A Post Endorsement

Much has been said about the Washington Post’s non-endorsement of a Presidential candidate in this election. (Yes, I cancelled my digital subscription to WaPo after reading that owner, Jeff Bezos, had put the kibosh to the endorsement of Kamala Harris, which had already been drafted by the paper’s editorial board.) I read Bezos’s explanation of his “principled” decision to not endorse any candidate, which had the distinct smell of cowardice.

And if can criticize Bezos’s silence for being a cowardly decision, it occurred to me that my silence could also be interpreted as cowardice. 

Consequently, today, this Post loudly and unequivocally endorses Kamala Harris for President of these United States.

Why am I endorsing Kamala Harris? Let me start with this: she is not Donald Trump. I lived through Trump’s first term and remember clearly how bad it was. He withheld military aid to Ukraine in order to try to extort from its new president an agreement to investigate Joe Biden. Trump was impeached for that, but his sycophants in the Senate voted to acquit him. With the assistance of the slithery, senior Senator from Kentucky, Trump was able to appoint three Supreme Court justices – enough to overturn Roe v. Wade, removing a constitutionally protected right that women had possessed for fifty years.

He bungled the response to COVID. Rather than encouraging Americans to get the vaccine that was rapidly developed to Trump’s credit, he sided with anti-vaxxers who discouraged its use. He tried to repeal the Affordable Care Act which prohibits insurance companies from denying coverage for pre-existing conditions and allows young adults to remain covered by their parents’ health coverage till age 26, rather than 18. His signature achievement was a tax cut that mostly benefited corporations and wealthy Americans. He lied constantly during his term in office – over 30,000 false or misleading statements. And he authored the Big Lie – that he won the 2020 election. He used that Lie to try to overturn the election results by fomenting an insurrection, which resulted in a second impeachment.

I could go on about how Trump is a convicted felon, a man found liable for sexual assault, a man found liable for hundreds of millions of dollars for cheating on his state taxes, a man who threatens to use the military against American citizens who oppose him. But, enough said about a boastful, but craven little man who was handed a fortune by his father and who would like to be President again to avoid prison.

My blog Post strongly endorses Kamala Harris because of who she is and what she believes. She will fight to restore a woman’s right to choose. She will stand with America’s allies and not kowtow to dictators and strongmen as Trump prefers to do. She supports unions and the middle class. She supports reasonable immigration reform including the bipartisan compromise bill that Trump single-handedly killed. She is a key member of the Administration that produced the best economy in memory with low unemployment, inflation low and trending downward, and stock prices soaring. She has had experience as a prosecutor, a Senator, and a Vice-President. She promises to listen to dissenting voices and to include a Republican in her cabinet. She is a voice for America’s future rather than a call to return to its past. For these reasons and so much more, Kamala Harris has this Post’s endorsement.

Eclipsing a 46-Year Anniversary

A solar eclipse is special. While they are not that rare from a global perspective, they rarely show up in the same place. A few months ago, my son told my wife that a total eclipse was going to occur on our 46^th wedding anniversary – April 8, 2024. The path of the eclipse would pass just a few hundred miles from where we live. We decided this was an event that was made for us.

Apparently, a lot of people felt the same way and had been making plans to see the eclipse months before we learned of it. Hotels between Erie, Pennsylvania and Cleveland, Ohio were booked solid. Finally, my wife found a two-star hotel called The Skylight Inn in the town of Willoughby, Ohio – about 20 miles from Cleveland.

We weren’t sure what we would find in Willoughby in terms of restaurants, grocery stores or other city-type amenities. So, we packed a cooler with food and brought gallon jugs of water to sustain us in the event Willoughby turned out to be in the middle of nowhere, or its food options were limited by eclipse seeking hordes. We also brought two brands of beer to enjoy during the eclipse – Oberon Eclipse if the skies were clear or Levante Cloudy and Cumbersome if thick clouds obscured our view of the eclipse.

We got on the road around 11:15AM on April 7. After meeting our son for dinner near Pittsburgh, we arrived at the Skylight Inn around 8:00PM. The Skylight Inn is an old-fashioned motel and quite deserving of its two-star rating. But our room was clean, and a new, vinyl plank floor had replaced what we assumed had been a worn, dirty carpet.

We spotted several restaurants within walking distance and decided to take a chance on Applebee’s. It wasn’t overly crowded; we were able to get seats at the bar. We ordered drinks and an appetizer. My wife struck up a conversation with the man sitting next to us. She told him we were there to see the eclipse, which was occurring on our wedding anniversary. His name was Antonio, and he surprised us by paying our tab, proving that kind, generous people are everywhere, including Willoughby, Ohio.

The next morning, we ordered a hearty breakfast at the Bob Evans next to the hotel. Happily, sustenance was not going to be the problem we feared it might be. While we could have seen the eclipse from the hotel parking lot, we found a park a few miles away on the shores of Lake Erie. We realized that we did not have chairs or even a blanket to lie on while we waited for the eclipse to begin. On our drive to the park, my wife spotted a thrift store where we found a thick wool blanket for the unbelievable price of $5.62. We arrived at Osborne Park around 10:00AM and spread out our blanket on the crest of the hill overlooking Lake Erie.

Osborne Park was the place to be. The local community had organized an eclipse party there with food trucks and music from the local radio station. Park employees were handing out eclipse glasses at the entrance to the park, though my wife had already purchased glasses for us from a trusted source.

A brilliant blue, cloudless sky greeted us upon our arrival around 10:00AM. By noon, high, thin clouds started to move in. The forecast was “partly cloudy,” so we prayed heavier clouds would stay away. Now and then we would check out the sun with our protective glasses. They were so dark we could see nothing but the sun. Seen through our eclipse glasses, the sun looked very much like a full moon. We learned that the sun is 400 times larger than the moon, but also 400 times further away making them appear to be the same size when viewed from Earth. These conditions are unique to Earth. No other planet in our solar system has the right conditions to experience a total eclipse of the sun.

The eclipse was scheduled to start shortly after 2:00PM and to reach totality at 3:13PM. Shortly before 2:00, we felt a noticeable drop in temperature as the moon’s shadow made its way toward Willoughby. Around 2:10, we first noticed the moon taking a bite out of the sun. We checked the moon’s progress over the next hour as the sun went from appearing as a full moon, to a fat crescent, to a thin crescent and finally, to a thin fingernail clipping. Minutes before totality, the radio station announced that they were stopping the music. Then, totality. We took off our glasses and looked up in awe.

Being in the presence of a total eclipse of the sun is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It is difficult to describe the emotions we felt as darkness enveloped the earth, and the bright sun became a black ball surrounded by a thin, white corona. My wife said she felt we were looking into God’s eye. A star was visible in the dusk-like darkness. Looking towards Lake Erie, we saw orange and pink clouds on the horizon that mimicked a sunset, though the sun was high in the sky in the opposite direction.

Less than four minutes later, the thinnest crescent of the sun emerged from hiding. That tiny slice of the sun was enough to turn darkness into daylight. We saw a flock of Canadian geese flying in a straight line rather than their typical V formation. Then they settled onto the surface of Lake Erie, perhaps fooled into thinking it was time to bed down for the night.

We remained in the park for another hour as the moon continued its journey, allowing the sun to once again be free of any obstruction. We chatted with some of the other eclipse watchers and then drove into Willoughby’s quaint downtown. We shopped a little, ate dinner and headed to Pittsburgh to spend the night at our son’s house. Heavy traffic from thousands of other eclipse seekers meant that the normally 2 ½ hour trip would take us 4 hours to complete.

Our wedding anniversary comes around once each year, and there is not much special about the 46^th. But viewing a total eclipse is a once in a lifetime experience. It may have only lasted four minutes, but it made our sojourn to Willoughby, Ohio an anniversary that we will always remember.

 

 

Hey, Must Be the Money!

 

Check, check, yo, I know something you don't know
And I've got something to tell ya
You won't believe how many people straight doubted the flow.
            *          *          *

Oh why must I feel this way, (Hey, must be the money) . . ..*

 

Global warming is real. Climate change is real. Read the signs. Feel the heat. Or as the good book says, “Whoever has ears, let them hear.” A major American political party doesn’t want or care to listen. Oh, why do they feel that way? Hey, must be the money!

In his 2015 Encyclical Letter, “Laudato Si,” Pope Francis noted that, “Climate change is a global problem with grave implications,” and that:

[A] number of scientific studies indicate that most global warming in recent decades is due to the great concentration of greenhouse gases (carbon dioxide, methane, nitrogen oxides and others) released mainly as a result of human activity.

Eight years later, in October 2023 Pope Francis issued another environmentally focused Letter, titled, “Laudate Deum.” In that letter, Francis states:

Despite all attempts to deny, conceal, gloss over or relativize the issue, the signs of climate change are here and increasingly evident.

Furthermore, he concludes, “It is no longer possible to doubt the human – ‘anthropic’ – origin of climate change.” While he has hope that climate change can be addressed by international dialogue, Francis notes that “Despite the many negotiations and agreements, global emissions continue to increase.” He worries that, “the necessary transition towards clean energy sources such as wind and solar energy, and the abandonment of fossil fuels, is not progressing at the necessary speed.”

COP28 took place shortly after the release of Laudate Deum. Despite the Pope’s concern that the conference was being hosted by the United Arab Emirates, “a great exporter of fossil fuels,” he hoped it could “represent a change in direction.” Otherwise, Francis feared, “it will be a great disappointment and jeopardize whatever good has been achieved thus far.”

COP28 was a disappointment to those who want countries to take immediate steps to prevent the continued buildup of greenhouse gases in Earth’s atmosphere. Language proposing a full phase-out of fossil fuels by participating nations was rejected in favor of a non-binding commitment to transition away from fossil fuels. But at least for the first time, there was agreement that the burning of fossil fuels is the primary contributor to climate change. However, the deaf ears of Republican Party leaders in the United States failed to hear this conclusion.

At his campaign rallies Donald Trump, the likely Republican nominee for President, trots out the 2008 campaign slogan, “Drill, baby, drill.” If Trump is elected, he will likely follow the strategic plan concocted by Conservative think tanks titled, “Project 2025.” According to Lisa Friedman’s August 2023 article for the New York Times:

The plan calls for shredding regulations to curb greenhouse gas pollution from cars, oil and gas wells and power plants, dismantling almost every clean energy program in the federal government and boosting the production of fossil fuels — the burning of which is the chief cause of planetary warming.

One may wonder why Republican leaders fight so hard against efforts to address climate change. The Open Secrets website lists top recipients of campaign contributions from the fossil fuels industry. Not surprisingly, the top ten recipients are Republican politicians and include Donald Trump and Nikki Haley.

So, why do Republican leaders deny what nearly all scientists say about climate change? Why do they ignore what Pope Francis has said, not once, but twice?

Hey, must be the money!

 

* “Ride Wit Me,” 2001, Cornell Haynes (Nelly), Jason Epperson, William DeBarge, Eldra DeBarge, Lavell Webb (City Spud), Etterlene Jordan

We Can Work it Out

Life is very short and there’s no time

For fussing and fighting, my friend . . ..* 

I have a Medicare Advantage Plan that offers a free gym membership. My wife and I picked one of the area gyms, or “fitness centers.” We have been going sporadically for the past year or so.

For most of my life, I have diligently tried to avoid such places. As a schoolboy, I was typically one of the last chosen when the gym teacher had the best athletes pick boys to form teams. In high school, I was happy to find any excuse to cut my phys ed class. As a freshman in college, I chose ROTC over a physical education/swimming class though I had no intention of joining the army while the fighting continued in Viet Nam.

I began my professional career in the early 1980s – a few years after people began jogging, and fitness became a thing. Around that time, fitness centers or “health spas” began to spring up around the country. Some of the fellows I worked with persuaded me to join the YMCA which offered exercise classes and a few stationary bicycles. After a few months, I decided I’d rather spend my lunch hour taking a walk in the fresh air rather than sweating indoors with a bunch of smelly men.

I continued my lunchtime strolls for the rest of my career as many of my colleagues joined fitness clubs to exercise and network with other like-minded professionals. When asked if I exercise, I would jokingly respond, “Yes, I exercise. I exercise my right to not work out.” I just didn’t get the exercise thing. Certainly, I never saw my parents jog or work out. Yes, I remember those ads featuring Charles Atlas, but I had no desire to work myself into a muscle-bound freak.

I did enjoy taking walks, and after I retired, lunchtime rambles helped to clear my mind and inspire me to write. Often, I would take a book with me and sit in the sun to read for a half hour before hiking back home. As I approached Medicare eligibility, the small town where I lived provided plenty of quiet streets to traipse about.

Age began to take its toll. I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and pre-diabetes, and taking long walks became more of a requirement than a simple pleasure. Then came the COVID pandemic during which I packed on fifteen extra pounds.

So, when the opportunity to join a fitness club for free presented itself, I decided to take it. I even signed up for weekly sessions with a personal trainer and joined a yoga class. Why? While I’d like to lose some of that pandemic weight gain, I’m more concerned about strengthening deteriorating muscles, increasing flexibility, maintaining mobility and lowering my cholesterol, blood pressure, and risk of diabetes.

 It’s true that my father didn’t work out, but he died of a heart attack at 78. I recently turned 70. As the song goes, life is very short and there’s no time, for fussing and fighting. Just go to that gym!

* “We Can Work it Out,” John Lennon & Paul McCartney, ©1965

A Mouse in My House

 

Mice are cute. Mice are darling. Otherwise, how does one explain their popularity in pop culture? From his modest beginnings in Steamboat Willie, Mickey Mouse has become an icon, representing one of the largest entertainment companies in the world. Mickey is one of dozens of mice that we’ve loved over the years. There’s Jerry of Tom & Jerry cartoons. And remember Pixie and Dixie who were featured in Hanna Barbera’s Huckleberry Hound Show? They always got the better of Mr. Jinks, proving that mice are smarter and more cuddly than cats. Famed children’s book author, E.B. White wrote about a mouse named Stuart Little, who became the basis for two feature films and an animated Stuart Little 3. And then there is Fievel Mousekewitz, the immigrant mouse, who stars in four animated features. Need I name more?

So why do I get upset when the weather turns cold, and the little critters seek the warmth of my house? I know they’ve entered my dominion when I notice the corner of a cracker box has been chewed. My wife announced their latest incursion when she spotted a few droppings on the kitchen floor.

“Are you sure those aren’t some kind of seeds,” I asked hopefully.

“Those are mouse turds,” she responded.

I suppose I should be grateful for mice rather than rats. On a recent visit to Georgetown, I was shocked to see those hideous creatures brazenly strolling through the bushes just a few yards away. I once spotted a rat climbing out of a sewer near our house and considered myself fortunate not to see one surface in one of our toilets.

But while I prefer mice to their larger cousins, I far prefer that the little rodents stay out of our house. When they do decide to venture into my domain, I don’t care if they are Stuart, Fievel, or Mickey. I am coming after them.

Enter the mousetrap in its various forms. I have tried several different types to see if someone has built a better mousetrap than the traditional spring-loaded trap that my father used. I’ve had some success in the past with the glue boxes. They also make glue pads, but who wants to see a mouse stuck and struggling to escape? At least the box hides the victim from sight. That didn’t keep our dog from tearing up a box containing a mouse, which turned out to be more of a gruesome mess than I cared to see. And while these glue traps are somewhat effective, I think it’s harsh to see a live mouse struggling to free himself while waiting for the inevitable end.

I’ve also tried bait stations which contain a block of poison which the maker claims “kills up to 12 mice.” For some reason, the mice that come into our house are not tempted by this “mouse killer” as the packaging describes it. From my perspective, I’m not crazy about the thought of a poisoned mouse dying in one of our walls or ceilings or finding its decomposing carcass in a corner of our basement.

I am aware of at least one mouse discharged by this method. As I sat in my kitchen, I heard a scratching noise coming from the area where I had placed a bait station. I got out of my chair to investigate, and literally screamed when I saw a live mouse nibbling at the bait. The mouse and I ran in opposite directions. After a few minutes, I heard that scratching sound again. This time I ignored it, hoping the bait would perform its magic. A day or two later, my 4-year-old granddaughter was watching TV when the mouse slowly staggered into the room, obviously affected by the poison. It moved slowly enough for me to run to the kitchen, grab a broom, and return to swat the critter. That was enough to send him to his maker, leaving me to sweep him into a dustpan while my granddaughter looked on in curiosity, if not horror.

So, if someone has built a better mousetrap, I have yet to discover it. I’ve dispatched more mice with my father’s style of mousetrap than any other. Unlike my father, I don’t reuse my traps, but rather, discard them mouse and all. Occasionally, a smart mouse will steal the bait without springing the trap. But I know if I persist, it will eventually succumb to the mercifully quick death delivered by the “original” mouse trap.

Armed with a 6-pack of these, I would warn Mickey to stay in Disney World. Because if you sneak into my house, Disney will be looking for a new mascot.

Speaking Out

Speak out, you got to speak out against the madness,

You got to speak your mind, if you dare . . .*

Since January 6, 2001, I have been bothered by the failure of Republicans in leadership positions to denounce Donald Trump for his attempt to overturn the 2020 Presidential election. For the first few days after the attack on our nation’s Capitol, some Republican leaders told the truth and placed blame squarely on Donald Trump’s shoulders. But within a few weeks of the event, Kevin McCarthy flew to Florida to pay homage to Trump and Mitch McConnell turned coward and refused to vote to convict the impeached former President.

The few truth tellers in the Republican party were marginalized. Liz Cheney was removed from her leadership position. Mitt Romney was booed while speaking at a state Republican convention. Instead of voicing support for those in the party who were brave enough to tell the truth, Republican leaders either swore fealty to the Big Lie or fell silent.

Many of these “leaders” have privately admitted they did not believe the Lie, but chose to support it because they feared losing the base of Trump’s support could cost them their seat in Congress. Losing power was more important than standing up for the truth and the rule of law.

While pondering the cowardice of these leaders, I had to ask myself, why had I not spoken up? Yes, my close friends and family knew where I stood, but I had been reticent about Trump and the current Republican party in my writing. Was I afraid of offending people on social media or concerned that some might not like me as well if they became aware of my politics?

On October 7, 2023 I turned 70. No one knows for sure how much time any of us has remaining on this planet, but at my age, one knows that time is limited. For thirty years I worked for corporations and law firms where I had to be concerned that expressing my views would offend management, clients or customers. That concern continued after I retired and started a blog. I didn’t want chase away any of the small number of readers that chose to visit my site.

The Bible contains a passage that says, “Because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spit you out of my mouth.”  (Revelations 3:16).

So, I will write hot, or cold, because there is too much at stake in this country and the world to write lukewarm. And I hope people will listen.

Donald Trump plotted to overturn an election that he lost. He conspired to overthrow the democracy established almost 250 years ago by our Founding Fathers. He plotted to remain in power despite the will of the voters and the rule of law established by our Constitution. Consequently, Trump should be barred from ever seeking or holding any public office. That message needs to be shouted from the rooftops by all who believe that truth means something.

I’ll end by quoting from the song “Come from the Heart,” 

Dance like nobody's watching;

Love like you've never been hurt.

Sing like nobody's listening;

Live like it's heaven on earth.**”

 

To that I’ll add, “Write like there’s no tomorrow.”

 

 

* “Long Time Gone,” by David Crosby

** “Come from the Heart,” by Susanna Clark and Richard Leigh

Summertime Blues

 

Well, I’m gonna raise a fuss, I’m gonna raise a holler,

About workin’ all summer just to try to earn a dollar,

Sometimes I wonder what I’m gonna do,

‘Cause there ain’t no cure for the summertime blues.* 

Remember those lazy summer days of our youth? No school and nothing to do but have fun for almost three months. Riding bikes all morning, retreating to the cool shade of the woods as the summer heat began to build, and playing hide and seek under the streetlights as darkness fell, until our parents called us in.

“You better get those chores done before you go off galivanting in the woods!” 

Oh, yeah. Summer chores. I remember them well from my boyhood in the 1950s and ‘60s.

My parents were children of the Great Depression. They bought a quarter acre in the suburbs south of Pittsburgh. My grandmother insisted that they put it to good use. That meant planting a big garden, putting in some fruit trees and buying some livestock to feed a growing family. The livestock, which consisted of chickens, rabbits and a duck, didn’t last. My father didn’t have the heart to do what had to be done to make dinners out of them.

On the other hand, our neighbor, who had 10 kids to feed, raised a menagerie of farm animals on their quarter acre lot. Those kids had to feed the ducks and chickens and gather their eggs. They had a nanny goat that had to be milked and a pack of “huntin’ dogs” – beagles, that had to be fed and watered every day.

My brothers and I didn’t have animals to feed, but there was always work to do in the garden. The tomato plants had to be watered virtually every day unless it rained. My father insisted they needed lots of water, delivered by watering can. A hose just wouldn’t do the job right in his opinion. My father knew that on those rare occasions when he allowed us to use the hose, my brothers and I would end up soaking each other rather than the tomato plants.

Another garden chore involved “dusting the beans.” My father punched holes in the lid of a mason jar and filled it with lime, which had to be shaken onto each plant to discourage rabbits from snacking on the leaves. Besides green beans and tomatoes, my father grew radishes, parsley, carrots, cucumbers, green peppers, and corn. One time, my mother sent me to the garden to gather some parsley. She was a little miffed when I returned with a bunch of carrot tops.

The chores didn’t stop when it came time to harvest. My parents canned more tomatoes than we ate fresh, so we’d spend hours sitting on the back porch struggling to peel the skin off the ripe, red fruit. My parents also canned green beans, so we’d be back on that porch cutting off the stems and tips and slicing the beans into bite-sized pieces.

We had two sour cherry trees; their fruit was best suited for cherry pies. After picking the ripe cherries, we would be back on that porch, cutting out the seeds while trying not to slice a finger. Destoning the cherries got a little easier and safer when my father heard that if you pulled the eraser out of a pencil and pushed it through the cherry, the pit would pop out.

There were a few chores for which my parents were willing to pay. For example, I earned a nickel for every half hour that I pushed my baby brother in the stroller. I was young and naïve enough to think I could get rich at that rate. As we got older, my father would pay us a dollar to wash his car. But he never thought to pay us to cut the grass on the large, hilly portion of our yard. On a hot, summer’s day, that was hard work!

As summer came to a close and school began, we looked forward to Saturdays.

“Those apples are getting ripe. You boys need to start picking,” my father would say.

So, my older brother and I would climb our massive tree, pick the apples and toss them down to our younger brothers to catch and put in buckets. We had to be careful because the yellow jackets liked those ripe apples as much as we did. My parents made applesauce out of most of them, canning the sauce in mason jars.

By the end of the summer, we were looking forward to returning to school. But while those chores often seemed to get in the way of our summertime fun, they also produced some great memories. And maybe, just maybe, they were the cure for our summertime blues.

 

*Eddie Cochran, Jerry Neal Capehart, 1958.