A collection of thoughts –
We (our government) regulate and legislate way too much. We like to think we believe in freedom, but as a country we don’t behave that way. Through legislation and regulation we attempt to dictate how people live and think. Our government (you and me) tell me what I can and can’t do, and how I have to do it. It seems as if nothing is exempt from government control –alcohol, tobacco, food, medication, plants, animals, buildings, sex, and even our own personal property. We have cabinet level departments to regulate Agriculture, Commerce, Education, Energy, Labor, Transportation, Health and Human Services, Housing and Urban Development, the Treasury, and the Interior. It is no wonder that the growth of our GDP is so low with that much regulation going on. We can’t do anything without filling out some paperwork and getting permission from some bureaucrat who thinks they know our business better than we do. I predict that we will eventually choke on over-regulation by our own government. WE will be our own undoing; probably not during my lifetime, but surely during this century.
To paraphrase a quote by David Starr Jordan (1851-1931)
Wisdom is knowing what to do [or NOT do] next, Skill is knowing how to do it, and Virtue is doing it.
Not only do we over-dictate within our borders, but we also try to influence and impose our way of life on other countries. Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya are the most recent examples. For a supposedly freedom loving country we sure have some imperialistic and dictatorial manners. Our government’s domestic policy and foreign policy is “I know what is best for you and I will make you believe as I do.” I can only figure that this comes from an overinflated sense of self-righteousness about our values, values that we as a country can never come to a concise consensus on. Internationally I think we could exercise a little more MYOB – Mind Your Own Business, or Star Trek’s Prime Directive – no interference with the internal development of alien civilizations. Protect ourselves, yes, but meddle, no. The difficulty is to know where self-protection ends and meddling begins.
“Democracy consists of choosing your dictators after they’ve told you what you think it is you want to hear” – Alan Coren (1938-2007)
I am not proposing sedition or treason against our government. I am simply proposing that we as a collection of people, that collection being known as a government, show a little restraint. We should not be using our government as the solution to all things. We should be careful when using our government to impose our will on others, both inside and outside of our borders. The government should only do that which only the government can do. Otherwise, how do we determine where the government’s self-imposed limits should reside? Do we really think the government can limit itself? Exactly where is the government’s limit? That is the problem; the all-powerful government seemingly knows no limit.
“Where the people fear the government you have tyranny. Where the government fears the people you have liberty.” – John Basil Barnhill (1914), though often misattributed to Thomas Jefferson
“That government is best which governs least” – Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience (1849)
I am sorry to sound like some backwoods anti-government extremist. I just wish our government showed a little restraint such that I wasn’t constantly afraid of what the Federal Government is going to do next. They scare me. I’d appreciate some moderation.
Tom
July 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Exclude
Like all of the other posts, this is for Alice, Luke, and any players to be named later –
Longtime readers have probably noticed that I like to collect inspirational quotes. I like them because they are concise and they cut to the heart of a matter. They help me regulate my daily behavior by serving as my rules for the road. As situations arise the pithy statements come to mind, and I know what I should do, and must do, rather than what I might be inclined to do. The Serenity Prayer, the Boy Scout Law, the lyrics to the Impossible Dream, and many others guide me. And so today’s posting is about yet another quote from my personal collection of favorites.
“The ugliest word in the English language is . . . exclusive.”
Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)
(Documentation of this quote is exceedingly thin. I’d love to have a reputable source to back it up.)
That is the essential point of a sermon I delivered to Ann and John repeatedly as they were growing up. It probably isn’t necessary to expound on that quote. If you extrapolate on that word you know what Sandburg meant and can tell where I am headed. Of course I am going to write a few hundred unnecessary words anyway.
Even in elementary school Ann and John could easily understand what it meant to be excluded. They’d experienced it firsthand. It’s unavoidable. It is a common childhood experience for all of us.
We talked about playing on the playground and how there is often a kid on the sidelines who clearly wants to be invited to play. We talked about what it feels like to be that kid, and how I still remember being that excluded kid 30+ years later. We talked about how wonderful it feels to be invited and included. We talked about being brave enough to be a leader and include the excluded at every opportunity.
I suspect everyone can remember painful experiences of exclusion in the past. Children are unintentionally gifted at hurting others through exclusion. Even preschool munchkins practice exclusion when they hoard toys. Only with age do we gain some empathy for others and realize the pain we’ve caused in our past.
In elementary school the point of my sermon was empathy with others; that many of our personal pains come from being excluded, or excluding others. In junior high the exclusion sermon detoured into the specifics of cliques, the haves and the have-nots, the in-crowd and out-crowd. In later years the sermon dealt with society’s ills being rooted in exclusion from food, housing, education, and freedom.
Well, so what? What’s the conclusion to this sermonette? Well yeah, that’s what I’ve been struggling with for over a year now. This missive has been sitting unfinished at the previous paragraph for a year now because I didn’t have any kind of conclusion to offer like I do in most of my pieces, but maybe it is this thought that just struck me:
Including others is the right thing to do and that ought to be enough motivation right there.
But, if you need a more shallow self-serving motivation –
If you include others, you will be popular.
If you exclude others, you will be unpopular.
(Take a moment to think about the truth in that statement.)
Leaders include.
Losers exclude.
I welcome your conclusions.
Tom
July 2011
Longtime readers have probably noticed that I like to collect inspirational quotes. I like them because they are concise and they cut to the heart of a matter. They help me regulate my daily behavior by serving as my rules for the road. As situations arise the pithy statements come to mind, and I know what I should do, and must do, rather than what I might be inclined to do. The Serenity Prayer, the Boy Scout Law, the lyrics to the Impossible Dream, and many others guide me. And so today’s posting is about yet another quote from my personal collection of favorites.
“The ugliest word in the English language is . . . exclusive.”
Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)
(Documentation of this quote is exceedingly thin. I’d love to have a reputable source to back it up.)
That is the essential point of a sermon I delivered to Ann and John repeatedly as they were growing up. It probably isn’t necessary to expound on that quote. If you extrapolate on that word you know what Sandburg meant and can tell where I am headed. Of course I am going to write a few hundred unnecessary words anyway.
Even in elementary school Ann and John could easily understand what it meant to be excluded. They’d experienced it firsthand. It’s unavoidable. It is a common childhood experience for all of us.
We talked about playing on the playground and how there is often a kid on the sidelines who clearly wants to be invited to play. We talked about what it feels like to be that kid, and how I still remember being that excluded kid 30+ years later. We talked about how wonderful it feels to be invited and included. We talked about being brave enough to be a leader and include the excluded at every opportunity.
I suspect everyone can remember painful experiences of exclusion in the past. Children are unintentionally gifted at hurting others through exclusion. Even preschool munchkins practice exclusion when they hoard toys. Only with age do we gain some empathy for others and realize the pain we’ve caused in our past.
In elementary school the point of my sermon was empathy with others; that many of our personal pains come from being excluded, or excluding others. In junior high the exclusion sermon detoured into the specifics of cliques, the haves and the have-nots, the in-crowd and out-crowd. In later years the sermon dealt with society’s ills being rooted in exclusion from food, housing, education, and freedom.
Well, so what? What’s the conclusion to this sermonette? Well yeah, that’s what I’ve been struggling with for over a year now. This missive has been sitting unfinished at the previous paragraph for a year now because I didn’t have any kind of conclusion to offer like I do in most of my pieces, but maybe it is this thought that just struck me:
Including others is the right thing to do and that ought to be enough motivation right there.
But, if you need a more shallow self-serving motivation –
If you include others, you will be popular.
If you exclude others, you will be unpopular.
(Take a moment to think about the truth in that statement.)
Leaders include.
Losers exclude.
I welcome your conclusions.
Tom
July 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Saying Goodbye
I recently visited my mother in Iowa. (July 7-10, 2011) Inevitably, at the end of the visit it came time to say goodbye. Mom is 88 and I am 59. We both know our time on the planet is finite and dwindling. Each time we say goodbye we know there is an increasing probability that this is our last moment together. It’s not a pleasant notion, but a realist has to acknowledge the truth, and we did so during our conversations.
And so our most recent moment of farewell was a little longer than the previous one. We hugged each other a bit more tightly, and a little longer, and we cried a little more than we used to. What bemused me was our mutual attempt to avoid the tears. Why do we do that?
It’s not like we were trying to hide the fact that we love each other; I did travel a thousand miles to see her and we were, in fact, hugging each other. Not crying, or crying a little less, doesn’t really make the moment any less emotionally painful. Saying goodbye to Mom hurts me whether I cry or not, and whether I cry or not doesn’t make it any easier on her either. She’d be hurt if I didn’t cry and didn’t care. So I don’t get it. Why don’t we just cry and express the way we feel?
Right now I miss Mom because of the distance that separates us.
Someday we are going to miss each other for another reason.
I hope it isn’t anytime soon.
And so our most recent moment of farewell was a little longer than the previous one. We hugged each other a bit more tightly, and a little longer, and we cried a little more than we used to. What bemused me was our mutual attempt to avoid the tears. Why do we do that?
It’s not like we were trying to hide the fact that we love each other; I did travel a thousand miles to see her and we were, in fact, hugging each other. Not crying, or crying a little less, doesn’t really make the moment any less emotionally painful. Saying goodbye to Mom hurts me whether I cry or not, and whether I cry or not doesn’t make it any easier on her either. She’d be hurt if I didn’t cry and didn’t care. So I don’t get it. Why don’t we just cry and express the way we feel?
Right now I miss Mom because of the distance that separates us.
Someday we are going to miss each other for another reason.
I hope it isn’t anytime soon.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Ann Asks: The old topsail routine
Oh good grief. How am I going to cover this one? No one summer was like another. Each one seemed to be different. One summer it was just the two grandmothers who went with us. Then Bill joined us the next summer. Then Carl joined us the summer after that. Then several years later Carl died and it was back to just Bill and the grandmothers. And then it all ended when you left for West Point and John’s coach said, “Swimmers of John’s caliber don’t take vacations’.
Jean should be writing this one as she was the brains and labor of the outfit. She knows all the particulars. I was just a driver.
Here goes nothing –
By the summer of 1989 both Ann and John were involved in recreation league swim meets in Gwinnett County, so the kids had obligations to swim in individual events or relays at the Gwinnett County Swim League Championship meet. Our vacation to the beach was always scheduled after that final swim meet. We felt that if you joined a team, then that was a commitment that had to be fulfilled to the very end.
During the weeks prior to our departure Jean would gather groceries and all the other gear we needed for the beach. Bill did the same in Raleigh. Eventually Jean developed a document detailing all the stuff we needed to bring, which things were ours to bring, and which were Bill’s. Since Bill had only a 3 hour drive from Raleigh, and Grandma Millen (Gladys) was his only passenger, he could carry more groceries and could handle the items that required refrigeration. He could also arrange to arrive around check-in time, get the key, and buy any last-minute grocery items.
The swim meet was a two-day meet encompassing all-day Friday and all-day Saturday. Collecting all that gear and packing it in two cars Saturday morning, after spending the entire previous day outside at a swim meet, and staring at another whole day of the same in front of you, well, let’s just say it is an exercise of patience and endurance. Keep in mind the Mom and I were both stroke and turn officials during many of these meets and Mom was the President of the swim team for several of these years, so our days were full of responsibility. We also had two kids to parent and two relatives to host. It was a labor of love. Hard work, but great fun too.
We attended the championship swim meet until its conclusion late Saturday afternoon and then the 6 of us (Carl, Grandma Reva Pedelty, Jean, Tom, Ann, and John) piled into two cars for the 8 hour drive to Topsail Island. We left directly from the swim meet for Topsail Island.
The route was I-20 east from Atlanta to Florence, SC, and then US 76 over to Wilmington NC. US 76 seemed like backcountry roads compared to the interstate, but it was interesting to see all the homesteads along the way and the changing geography and flora as we approached the coast.
Each morning at the beach I’d get up and go for a run. My memory fades about having company during my runs. I bet Ann joined me some when she reached high school. John probably slept in most of the time as he had been doing two-a-days and welcomed the break. We’d eat cereal for breakfast and check the waves and the tides chart while we were eating. There would be a long discussion of when the best waves would occur. Then we would wait an hour (to placate the gods who created the eating and swimming myth) before going out to hit the waves.
A brilliantly composed piece about playing in the Big Waves was posted on July 27, 2009 and I won’t repeat that here, but feel free to click on the link and re-read it. The essence is this – Ann, John, and I (Tom) would stay out in the waves until we were exhausted from the effort or about to burn to a crisp.
Mom (Jean) and Grandma Pedelty (Reva) would spend the morning walking up and down the beach looking for sharks teeth. Carl did the same and when he got back to the beach house he would humorously pretend it was a competition on quantity, quality, or size, whichever category would permit him to claim victory. Bill would alternate between body surfing, hunting for sharks teeth, and reading books. Grandma Millen (Gladys) would mostly sit on the porch reading books and watching the rest of us frolic, and occasionally wander down to the waterline to check the water temperature.
Exhaustion seemed to guarantee that everyone was back in the house by lunchtime. It was pretty rare that we had to hunt people down for meals. There were plenty of adults to lend a hand so lunch was prepared in short order, devoured in short order, and cleaned up in short order.
After lunch it was naptime, or at the very least a quiet time. There is something about the beach and swimming fatigue that guarantees great sleeping, even in the middle of the day. After naptime we repeated our morning activity of hitting the beach. Sometimes the moms would go shopping or hit the turtle museum.
Again, exhaustion guaranteed that everyone was in the house in time for dinner. There were some adult beverages in moderation before dinner. The water was undrinkable unless you turned it into lemonade, so there was pink lemonade for the kids. We usually ate out a couple times during the week to give the moms a break.
Everyone welcomed bedtime. I never slept so well in my life. I was so tired from all that time in the ocean and the run in the morning. Sleeping was wonderful; and no worries while I was at the beach. The real world didn’t exist. Ecstasy. Heaven. Nirvana. Bliss. Yeah, it was all waiting for me back in ATL, but for one brief shining moment, none of it existed.
And in the morning, we did it all over again.
Postscripts –
1. One year when Carl wasn’t with us we tried doing the trip in one car, but that was pretty brutal on everyone. The space in the car was much too tight. We never did that again.
2. One year when Ann did not have afternoon relays Ann, Jean, and Grandma Pedelty headed off to the beach at midday leaving John and me at the swim meet. This was before John was old enough to drive, so I drove all 8 hours and arrived at the beach after midnight. John and I howled at the moon during the drive that night; lots of fun.
3. John’s birthday fell such that he was always just days into his two-year age group, or in the middle of his age group, at the time of the Georgia State Long Course Meet. This meet was the qualifying meet for the Zone team. Members of the Zone team were held in high regard amongst the swimming community, which is to say that you were officially hot stuff.
Not that the Zone team was one of John’s goals, but this one year John “finally” qualified for Zones at the state meet in spite of his age. At the close of the meet the officials cornered John on the pool deck needing an immediate commitment to the Zone team/meet which was to be held the first week in August. The meet conflicted with our vacation week at the beach. John never hesitated. John chose the beach over the Zone team.
Jean should be writing this one as she was the brains and labor of the outfit. She knows all the particulars. I was just a driver.
Here goes nothing –
By the summer of 1989 both Ann and John were involved in recreation league swim meets in Gwinnett County, so the kids had obligations to swim in individual events or relays at the Gwinnett County Swim League Championship meet. Our vacation to the beach was always scheduled after that final swim meet. We felt that if you joined a team, then that was a commitment that had to be fulfilled to the very end.
During the weeks prior to our departure Jean would gather groceries and all the other gear we needed for the beach. Bill did the same in Raleigh. Eventually Jean developed a document detailing all the stuff we needed to bring, which things were ours to bring, and which were Bill’s. Since Bill had only a 3 hour drive from Raleigh, and Grandma Millen (Gladys) was his only passenger, he could carry more groceries and could handle the items that required refrigeration. He could also arrange to arrive around check-in time, get the key, and buy any last-minute grocery items.
The swim meet was a two-day meet encompassing all-day Friday and all-day Saturday. Collecting all that gear and packing it in two cars Saturday morning, after spending the entire previous day outside at a swim meet, and staring at another whole day of the same in front of you, well, let’s just say it is an exercise of patience and endurance. Keep in mind the Mom and I were both stroke and turn officials during many of these meets and Mom was the President of the swim team for several of these years, so our days were full of responsibility. We also had two kids to parent and two relatives to host. It was a labor of love. Hard work, but great fun too.
We attended the championship swim meet until its conclusion late Saturday afternoon and then the 6 of us (Carl, Grandma Reva Pedelty, Jean, Tom, Ann, and John) piled into two cars for the 8 hour drive to Topsail Island. We left directly from the swim meet for Topsail Island.
The route was I-20 east from Atlanta to Florence, SC, and then US 76 over to Wilmington NC. US 76 seemed like backcountry roads compared to the interstate, but it was interesting to see all the homesteads along the way and the changing geography and flora as we approached the coast.
Each morning at the beach I’d get up and go for a run. My memory fades about having company during my runs. I bet Ann joined me some when she reached high school. John probably slept in most of the time as he had been doing two-a-days and welcomed the break. We’d eat cereal for breakfast and check the waves and the tides chart while we were eating. There would be a long discussion of when the best waves would occur. Then we would wait an hour (to placate the gods who created the eating and swimming myth) before going out to hit the waves.
A brilliantly composed piece about playing in the Big Waves was posted on July 27, 2009 and I won’t repeat that here, but feel free to click on the link and re-read it. The essence is this – Ann, John, and I (Tom) would stay out in the waves until we were exhausted from the effort or about to burn to a crisp.
Mom (Jean) and Grandma Pedelty (Reva) would spend the morning walking up and down the beach looking for sharks teeth. Carl did the same and when he got back to the beach house he would humorously pretend it was a competition on quantity, quality, or size, whichever category would permit him to claim victory. Bill would alternate between body surfing, hunting for sharks teeth, and reading books. Grandma Millen (Gladys) would mostly sit on the porch reading books and watching the rest of us frolic, and occasionally wander down to the waterline to check the water temperature.
Exhaustion seemed to guarantee that everyone was back in the house by lunchtime. It was pretty rare that we had to hunt people down for meals. There were plenty of adults to lend a hand so lunch was prepared in short order, devoured in short order, and cleaned up in short order.
After lunch it was naptime, or at the very least a quiet time. There is something about the beach and swimming fatigue that guarantees great sleeping, even in the middle of the day. After naptime we repeated our morning activity of hitting the beach. Sometimes the moms would go shopping or hit the turtle museum.
Again, exhaustion guaranteed that everyone was in the house in time for dinner. There were some adult beverages in moderation before dinner. The water was undrinkable unless you turned it into lemonade, so there was pink lemonade for the kids. We usually ate out a couple times during the week to give the moms a break.
Everyone welcomed bedtime. I never slept so well in my life. I was so tired from all that time in the ocean and the run in the morning. Sleeping was wonderful; and no worries while I was at the beach. The real world didn’t exist. Ecstasy. Heaven. Nirvana. Bliss. Yeah, it was all waiting for me back in ATL, but for one brief shining moment, none of it existed.
And in the morning, we did it all over again.
Postscripts –
1. One year when Carl wasn’t with us we tried doing the trip in one car, but that was pretty brutal on everyone. The space in the car was much too tight. We never did that again.
2. One year when Ann did not have afternoon relays Ann, Jean, and Grandma Pedelty headed off to the beach at midday leaving John and me at the swim meet. This was before John was old enough to drive, so I drove all 8 hours and arrived at the beach after midnight. John and I howled at the moon during the drive that night; lots of fun.
3. John’s birthday fell such that he was always just days into his two-year age group, or in the middle of his age group, at the time of the Georgia State Long Course Meet. This meet was the qualifying meet for the Zone team. Members of the Zone team were held in high regard amongst the swimming community, which is to say that you were officially hot stuff.
Not that the Zone team was one of John’s goals, but this one year John “finally” qualified for Zones at the state meet in spite of his age. At the close of the meet the officials cornered John on the pool deck needing an immediate commitment to the Zone team/meet which was to be held the first week in August. The meet conflicted with our vacation week at the beach. John never hesitated. John chose the beach over the Zone team.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Ann Asks: That goose at your first apt
At last, a short easy one which I will make difficult. My first apartment was in Marion Iowa in 1974-1975. The goose was at my second apartment at 6355 Memorial Drive, Stone Mountain, GA. At first I had a one bedroom apartment there, and then when Jean and I got married I got a 2 bedroom apartment on the third floor (big stuff at the time) in the same complex. (Too much information)
There was a small man-made lake in the center of the complex and a collection of 10-15 geese that spent the year there. There was also a day-old bread store not too far away that sold loaves of bread for next to nothing, so for cheap entertainment I would occasionally buy a day-old Twinkie for me, and a day-old loaf of bread for the geese.
I’d stand on the porch and toss out chunks of bread onto the shoreline, or fly entire slices of bread out into the lake like Frisbees. At first the geese would fly over to my porch when I started tossing bread out. Then it became such a habit that they would fly over when I just stepped out on the porch. Eventually they came over when I just opened the patio door. They knew day-old bread was in the offing. (Offing = the near or foreseeable future, look it up)
One of the geese was particularly aggressive. If I went out on shoreline he would come right up to me while the others kept their distance. If I sat down he would climb on my legs. If I lay down he would climb on my chest. It was difficult to keep my hands, and the bread, out of this guy’s snapping beak.
Sometimes I’d finish distributing a loaf and head to my car to run errands. This aggressive goose would follow me up to the parking lot on the other side of the apartment building and try get in the car with me! There were reports that some of the geese had been hit in the parking lot, so I’d lead the goose back to the shoreline where he would be safe, and then run for the car, but he was too fast, I could not shake him.
I think I eventually worked out a successful strategy to get him off my tail, but I can’t recall what it was. My one bedroom apartment was on the first floor and he’d follow me to the door and try to get in the apartment. (Nothing better than having goose crap all around the entrance to your apartment) The two bedroom apartment was on the third floor, and the goose couldn’t do stairs, so I think my escape strategy involved the stairs.
Not my best work, but there it is.
There was a small man-made lake in the center of the complex and a collection of 10-15 geese that spent the year there. There was also a day-old bread store not too far away that sold loaves of bread for next to nothing, so for cheap entertainment I would occasionally buy a day-old Twinkie for me, and a day-old loaf of bread for the geese.
I’d stand on the porch and toss out chunks of bread onto the shoreline, or fly entire slices of bread out into the lake like Frisbees. At first the geese would fly over to my porch when I started tossing bread out. Then it became such a habit that they would fly over when I just stepped out on the porch. Eventually they came over when I just opened the patio door. They knew day-old bread was in the offing. (Offing = the near or foreseeable future, look it up)
One of the geese was particularly aggressive. If I went out on shoreline he would come right up to me while the others kept their distance. If I sat down he would climb on my legs. If I lay down he would climb on my chest. It was difficult to keep my hands, and the bread, out of this guy’s snapping beak.
Sometimes I’d finish distributing a loaf and head to my car to run errands. This aggressive goose would follow me up to the parking lot on the other side of the apartment building and try get in the car with me! There were reports that some of the geese had been hit in the parking lot, so I’d lead the goose back to the shoreline where he would be safe, and then run for the car, but he was too fast, I could not shake him.
I think I eventually worked out a successful strategy to get him off my tail, but I can’t recall what it was. My one bedroom apartment was on the first floor and he’d follow me to the door and try to get in the apartment. (Nothing better than having goose crap all around the entrance to your apartment) The two bedroom apartment was on the third floor, and the goose couldn’t do stairs, so I think my escape strategy involved the stairs.
Not my best work, but there it is.
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