My Day in History

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

 

In checking some history-related websites, it would seem I share my birthday with some interesting events from the past.

 

1430 - Joan of Arc captured by the Burgundians.

1609 – Ratification of the second charter of Virginia

1701 – The famous pirate Captain William Kidd hung for murder

1788 – South Carolina ratifies the U.S. constitution, becoming the 8^th state.

1829 – The Accordion was patented.

1846 – Mexico declares war on the U.S.

1873 – The Northwest Mounted Police, which became Canada’s famed RCMP was established.

1911 – New York public library was dedicated.

1934 – Italy’s most prominent anti-mafia judge, Giovanni Falcone, his wife and security detail were killed by a bomb.

1995 – Java is born.

1998 – The Good Friday Accords were accepted by referendum in Northern Ireland, bringing an end to the violence referred to as "The Troubles."

 There were some noteworthy people who also were born on May 23:

1052 – Philip I of France

1848 – Otto Lilienthal, German aviation pioneer.

1883 - Douglas Fairbanks, American actor.

1910 – Scatman Crothers,  famous American singer and dancer.

1910 – Artie Shaw, legendary swing band leader.

1928 – Rosemary Clooney

1933 – Joan Collins

1934 – Robert Moog, inventor of the Moog synthesizer.

1944 – John Newcombe, Australian tennis player.

1950 – Martin McGuinness, Irish Republican activist and insurgent.

1956 – Buck Showalter, baseball manager.

1958 – Mitch Albom, author.

1958 - Drew Carey

1974 – Ken Jennings, he of "Jeopardy" fame.



Another Year Older, Another Year...

Copyright ©2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Today is my birthday.

58 years ago on a muggy Tennessee morning, my parents rushed to the Henry County Hospital in Paris where around 5 a.m., I made my appearance.  My Mom told me I was 7 pounds 6 ounces of barrel-chested noise and would make a career out of ruining her dresses by barfing on her shoulder.

I must have had an unremarkable early childhood, since very few anecdotes ever survived those years.  One, however, was probably typical.

We were in church and I was being restless and noisy -- I think I was about 3 or 4 -- and having pushed Mom and the other church goers to the limits of their patience, she picked me up and took me out.  When I realized that justice was about to be administered, I yelled out -- in the middle of the sermon no less -- "Mommy, don't 'pank me!  I be good!"

She later described it as the single most mortifying moment she ever experienced in church.

58 years.  I never ever thought I could be this old.  When I was in my 20's I knew men who were in their 50's and 60's and they seemed to me to be...well, ancient.  But that's how it is when you're a young man.  You are invincible and will be forever strong and vital.  Bob Seger's song "Like a Rock" is a perfect expression of those halcyon years...

"Stood there bold

Sweatin' in the sun

I felt like a million

Felt like Number One

The height of summer

I'd never felt that strong

Like a rock.

I was eighteen

Didn't have a care

Workin' for peanuts

Not a dime to spare

And I was lean and solid everywhere

Like a rock."

This morning, as I eased into wakefulness, I thought about the past.  Through my mind rolled memories of decisions I should have made and those I shouldn't have; the choices that defined the path of what has become my life.  That's the way it is, though.  When we're young, we always look to the future.  Beyond a certain age, we think more and more about our past.  There are regrets, to be sure.  But from the standpoint of this stormy Northern Virginia morning, I found it hard to imagine, or even desire a different fate.

Wisdom is the combination of bad choices and their consequences.  It's accumulation is rarely without pain.  What have I learned from this life of mine?

I learned that love is the most important thing in the human universe.  Whether it be that feeling between child and parent, husband and wife, or between close friends, it is the glue that keeps us together and afloat.  Without it, we are empty shells.

I learned that honesty, integrity, and trust are the necessary ingredients to what constitutes that ideal of a "good person."  It is through the exercise of those ideals that we build trust.  And trust is second only to love as being necessary for life.

All choices have consequences.  Some immediate, others which last for decades.  All choices need to be considered in that light, whether a quick one made on the fly, or one arrived at after a sleepless night of sober contemplation.

Life is indifferent.  It is what we do with the opportunities and moments presented to us that adds the word "good" or bad."  If any of us thinks we are having a tough time, chances are the responsibility lies squarely with that face that looks back from the mirror.  Blaming everyone and everything else will only prevent us from finding solutions to our problems.

It is a beautiful world and we should all slow down from time to time to notice.  In the last few years, I've become enamored with the sound of birdsong emanating from the forests where I do my walking.  They've always been there, but it hasn't been until now that I've opened my ears and my heart to those wonderful tunes.  A sunrise in summer, a sunset in the fall; the first warm breezes of spring, and the stark beauty of stars in the sky of a cold winter's night.  A curtain swaying too and fro on an April zephyr, and the terrible majesty of a giant thunderstorm.  These are the backdrops against which the noise and clamour of our lives is played out. 

Looking ahead, I used to see opportunity for new beginnings.  Now I can see the last act or two being played out.  I don't know how long I'm fated to remain here in this life.  I feel reasonably certain that I will make to retirement.  But what lies afterwards?  Who can say?  There are still things I want to do with my life, and I intend to pursue those activities for as long as I am physically and mentally capable of doing so.

One of those eternally unanswerable questions that had haunted humanity through the centuries has been the search for meaning in this thing we call "life."  A few years ago, I penned some thoughts upon leaving a place that had become special to me.  I ended those thoughts thus:

"Life is linear.  We celebrate its beginning, and we mourn its end,

searching always for its meaning.

But the meaning of life is not found in either end.

It's found in the middle.

It is in our joys and sorrows, our triumphs and tragedies.

It is in the things we do right, and the times when we transgress.

It is in the friendships we forge, and the love that we share.

Those people, places, and events all stand as signposts

marking the path of the journey we have taken together

-- travelers all upon the road that is leading us home."



The "So What?" of Being Happy

From natcom.org

Copyright ©2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

Consider these two different conversations:

"Hey, how are you?"

"Great! Couldn't be better!"

"Super! See you later!"

Or...

"Hey, how are you?"

"Not good. My life has really gone south."

"Come on. Let me buy you a cup of coffee."

"Thanks."

Human beings are prey for the roller coaster ride that constitutes our emotions. We can either be joyous, or sad, or living one of those grey days where one floats noncommitally inbetween.

We get brief glimpses of each other's lives during those moments we are thrown together to share a common space for a short time, usually an elevator ride. Occasionally, I take the time to scan the faces I see, trying to gage their mood. I do this surreptitously, and never regularly. Staring at a stranger in in an elevator, after all, is guaranteed to creep that person out. I'm also inclined tro listen to the conversations around me. I'm amazed at just how empty and hollow such exchanges can be. We ask "How are you?" without a shred of any real intent of wanting to know. We answer those vacant inquiries with equally vacant responses. We ask and answer to be polite, not to care.

But there are those other conversations, like the second one I outlined above. Not everyone is going to respond with that kind of compassion. Usually, it's a "sorry about that" tossed back with the inflection that really communicates the message "It sucks to be you."

We like to hear good news. But it is the bad news that really seems to grab our attentions.

Once, I pulled a little experiment. On one particular elevator ride, I asked the empty opener, and got the equally vacuuous response. The difference was that I followed up with a sincere, "Why?"

My lab rat looked at me blankly. "Why...what?"

"Why are you feeling so good today?"

He mumbled back a platitude or two and fled the elevator at the first opportunity. He probably had no stomach for someone he probably thought was a Dr. Phil wannabe.

You know, don't you, that when we get the negative response, most of us want to know why, as if feeling sad was somehow not allowed. Cheer up! Only happiness is spoken here! We want to know what caused the problem, dig down to the root, and solve it for them, all during a 45-second ride in a small square compartment.

On the other hand, if we get the positive rejoinder, the subject drops. They're happy. That's good. They're in line with company policy. And we let it go.

But being happy is every bit as important as sadness in the human experience. I think it's good to explore those moments of joy and remember what spurred the dopamine in our brains so we can recreate that happiness on a day when it's really needed.

For some reason, we don't want to critically examine happiness. Sadness gets the full diagnostic; joy is accepted without question. Does that really make sense?

Tragedy can draw us together, binding our common wounds through marshalling the strength of the group. But good feelings can also be a uniting influence. We should also know that the sound of someone's sorrow may actually be a muted cry for companionship. It's harder to ask for friendship than it is to plead for sympathy.

We dwell on sorrow. But we should also not be afraid to burrow into joy, to know what it is that lifted us so. To know those reasons, and to share them, is to spread that happiness.

Like it's darker brother, happiness is also very contagious.

Put on a smile, and spread that particular virus.

Nuts and Bolts and the Future of Medicine

Luke and his trusted physician.

From Redfordfilms.com

 

Copyright ©2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only.

 

 

My mind can at times be a rather strange place. It can be a space where random thoughts seem to sail out of nowhere to bounce off the walls before disappearing into the unknown.  To normal people, this can be a bit distracting.  For a writer, it's an invaluable creative tool.

 

It was a dark and stormy night.  No, really.  A slow-moving low pressure center had brought a week's worth of rain to this part of Virginia.  As a result, the motorcycle stayed indoors while my SUV got a week's worth of driving exercise.  I had finished work and was on the way home around midnight.  The traffic was thankfully light, so my mind began to free-associate.  Thoughts flew by, some fully-formed, others mere unidentifiable pixels.  At one point, a rather robust idea presented itself, one worthy of exploration and contemplation.

 

Star Wars has grown beyond mere entertainment to become a cultural icon.  The impact of George Lucas' cinematic tome has expanded to global proportions.  An interesting measuring stick of that influence lies in the number of people, world-wide, who claim to be adherents to the Jedi religion.  According to British census figures, Jedi-ism is now the leading alternative religion, and the 7th largest religion in the U.K.  Australia boasts as many as 70,000 adherents.  New Zealand reports some 53,000 claimants.

 

I don't know if this was what George had in mind when he penned the trilogy.

 

As I have written previously, I've always held a fascination with space and the possibilities of space travel, so things like Star Wars and Star Trek have long held a warm place in my memory banks.  But on that rainy night in Northern Virginia, a cogent thought brought forth a new realization.

 

In all six Star Wars movies, when humans (or other organic-based beings) require medical attention, they get it from 'droids.  But when the 'droids need repair, they get it from humans.

 

I searched my recollections extensively and nowhere can I remember a non-mechanical doctor or nurse appearing in the stories.

 

This is not necessarily a new concept.  In Michael Crichton's first novel (1969) "Andromeda Strain" the staff of scientists assembled to investigate a deadly bacterial strain apparently from space are subjected to rigorous medical testing prior to entering the secret Wildfire complex to begin their work.  At one point, they are introduced to an Electronic Body Analyzer, or EBA.  Crichton describes it thus...

 

"The electronic body analyzer had been developed by Sandeman Industries in 1965,

under a general government contract to produce body monitors for astronauts in space.

It was understood by the government at that time that such a device,

though expensive at a cost of $87,000 each,

would eventually replace the human physician as a diagnostic instrument."

That book, written in a terse documentary style, is like many of the good Doctor's novels, in that once you finish the final page, you're not really sure if the story wasn't really a work of fiction.  Now, Star Trek's Doctors McCoy, Crusher, Bashir, Doctor (the emergency holographic medical officer from Voyager), and Phlox all had highly advanced diagnostic equipment, but there was always a living being interfacing between gear and patient.

But in Star Wars, that human (a cautionary term, given the diversity of the Star Wars universe) touch is fully removed.  While the medical 'droids possess a sort of invented personality, there is no comforting presence as we have come to expect in our version of modern medicine.  It's probably a good thing that these robots holding a human life in their (hands?) don't work on Windows software.  Imagine having to pull a hard reboot in the middle of brain surgery.

Now when C-3PO, R2-D2, or any other of the plethora of mechanical...beings... break down, they are given over to human technicians who accept them tenderly and with empathy and concern.  Why is it that 'droids get that warm presence and not humans?  This seems somehow...unfair, if you will.

But sci-fi aside, is it possible that Lucas has given us a sneak preview of the future of medicine? 

To get a doctor from the first day of pre-med to the last day of residency is at least a 12-year process.  And an expensive one.  Going to the University of Indiana won't be as costly as, say, Harvard Medical, but it's still going to cost upwards of $300,000.  To walk that road, and it is a tough one to be sure, takes someone of extraordinary intelligence and ability, and only a perfunctory need for sleep.  They can work productively for a half-century, saving countless lives and making others much more comfortable.  But, unfortunately, as the need for malpractice insurance demonstrates, despite their abilities, some just can't avoid being human.

Robots (or androids) are not human, and therefore not subject to organic frailties.  But they are also lacking in honest empathy, the most valuable skill of a human physician.  A 'droid could go into the heart of the worst pandemic in history with no danger of becoming infected.  But a human does possess that leap of imagination that could lead to a cure.

So there is a trade-off.  You can either get a medical 'droid who will never make a mistake, or a human who knows what it's like to feel pain.

Medical 'droids won't be cheap, either to purchase or maintain.  But there may come a time when such devices become necessary and even accepted.  However, despite the march toward the unimaginable technologies of the future, one thing will never change.

Whether it comes from an android or a human, a bill will still be a bill.


Walking a Battlefield

Walking in the path of Pickett at Gettysburg

 

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Except quoted portions.,

 

"It was here.

The battlefield was here.

The Carthaginians defending the city were attacked

by three Roman legions.

The Carthaginians were proud and brave, but they couldn't hold.

They were massacred.

Arab women stripped them of their tunics, and their swords and lances.

The soldiers lay naked in the sun.

Two thousand years ago.

I was here."

--From the movie "Patton"

 

In what was one of the spookier moments from the classic biopic of General George S. Patton, Jr., the General stands on what was an ancient battlefield and describes what happened from the perspective of an eyewitness.  Whether such a battle ever really happened, or this was another one of the theatrical performances Patton had a penchant for, or even if the entire scene was a Hollywood creation isn't really clear.  What is clear, however, is the effect the spectre of battle had on him.

 

I've always been a kind of amateur historian.  I enjoy looking back into the past in the attempt to learn more about the events that shaped their future, which became my present.  In that research, I've tried to not only glean the dry facts of dates, names, places, and events, but to somehow use my admittedly overactive imagination to try to place myself in the shoes, boots, or sandals of the participants.  Previous visits to places like Pearl Harbor, Nagasaki, and other historical sites have made that effort easier by becoming familiar with the actual landscape where such events took place.  One of my favorite scenes from the movie "National Treasure" is when the protagonists bring the purloined Declaration of Independence to Philadelphia, unrolling the ancient document inside Independence Hall.  At one point, Nicholas Cage's character takes a breath and says, "The last time this document was here, it was being signed." 

 

Moving to Virginia has brought many of our nation's significant historical sites to within a day's drive of our home.  In recent years, my interest in the Civil War has inspired trips to battlefield sights in Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia.  The first trip was a day-long visit to Gettysburg.  I hadn't really studied the battle, so the tour didn't have much of an impact.  However, by the second trip, I had read several books and articles and had reached the level of knowledge where I could stand on Little Round Top and pretty much recount the entire three days of the battle.

 

One can read about the action on the third day, commonly called Pickett's Charge, how Lee ordered a mass assault on the center of the Union line, hoping that the previous days battles on either flank had weakened the Union forces.  In actuality, the Union lines along Cemetary ridge had been reinforced with troops, and fortified with a lot of artillery.  So when Pickett led his men out of the trees along Seminary ridge and up that long slope, they were subjected to massive cannonades and the concentrated fire of the Union troops safely ensconced behind a protective stone wall.  The amazing thing is that the charge was nearly successful.  Despite massive casualties, the Southerners broke the line in the center.  But the Union commander, Hancock, had reserves to contain and reject the breakthrough. Lee, having committed all of his available troops, had no reserves to exploit the break.  The Southern units were decimated, and Lee, having lost the battle, pulled out that night and fled for the safety of Virginia.

 

Today, you can stand at the point where the charge started and take an introspective walk up the mile-long hill towards Cemetary Ridge.  The first time I did that, I imagined thousands of blue troops behind that stone wall, all shooting at me. I mentally placed Union artillery on the left on Cemetary Hill, down the spine of the ridge, and on Little Round Top on the right, all firing shot and shell as I walked, naked of cover, across that field.  The further I walked, the more emotional I became.  The thought kept pulsing through my mind, "What in the world was Lee thinking?"  In those moments, I gained a whole new appreciation for the raw courage of the Confederate soldier to keep marching through that blizzard of lead.

 

On one fine spring day in late March, I spent the morning running one of the trails at Mannassas (Bull Run) Battlefield, about 10 minutes from home.  This time, I spent some hours reviewing the events of both major battles fought on this same ground before I went, so I was able to understand the flow of events as they took place.  I stood on Henry House Hill, where General Thomas Jackson "stood like a stone wall" thereby earning his enduring nickname, and saving the victory for the South.

 

Later that day, I visited the Antietam Battlefield in Maryland.  This was the single bloodiest day of the entire war for both sides.  It was considered a Union victory, although any reasonable person could call it a narrow one indeed.  More importantly, it was a victory that put teeth into President Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, freeing the slaves.

 

Even if you know the history of what transpired in these places, it can be difficult to equate the fire and violence, and the death that littered what are quiet fields today.  But that is the nature of war; the act of turning a quiet countryside into chaos.  But one can also begin to appreciate that these were places where the highest ideals of courage and sacrifice were acted out; where our country, as it exists today, was forged.

 

It is so very important that we take time to remember and realize the death and sacrifice that went into creating and sustaining this United States of America.  Perhaps, if we take time to remember, we will be less inclined to take it all for granted.

 

Standing on those quiet hills and fields, if you close your eyes and listen closely, you can almost hear their plea across the years appealing to us to preserve what they fought to protect...

 

"Don't let me to have died in vain."

That Drug Called "Running"

From Navyrunning.com

Copyright 2013 © by Ralph Couey

Written content only

One morning last June, I awoke from my slumbers somehow imbued with a particularly striking sense of motivation bordering on compulsion.  Somehow during the nighttime hours, my brain had been rewired.  I knew it was time to start moving.

The night before had been fairly typical.  I returned home from work just after midnight, removed and hung up my motorcycle gear, and went upstairs.  After my customary bowl of fat-free sugar-free pudding (Yeah, yeah I know.  Why bother?), I went to bed.  Maybe there was something in that particular batch of pudding, or perhaps it was a culmination of the latent restlessness I had been feeling.  I had just finished six months of hard physical therapy, relieving some unbelievably sharp and relentless pain.  Coinciding with that event was a visit with my cardiologist who, after my last heart incident, had pronounced me ready to undertake physical exercise.

Whatever it was hit me like a linebacker on that warm and muggy morning.  I packed some workout clothes and went to work early, hitting the gym on my arrival.

That first few weeks was fairly simple, walking on a treadmill.  I started with one mile, then increased to two, then three.  Once there, I began to drop in periods of running, beginning with one minute, then 3, then 5, and so on until I was able to go non-stop for 20 minutes.  This was all done inside, of course, since the summer of 2012 was singularly hot.  But in September the temperatures finally broke, the humidity dropped off, and I took my show to the open road.

Baseball and My Childhood Memories

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

Written content only.

Pictures culled from the Internet, mostly MLB, Topps, and various media outlets.

My memories of childhood, now five decades in the rear-view mirror, have become a jumble of disjointed snippets; moments of one day or another that for some reason stubbornly remain locked in some seldom-used cluster of neurons.  Looking back, I catch glimpses of the American west going by outside the windows of a 1964 Ford Falcon.  At some point, we must have had a picnic or two, although I don't think I could tell you where they happened.  It's frustrating that so many of those good memories seem to exist only in partial images, the edges heavily pixilated, while others seem to have disappeared for good.

But the memories that remain most vivid are those which revolved around baseball.

I left the game for a number of years for various reasons.  My favorite team, the Royals, haven't been competitive in almost 30 years.  Players around the league jumped teams so often that it was hard to keep rosters straight in my mind.  Baseball became, at least in my mind, a business instead of a game.

In the last couple of years, however, I find that more and more, I'm coming back.  I'm much more apt to look for a game on TV and watch, even if only for a few innings.

But the game has changed, of that there can be no denying.  The basics are still there, as "Nuke" LaLoosh from "Bull Durham" once opined, "It's a simple game,  You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball.  Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.  Sometimes, it rains."

The change I see the most is the uniforms, at least how they're worn.  In the 1960's the players wore flannel, instead of cool, ventilated double-knits.  I don't care how tough the modern ballplayer thinks he is, but if you trotted out onto the field under a blazing sun and in oppressive humidity in St. Louis in July and played a double header wearing those flannel suits, you were the man.  The other thing I miss is the old white socks and stirrups.  Today, of course, players mostly wear the pants long and baggy, with the back of the cuff hooked on one of the heel spikes.  I'm sorry, call me an old fud, but that looks way too...well...sloppy to me.

But what I remember the most are the teams, and the players who called those cities home for nearly their entire careers.  There was stability on those teams. You could turn on the game, or go to the stadium knowing who was going to be on the field.  Of course it was the oppressive nature of the infamous Reserve Clause that created that stability -- and also vastly limited the same professional mobility for players that anybody else in private industry had.  Salaries were much lower.  I remember being surprised at the number of players who had to take part-time jobs in the off-season just to make ends meet.  So with the good, there was also some (invisible to me) bad.

In the early to mid-'60's, we lived in the Kansas City area, which meant suffering through season after miserable season with the Athletics.  Dressed vividly in Kelly green and gold uniforms, they consistantly finished at the bottom of the American League pile (no divisions back then).  Still, the team had players I enjoyed watching, like Dick Green, the marvelously smooth and wide-ranging second basemen.  Third basemen Ed Charles, centerfielder Rocky Colavito (at least for the one season he was there), first basemen Ken "Hawk" Harrelson, my favorite nickname, and Mike Hershberger, the right fielder with a cannon-like right arm. 

        The Rock...     

     
   ...and The Hawk

Lap Band Update - 15 Months Down a Rocky Road

                                            Old Me                                          Current Me

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

First off, I want to apologize to those readers who visited this blog to read about my experience with the Lap Band, post-surgery.  I went through some months of upheaval and change, which not only affected what had been regular reporting on this issue, but my ability to produce any essays.

I had the surgery in January of 2011.  My recovery and subsequent new life was uneventful, at least from a medical stand point.  Of course, I lost weight, as the stark difference between the two pictures above attests.  For the raw numbers, at my worst point prior to surgery, I had ballooned up to in excess of 390 pounds.  After yet another heart incident, I dropped about 35 pounds pretty much on my own, but gained back 10, then lost another 40.  Prior to the surgery, I was put on a "prove you want to really lose weight" diet which got me down to 320  Once I had the surgery, the weight fell off rapidly for the first 60 pounds or so.  Then, my world turned upside down.

My day job, an intelligence analyst with a small Justice Department unit went away when the agency was closed for budgetary reasons.  Fortunately, the Department stepped up big time and eventually I signed on with another DOJ organization which neccesitated a move from Pennsylvania to the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington DC.   In the process, we sold our home in PA, taking a huge monetary bath in the transaction which pretty much wiped out our savings.  We moved into an extended stay motel in Virginia for a few months while we searched for a permanent place to live. 

That search involved looking at (by actual count) 73 properties, which were either too expensive, too old, or in need of way too much work.  We were shell-shocked by the prices of some of these places which could only have been described as dumps. 

So, we decided to buy into a new neighborhood of townhomes.  It was a good decision because (once we had adjusted our financial glasses) it was within our budget, we could get the features we wanted, and it was in an area that was experiencing significant growth.  That process, though, was fraught with tensions and stresses, as we learned quickly that we had to keep a close eye on what was going on at the site because the builders were "forgetting" to install and build things we had ordered. 

My new job was turning out to be a difficult one to digest and execute, and while they have been more than patient, dealing with the less-than-perfect results of my work in an arena where errors can be measured in human lives gave me many a sleepless night.

We had some family crises during this trial, with which I won't burden you here. 

This sequence of events left both of us stressed to the point of exhaustion.  I found that I was unconsciously going back to my old habits of stress eating.  Now, I didn't gain any weight back, mind you, I just wasn't losing it any more.  I got stuck bouncing between 245 and 250 pounds.  It was during this period that I developed an exquisitely painful pinched nerve in my back which left me unable to do much other than lay down.  I started taking liquid ibuprophen, but developed a sore spot in my "new" stomach. I underwent six months of difficult physical therapy before the pain eased to the point where I could begin to function again.

"The Sky is Falling! The Sky is Falling!"

The Chelyabinsk Surprise

From Pravda.ru

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only.

Earth has been visited lately, not by aliens in flying saucers, but rocks of varying sizes the appearance of which has caused quite a stir.  That earth gets hit is not really news.  Several thousand objects collide with our atmosphere each day, most the size of a grain of sand.  A few are larger, perhaps baseball-sized.  Once a week on average Earth receives a rock about the size of a house.  Most burn up in the atmosphere, the larger ones lighting up the sky.  The American Meteor Society website lists reports of fireballs happening virtually every day.  Damage from these is non-existent to slight.  But lately, it seems that the sky has gotten much busier.

March 22^nd, a rock estimated to be 3 feet wide lit up the skies over the eastern U.S., generating sighting reports from 13 states.  On the night of March 16^th, another fireball created by a rock of as-yet unknown size was seen over North and South Carolina, and Tennessee.  While all this was going on, Comet Pan-STARRS was painting its tail across our planet’s skies. 

Of course, everyone remembers the bomb over Chelyabinsk, Russia on February 15^th.  This 45-foot-wide rock exploded before hitting the ground, causing wide-spread damage and inflicting injuries on some 1,500 people.  This was the same day that an expected visitor, a 150-footer called DA14, passed just above our atmosphere, below the altitude of our communication satellites.  Scientists knew this one was coming, but the Chelyabinsk rock surprised everyone.

In the skies over Earth’s southern half, Pan-STARRS was accompanied by another cosmic snowball, Comet Lemmon.  But the real…um…”star” of the show will be Comet ISON, which is expected to become visible in late November, and is predicted to be the brightest comet seen by anyone alive today.  That’s exciting news.  The last visible comet to fly by was Hale-Bopp 15 years ago.  They’re rare events to be sure.  To have three visible to humans in one year is amazing.

There’s also a troubling aspect to be considered.

Words and the Power of a Name

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only. 

The name of a professional sports team is more than words on a jersey.  The name defines the city and the people, providing a single source of unity in a time of deep political division.  Teams move from time to time, usually changing the name in the relocation.  But the longer a team resides in a place, the stronger that identification can be.

Such is the strong affection between the people of the Washington DC metro area and “their” team, the Redskins.   

But the age of political correctness has come to sports.  The Redskins’ name has come under scrutiny because of the historical racist connotation.  Despite polls which show that the overwhelming numbers of people associate the moniker with the team and not the noble peoples that once owned this country, it should be recognized that the term “Redskin” is just as insulting to those people as the infamous “N-word” is to the rest of us.

This dilemma is shared by the Kansas City Chiefs, who have weathered their own protests over the years.  The difference between the two teams’ situations is that the ‘Skins have become successful, while the hapless Chiefs have floundered.  That success, elevating the Redskins back into the national spotlight, has given new live to the controversy.

The names, or mascots, of sports teams have always followed a certain paradigm.  Tradition states that it should be a name associated with strength and power, something that would strike fear or awe into the hearts of opponents.  Some names were associated with local history or heritage.  Others found inspiration in the animal kingdom.  A few simply defy explanation.  (What the heck is a Hoya, anyway?)  But animals which once provided a…well…stable of possibilities now risk running afoul of animal rights groups.

This issue is rising to a critical level and at some point, the Redskins and the NFL just might be forced into making the change. 

So what should the new name be?  There are hundreds of ideas already floating in the ether.  Everyone agrees that it should be something original and unique, something that would inspire players and fans alike.  

Naturally, like everyone else, I have an idea.  

My suggestion for the new name of the Washington NFL franchise is…

Civil War: Events of May 1863

On May 1^st, the opening salvos of the Battle of Chancellorsville were sounded.  Union General Joseph Hooker attempted an ambitious double envelopment of Lee’s army.  Unfortunately, such a move was beyond the communications technology of the day and resulted in confusion and delay.  In the face of these movements, Lee divided his vastly out-numbered army, holding Sedgewick at Fredericksburg, and sending Stonewall Jackson’s corps on a wide flanking movement late in the day of May2nd.  Jackson’s troops burst out of the woods, falling on the unprotected and unprepared flank of Oliver Howard’s 11^th corps.  The Union troops fled in panic, as they would do again at Gettysburg in July.  Jackson’s corps advanced to within 1.25 miles of the Union headquarters, but the coming of darkness and the thick woods the southerners found themselves in created confusion.  On the verge of completely routing the Army of the Potomac, Jackson’s troops were forced to stop and dig in.  Later that night, Jackson and his staff, trying to ascertain where the lines were, advanced through the woods to within earshot of the Union lines.  Returning, they were mistaken for Union cavalry.  Troops of the 18^th North Carolina fired, wounding Jackson.  His right arm had been broken and was eventually amputated. During his recovery, he contracted pneumonia and died on May 10th. Despite what was an amazing victory for the vastly outnumbered Confederates, the loss of General Jackson amounted to a major defeat.  The loss of his aggressive and intelligent leadership very likely led to defeat for Lee at Gettysburg.

Civil War: Events of April 1863

April 2^nd saw the Bread Riot in Richmond, VA.  A mob demanded bread from a supply wagon.  The action increased in fury, resulting in the looting of several stores.  The rioters were personally addressed by President Jefferson Davis, who took money from his own pockets and tossed it into the crowd.

On April 5^th, President Lincoln sailed to Fredericksburg, VA to meet with General Joe Hooker to discuss strategy in Virginia.

Nine Union ironclads under the command of Samuel Dupont sailed into Charleston Harbor April 7th and attacked Fort Moultrie and Fort Sumter.  Damage is done to the forts, but the ships are heavily damaged by Confederate shore batteries and are forced to withdraw.

On April 12^th, Confederate General James Longstreet surrounds Suffolk, VA and begins a siege that will last until May 4^th. 

On the 13^th, Union General Nathaniel Banks carried out an ordered attack towards the Confederate strongpoint of Port Hudson, in coordination with Grant’s move against Vicksburg.  The Confederates at Fort Bisland had excellent intelligence on Banks’ movement through the swamps of Louisiana’s Bayou Teche region.  Banks sent Grover’s division in a flanking movement, but the movement was slowed by General Mouton.  Union troops later arrived and formed a battle line outside of Fort Bisland.  After a night-long artillery duel, Union forces advanced on the Fort on the 13^th.  The fighting continued until dusk.  Later that night, Confederate General Richard Taylor learned that more Union troops were in his rear and now in position to cut off his retreat.  During the night, the Confederates successfully evacuated the Fort, which the Union troops found empty and abandoned at sunup.

The Magic of Getting Away

From City-Data.com

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

Vacation!

In the glossary of the workday dictionary, there's no other word which conveys such a soul-satisfying combination of joy, peace, and freedom.  For 7 or 14 glorious days and nights, we revel in that magical realm of "Don't have to be anywheresville."  The burdens of the job are gleefully unshouldered and cast aside as we dance away the chains of servitude.

(Actually, if you're one of those people who use up vacation just so you can clean gutters and screens and paint walls, you can stop here.)

Vacations actually happen in stages.

In the planning stage, a destination is chosen and dates decided.  Reservations are made while the mind begins to manufacture a virtual reality play called "What It Will Be Like."

In the next stage, we unload our burdens, engaging in the somewhat delicate ballet of shifting jobs to co-workers.  Whether they want them or not, the jobs are taken on, mainly because they (and you) know full well that the reverse will happen when their time comes up.  At home, you arrange for the mail and the newspaper to be held, the dog to be boarded, and the request to the neighbors to "keep an eye on things" during the absence.

The third phase usually kicks in about Wednesday before leaving.  You know Friday is coming, but part of you feels a sort of dream-like unreality that this trip is actually going to happen.

The Things We Can't Fix

"Broken Hearted Toy" from www.wallpaperdisk.com

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey
Written content only

A small child stands in front of me, wearing a sad face and the hint of a tear or two.  Holding up two small pudgy hands holding a favorite but broken toy and looking up into my eyes, a small, quivery voice says...

"Daddy, fix?"

For a father, this is a familiar scene.  Whatever other job we might be engaged in takes a back seat.  A small world has been crushed and we have been asked to repair it.

Sometimes its just a matter of snapping a plastic piece or two back in place.  Occasionally the job requires a more complicated approach, involving superglue, duct tape, or a couple of small screws and a battery.  The toy gets fixed, the small face lights up; a small world has been restored.  If you're lucky, the child will favor you with that singular look of love and discovery that has written all over it, "Gee, my Dad can fix anything!"

With a smile and a sense of love and fulfillment, we return to the task at hand.

Its an unfortunate truth that these requests diminish with the passage of time.  Over the years as their self-reliance grows their reliance on parents shrinks.  This is the way it should be, if we have done our jobs as parents.  While we're happy to see them grow up, we still mourn the loss of that special sense of purpose  called "Parenthood."

A Gift From the Sea

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey
Image and written content

Life is a whirlwind; a maelstrom where we are thrown hither and yon by the storm of events that constitute the days of our lives.  Caught irretrievably in the eye of those storms, we yearn for a measure of peaceful silence.  But most of the time, that longing remains frustratingly unrequited.  We do take those periods we call "vacations," but instead we squeeze a whole summer's worth of activities into two weeks meant for rest, relaxation, and recharging, and return to work exhausted.

For both of us, it has been a stressful time.  Losing one job, gaining another, selling one house, buying another, leaving one life behind, and trying to assimilate life in a new location.  We both work in high-pressure vocations where a mistake carries a cost in human life.  In addition, winter for me is...well...tough sledding while I suffer daily from PMS (Parked Motorcycle Syndrome). Thus deprived of my best method of stress relief, I'm left to muddle through till spring.

We did, however, make time for a trip to California.  But not for vacation.  Our oldest daughter and her husband are in the last chapter of what has been a troubled marriage.  Divorce in inevitable.  They have three  small boys, two of them autistic and the third recovering from an open heart surgery when he was one year old.  Hovering over them all is a shroud of mourning for a daughter who left this life at the tender age of six months.  We knew that the tension in the air would be thick as the two of them struggled to maintain a veneer of civility.

The stress of the trip was ameliorated by California itself.  That first day, we left Dulles in a light snowfall.  Hours later, we stood in a city park wearing shorts and t-shirts under a clear sky reveling in the glory of a 72-degree day.  Virginia, with it's cold, snow, and hard work seemed so very far away.

One evening, we drove down to Laguna Beach.  This is a typical seaside community, populated by an eclectic mix of the very wealthy and the very wierd.  We arrived about 30 minutes before sunset, the refreshing smell of the Pacific was in the air.  Following a winding path, we made our way to an overlook.  Down below, gulls and pelicans dotted the rugged rocks, occasionally lifting off to glide gracefully on the unseen winds along the cliffs.  

Before us was the sea.

Civil War: Events of March 1863

On March 3, Naval assaults on Ft. McAllister resumed.  Also, the Conscription Act was signed by President Lincoln.  Although it requires draft quotas by state, wealthy citizens are allowed to buy themselves out for $300.

A Federal force moving south from Franklin, TN on March 5^th was decisively defeated by Confederate forces under Van Dorn and Nathan Bedford Forrest.  The Confederates received unexpected help when 17-year old Alice Thompson, after seeing the 3^rd Arkansas lose their Colonel, picked up the flag and led the regiment to victory.  She was cheered by the Union soldiers.

Confederate Raider John Mosby attacked and embarrassed Union troops at Fairfax Courthouse, VA, capturing Union General Stoughton.

President Lincoln on March 10, issued an order of amnesty for men AWOL from the Union Army.  They will have until April 1 to report or will be considered deserters.

Union ground and naval forces attack a hastily-built Fort Pemberton, MS on the Yazoo River hoping to punch through to Vicksburg.  The fort held.

On March 13, a friction primer at the Confederate Ordinance Laboratory near Richmond exploded, touching off the entire facility, killing 69 people.  62 of them were women and young girls.

On March 14, Union Admiral Farragut tried to push a naval force past Port Hudson, Louisiana.  His flagship, USS Hartford and USS Albatross got through, but three other vessels were seriously damaged.

On the 16^th, Grant ended his attempts to push through Yazoo Pass in Mississippi, but ordered Sherman to attempt an assault on Steele’s Bayou again.

Civil War: Events of February 1863

Union Navy ships made an unsuccessful attack on Ft. McAllister, guarding the southern entrance to the port city of Savannah.

On the 2^nd, Union ram Queen of the West steamed past the Confederate batteries at Vicksburg.  She was hit twelve times, but was mostly undamaged.  She then rammed the Confederate ship City of Vicksburg and retired.  The next day, she attacked three southern ships and captured them, destroying their vital cargoes.

Also on the 2^nd, Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest attacked the Union garrison at Fort Donelson, Tennessee in an attempt to relieve the pressure on Vicksburg.  The attack failed.

On February 3, the French made an offer to mediate between the North and South through Federal Secretary of State William Seward, who declined the offer.

Union General Joseph Hooker reorganized the Army of the Potomac, giving corps commands to John Reynolds, Darius Couch, Dan Sickles, George Meade, John Sedgwick, William F. Smith, Franz Siegel and Henry Slocum.  George Stoneman is appointed cavalry chief.

On February 12^th, the West Virginia Constitutional Convention reconvened in response to the U.S. Congress’ request to modify certain wording concerning slaves.

Queen of the West struck again on the 12^th, taking more than $2 million in cargo in a single day.  But on the 14^th, the ship ran aground and was abandoned.

The U.S. Senate passed the Conscription Act on the 16^th.  The next day, West Virginia approved a revised state constitution.

General Grant, who had previously issued an order to halt publication of the Chicago Times as a subversive newspaper, rescinded the order on February 17^th.

A Democrat Convention in Richmond, KY was broken up by Federal authorities because some members were pro-South.

Confederate General Daniel H. Hill assumed command of all North Carolina forces on the 25^th

February 26^th saw President Lincoln signing the National Currency Act into law.  The legislation created a national banking system, a currency bureau, and the office of Comptroller of the Currency.

Also on the 26^th, the Cherokee Nation rescinded its previous declaration of secession and also abolished slavery.

On the last day of February, Federal gunships moved up the Ogeechee River in Georgia to destroy a Confederate privateer known as the Rattlesnake.

This Thing Called "Love"*

*Johnstown Tribune-Democrat, February 11, 2010

as "Feb. 14 - A Time to Celebrate This Crazy Little Thing Called Love"

Copyright © 2010 by Ralph Couey

It’s an oft-spoken truism that while men marry women for what they are, women marry men for what they can make out of us. When I look at my wife, I still see the breath-taking girl I fell for 32 years ago. When she looks at me, she sees (and she’s actually said this) a “work in progress.”

I don't consider that a bad thing; I'm excited to be married to someone who remains convinced that every day I can be more than I was the day before.  Her faith in me has never wavered, even during those times when I had lost all faith in myself.

Marriage is a relational laboratory; the virtual Petri dish where two independent people learn how to be co-dependent. The first seven years can be explosive as both partners engage in a sort of emotional “push-me pull-you,” trying to pull the other in their direction. Through this process, both learn the value of compromise; that the best solutions often exist in the middle.

Through it all is this thing we call “love.”

The Possibilities of Life and the Prison of Physics

M-31 Andromeda from Astronomy Picture of the Day 1/24/2008

Copyright © 2009 by Ralph Couey

Written content only

Like millions of others, I often look to the night sky, fascinated by the possibilities of what lies out there. However, at times I also find myself idly wondering whether in that sky there might be someone else standing on another planet some impossibly long distance away looking back.

The latest estimate for the size of the known universe is around 150 billion light years across, containing somewhere between 100 billion and 500 billion galaxies, each probably containing between 200 billion to 400 billion stars. Certainly amongst that blizzard of zeroes, there has to be at least one other intelligent technological civilization.

In short, do I believe there are other intelligent species in the universe?

Yes.

Do I think we’re being visited by aliens in flying saucers?

No.

The physical laws of the universe, as we know them, make interstellar journeys impossible, impractical, and even pointless. The speed of light, warp drive notwithstanding is a barrier impossible to cross. Any physical object, be it human or molecule, converts to pure energy at the speed of light. Not a bad way to travel, all things considered. But understand that there’s no way to be reassembled at the end of that journey.

We could travel very close to the speed of light, but physics makes it pointless.

Scientists studying the behavior of subatomic particles in an accelerator, discovered that as they approached the speed of light, their rate of decay slowed tremendously. That remarkable find led to an understanding called “time dilation.” What that means, essentially, is that if you were on a starship that was traveling at 90% of the speed of light, time for you would slow down enormously, while back home, clocks would continue to tick along at their normal rate. Dr. Carl Sagan in his ground-breaking program “Cosmos” said that time dilation would make a round trip to the center of our Milky Way galaxy doable within a human lifetime.

Such a ship could make that trip, a distance of about 50,000 light years, in about 42 years, as time would be measured aboard the ship. That’s assuming the crew would survive the hard radiation, asteroids, million-degree clouds of gas, and each other. Unfortunately, for those of us left behind subject to the clocks here on earth, about 60,000 years would have passed, the time that separates modern humans from Neanderthals. Even if our intrepid explorers survived the trip, their return would become an encounter between two completely alien cultures.

Of course, that’s assuming there would still be life on earth. Asteroids, comets, gamma-ray bursts, super volcanoes, climate change, and what we could do to each other are all very real possibilities that would cause the end of life as we know it.

Homo sapiens is not the first dominant species on this planet, and almost certainly won’t be the last.

Dr. King and the Revolution of the Heart

 

 

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey
Written content only

 

Today, we celebrate a singular holiday.  Out of all those that speckle the calendar, this one is unusual in that it is the only one specifically named for one American.  But in meaning, it is much more.

 

Dr. Martin Luther King was born on January 15, 1929.  He grew to be a minister, earning a PhD from Boston University.  He possessed that singular gift of lyrical oratory, giving life to mere words, delivering them not just to the ears, but to the heart.

 

The American civil rights movement, way overdue, was gathering steam.  In 1955, Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a white man.  She was arrested and convicted of disorderly conduct.  What followed was the Montgomery Bus Boycott which lasted 381 days, cost the bus line some 80% of its revenue and only ended when a federal court ordered the bus system to be desegregated.  Dr. King led this protest and brought his name into national prominence.  It was not an easy victory, however.  At it’s height, King’s house was bombed.

 

The bus boycott proved to be the turning point.  Dr. King became the face and the voice of civil rights.  

 

His development included influence by theologian and educator Howard Thurman.  Thurman introduced the young minister to the writings of Mohandas Gandhi, who had turned non-violent protest into a potent weapon against British colonialism.  King, who visited the Indian leader’s birthplace, was profoundly moved by Gandhi’s story.  On his final day in India, he said, "Since being in India, I am more convinced than ever before that the method of nonviolent resistance is the most potent weapon available to oppressed people in their struggle for justice and human dignity.”

 

Back in the United States, King, as leader of the Southern Christian Leadership Council, began to lead a series of non-violent protests.  He and thousands of others marched for African-American’s right to vote, desegregation, labor rights among other issues.  Throughout the south, sit-ins were held at lunch counters that banned blacks.  The protests were non-violent, but directly confrontational, which led to violent reactions by southern whites.  

 

In 1963, the SCLC launched a campaign against segregation and economic injustice in Birmingham, Alabama.  Protests were widespread, but the turning point was when the Birmingham Police Department, led by Eugene “Bull” Connor, turned fire hoses and police dogs loose on the protesters.  Some responded, helped by bystanders who apparently decided they’d seen enough.  The campaign was a success.  The signs of Jim Crow were taken down, and blacks were allowed more access to public places.  King said later, “We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”

 

"The House is On Fire! What Do We Do?" A Homeowners Survival Guide to Disaster

Copyright © 2008 by Ralph F. Couey

All rights for reprint or reuse reserved by the author.

 

In the summer of 1996, our home caught on fire.  The experience of that night is permanently etched in our memories.  Because we knew what to do, our family, including our pets, got out of the house without injury.  But the days and weeks after that disasterous event were full of moments when we were close to being overwhelmed.  We had no idea what to do, who to call, or how to plan.  I wrote this planning to get it published as a helpful brochure.  Rather than wait for the uncertain tides of publishing companies, I decided to post it here so anyone who needs the benefit of our experience can have it.

 

 

 “Putting the Word “Fire” in “Fireworks”

 

July 3, 1996.  A typically hot and humid day for a Missouri summer.  The sun had set and we had just cleaned up after exploding our ration of fireworks on the driveway and in the street in front of our suburban home.  The kids were upstairs watching television and I went down to our basement bedroom to shower and get ready for bed.  My wife, a Registered Nurse, was at work, having been called in to do an emergency surgery.   

 

I had just stepped into the shower when my youngest began banging on the bathroom door.  I responded with some small irritation.  She was, in the words of her siblings, a drama queen, susceptible to fits of extreme excitement over relatively minor things.  I shut off the water and went to the door to listen.  She yelled that a neighbor had come to tell us that our attached garage was on fire.  I hurriedly dressed and ran upstairs.  My daughter, in her panic, had opened the garage door.  The garage was blazing from the inside and the fire, now supplied with a fresh burst of air was literally exploding in ferocity.  I ran back inside and yelled at the kids to evacuate and to take our pets with them.  I ran to the phone and called 911.  I then made a quick tour of the house, making sure that everyone was out.  By this time, I could feel the heat coming off the living room wall next to the garage.  Realizing that time was running out, I left the house, seeing the relieved looks on the faces of my children.  Outside, the heat was very intense.  I saw that my car was parked on the driveway and remembering that I had just filled the tank with gasoline, I quickly moved the car out onto the street.  I was just in time, since the plastic headlight lenses were already scorched.  A neighbor brought over a 50-lb CO2 extinguisher.  I activated it and began to move towards the fire. But the intense heat prevented me from getting close enough for the fog to have any real effect.  I retreated to the other side of the street and stood among the growing crowd of my neighbors and watched our home burn.  

 

The fire department responded quickly, although it seemed forever before we began to hear the sound of sirens coming down Route K.  The trucks pulled up in front of the house, deployed their hoses and went to work.  They attacked the blaze intelligently and swiftly and it seemed that in a surprisingly short time, they had control of things.  The fire was extinguished and to my surprise, while the two-car garage was a pile of smoking ash, the house had apparently been largely saved.

 

We were lucky.  With me downstairs in the shower and the kids mesmerized by the television, if our neighbor hadn’t been walking his dog and seen the fire through the garage windows, there’s no telling how far along the fire would have gotten before one of us inside would have noticed.  Another thing that saved us was that the garage had been an add-on to the house by the previous owners.  As such, instead of attaching the garage to the house, they built an additional wall.  That double-wall between the garage and the house, and the lack of any direct access (door) from the garage into the living room, kept the fire confined for an additional space of time, enough for us to escape.  In addition, our barbecue grill was sitting on the back deck with a freshly-filled 20 lb propane tank, less than 20 feet from the blaze.  Had that tank exploded, the firefighters assured me, the force of the blast would likely have leveled most of the house and would have put at risk any human within 300 feet.

 

“Shock and Awe”

We stayed with friends that night and the next day, July 4, we drove back over to our house.  Rounding the corner onto our street, the bright sunlight revealed the extent of the damage.  The garage, of course was gone, as was the large satellite dish that had sat on the roof.  The double wall had protected the house, but the fire had eaten through into the attic space and consumed most of the roof.  I belatedly noticed that the trees in front and back had sustained some damage as well.  With no small amount of trepidation, we unlocked the door and went inside.