize verses proclaiming His teaching that love conquers all and somehow, we manage to rationalize that these words are not really intended to work in the real world between Monday and Saturday. Should I add naivety to my selfishness? I don’t have an answer to that but I am sure that we cannot just pick the bits of Jesus’ teachings we like and ask forgiveness when we deliberately ignore the “inconvenient” parts. The verse is “do onto others as you would have them do onto you”. That way will bring security for everyone’s grandkids. Unfortunately, too many seem to read it as “do onto others before they do onto you”. That is a guaranteed path to continued waste and sorrow.

Religious education

Back in the Dark Ages when I attended the Boys’ Model School in Northern Ireland, the law required pupils be taught two specific subjects. They were subjects that are not normally required for a good education in USA today - Religious Education and Physical Education. I thought that the “Troubles” in Northern Ireland and the development of modern curricula would cause a retreat from teaching religion to all pupils. However, looking at the current website for the Boys’ Model, I was very surprised to read, “The legal requirement is for every pupil to study RE, unless parents request his withdrawal.”

The school webpage covering Religious Education makes some interesting claims for the subject. These include “a substantial contribution to the spiritual, moral, cultural, intellectual and physical development of all pupils.” Certainly much of Western culture and the basis for our ethical systems tie directly back to our religious heritage. Still, I wonder about that claim for “physical development.” Maybe the author was thinking about the admonitions against strong drink and immorality.

The webpage notes the goals of the RE course. They include the usual communication, thinking skills and personal capabilities. They also include:

• a knowledge of where religious and moral beliefs come from;
• an awareness of Christian teaching;
• a sensitivity towards the beliefs of others;
• an ability to think and judge about morality;
• an awareness of self.
  

Those seem to be pretty basic skills for anyone growing up in today’s world. The course includes an “Introduction to Judaism & Islam” so the content looks as relevant as the latest news. Given our concerns about moral, ethical and business standards, I wonder if this is another small example of “How the Irish Saved Civilization”.

Harvey - Guest Blogger

We Bull Terriers are a naturally retiring breed but as I lay on the sofa with one ear cocked towards the television I became so incensed that I asked Fergus if I could post this note. The pundits on CNN suggested that some humans might choose whom to vote for based only on the color of a man’s skin. I couldn’t believe it. I don’t understand it. I thought I heard that something called the Stock Market had lost 40 percent of its value; lots of people have no jobs; others can’t afford to go the vet (sorry, doctor); and many are loosing their homes. How does chosing a President based on skin color help solve these problems? My friend Regan is different from me. She is a Grey Hound. She has colored patches and very long legs. But we get on together – even if she does always want to be the boss.

I was told that humans are more intelligent than us dogs. Now I am not so sure. Please, humans, decide the future of this country on something more important than the color of a man’s skin.

Ike - Finale

It’s been three weeks since Ike left town. Our part of Missouri City is almost normal – except that all the Bradford Pear trees have decided it is spring again and have come into flower. How one night of high winds can induce the same response as four months of winter is perplexing but the blossom adds a touch of wonder to what was an unpleasant experience.

The beach home in Galveston fared very well. Dirt marks on the garage wall indicate that the storm surge on the west of the island was about five feet above ground level – probably about eight feet above normal high tide. The dwelling area upstairs is comfortably above that level so we were spared any water damage except in the garage. Power and water were restored to our area of Sea Isle last week and we were able to power-wash the mud out of the garage. The next test will be to return the batteries to the golf cart and see if it can be restored to operation. All this is very trivial and mundane and our feelings of relief and “survivor guilt” grow each time we travel down to Galveston. During the past couple of weeks people have begun the clean-up process. Along the side of the roads in Galveston (and surprisingly along some parts of Highway 6) heaps of debris are growing. These piles of ruined fridges, sodden furniture, saturated walls and broken structures represent people’s lives, their homes and hopes for the future. I can’t imagine the heartache of seeing a lifetime of memories destroyed or the stress of dealing with insurance claims and bureaucracies - all while trying earn a living and maintain a semblance of normality. Somehow, sending $700 billion to Wall Street to try to fix a crisis caused by greed doesn’t seem to be an appropriate use of our resources. I appreciate my congressman’s fortitude in voting against the bill both times it came to the House. I only wish my senatorial representative displayed the same backbone.

And now for something different . . . . a gratuitous commercial plug. For years I have been a fan of Venezuelan rum. It has a distinctive flavor that is very different from other Caribbean products. IMHO it is infinitely superior to the mass produced liquors (especially the ones with the bat trademark) sold in most US bars and restaurants. But recently I discovered something even better. It is “hand made Texas Rum” produced near here in San Leon on Galveston Bay. Railean distillery has survived Hurricane Ike and their nectar is readily available in your local Specs store. A recent article in the Houston Chronicle describes some of the eccentric residents of San Leon and their efforts to recover after Ike. I encourage y’all to help San Leon in a practical way. Get rid of all those imported rums. Help local industry and our national economy which needs all the help it can get. Be patriotic - Drink Texas rum!

Ike – interim

It is amazing to watch nature. Ike’s winds shredded leaves on most of our rose bushes but the buds continue to bloom as if nothing had happened. They are certainly more restful than images of splintered trees or piles of downed branches and the media have enough photographs of distraught people and destroyed homes. If you are interested then check out this series at the Boston Globe.

Ike blew in early on Saturday morning (Sept 13). He destroyed much of Galveston and wreaked havoc on Houston. By mid morning the worst winds had passed and folks were able to survey the damage. Our electricity ceased about 2:00 AM during the storm so the neighborhood was quiet without the background hum of air conditioners. Our home in Missouri City fared well with only one large pear tree succumbing to the winds. Two-thirds of that tree was lying on the grass and the remaining sticks and the stump will need to be removed and replaced.

Several years ago we invested in a gasoline-powered generator and I installed a transfer switch which allowed the generator to feed kitchen circuits for lights, refrigerator, microwave, and coffeemaker and those for the lights, TV and overhead fan in the family room. By chance, those same circuits also provided lights in the toilet and bathroom. So, by mid-day on Saturday we were able to have hot coffee and watch the full scale of destruction unfold on TV.

Mains electricity was restored to our part of Missouri City by Sunday afternoon so the generator was dispatched with a friend living in a part of the city still without. Now we are experiencing increasing “survivor guilt” as we sit in air-conditioned comfort watching the plight of those who still don’t have power. N & T are part of that group so along with their greyhound they moved in. TV announcements suggest their part of Houston (the NE) won’t have power restored until sometime next week – about 10-12 days after Ike struck.

As for our home on Galveston there is no official news. However, Google Earth has a new feature. It allows "before" and "after" pictures of Ike. We can see our home and it looks like the roof is intact! The planned “Look and Leave” program to allow residents to visit property, assess damage and depart is suspended indefinitely. Hopefully it will be resurrected again soon – maybe with staggered days based on name or house number to even out the first mad rush of visitors. In the meantime we watch every helicopter news video and wait for the time when we will be able to resume weekends in Galveston.

Waiting for Ike

Hurricane Ike is getting close. We closed up the house on West Galveston and left it to the tender mercies of the elements. Even on Thursday morning at sunrise the storm surge was beginning to show. This photo is where we normally park the golf cart when we visit the beach. I assume that the whole of Sea Isle is under water by now.

Here in Missouri City late Friday evening the wind is picking up. The city has introduced a dusk to dawn curfew but I have no inclination to wander outside and see what is happening. The generator has gasoline in case we loose power; we have water in the bath in case the treatment plant is flooded and we are waiting patiently for Ike to pass. At current speed, Ike should be a memory by this time tomorrow. That will be time to clear up here and wonder if we can get down to Sea Isle on Sunday afternoon.

Doors

This gate at the Harland & Wolf shipyard in Belfast continues to pique my interest. To me, the iron retains its strength and beauty but as I look at the photograph I could kick myself for not taking more time to study the construction. Some parts of the gate look like wrought iron while others are clearly cast. Where they made in the shipyard or is there a name of an artist or foundry inscribed somewhere among those weeds? When were they fabricated? I assume it was sometime after WW II because most ornamental iron railings and gates were collected at the start of the war and turned into steel for munitions. I hope they are still there next time I visit Belfast and I can get some answers.

Doors hold a fascination for me. There are intrinsic differences in function, form, and construction. Equally, doors are wonderful metaphors. What allusions can be drawn from a neglected shipyard gate surrounded by rampant weeds?

The last couple of doors are from churches. The first is at the church located in Jerusalem where the Pool of Siloam is thought to have been. Those closed doors reminded me of the quatrain by Omar Khayyam:

There was a Door to which I found no Key:
There was a Veil through which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee
There seemed -- and then no more of Thee and Me.

The second is at one of the missions in San Antonio. I really don’t think there is any significance to the fact that one is open while the other is closed. But then, that’s what makes doors such a fascinating subject – they make me think.