Wednesday, November 25, 2009
"There is No More Hope"
according to my mother, circa 1981.
Let me tell you the story.
In October of 1980, my family moved from Broken Arrow, OK to Eldon, MO.
Actually, we moved to a 40 acre farm about 10 miles outside of Eldon. (Yes, directions to my house included the phrase "turn off the paved road".) The place included a cattle barn, a chicken pen, and a hog barn.
At this point, my father started collecting animals for my mother and I to take care of. He said that he was "hobby-farming". He was working 80-100 hours a week. So, he had a hobby, and mom and I were farming.
Among the various animals he collected were three sows that were, supposedly, already impregnated.
My mother named them: Faith, Hope and Charity.
My father's logic was that I would tend the sows, raise the piglets, and sell them to get the money for my first car.
After, approximately, 3 times the gestation period of a normal domesticated pig had passed, and no piglets had been born, my father had an epiphany: The sows had never been bred!
My father, then, made a decision. We would sell two of the sows, and have the third slaughtered.
Now, I could never tell the difference between any of the pigs. My mother, on the other hand, swore that she could. She maintained that Faith and Charity were the sows that we had sent to the sale barn.
A few days later, we went to the butcher and came back with a huge pile of packages wrapped in white butcher paper.
For weeks, we had chops, ham, bacon, sausage, and ribs.
Finally, one night, over a meal of pork chops, my mother pronounced: "There is no more Hope."
...
The worst part of it all is that, within a short time, the Robertson family had crapped away all Hope, for anyone, forever.
Let me tell you the story.
In October of 1980, my family moved from Broken Arrow, OK to Eldon, MO.
Actually, we moved to a 40 acre farm about 10 miles outside of Eldon. (Yes, directions to my house included the phrase "turn off the paved road".) The place included a cattle barn, a chicken pen, and a hog barn.
At this point, my father started collecting animals for my mother and I to take care of. He said that he was "hobby-farming". He was working 80-100 hours a week. So, he had a hobby, and mom and I were farming.
Among the various animals he collected were three sows that were, supposedly, already impregnated.
My mother named them: Faith, Hope and Charity.
My father's logic was that I would tend the sows, raise the piglets, and sell them to get the money for my first car.
After, approximately, 3 times the gestation period of a normal domesticated pig had passed, and no piglets had been born, my father had an epiphany: The sows had never been bred!
My father, then, made a decision. We would sell two of the sows, and have the third slaughtered.
Now, I could never tell the difference between any of the pigs. My mother, on the other hand, swore that she could. She maintained that Faith and Charity were the sows that we had sent to the sale barn.
A few days later, we went to the butcher and came back with a huge pile of packages wrapped in white butcher paper.
For weeks, we had chops, ham, bacon, sausage, and ribs.
Finally, one night, over a meal of pork chops, my mother pronounced: "There is no more Hope."
...
The worst part of it all is that, within a short time, the Robertson family had crapped away all Hope, for anyone, forever.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Interesting Stuff
I've been listening, for while now, about "Global Warming"/"Climate Change", the harm it will do our planet, and how we, mankind, in general, and us, the US, in particular are causing it.
Michael Crichton wrote the following in the prologue to the book, "Jurassic Park":
You think man can destroy the planet? What intoxicating vanity. Let me tell you about our planet. Earth is four-and-a-half-billion-years-old. There's been life on it for nearly that long, 3.8 billion years. Bacteria first; later the first multicellular life, then the first complex creatures in the sea, on the land. Then finally the great sweeping ages of animals, the amphibians, the dinosaurs, at last the mammals, each one enduring millions on millions of years, great dynasties of creatures rising, flourishing, dying away -- all this against a background of continuous and violent upheaval. Mountain ranges thrust up, eroded away, cometary impacts, volcano eruptions, oceans rising and falling, whole continents moving, an endless, constant, violent change, colliding, buckling to make mountains over millions of years. Earth has survived everything in its time.
It will certainly survive us. If all the nuclear weapons in the world went off at once and all the plants, all the animals died and the earth was sizzling hot for a hundred thousand years, life would survive, somewhere: under the soil, frozen in arctic ice. Sooner or later, when the planet was no longer inhospitable, life would spread again. The evolutionary process would begin again. Might take a few billion years for life to regain its present variety. Of course, it would be very different from what it is now, but the earth would survive our folly, only we would not. If the ozone layer gets thinner, ultraviolet radiation sears earth, so what? Ultraviolet radiation is good for life. It's powerful energy. It promotes mutation, change. Many forms of life will thrive with more UV radiation. Many others will die out. You think this is the first time that's happened? Think about oxygen. Necessary for life now, but oxygen is actually a metabolic poison, a corrosive glass, like fluorine.
When oxygen was first produced as a waste product by certain plant cells some three billion years ago, it created a crisis for all other life on earth. Those plants were polluting the environment, exhaling a lethal gas. Earth eventually had an atmosphere incompatible with life. Nevertheless, life on earth took care of itself. In the thinking of the human being a hundred years is a long time. Hundred years ago we didn't have cars, airplanes, computers or vaccines. It was a whole different world, but to the earth, a hundred years is nothing. A million years is nothing. This planet lives and breathes on a much vaster scale. We can't imagine its slow and powerful rhythms, and we haven't got the humility to try. We've been residents here for the blink of an eye. If we're gone tomorrow, the earth will not miss us.
Think about it.
According to the geological record, climate change is normal. The way things are supposed to be.
Climate staying as it is for any protracted period of time, geologically speaking, is an aberration.
According to recent geological history, we are due for another Ice Age ... meaning in about 1,000 years, or so.
I remember something I heard once. I am sure I will not get the quote exactly right, so, let me paraphrase:
We have a word for when things stop changing: death.
Michael Crichton wrote the following in the prologue to the book, "Jurassic Park":
You think man can destroy the planet? What intoxicating vanity. Let me tell you about our planet. Earth is four-and-a-half-billion-years-old. There's been life on it for nearly that long, 3.8 billion years. Bacteria first; later the first multicellular life, then the first complex creatures in the sea, on the land. Then finally the great sweeping ages of animals, the amphibians, the dinosaurs, at last the mammals, each one enduring millions on millions of years, great dynasties of creatures rising, flourishing, dying away -- all this against a background of continuous and violent upheaval. Mountain ranges thrust up, eroded away, cometary impacts, volcano eruptions, oceans rising and falling, whole continents moving, an endless, constant, violent change, colliding, buckling to make mountains over millions of years. Earth has survived everything in its time.
It will certainly survive us. If all the nuclear weapons in the world went off at once and all the plants, all the animals died and the earth was sizzling hot for a hundred thousand years, life would survive, somewhere: under the soil, frozen in arctic ice. Sooner or later, when the planet was no longer inhospitable, life would spread again. The evolutionary process would begin again. Might take a few billion years for life to regain its present variety. Of course, it would be very different from what it is now, but the earth would survive our folly, only we would not. If the ozone layer gets thinner, ultraviolet radiation sears earth, so what? Ultraviolet radiation is good for life. It's powerful energy. It promotes mutation, change. Many forms of life will thrive with more UV radiation. Many others will die out. You think this is the first time that's happened? Think about oxygen. Necessary for life now, but oxygen is actually a metabolic poison, a corrosive glass, like fluorine.
When oxygen was first produced as a waste product by certain plant cells some three billion years ago, it created a crisis for all other life on earth. Those plants were polluting the environment, exhaling a lethal gas. Earth eventually had an atmosphere incompatible with life. Nevertheless, life on earth took care of itself. In the thinking of the human being a hundred years is a long time. Hundred years ago we didn't have cars, airplanes, computers or vaccines. It was a whole different world, but to the earth, a hundred years is nothing. A million years is nothing. This planet lives and breathes on a much vaster scale. We can't imagine its slow and powerful rhythms, and we haven't got the humility to try. We've been residents here for the blink of an eye. If we're gone tomorrow, the earth will not miss us.
Think about it.
According to the geological record, climate change is normal. The way things are supposed to be.
Climate staying as it is for any protracted period of time, geologically speaking, is an aberration.
According to recent geological history, we are due for another Ice Age ... meaning in about 1,000 years, or so.
I remember something I heard once. I am sure I will not get the quote exactly right, so, let me paraphrase:
We have a word for when things stop changing: death.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Domestic Violence Goes Both Ways
I just watched "Private Sessions" with Martina McBride. There was an involved conversation about her song "Independence Day" that is about domestic violence.
The conversation brought up a memory that had not come up in a while.
When I was stationed in Panama, I was in charge of a soldier, let's call him "Roger". (For the record, to the best of my recollection, I have never been stationed anywhere with a person named Roger.")
Also, keep in mind that I was in Panama from 1995-1998. The events I am about to relate happened in 1997. President Clinton was in his second term. OJ was old news. The internet had, finally, made it to Panama. Hezbollah had bombed the Khobar Towers the year before.
"Roger" was about 6' tall, and about 190 lbs., a former high school football player. He was married to this little Venzuelan girl that was about 5' nothing. Not only short, but she could have been a model. So, she she weighed next to nothing.
Not too long after they were married and moved into housing on post, "Roger" started showing up to work with "muscle soreness" that our Physical Training sessions couldn't explain.
Then, there was the mysterious intruder on his patio with a machete that he fended off. He showed me the cut on the lower end of his deltoid, supposedly, from the fight.
I knew of some troubles that the couple were having. "Roger" told me that they were going into counseling with a Catholic chaplain. (They were, both, Catholic.)
Then, my commander and First Sergeant were asked to sit in on a counseling session, by the chaplain. In that session, the spouse, the little slip of a girl, came out and said, blatantly, that the way she worked out her stress in life was to beat the crap out of "Roger" whenever she felt like it.
The commander's answer was: " Sergeant 'Smith', you need to work harder on your relationship with your wife."
The First Sergeant's answer was that the soldier (not the spouse) needed to come to church with him (a Protestant), and quit going to Mass.
When I talked to my soldier, he responded: "What can I do?" ... and he broke it down into every possible scenario:
a) He takes her beating, and calls the MP's. Once upon arriving on the scene, the MP's would laugh and leave. The incident get reported to the chain of command, and he, either, becomes a laughingstock at work, or an unconfirmed "wife beater" to his coworkers and chain of command.
b) He defends himself, without hitting her. Just blocking the blows, and trying to stop her. She or the neighbors call the MP's. The MP's take a look at him and her. Draw their own conclusions, he goes to jail, and his career is over.
c) He hits back. She or the neighbors call the MP's. They take him to jail, and his career is over.
d) He takes it, and tries to keep it as quiet as possible. No MP's are involved. He keeps his reputation, and his career.
So, "Roger" chose "d". He didn't have any other choice. And when his chain of command should have backed him up, they blamed him for the problem.
After all, guys abuse women. Not the other way around. No matter what kind of edged weapon the woman has.
Right?
The conversation brought up a memory that had not come up in a while.
When I was stationed in Panama, I was in charge of a soldier, let's call him "Roger". (For the record, to the best of my recollection, I have never been stationed anywhere with a person named Roger.")
Also, keep in mind that I was in Panama from 1995-1998. The events I am about to relate happened in 1997. President Clinton was in his second term. OJ was old news. The internet had, finally, made it to Panama. Hezbollah had bombed the Khobar Towers the year before.
"Roger" was about 6' tall, and about 190 lbs., a former high school football player. He was married to this little Venzuelan girl that was about 5' nothing. Not only short, but she could have been a model. So, she she weighed next to nothing.
Not too long after they were married and moved into housing on post, "Roger" started showing up to work with "muscle soreness" that our Physical Training sessions couldn't explain.
Then, there was the mysterious intruder on his patio with a machete that he fended off. He showed me the cut on the lower end of his deltoid, supposedly, from the fight.
I knew of some troubles that the couple were having. "Roger" told me that they were going into counseling with a Catholic chaplain. (They were, both, Catholic.)
Then, my commander and First Sergeant were asked to sit in on a counseling session, by the chaplain. In that session, the spouse, the little slip of a girl, came out and said, blatantly, that the way she worked out her stress in life was to beat the crap out of "Roger" whenever she felt like it.
The commander's answer was: " Sergeant 'Smith', you need to work harder on your relationship with your wife."
The First Sergeant's answer was that the soldier (not the spouse) needed to come to church with him (a Protestant), and quit going to Mass.
When I talked to my soldier, he responded: "What can I do?" ... and he broke it down into every possible scenario:
a) He takes her beating, and calls the MP's. Once upon arriving on the scene, the MP's would laugh and leave. The incident get reported to the chain of command, and he, either, becomes a laughingstock at work, or an unconfirmed "wife beater" to his coworkers and chain of command.
b) He defends himself, without hitting her. Just blocking the blows, and trying to stop her. She or the neighbors call the MP's. The MP's take a look at him and her. Draw their own conclusions, he goes to jail, and his career is over.
c) He hits back. She or the neighbors call the MP's. They take him to jail, and his career is over.
d) He takes it, and tries to keep it as quiet as possible. No MP's are involved. He keeps his reputation, and his career.
So, "Roger" chose "d". He didn't have any other choice. And when his chain of command should have backed him up, they blamed him for the problem.
After all, guys abuse women. Not the other way around. No matter what kind of edged weapon the woman has.
Right?
