A week or so ago a woman in Idaho thought it was reasonable to take a loaded, unlocked gun in her purse when she took her two year old son to Walmart and then leave the purse within reach of the child. As we know those decisions resulted in her death from a bullet fired from the gun by the boy. Upon hearing of this event I failed to find great sympathy in my heart for the woman. I certainly don't think she deserved it, but her own contribution to her demise was so great that I can't summon much concern.
Now some cartoonists in France have been murdered and I find myself pretty much fresh out of sympathy. Clearly the cases are not the same. In the cartoonist case the killing was intentional and there was more of it. But there was one very important parallel. The French were practicing the principal of free speech and by so doing affirming and defending this right. I don't know it for a fact, but I think it is likely, that the woman in Idaho was not in fear for her life that afternoon, but her decision to carry a gun to Walmart was an affirmation of her right to do so.
Here's what I affirm. Just because one has a right to do something stupid or offensive doesn't mean that it should be done. I don't think I've ever seen a Charlie Hebdo cartoon, but the reporting seems universal that their style was aggressive, and insulting to all their targets. To me insulting religious beliefs is quite different from insulting political thought and behavior or entertainers or other public figures. I happen to find the evidence for a caring God to be pretty scant and unconvincing. But I think religious beliefs are beyond proofs and at the same time capable of inspiring wars and great suffering. For both these reasons we should try hard to tolerate the beliefs of other however misguided they may seem. Mocking Mohammad, mocking Buddha, Mocking Jesus Christ should not be done unless there is some VERY strong reason to think that such mocking will somehow improve something. Mocking religious beliefs just for the fun of it is STUPID.
Je ne suis pas Charlie.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Thoughts For My Niece
My very smart and accomplished niece has just come to Seattle from a smaller place to begin her college education. Today she got a little lost and probably was late to an appointment. I think it was stressful for her.
The long run is composed of thousands and thousands and thousands of short runs. While it is true that those who do well in the long run are those who take care of most all of the short run situations, it is also true that hardly any short run situation by itself is determinate. So don't sweat the small stuff - too much.
The long run is composed of thousands and thousands and thousands of short runs. While it is true that those who do well in the long run are those who take care of most all of the short run situations, it is also true that hardly any short run situation by itself is determinate. So don't sweat the small stuff - too much.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Back Aches - For What It's Worth
From time to time I encounter people who have back problems of one sort or another. Having such a history myself I am inclined to get into a conversation about what might be done. A few days ago, after such an encounter, I was inspired to write the following so I could just hand it out and save on talking.
I once was very free with advice about back aches, thinking what I had learned from my own experiences would be useful to others. I’m more modest now in this regard because I now think there are many different sorts of back problems so not all advice is applicable. That said, what follows is the best wisdom gathered from a 15 to 20 year saga of recurring, incapacitating back spasms. I hated it when my wife said that I had a bad back meaning a back predisposed to injury. What I think I had was a perfectly normal back that I mistreated often enough that I would have 2 or 3 episodes a year when for several days I was barely able move off the ground or out of bed. That was roughly between the ages of 25 to 45. The incidence of trouble started going down in my early 40’s mostly due to my learning what particular acts or activity put me in jeopardy. Once I learned what not to do or at least how to be careful, the problem went away. In my early 50’s, for reasons other than my back, I started getting more exercise which strengthened my back so that now at age 75 I can do much more than I could at 25 without hurting myself. The following can be read as advice, but as stated above, it ain’t necessarily right.
I once was very free with advice about back aches, thinking what I had learned from my own experiences would be useful to others. I’m more modest now in this regard because I now think there are many different sorts of back problems so not all advice is applicable. That said, what follows is the best wisdom gathered from a 15 to 20 year saga of recurring, incapacitating back spasms. I hated it when my wife said that I had a bad back meaning a back predisposed to injury. What I think I had was a perfectly normal back that I mistreated often enough that I would have 2 or 3 episodes a year when for several days I was barely able move off the ground or out of bed. That was roughly between the ages of 25 to 45. The incidence of trouble started going down in my early 40’s mostly due to my learning what particular acts or activity put me in jeopardy. Once I learned what not to do or at least how to be careful, the problem went away. In my early 50’s, for reasons other than my back, I started getting more exercise which strengthened my back so that now at age 75 I can do much more than I could at 25 without hurting myself. The following can be read as advice, but as stated above, it ain’t necessarily right.
In the case of an acute situation my first goal is to end
the pain. My back aches occurred in my
lower back where there are many small cooperative muscles. If one spasmed the pain would cause the
adjacent muscles to grow tense and vulnerable and interfere with the recovery
of the sore muscle. Of course stopping
the pain was useful in its own right.
For me step one is to take the strongest pain medicine available. There may also be some body positions that
reduce or eliminate pain. One such position
for me was lying on my back on the floor with my lower legs laid over the seat
of a side chair. My thighs were vertical
at the hip and my legs bent at the knees so the calves could rest on the seat
of the chair. Once on a trip to Central
America I spent a night like that. In
the morning I was ready to go. Another
tip for comfortable sleeping is to sleep on a slippery surface such a nylon
sleeping bag wearing some kind of slippery shorts. Thus bed friction is minimized. Before I got onto these friction reducing
measures I would from time to time exacerbate an injury in my sleep by trying
to drag my hips/pelvis to some new position.
After stopping the pain as much as possible step two is to get the right
amount of exercise. The problem of
course is knowing what is the right amount.
I do think exercise is therapeutic.
At the same time it is easy, once one is feeling better, to do too much
and suffer a setback. So move and exercise
the injured area, but err on the side of too little.
There are two or three things to do that could be thought of
as long run strategies. One is to think
very hard about any particular back incident that may occur. What was the immediate cause and was there
any lead up to the immediate cause? For
example I could shovel dirt or snow all day without incident, but then, on the
next day, I might easily incur a back spasm by picking up a sock. The muscles, tired from the shoveling, were
vulnerable to the slightest stress. Eventually
I learned to be careful on days following shoveling. As is well known, improving one’s fitness,
especially core strength, can pay off in fewer back problems. For reasons unrelated to my back, in my
fifties I became much more fit. Now at
age 75 I can stress my back much more than I could at age 25 without suffering
bad consequences. And finally recalling
my first advice for an acute attack, i.e. stop the pain, I always retain any
pain medicine that is prescribed for me, but which I don’t initially need. It can come in handy.
The Longest Life - A specculation
I've just awakened from a dream in which I briefly saw and spoke with my father-in-law who passed away about 40 years ago. He was delivering some groceries to our kitchen. It must have been summer with the door open so he could walk right into the house and announce himself with the family whistle. I believe my mother-in-law was along, but I woke up before she made her appearance. It was a very pleasant dream.
It won't be too much longer until all who knew Rodge will be gone and he will not even appear in a dream. Puccini on the other hand is different. About a year ago I went to La Boehme. When it was over I thought with some amazement that Mr. Puccini, now dead for some long time, was still thrilling audiences, myself included. Of course he had a lot of help. Those who invented the musical form, and the instruments. Those who made themselves able to perform what Puccini created. Those who care to listen to his music.When there are none of these then I suppose Mr P will at last be effectively gone as well. But it's a nice run he's having.
Such thoughts of course lead to the question of who will live the longest in the sense of being remembered and relevant. I wonder if Thomas Edison is as well known in the rest of the world as he is in the U.S. The electric light is a pretty big deal I think. But do young people today, even in the U.S., know of him. I'll have to ask a few. There are the political inventors and creators. T. Jefferson and friends come to mind along with Hobbs and Locke, etc. Their work seems like it will impact people for a long time to come. But I guess it is the religious guys who take the cake and among those is there any older than Abraham? More than 4,00 years and people still find solace and hope and rapture and hate and reasons to kill one another as a result of his work. I guess that's the record.
It won't be too much longer until all who knew Rodge will be gone and he will not even appear in a dream. Puccini on the other hand is different. About a year ago I went to La Boehme. When it was over I thought with some amazement that Mr. Puccini, now dead for some long time, was still thrilling audiences, myself included. Of course he had a lot of help. Those who invented the musical form, and the instruments. Those who made themselves able to perform what Puccini created. Those who care to listen to his music.When there are none of these then I suppose Mr P will at last be effectively gone as well. But it's a nice run he's having.
Such thoughts of course lead to the question of who will live the longest in the sense of being remembered and relevant. I wonder if Thomas Edison is as well known in the rest of the world as he is in the U.S. The electric light is a pretty big deal I think. But do young people today, even in the U.S., know of him. I'll have to ask a few. There are the political inventors and creators. T. Jefferson and friends come to mind along with Hobbs and Locke, etc. Their work seems like it will impact people for a long time to come. But I guess it is the religious guys who take the cake and among those is there any older than Abraham? More than 4,00 years and people still find solace and hope and rapture and hate and reasons to kill one another as a result of his work. I guess that's the record.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Karma Among Some Antiquities
I suppose it was because I turned down his money that he offered an eight inch stack of vinals topped by Crosby, Stills and Nash. Someone had given them to him and he didn't really have a use. I didn't either. I had to think if we still had a turntable or if we had given it to the Goodwill. They were sitting there in the trunk of his 70's something muscle car when he opened it to get out his bike rack which he needed to carry home the late 40's girls Schwin that I had just returned to him though I had never seen him prior to his arrival at my door ten minutes earlier.
It was quite a cool bike, with its fat tires and coaster brake. Of course the chain and wheel rims were still pretty rusty. I hadn't cleaned them in the six or ten months or whatever since the afternoon I had pedaled past it standing somewhat forlornly on that curb in Wallingford, next to a recycle bin, waiting, I surmised, for a trip the next day to some scrap metal melting pot on the industrial side of town. I'm sure I would never have stopped to beg for its life had the woman not been standing right there doing something to her lawn. Well, that's putting a little edge on it. All I did really, was ask. The woman was happy to give it up along with a little, slightly prideful, mention of its history at Burning Man http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/. The corroded chrome on the handlebars and squiggly hand painted markings on the fenders lent credibility to her claim. I reflected, a little sadly, on what the passing of a few years and living in a nice bungalow in a yuppie neighborhood could do to a one time sojourner in the Nevada desert in late August. But who am I to judge. My first trip to Burning Man still lies before me. So I went back later with my minivan and fetched the bike home.
I can't recall if my ultimate use for it was already formed in my mind or if I was just grabbing a somewhat classic velocipede. In any case I did use it, along with a couple like models, to advertise a condominium we wanted to sell. Now, the condo itself is a classic. Built in 1929, it features leaded stained glass windows, coved ceilings, and a sweet faux fireplace with colored glass coals shimmering on a grate over an electric bulb. Distaining the services of professional realtors, I created a website describing the property, and on my vintage bicycles I placed signage inviting interested passers by to the website. Then I put the bikes out on the street and in some parks where I thought there might be potential buyers. Every few days I moved them around.
That's where he saw it - the beloved conveyance he had taken to Burning Man six times and planned to take a seventh, until his landlady, thinking it was worn out, put it out for the recycle guys. That irretrievably hopeless loss months prior was suddenly standing there beside his route with a sign on it - Oh how convenient! - telling how to contact the guy with the key to the lock thereon. And so he called this PM and offered money for his bike. And the final lovely coincidence is that just four days earlier we had signed the purchase and sale agreement for the condo, that brought to an end the brief, but successful advertising career of a certain late forties, blue girls' Schwin.
I think I'll go put on a little Crosby, Stills and Nash, eat some brownies and try to remember 1972. It's legal now in Washington you know,
It was quite a cool bike, with its fat tires and coaster brake. Of course the chain and wheel rims were still pretty rusty. I hadn't cleaned them in the six or ten months or whatever since the afternoon I had pedaled past it standing somewhat forlornly on that curb in Wallingford, next to a recycle bin, waiting, I surmised, for a trip the next day to some scrap metal melting pot on the industrial side of town. I'm sure I would never have stopped to beg for its life had the woman not been standing right there doing something to her lawn. Well, that's putting a little edge on it. All I did really, was ask. The woman was happy to give it up along with a little, slightly prideful, mention of its history at Burning Man http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/. The corroded chrome on the handlebars and squiggly hand painted markings on the fenders lent credibility to her claim. I reflected, a little sadly, on what the passing of a few years and living in a nice bungalow in a yuppie neighborhood could do to a one time sojourner in the Nevada desert in late August. But who am I to judge. My first trip to Burning Man still lies before me. So I went back later with my minivan and fetched the bike home.
I can't recall if my ultimate use for it was already formed in my mind or if I was just grabbing a somewhat classic velocipede. In any case I did use it, along with a couple like models, to advertise a condominium we wanted to sell. Now, the condo itself is a classic. Built in 1929, it features leaded stained glass windows, coved ceilings, and a sweet faux fireplace with colored glass coals shimmering on a grate over an electric bulb. Distaining the services of professional realtors, I created a website describing the property, and on my vintage bicycles I placed signage inviting interested passers by to the website. Then I put the bikes out on the street and in some parks where I thought there might be potential buyers. Every few days I moved them around.
That's where he saw it - the beloved conveyance he had taken to Burning Man six times and planned to take a seventh, until his landlady, thinking it was worn out, put it out for the recycle guys. That irretrievably hopeless loss months prior was suddenly standing there beside his route with a sign on it - Oh how convenient! - telling how to contact the guy with the key to the lock thereon. And so he called this PM and offered money for his bike. And the final lovely coincidence is that just four days earlier we had signed the purchase and sale agreement for the condo, that brought to an end the brief, but successful advertising career of a certain late forties, blue girls' Schwin.
I think I'll go put on a little Crosby, Stills and Nash, eat some brownies and try to remember 1972. It's legal now in Washington you know,
Friday, July 12, 2013
25th Anniversary Ride: A Cycling Memoir
.Reader Warning: The paragraphs below set a new high in self indulgence in a blog that is chock-a-block full of boasting and ill edited blather. I hope you will read them, but I'm sure you have better things to do. This post is mostly for my great grandchildren should there be any.
Twenty five years ago I marked my 50th birthday by joining some 2,000 others in a bike ride from Seattle to Portland OR. At the time I thought 50 was an advanced age for riding such a distance, although there were, even then, some who had done the ride at ages into their 70's. I think it is now more or less routine to have 70 year olds. Anyway, I thought I was kind of old. What I didn't know was that I was just getting started as a somewhat serious bike rider. In the years since, I have done the ride 5 more times, so this year will by my 7th, if I complete it. I have also done a couple of multi-week rides in the U.S., ridden in Europe, Hawaii, New York City, and California, led thematic rides around Seattle, ridden around Mt. Rainier (The Ramrod) and used a bike as my most common means of travel around Seattle. The rudest thing I've done on a bike is ride naked in the Fremont neighborhood Solstice Day Parade. This weekend about 10,000 people will do the STP (Seattle to Portland). About 20% of them will do the 200 miles in one day. I suspect I will be the only one carrying a snail in a jar dangling in front of me as a pace setter. While most STP riders take the event rather seriously, riding as fast as they can on the best machines they can afford, I've always chosen to be a bit silly.
This time I'll be riding the same 5 speed, mid seventies, Schwinn, girls bike that I rode that first year. It was given to me when it failed to sell at a garage sale. There is attached to the sides the same cardboard cutout of a dinosaur. Dino has been resting for the last 2 and 1/2 decades in my attic, awaiting his comeback appearance. This is it. My second STP was begun on a three wheeled rowing machine, though that proved to be too slow so the second day I resorted to the Schwinn again. I did get my picture on the front page of the Seattle Times sports section that year. The next two outings, a few years later, were done on a 1963 collapsible bike (an early Alex Moulton, for any cognoscenti, who may be reading) that I bought in a mountain town in Guatemala. It was equipped with a three speed hub. The second of those years I dressed as a sailor and carried signage advertising a production of Gilbert and Sullivan's H.M.S. Pinafore. In 1997 I did the ride wearing a tuxedo and pulling a mannequin dressed in a formal gown on a trailer bike. I called that "Styling To Portland." My last time, in 2001, I wore cowboy boots, and a neckerchief. A horse skull was mounted on the handle bars and a tail swung behind the seat, which incidentally, earnest bike enthusiasts always call a saddle. That year I did the ride in one day.
If all goes well, in two days I will roll into Portland in time for dinner. If I'm lucky my sister-in-law and riding companion will sing to me for the last ten miles.
Twenty five years ago I marked my 50th birthday by joining some 2,000 others in a bike ride from Seattle to Portland OR. At the time I thought 50 was an advanced age for riding such a distance, although there were, even then, some who had done the ride at ages into their 70's. I think it is now more or less routine to have 70 year olds. Anyway, I thought I was kind of old. What I didn't know was that I was just getting started as a somewhat serious bike rider. In the years since, I have done the ride 5 more times, so this year will by my 7th, if I complete it. I have also done a couple of multi-week rides in the U.S., ridden in Europe, Hawaii, New York City, and California, led thematic rides around Seattle, ridden around Mt. Rainier (The Ramrod) and used a bike as my most common means of travel around Seattle. The rudest thing I've done on a bike is ride naked in the Fremont neighborhood Solstice Day Parade. This weekend about 10,000 people will do the STP (Seattle to Portland). About 20% of them will do the 200 miles in one day. I suspect I will be the only one carrying a snail in a jar dangling in front of me as a pace setter. While most STP riders take the event rather seriously, riding as fast as they can on the best machines they can afford, I've always chosen to be a bit silly.
This time I'll be riding the same 5 speed, mid seventies, Schwinn, girls bike that I rode that first year. It was given to me when it failed to sell at a garage sale. There is attached to the sides the same cardboard cutout of a dinosaur. Dino has been resting for the last 2 and 1/2 decades in my attic, awaiting his comeback appearance. This is it. My second STP was begun on a three wheeled rowing machine, though that proved to be too slow so the second day I resorted to the Schwinn again. I did get my picture on the front page of the Seattle Times sports section that year. The next two outings, a few years later, were done on a 1963 collapsible bike (an early Alex Moulton, for any cognoscenti, who may be reading) that I bought in a mountain town in Guatemala. It was equipped with a three speed hub. The second of those years I dressed as a sailor and carried signage advertising a production of Gilbert and Sullivan's H.M.S. Pinafore. In 1997 I did the ride wearing a tuxedo and pulling a mannequin dressed in a formal gown on a trailer bike. I called that "Styling To Portland." My last time, in 2001, I wore cowboy boots, and a neckerchief. A horse skull was mounted on the handle bars and a tail swung behind the seat, which incidentally, earnest bike enthusiasts always call a saddle. That year I did the ride in one day.
If all goes well, in two days I will roll into Portland in time for dinner. If I'm lucky my sister-in-law and riding companion will sing to me for the last ten miles.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Maintaining (and expanding) Our Cultural Heritage
I see that back in November I had a post musing about what to do with my prostate cancer diagnosis. The update is that in early April I underwent a radioactive seed implant procedure. That episode underlies the current post.
I expect that it is in junior high that 7th grade boys teach 6th grade boys a little poem. In fact it may be part of the formal curriculum. Actually it probably predates middle school by an unknown number of centuries. Girls have to wait until they form a close bond with a boy before they hear it. It goes like this.
No matter how you shake and dance,
The last three drops get in your pants.
I find that modern medicine has created a parallel rhyme for at least a subset of older males. Here it is.
No matter how you shout or pout,
The last three drops just won't come out.
I expect that it is in junior high that 7th grade boys teach 6th grade boys a little poem. In fact it may be part of the formal curriculum. Actually it probably predates middle school by an unknown number of centuries. Girls have to wait until they form a close bond with a boy before they hear it. It goes like this.
No matter how you shake and dance,
The last three drops get in your pants.
I find that modern medicine has created a parallel rhyme for at least a subset of older males. Here it is.
No matter how you shout or pout,
The last three drops just won't come out.
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