An Anniversary

Last week there were lots of news stories commemorating the 70th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Most of the coverage was concentrated on the devastation leveled on the Land of the Rising Sun by the atomic bombs code named Fat Man and Little Boy. Naturally, like most events viewed in hindsight, the second guessing about the necessity of a smack down of this magnitude which rendered so much damage and loss of life was mostly of the "we really didn't need to do it" variety.  The contention that "if only we had dropped the bombs off shore the Japanese would have surrendered" is most often postulated.  This chestnut is usually espoused by folks not around at the time of World War II and/or by mental midgets who think Barack Obama and John Kerry are doing a crackerjack job of handling our nation's defense.  In other words, numbnuts.

Anyone who has spoken with veterans of the war in the Pacific, especially those unfortunate enough to have been taken prisoner by the Japanese, will, to a man, tell you that Japan had no plans to surrender.   American captives witnessed the daily sticks and stones drilling by men, women and children preparing for the Allied invasion they knew was coming.  The bombs dropped by B-29 pilot Paul Tibbetts and company were the sole reason the Japanese accepted the Postsdam surrender terms seventy years ago today, August 14, 1945,  and signed the formal documents aboard the USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay on September 2.

The courage of President Harry Truman to order the bombings and Paul Tibbetts crew to complete the mission most likely saved a couple of hundred thousand American lives that would have most certainly been lost during a land invasion of Japan.  Both men reportedly slept well for the rest of their lives knowing they had made the right decision and carried it out in a timely manner.  I seriously wonder if we ever again will be blessed to have such men.   Doing what is required to put an end to wars we never seem to start these days finds us timid and reluctant.  Career politicians with an eye on polls seem fearful of making any commitment that risks even a whiff of unpopularity with an impatient and often uninformed electorate.  The U.S. is poorer for it, and, I fear, because we are currently led by an embarrassingly naive and timid administration, we invite war with far greater consequences than the country has ever experienced. The world will always be home to those who seek to dominate others.  To show weakness and lack of will only invites conflict.  We pull our punches and equivocate at our  peril.


"I thought to myself, 'Gee, if we can be successful, we're going to prove to the Japanese the futility in continuing to fight because we can use those weapons on them.  They're not going to stand up to this thing.  After I saw what I saw I was more convinced that they're going to quit.  That's the only way I could do it," - Pilot Paul Tibbetts


"Wisdom consists of the anticipation of consequences." -Norman Cousins  

Have Junk, Will Travel

The end wasn't pretty.

With a "San Francisco or bust" taped to his tin can carcass, the Canadian bucket of bolts known as Hitchbot  set off from Salem, Massachusetts on July 17 for a U.S. tour designed to take him from East Coast to West.  It didn't work.

Maybe the boots were too much?

The Ryerson University research project would have been better off attempting an exploration of its native Canada where the folks are fewer and the politeness plentiful.  Instead, Hitchbot wound up decapitated and disarmed in a Philadelphia alley just two weeks into the planned coast to coast navigation of America.  It was one of those big East Coast Philly welcomes reserved for folks who can't decide between Geno's and Pat's when it comes to where to go for cheesesteaks.  I'm guessing that Hitchbot chose wrong.

This misadventure has given me an idea…

(Two hours later)  There, I feel better after that brief nap.  Big ideas always tire me out.

After watching yesterday's Republican debates and also observing the complete incompetence of our current administration, I have decided on an experiment of my own.  This afternoon I placed our less than efficient I-robot vacuum cleaner by the curb in front of our home in Coeur d' Alene, Idaho sporting a sign saying: I'm D.C. Bound!   Please give me a lift and help sweep the crooks away.  I have also pinned an identification badge sporting the name "Jeff" to this contraption in an attempt to appear friendly.   I have know many Jeffs in my lifetime and am reasonably sure  that the name practically guarantees harmlessness.  Of course, if you are a politician, all bets are off.

This will be a real test, America.  Washington needs a good sweeping out and Jeff is just the hunk of junk to do it!  He won't take up much space in your car or truck should you decide to help us out.  In fact, he can easily ride in the trunk or on the lap of any willing passenger.  The only maintenance he'll require is an occasional re-charge if you're near an outlet.  Your country is counting on you!  Don't leave him broken and battered in the parking lot at the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota.  (A delightful side trip if your a fan of corn and Lawrence Welk)

I just checked and, so far, nobody has stopped for Jeff.  Maybe I'll join him as he waits. Our local forecast is calling for clear skies and no rain.  The sun goes down around 8:40 PM in these parts.  Let's hope it won't go down on our country.

Just remember the world is a freak show.  In America we're lucky enough to have a front row seat.

"Hi, I'm Jeff.  Washington sucks!  Let me fix it."

Huh?

Me: "I think I'll get some sun on the beach."

To which my wife replies, "Yeah, but you're my son-of-a-bitch."

We have exchanges like this every day and, though entertaining, it may signify that it's past time to do something about our hearing.  Like so many in denial baby boomers, we are predictably beginning to plow past the expiration date on much of our on board equipment.  Reading glasses, aching backs, sore knees and the usual litany of busted anatomy has smacked us upside our 50 plus heads and we don't like it even a little.

The hearing thing and the loss of almost instant recall of all things trivial bothers me the most.  If it weren't for Google and the Internet Movie Database I would be spending countless nights staring at the ceiling trying to put names to character actors--heck even stars--I've seen hundreds of times in familiar old movies.  Names and faces I used to instantly identify are now hopelessly misfiled in the clutter of my aging mind.  Wait a minute, maybe they're on the cerebral Rolodex?  Nope, not there.

Almost daily I'm reminded of numerous conversations between my mother and me regarding her near deafness in the final few years of her life.  "You don't have to shout," she'd insist as my brother and I would explain to her all the positive points of wearing a hearing aid.  "They're for old people," was the response.  She was 89 at the time and, yes, you did have to shout.

I was in my late twenties when I first began to notice a loss of hearing in the high range, yet it didn't concern me as I continued to wear headphones cranked up to mach 10 three or four hours every day as I shoveled the hits on the radio.  Over forty years of that kind of abuse your ears pretty much take early retirement.  On the plus side, I have become a very accomplished lip reader and closed captioning is a necessity for those of us who know for a fact that today's actors MUMBLE.

So, as far as Linda and I are concerned, it isn't yet time to shop for hearing aids.  Those things are for OLD people.  We'll continue to muddle along missing some important conversational fragments but taking comfort in the fact that perhaps we will also miss some hastily proffered critiques of each other that might better be left unsaid.

"Are you going to wear those crappy looking pants again you old fart?"

"Yeah, I like 'em too.  These khakis really are a work of art."

Now, if I could just remember who played Penny on Sky King...

California Dreamin'...

Those of us who grew up in the East or endured the bitter cold winters and steamy summers of the Midwest all wanted to be in California.  The Mamas and Poppas assured us we'd all "be safe and warm" if we were in L.A. and we believed them.  The weather was fine and the things we cared about seemed to happen in the Golden State.  

I spent half of my 67 years in California and, for the most part, thought the place lived up to expectations.  Sometime in the early 1990's it began to turn.  Traffic and taxes grew exponentially worse and the condition of the roads and infrastructure began to noticeably deteriorate in spite of the growing cost of living in lotus land.  Property taxes, though slowed by proposition 13, snowballed along with sales, income,  and gas taxes yet the state remained broke, the public schools barely adequate and English in danger of becoming a second language.

But I digress.

A friend recently sent me this You Tube video of some major Southern California freeways and city streets from the 1960's.  It reminded me of how great the place used to be and why I no longer live there.  For those of you who remain, this may almost be beyond belief.  If you are a former Californian, this video should affirm your decision to flee.  

It truly was once the state of dreams.

Escape From Squirrel Town

Squirrel Town:  Bring peanuts!

I knew it would happen one day.  On our walk this morning my wife ran out of peanuts for the squirrels that patrol and control the park just around the corner.  We had to run for it but made the street just in time to dash for the safety of home.  The furry rodents are extremely territorial and regard Park Street as the River Styx or, at least, an alligator infested moat and, to my knowledge, have never ventured across.

Safely out of range,  I reminded Linda that the little bastards are nothing more than flea-bitten rats with big heads and bushy tails whose cartoonish appearance fools people into believing they are friendly and would like nothing more than to pal around. WRONG!  The cagey miniature cons sit up on their haunches and swish their tails as they beg pathetically using those dumber than Al Sharpton eyes.  Their brains are about the size of a lentil and it's often necessary to point out where the peanut you have just tossed their way has landed.  

As it is with all creatures, there are some exceptions to the short bus riding denizens of squirrel town.  A  roly-poly rascal I've nicknamed "Kramden" is the Jackie Gleason of squirrels.  He knows right where to plant his pudgy carcass when he sees the peanut momma hove into view.  Right away he is in begging mode with the twitchy tail and paws at port arms looking for all the world like he's auditioning for the lead in a road company production of Oliver Twist.  "Please, sir, may I have some more?"

Kramden in action

Lois Lerner?

So, it's off to the supermarket this afternoon for re-supply of unsalted, (gotta watch that squirrel hypertension),  in the shell peanuts for tomorrow's sojourn through squirrel town.  The walk always does us good and the squirrel shakedown is a constant reminder of Jerry Brown's California tax policies that helps drive folks from the Golden State.  Or, is it the IRS I'm reminded of as we stroll among the rodents?  Come to think of it, was that IRS head honcho John Koskinen with his paw out this morning? Or, is he still busy lying to congress?  And, by the way, where is Lois Lerner?


Perhaps if we follow the peanuts...

"Lois and I have no idea what happened to your peanuts."  Right Lois?  Lois?

I

You Can't Fix Stupid

Please put on some clothes, I'm begging you!

Longtime locals tell me that it has been a record breaker and, having done some checking, I find that they do  know what they're talking about.  The inland Northwest hasn't been this hot since the early 1960's and, until today, there hasn't been a break from 90 degree and higher temperatures in the last four weeks.  June was rainless but July should bring at least a couple of decent showers.  Unlike California we have plenty of water for drinking and washing but the forests remain dangerously vulnerable to any spark.  No campfires allowed, anywhere, anytime!

All this heat has inspired the least modest among us to don Speedos and bikini butt floss for a traipse to the beach.  After careful observation I have concluded that there is a severe mirror shortage in the homes of many Idahoans.  Some serious adipose tissue is orbiting more than a few waistlines and the percentage of "how drunk were you?" tattoos is nearly incalculable.  On the 4th of July it was all I could do to keep from heading for the nearest ATM to secure sufficient cash to bribe some of these folks back into their clothes.  OH, THE HUMANITY!

Is it something in the water?  Maybe too few glutens or preservatives?   (Hey, we used to be smarter when we consumed more of that stuff.)  I think the answer may be more basic.  Let's say that one out of a hundred of us is a nitwit--no doubt a conservative estimate--and, since there are a hell of a lot more of us than there used to be,  more nitwits equals more dumb choices equals more laughable situations.

It wouldn't be so bad if morons only cluttered our beaches with their over exposed bodies but they also insist on electing felony stupid politicians and repeatedly endanger society with idiotic driving and other reckless behavior.  Need examples?

How about this:  A young man in Calais, Maine thought it was a good idea to put a firecracker on his head before lighting it on July 4th.  He had been drinking.  NO?!  Twenty-two years is a good run for a dolt.  At least he won't be voting next year.

My current favorite candidate for the 2015 Darwin awards is the young guy in Wales who was struck and killed by lightning while taking his picture with a selfie stick during a thunder storm.  Now there is one less welfare slug the United Kingdom has to worry about.

There are three kinds of people:

Those who make things happen,

those who watch things happen,

and…Those who wonder what the hell happened.

We seem to be making more of the latter.

"That lightning will look cool in the background."

"If You Can Keep It"

It is reported that at the close of deliberations during our country's Continental Convention of 1787 Ben Franklin, as he exited Independence Hall, was asked by a bystander: "Well, doctor, what have we got---a Republic or a Monarchy?"  

"A Republic, if you can keep it," came the reply.

On this 4th of July I'm reasonably certain that I'm not alone in my concern for our Republic and its continued existence.  The dictionary definition of a republic is: a state in which supreme power is held by the people and their elected representatives, and which has an elected or nominated president rather than a monarch.

Time and again history has shown us that republics tend to go aground a couple of hundred years into their existence when the electorate figures out they can use their ballots to reward themselves more goodies than the republic can afford.  Has the United States reached that point?  Obviously there is no shortage of political opinion on this question.  There are days when I am somewhat optimistic and fairly certain that an informed citizenry will wake up and steer our country away from the fiscal and moral rapids we seem destined for and at other times I wonder who I'm trying to kid.

Will we ever elect leaders willing to tell the truth about the terrible straights our profligate spending has created?  Can we come to grips with the very real mess we have made of education?  And, what about our wide open borders?  Will we continue to vote for politicians who promise us goods and services we can neither afford nor deserve as we penalize those who work hard and generously contribute to our gross national product?

It's just my opinion--and only that-- but it seems obvious that one more feckless administration elected on pure guile and possessing a devotion to nothing more than a cloud of symbolism and sentimentality will surely push our ship of state onto the same shoals that have claimed so many well intentioned republics that have gone before.  Are we willing to finally sober up long enough to vote for leaders willing to tell us the truth no matter what the cost to their career?  The most powerful thing we have in our lives is choice.  Let's hope we have a good one in 2016.

In the meantime, I plan to enjoy the fireworks.