What's in your Bucket?

 My grandson, Dennis (who caught a 14" bass  his first time out), likes to go fishing with grandpa.
The other day, on our way home, empty-handed, from (shark) fishing, I took him to the local seafood store to see all the varieties of fish in the case. I bought some red snapper for dinner. He asked for a piece, which he took home.  My daughter says he insisted on cooking it himself. When I asked him how he liked red snapper he said, "It was good; I like the skin!"

He is going to be a fine fisherman some day, especially as his attention span improves. My previous experience fishing with kids is that at age 7-8 they are good for 1/2 hour of casting and reeling, then become more keenly interested in throwing rocks in the water, scaring away any hookable fish that might have been lurking nearby.  It takes a lot of sitting and waiting quietly to become a real fisherman.


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On somewhat parallel thread, last Tuesday, I was sitting at my regular corner stool at Dunn-Gaherins -- my favorite local Irish pub -- when a party of folks came in. 4 young people and one older guy. From the conversation, I could tell that it was the old guy's birthday. I offered to move down a few seats so they could all sit together and talk, whereupon they bought me a beer. (Sometimes a good deed can be rewarded). The old guy sat next to me and told me that it was his birthday. "How old are you?" I asked.

"Eight-four," he said stirring his martini. (He had asked them serve it in a bourbon glass, because his hand shakes and he didn't want to spill any). "These are my grandchildren," he nodded to the young folks who were smiling and giving him their full attention.

This gave me a new item to add to my bucket list: "Celebrate 84th birthday at a bar with grandkids."

Update 3-25 One of my math wizard friends has reminded me that Lila will only be 18 when I am 84.  I may have to ammend the bucket age to 87.  Scary. 

Disturbing News

One of the disturbing stories in the news lately is about the American G.I. who is accused of shooting 16 unarmed civilians in Afghanistan.    There is no excuse for such a killing spree, yet the blame must be shared by the US military brass whose policies forced a soldier who had already done 3 tours in Iraq to serve yet another tour in another war zone, against his wishes.  Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.  I hope an inquiry reveals the machinations of such decisions,  and the guilty higher-ups are identified.  Other recent instances of breakdowns in protocols -- for the treatment of remains of dead soldiers, disposal of religious materials, and handling of classified material --all lead to the conclusion that no one is minding the store.

Also disturbing is the pattern of abuse and insensitivity by the military-political establishment to veterans who have served and sacrificed for their country.   The media is rife with stories of rising suicide rates, violence and PTSD behavior by returning GI's.  Not to mention the way the military bureacracy ignores the needs of military families, who are also enduring the sacrifice of their soldiers.

Author Steven Moore writes:

" Other veterans’ services also lag far behind what they should be. Families of service men and women overseas have few if any support systems and returning veterans’ families don’t either. Service families are often faced with eviction or foreclosure from rental or mortgaged properties. Veterans make up the largest percentage of the homeless. We can cheer our military overseas at a Super Bowl—we can also forget all about them when they come home. Many disillusioned with their inability to reintegrate into American society re-enlist, often exacerbating their problems when they return once again."

The bureacracy allows policy makers and armchair generals to hide from their deadly decisions to send young men off to war.  The persistent problem since the beginning of modern warfare is that after the conflict, no one cares about the warriors.  We are happy to have them kill and die in foreign lands to preserve the status quo at home.  But we often feel ambivalent - perhaps it is because we don't want men capable of such violence among us. 

I don't like war.  I think it as a terrible thing for political forces to force young men who really have no beef with each other to go off to foreign soil to shoot at total strangers, just to satisfy the egoes of failed diplomats.  It's one thing to be defending one's own borders, but quite another to defend the supposed rights of all oppressed peoples in the galaxy.  I don't agree with the concept of preserving American liberty by trying to convert theocracies into democracies.  

Yes, I know it gets more complicated than that, but I do not understand why we have not learned the lessons of history.  We all know the fundamental truth of the age old observation "That which you take by force, you must keep by force."  Not understanding this simple dictum  was the downfall of the Roman Empire and it will probably be the draining force that eventually brings the US to its economic knees. 

The very least we can do for the patriots who serve, risking limb and life, is to treat them well when they return.  The Pols and Commanders need to be more accountable for their decisions and mistakes.

The Joy and Dread of Travel

They say that travel broadens one's perspective.  I think this is literally true, because it forces one to see and experience life outside of one's home village.

 Traveling always reminds me that my world is a very small piece of the universe.  As you fly over (or drive by) village after town, over hill and dale, your appreciation for the diversity and  extensiveness of human civilization is magnified. 

As we get older, we try fight the forces that tend to diminish our world.  It is a losing batttle: our increasing aches and pains attenuate the number of paths  we can explore,  and we strive to challenge our brains to stave off the fog of forgetfulness and worse -- the loss of desire.    At a certain point in life, we start to weigh the expected payback from adventure, we reflect on past experience, and often we conclude that many things we thought were exciting or pleasureable are just not worth the effort anymore. 

I am critical of nearly every aspect of air travel. It costs too much.  The tack-on fees for checking a bag or sitting in a comfortable seat are outrageious.   I dislike lines, I abhor being forced to sit for hours in a seat that is too small, I hate waiting, I loathe  airport food, and then there is the subtle but constant danger of imminent death.  The boarding process is still an mixture of  in colonial apartheid and goat rodeo.  Instead of sensibly boarding passenders from rear to front, they seat first class passengers first, then frequent flyers, moms with small kids, invalids, and when there are no more special categories they finally allow able-bodied, poor folks to enter the clogged passageway so they can stand and wait while all the others find their seats and stuff their carry-ons into overhead bins. 

The whole flawed process takes ten times longer than necessary.  I would feel even more annoyed if I were one of the privileged First Class passengers who has paid 5 times more than any of the rabble for the privilege of sitting in a comfortable chair and have drinks served to me in a real glass tumbler.
I would hate having to sit there and watch the unwashed standing over me bumping my elbow with their reticules and luggage waiting for others to get settled.

Other people who regard me as just another ranting, grumpy malcontent say that the slings and arrows of air travel are "the price we must pay to get from here to there, suck-it-up, you sniviling whiner."  To them I say, nonsense!   There is no legitimate reason that a person should suffer the indignities of modern aviation.
Wake me up when they invent the beamer (as in "Beam me to Albuqurque, Scottie.")

Having said that, I still have fun when I am in the new place.  The adventure of looking for a good place to have breakfast, or the enjoyment of the land and its variations, meeting new people, seeing where history occurred or just gawking at the art -- these are the joys of travel.

A poignant moment occurred yesterday in the Albuquerque airport, as we waited for our (re-scheduled) flight to DFW.   A group of about 20 civilians were lining-up in two columns, each holding a flag or banner, like the way a band forms on a football field to cheer on the team as they emerge from the tunnel.  When I asked one of the participants what was going on, he told me that it was a welcome home for a local soldier who was returning from war duty.  (He didn't know where the GI had been stationed).  As we sat and watched, the group grew.  More people came to stand and greet, several uniformed military were among them.   By the time the solder arrived, the group had swelled to around 40.  Finally, a round of applause broke out and the soldier - a tall black man - and his family 3 small kids and mother emerged, surprised but smiling.  They walked the "gauntlet" of greeters, shaking hands and sometimes embracing.  The kids' expressions were priceless, amazed that all these people (a diverse group of mostly white and brown skins) wanted to shake their dad's hand saying sincerely  "Thanks for your service." 
We onlookers were compelled to rise and applaud, as well, wiping our misty eyes, feeling proud of our countrymen.