I need to continue with thoughts very much in the same vein as yesterday's post, and they are prompted by a quote of the local district attorney cited recently in the local newspaper. The district attorney was explaining why he would not be responding to the preliminary autopsy report and the likelihood that he would be filing charges in a particular case. I most certainly appreciate and applaud his reticence to speak before he has all the facts and the input of others, but I am rattled by his explanation. "...I'm not comfortable talking about it [autopsy report]. It goes from the pathologist to the coroner to a cop to me, and black might be turned into white by the time it goes through that,..." What is unclear might be made clearer by this process or shades of gray will hopefully become black and white--to continue with the same figure of speech. But black becoming white? I assume and certainly hope that the pathologist, who performed the autopsy was an experienced forensic pathologist, who was very aware of the importance of his or her work and the potential impact of his or her science and judgment. We can certainly expect the report to be thoughtful and disciplined and, taken in concert with the other investigators' reports, to provide for a coherent account of the event and supports the district attorney's decision to file or not file charges.



If black is capable of becoming white, are known facts driving this case? If not, what is? A quote from James K. Galbraith comes to mind: [persons in positions of authority] "...trust their own system of beliefs and their affinities of politics and class," rather than a reasoned examination of the circumstances guided by intellectual honesty tempered by a degree of personal humility. I posit that we are all subject to such narrowness of vision, which is not vision at all, but a form of intellectual blindness. The challenge that each of us faces is to refuse to be take this easy way out.

I can only hope that an honest read of the facts guides the local district attorney. And that intellectual honesty is my regular partner.

So the gentleman referenced in the entry of the 26th claims that a sneezing cow is a lot funnier than a coughing cow. I find myself trying to visualize what a sneezing cow would look like. What do I come up with? How about a 1,100 pound short-haired holstein-colored cat caught in a sneezing fit? Even if that ain't funny, one would be hard pressed not to stop and take note of what is erupting in the corner by the calf pen.

What we appear to have here is an application of poetic license, which goes by any number of names depending upon the context, for example, artistic license. "All is fair in love and war" also comes to mind. License allows us to step outside of the norm or the "rules" and to claim legitimacy for the stance that we then take. The simple juxtaposition of love and war make me uneasy. War, it seems, always works outside of the rules; the difference is who is held accountable. From Noam Chomsky's perspective only the loser is held accountable. Right now I am not able to come up with a descriptor or qualifier for love, to develop this thought any further.

If we can easily claim an exception or an exemption, that is, to exercise license, are there really any rules? If not, what is it that guides human behavior, if there is a guide at all? I need to separate guiding principles from norms of behavior. That leaves me with the distinction between universal principles and very specific, variable, and even conflicting norms.

As I write this entry, I find myself listening over and over to "Somewhere Out in Mud Brook" by Michael Perry and the Long Beds. I don't know what it is about the tune. Mud Brook is a real place--some distance south of the home place and east of Highway 40. The tune could well be describing a real McCoy. The character spoken of in the tune has found a way, that works for him, to sort through the universal principle/specific norm conundrum. Ah! The Sage of Mud Brook.

It has to be a red letter day when Michael Perry answers one's email. I am hesitant to reply to his reply; I don't want him to come to the conclusion that I just might be an electronic stalker. Oh, by the way, I am still waiting for Mika Brzezinski to respond to one of my emails--I only sent her one. Maybe Mika plays hard to get. Should I be flooding her inbox with lots of emails? No. I'd rather have an occasional exchange of emails with Michael.

For one, who thinks about making a new entry in his blog a lot more often that he actually does, I guess it is most appropriate to make an entry on my 65th birthday. I have also been mildly embarrassed into being more diligent to make entries by persons, who make references to previous entries in the course of casual conversation. It is as if they want me to know that they have read the existing entries and would like to see some fresh stuff. Although, they are too polite to come right out and say that. Well, that is what I assume they mean. Maybe the unspoken second half really is "enough already." I'm going with the positive affirmation and will try to provide folks with what they desire or with simply more of the same.

My daughter shared with me her copy of Jon Krakauer's book "Where Men Win Glory" (the Pat Tillman story) with the instruction that I ought to read it. We both appreciate the works of Jon K. He writes these meticulously researched works, where he establishes a case for an alternative narrative. It is as if he takes an event of which there is considerable common knowledge and plumbs its depths bringing to light an intriguingly fascinating set of details, which never see the light of day in the popular press. The Pat Tillman story is one such example, where everyone knows about the professional football player turned Army Ranger post 9/11 killed by friendly fire in Afghanistan. Ah, but that is just the tip of the iceberg seen on the distant horizon. Previously I have read "Into the Wild" and "Into Thin Air". This afternoon I picked up "In the Land of White Death" at our local library. There are two more "Eiger Dreams" and "Under the Banner of Heaven." I will look for "Eiger Dreams" as a future read, but I think I will take a pass on "Under the Banner of Heaven."

But let's turn back to "Where Men Win Glory." It is a tough read. Having served in the US Army as a conscientious objector with a tour of duty in Vietnam 1970 - 1971, when morale in the service was reportedly at its lowest, I was expected a much different accounting of the military experience in 2003 and 2004. With an all volunteer force as distinct from draftees filling the ranks during a very unpopular war and more than two decades for the powers-that-be to make the transition, I expected at least a more professional approach.

The real story in this book is the administration's blatant self-serving use of Pat's enlistment and his tragic death for personal and political gain with almost total disregard for the clearly evident facts, any sense of moral integrity, and one's responsibility to the law. Many of the participants had freely accepted the last of that list as their solemn duty attested to by a sworn oath. The author draws a clear parallel between the Pat Tillman story and the prosecution of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, which is only a further indictment of the alleged War on Terror, from the perspectives of both purpose and execution.


How does this relate to turning 65? Forty years ago today, I was spending my 25th birthday working as a lab tech at the 3rd Surgical Hospital, Can Tho, Vietnam. If anything, I was hopeful that the geopolitical world would be a different place forty years into the future. Now that I am in this place forty years into that future with a detailed portrayal of a substantive piece of the contemporary American experience provided by J. Krakauer, I don't see the change that I hoped for and I question what I have been doing for forty years that the current situation is much as it was then.

You know what I think Pat Tillman might say? "It was a helluva situation; it still is a helluva situation. But did you make an honest effort to be a decent human being in face of that?"

In addition to "In The Land of White Death," I also picked up Noam Chomsky's book "Hegemony or Survival" (subtitle: "America's Quest for Global Dominance") this afternoon. I am sure Pat would approve.

I am also heartened by what appears to be another velvet revolution; this time it is Tunisia's opportunity.

The Christmas cards are ready to be mailed. Yes, I must admit there is one remaining on my desk, which needs a letter. I suspect we will receive a card or two from folks, who didn't make the final cut for my 2010 Christmas card list. I trust no one will know that, so no one will take offense. Even if they suspect that such is the case, I hope they don't take offense.

We received 4 or 5 inches of snow yesterday, which was far less than the 16 to 18 inches that were forecast. Checking the radar on-line during the day seemed to indicate that we were on the northern edge of the storm. Apparently the storm tracked a bit more southernly path across Wisconsin. With what we had already, yesterday's addition has made for a nice snow cover. Today was calm, clear, and sunny with temperatures in the low teens. It was a good day for cleaning up after the storm.

It was also a good day to try out a new recipe--oven baked oatmeal. Now that is a hardy breakfast that one can feel good about sitting down to after a hour and a half of serious snow shoveling and before heading out for another hour of shoveling for a friend and neighbor nursing a bad cold.

Recently, a friend asked if I had ever heard of oven baked oatmeal. This is a friend whom I meet regularly for breakfast at an area restaurant. Lately we have been choosing between the senior special and the oatmeal with raisins, brown sugar, and a side of whole wheat toast. It appears that in his recent travels, he found this item on a breakfast menu one morning, something he had previously never heard of, and yet found to be a breakfast well worth talking about. With a little surfing on the net, I found several recipes for oven baked oatmeal. It appears to be an Amish dish. The lady of the house is out of town for several days, so I took my new found freedom to experiment in the kitchen. If my efforts ended in a disaster, I could remove all evidence, unless, of course, I would have to complete some structural repairs. Aw! The sweet taste of success. When the kids are home for Christmas, they will be served oven bake oatmeal at least one morning for breakfast.

When I called my Mom and told her what I was up to, she chided me on not being economical in my use of the oven, that is, by baking only one thing at a time. I was suppose to mix up a second item to bake, since I had the oven going anyway. My rationale: The oven warmed the kitchen up nicely, so the furnace didn't have to run. I didn't try to explain my experimental stance, the potential for disaster, and the desire to exercise caution. You see, if there were two items in the oven and disaster struck, the resulting disaster would have been compounded. I might even be staying in a motel room, until the insurance adjuster was able to do his job, and the needed repairs had been completed. The joys of cooking are in direct proportion to the risks involved--a lot like stock car racing and downhill skiing.

Yesterday we achieved a goal for the year, that I had given up any hope of achieving. There is now a sixth rank in the sugarbush wood pile. At breakfast Friday morning, one of the partners in the syrup venture suggested we tackle some wood making on Saturday. His rationale was the need for an outside activity this time of the year. His outside farm chores have been completed for the year. The snow, that has accumulated to date, now rules out fieldwork for those who raise small fruits.

As small time syrup makers, we have a goal of six ranks of wood cut and split and stacked next to the sugarhouse come the fall of the year. Our experience has shown that this is a two-year supply. Being one year ahead means that the wood has time to season properly.

Yesterday we cut down a good-sized oak to allow better access to that part of the sugarbush and to reduce the competition with the nearby maples. We cut everything of reasonable size to length, split what was needed, filled the pick-up a couple of times, and completed that final rank.

There were light flurries during much of the day with attempts by the sun to break through with temperatures in the low 20's. I worked stripped to my flannel shirt and still managed to be wet through primarily from perspiration with some help from the snow. The two of us were in the woods by 9:30AM and had the task finished by 1:30PM, when we broke for lunch. We had packed chili with fixings with us, so we could have lunch in the sugarhouse before calling it a day. After lunch we did up the dishes and played one game of cribbage in order to remind ourselves of the need to maintain balance in our lives: hard work, good eating, and playfulness.

When I got home and was putting things away, I realized I had left a pair of wet gloves at the sugarhouse. Late this morning after church services and breakfast, I went back out to retrieve the gloves now frozen in two very unhandlike figures. I didn't drive out to the sugarhouse this morning. I parked at the farm house and walked the quarter mile trail through the woods and past the beeyard. It is convenient to drive out to the sugarhouse when the snow permits, but it makes for a very effective transition to walk that quarter mile.

I hadn't planned to do anything except pick up my gloves, but I found a couple of things to do, so that I hang out for awhile. We hadn't picked up all the brush yesterday, so I gathered that up into a pile, so we don't have to trip over it come spring. I cleaned the snow off the rank of wood that we are currently using in the cook stove and covered it with plastic so we will have wood free of snow to use during the winter.

I hope to visit the sugarbush a few times over the course of the next three months and before the start of the 2011 syrup season. It may only be to start a fire in the cook stove, to sit awhile, and to drink a cup of hot chocolate--time well spent in pursuit of balance.

As I wrap up the Saturday of the 2010 Labor Day weekend, I came to the conclusion that this is the first regular Saturday I have had since early June. Regular in the sense that I could spend the day doing what guys, who work a regular day job of five eight-hour days each week, do on summer weekends. Three of the last four weekends were spent working a side-job. The fourth was helping out at a friend's customer appreciation day. Before that there was double duty on household chores with my wife recovering from surgery.

Today was spent doing regular weekend guy stuff. First thing there was a trip to the transfer station with garbage and recyclables. (We don't have curbside garbage pickup. Most of the town does not have curb, gutters, and sidewalks. Does that explain the "do it yourself" set-up?) A few hours of yard work followed. In addition to the mowing and trimming, I weeded the rock retaining wall, raked up a pickup load of pine needles that have dropped recently, and filled a wheelbarrow with pine cones that either the wind or the red squirrels have brought down. The wind brings down the dry open ones; the red squirrel harvest the green closed ones with the seeds still in them. The pickup was emptied at the site the city provides for such yard waste. A wheelbarrow of sand was cleaned out of the culvert and the ditch. I suspect it is the same sand that the city crew spreads on icy streets in the winter. If I don't remove it and the culvert gets stopped up, rain water will be diverted down the driveway and into the yard. The birdbath got cleaned out and filled with fresh water. The potted flowers on the deck were watered and fertilized. I then moved to the garage to straighten it up. My extension cords and trouble lights have somehow outgrown the pegboard hooks that have held them for the past several years. I decided to make a couple of larger/longer hooks out of a broken broom handle to better accommodate those items. In that process, I found that I had to sharpen the drill bit I needed, so as I was cleaning up from that project, I sharpened the entire set of paddle bits that had become dull over the past year. One or the other certainly encountered something much harder than wood (read "nail") during that time as well. I have not acquired the skill needed to really put an edge on tools, but the paddle bits are one thing that I can take a file to and achieve reasonably effective results.

I ran out of time, before I could get to washing the truck, which is another of those regular weekend tasks, at least on my list. Even if I would have had the time, I wouldn't have tackled that task. There is road construction that I must drive through several times each work day. It is dusty or muddy; often rotating between those two conditions several times a day. The mud can be the result of rains or the crew watering the roadway down to reduce the dust. I have decided to tolerate a dirty vehicle until the road work is complete. We have had frequent rains during the past month so the truck gets washed au naturale on occasion.

Even though, I had a regular Saturday, I was not able to complete all of the regular Saturday tasks. That is okay. There are more regular Saturdays to come. Besides this is day one of a three-day-weekend.

By the way, the yard looks good. Yard work during the past two months was limited to mowing and trimming and, most often, hurriedly completed some evening after supper. There wasn't time for the little extras that put the finishing touches on the job.