What We Want, What We Can, What We Will Do

"Three things are necessary for the salvation of man;

to know what he ought to believe,

to know what he ought to desire,

and to know what he ought to do."

-- Thomas Aquinas

Copyright © 2014 by Ralph F. Couey

Except cited and quoted portions.

Every human ever born came into this life with a dream.  Separated from all the other wants and desires, it is a dream that arises from the recognition by the soul of the gifts and talents singular to that person.  Essentially, it is the assessment of what can be built using the raw materials available.

That collection of specialities is different for every person.  My son is a genius of sorts in the computer field.  Consequently, his work language is largely mathematical.  When I look over his shoulder, I see a page filled with number and notations, pi, theta, delta, sigma, tau, omega...   It is a language that, alas, will forever be indecipherable to his father. You could say that it's all...um..."Greek" to me.

I have become a writer, of sorts.  No, I haven't written The Great American Novel, though I have been a columnist.  While I can't translate mathematics, I have been able to recognize the momentum of thought and emotion from the heart and mind and translate that into words, phrases, and sentences.  Most times, that process is slow and frustrating.  But occasionally, the walls are felled, the gates are opened, and those impulses flood directly from the heart to the fingers, at a rate which challenges the hands to keep pace.

This is, for all intents and purposes, what I want; my desire, if you will.  For everyone else, that desire is particular to each one.  It may be the elegance of a perfect equation, or the production of something beautiful from a piece of wood, a lump of clay, a jar of paint.  My sister, a career educator, has spoken of that magical moment when a teacher witnesses the light of comprehension dawning in the eyes of a student.  I remember the words of a mother after seeing her child, now an adult, graduate from college.  "In that moment, I realized that all the effort, all the pain, all the worry and sleepless nights over the last 21 years expended in trying to shape a life had finally been justified.  My child has achieved; therefore as a mother, I have also achieved."

Motorcycles and Hard Economics

The Object of My Dreams and Obsessions

Taken by Ralph Couey in Fort Valley, Virginia

Copyright © 2014 by Ralph Couey

Picture and written content

Ownership, or more accurately, the relationship with a motorcycle is unique in a person's experience.  It is transportation stripped to its bare essences, and thus a journey is less one of physical necessity and more of a spiritual exaltation.  As I have written ad nauseum, the hours and miles spent in this kind of communion are priceless for those who truly understand the essence of the ride.

But, like all things, this comes at a price.

Motorcycles are a different animal than cars.  They require a great deal more attention to details such as tire pressures and oil change intervals than do cars.  Mainly because when something breaks on a car, the owner is still inside a steel cage wrapped up in a cocoon of seat belt and airbags.  When something breaks on a motorcycle, it can, and does, result in very mortal outcomes.  Safety requires upkeep, which requires $$$.

My mechanical skills are limited, as are my collection of tools.  Hence, when my bike needs something, I turn to my local factory-trained neighborhood wrench.  This is especially true in that time of year when winter is finally driven back into it's dark, cold cave for another year.  The sun warms the air, the snow disappears, the spring rains wash the road of sand and salt.  And after months of painful dormancy, motorcycles hit the roads.

The Need for Endless Speculation

MH 370

From www.ibtimes.co.uk

Copyright © 2014 by Ralph F. Couey

Written material only.

It was a Saturday, March 8th.  A Boeing 777, one of the most advanced and safest airplanes in the world lifted off from Kuala Lumpur International Airport for a regularly scheduled flight to Beijing in the People's Republic of China.  The flight was tagged by the International Air Transport Association as Malaysian Air Flight 370.  By all expectations, it was expected to be a routine trip.  But 40 minutes into the flight, something went terribly wrong.  For reasons that were, and still remain, utterly unknown, the aircraft made a hard turn to the west, descended almost 40,000 feet in one minute, and then vanished.  The transponder and other communication devices had been deactivated, apparently in a deliberate attempt to evade detection.  The engines continued to ping satellites, a maintenance-related automatic communication back to the engines manufacturer Rolls Royce in England.  The last surmised location of the airliner could have been either over the southern Indian Ocean, or near Kazakhstan.  

Today, nine days later, the aircraft, and the 239 souls aboard, remain missing.  

This incident, or incipient tragedy, has consumed the attention of the world.  Even a pending war between Russia and it's former client state Ukraine over the Crimea seems to have taken a back seat.  A big part of the attention has to do with the shared incredulity that in this age of GPS, satellites, radar, and a sky filled with some 90,000 airplanes each day that something as big as a jumbo jet could simply vanish without a trace.

This is, unfortunately, not the first time.  Since 1910, some 160 aircraft have disappeared from the skies, without leaving a single clue as to their fate.  Perhaps the most well-known and most researched was the loss in 1937 of a Lockheed Electra with pilot Amelia Earhart and navigator Fred Noonan somewhere near Howland Island in the Pacific.  The last passenger plane to disappear was a de Havilland Twin Otter under the banner of  Merpati Nusantera Airlines which disappeared in 1995 while flying across the Molo Strait enroute to Ruteng, Indonesia, along with its 13 passengers and crew.  Bad weather was the suspected culprit.

A Few of My Favorite Things, Part II

Copyright © 2014 by Ralph F. Couey

I have been fortunate in that I have been well-traveled.  To date, I have been to 49 states and 28 countries and as many others who have trekked similar distances, those experiences have fundamentally altered my view of life.  

In my youth, I accompanied my Dad on his summer journeys related to his church work.  This meant hitting the road for two of the three summer months mostly taking in church camps across the country.  We traveled far and wide, he and I, bonding in ways that kept us close even through my tumultuous teen years.  The dominant memory of those summers can be encapsulated into the experience of sitting in a campsite sanctuary on countless humid evenings listening to his sermons as the power of his voice competed with the sawing chorus of cicadas in the dark woods beyond.  Those were good years.

Later on, I joined the Navy. In the next 10 years, I saw not only the world, but learned a lot about the people who populate those places we Americans rarely think about.  I also learned that people in this country who complain about being poor really don't know about the privation and struggle that is true poverty.

Throughout all those years, and all those miles, several places have stayed with me, having planted themselves in my heart.  These are a few of my favorite places.

Streets of Hong Kong

From Bugbog.com

Hong Kong has been called many things, the most well-known eponym being "The Pearl of the Orient."  I first set foot in this jewel during April of 1981.  I had been aboard my first ship for a couple of months, fresh out of "A" school.  It was my first foreign port, and I fell in love with the city within minutes of beginning my first liberty ashore.  Hong Kong has been for a long time a major financial and economic hub in the Far East.  When I was there, the colony still belonged to Britain, and the English imprint was noticeable although far more understated than I had expected.  The incredible thing about this city is its energy.  It is a pulse of excited urgency that seems to rise from the sidewalks right through the soles of your shoes.  Life here is lived at full throttle and its impossible to not be affected.  The people of Hong Kong are every day consumed by the business of survival.  Most live in hovels that are little bigger than a fair-sized closet, but they are only there to sleep.  The rest of the day is spent doing business.

Time, Age, and Documents

Copyright © 2014 by Ralph F. Couey

My mind is on a journey, but not one on a road that is straight in this dimension.  Sometimes I see my thoughts in the way of a housefly frantically bouncing from one window screen to another, trying desperately to free itself.  My attention span is thus ephemeral.  There just seems so much to ponder.

Last week, I overheard a conversation between two ladies in an elevator.  It seemed that one of them had suffered the death of her father the previous year and she talked at length about how difficult things were at the end.  It seems that he had never expressed a preference for either burial or cremation, and this seemed a terribly important, and difficult, thing for them to resolve.

It was a moment like so many others riding in that nondescript vertically-moving cube when the lives of complete strangers intersect for a few moments of time.  Usually, what is said there, and heard there, flits from my conscious thoughts.  But this conversation left me with some thinking to do.

I must confess that I look at death differently from most.  Buried somewhere in this blog, like a dusty box in the attic, is a posting about an incident that happened in the spring of 2003.  After decades of suffering mindless abuse, my heart finally put its "foot" down, and put me on notice.  Two arteries were almost completely clogged and I ended up in the Cath lab at Boone Hospital in Columbia, Missouri.  During the procedure, my heart quit and I..."went away" for awhile.  The resulting experience, complete with the de riguer tunnel and white light, left me with a certainty that death...what we call it, anyway...was in fact life, just on a different level.  I'll spare you the details, except to say that I felt a lot of different emotions, but fear was not one of them.

I don't fear death.  Lest you think me crazy, let me hasten to add that I still fear the process of dying (big, big pain baby here), the actual transition has lost its mystery.  I know now what to expect.  I also know, based on that experience, that I'm not yet done here.  I will know when that particular bus arrives.

A Few Thoughts on the Rudeness of March Snowstorms

"Winter is nature's way of saying

"Up Yours."

--Robert Byrne

Copyright ©2014 by Ralph Couey

I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with snow.  When it first falls in November or December, I welcome its artistry, if for no other reason to cover up the dull brown of late fall.  Snow is expected, in fact desired around the holidays, and through the long dark tunnel of January and February.  But when March rolls up, I don't think its unreasonable to begin to look for some breaks in the weather.  Now, I don't live in Syracuse, Duluth, or Billings, where snow probably falls up through Memorial Day weekend.  I have chosen to live in more temperate climes.  After the Snowmageddon winter of 2010, Virginia enjoyed three years where actual winter weather was rare.  This year, however, winter made a return appearance.  Snow totals are up, not as high as 2010, but the thing that has made this year so hard to bear has been the unremitting cold.  

I'm older and my circulation is not what it once was, so I'm much more sensitive to the cold than in the past.  So this endless day-after-day cycle of frigid temperatures has the effect of wearing a person down.  Now, we have had a few days where the sun shone and the mercury soared into the 60's but that tease was immediately followed by another long stretch of cold.  Also, I ride a motorcycle and am regularly afflicted with what we riders call PMS, an acronym which stands for Parked Motorcycle Syndrome.  I am, by nature, a cautious rider, so even on warm winter days, the collection of sand, salt, and cinders on the roads makes riding a more dicey proposition.

Today, another large storm passed through this area, the second large one in a couple of weeks, this one dumping some 8 inches of fresh powder.  Once again, we left the warm sanctuary of the house to join our neighbors in shoveling.  I've never liked shoveling snow; and as I get older, I like it even less.  I'm beginning to understand the attraction seniors have for places like Orlando and Phoenix.  Soon it will be time for me to decide which I dislike more.  Oppressive heat and humidity, or shoveling snow and persistent cold.

A Few of My Favorite Things, Part I

Copyright ©2014 by Ralph Couey

Images from various sites on the Internet

Humans have designed and built incredible things, but I think the most miraculous are those machines that helped man to, in the words of John Magee, break the surly bonds of earth.  The ability to fly was once the sole province of birds.  But since the Wright brothers first powered flight in 1903, the ability to soar into the sky has become so common that it is difficult to find someone in this country who has never rode in an airplane.

Flying initially was a way for the military to improve the way they went about their business.  But entrepreneurs soon saw the market for global air transport.

It is perhaps ironic that some of the most beautiful aircraft that ever took to the skies were those whose business was dealing death.

I fell in love with airplanes at an early age.  My father traveled a lot, and I remember many evenings when we would make the trek to old Municipal Airport, literally in the shadow of downtown Kansas City, to see him climb aboard a multitude of airliners bound for destinations throughout the world.  When he was home, sometimes on Sunday afternoons, we would go to the airport and park in a lot set aside for people to watch the planes take off and land.  I thought that was just a perfect way to spend an afternoon with my Dad.  Though I chose the sea from which to serve my country, I remain fascinated by flight.

Over the years, some airplanes have become favorites of mine, for various reasons.  Probably the first favorite I had was the Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress.  This rugged, yet beautiful plane was the mainstay of the US Army Air Force during the daylight bomber campaign against Germany.

It was fast, for its day, had long range, a heavy bombload, and could defend itself with 10 to 12 machine guns.  For my Dad and I, the old TV show "12 O'Clock High" was must-see programming, and it was in those episodes that I grew an affection for the Fort.  I was at Long Beach Airport one afternoon when a B-17 paid a short visit.  After asking, I was allowed to stick my head into the door and hatch, seeing the interior for the first time in person.  And breathless I was when the plane taxied to the end of the runway and that signature roar of those four Wright Cyclones thundered across the field as the plane raced down the runway and soared into the sky.

Milestones and Steppingstones

Twenty years…where’d they go?

Twenty years…I don’t know.

I sit and I wonder some times

Where they’ve gone.

--Bob Seger

 Copyright 2014 © by Ralph F. Couey

October is my favorite month of the year, for a variety of reasons.  The oppressive heat and humidity of summer is a fading memory.  The sky has become a dome of pure cobalt blue.  And all around, the green of the forest is being overtaken by the vivid reds and brilliant golds of that annual show of artistry that is autumn.  I sometimes think I merely endure the other eleven months just to get to those 31 remarkable days

It was last November 1^st, and I was out running, chugging up that exasperatingly long hill that is Cedar Lane, when I realized with a bit of a shock that October had ended.  I remember feeling how unfair it was that something so anticipated and so enjoyed could arrive and disappear almost before it seemed I'd had a chance to look around, or even draw an appreciative breath.  Part of that, I know, is the perspective of age.  The older we get, the faster time seems to pass.  Unless you’re getting a root canal.

We can get so caught up in the “have-to-do’s” and “gotta be there’s” that crowd our schedules, regretting the past, fearing the future, that we can become completely oblivious to those marvelous moments of the “now.”  Those moments can appear in several ways. 


You can be hanging with your best bud, laughing and having a great time, when suddenly you realize that you’re experiencing that perfect moment of friendship. 


To hear that joyously uninhibited sound of a good old-fashioned belly laugh coming from a child who will never again be that cute.  Or that young. 


Looking across the room at the love of your life and getting a smile in return.  Not just any smile, but that special one; the one they save only for you.  


To walk beneath a Maple tree on a perfect fall afternoon at the same moment the wind passes through the limbs and showers you with leaves of gold.  A private, very personal ticker-tape parade pronouncing that life...your life...is worth celebrating.

These moments are ephemeral; filaments, really.  But these are the filaments that when woven together form the richly beautiful tapestry that tells the story of life.

Civil War: Events of April 1864

From April 3 to April 4, Union and Confederate forces fought at Elkins Ferry in Clark and Nevada counties in Arkansas.  All the bridges crossing the Little Missouri River had been destroyed.  Union General Steele ordered General Frederick Salomon to take and hold the remaining river ford at Elkin’s Ferry.  Three cavalry brigades under Confederate General John Marmaduke attacked the Union position, but was unable to take the position.

On April 4^th, Phil Sheridan takes command of the cavalry forces in the Union Army of the Potomac.

On April 8^th, Confederate forces commanded by General Richard Taylor defeated and decisively routed the Union force under Nathaniel P. Banks at Sabine Crossroads (also known as Mansfield), halting the Red River Campaign in Louisiana.

Also on April 8^th, the historic 13^th Amendment, outlawing slavery, was approved by the Senate and sent to the states for ratification.

On April 9^th, Nathaniel Banks, retreating from the defeat at Sabine Crossroads, is attacked by Confederates under Richard Taylor.  Despite some initial success, Banks launched a counterattack that defeated Taylor.

On April 9^th, Grant issues campaign orders to George Meade and William Sherman:  “Wherever Lee goes, you will go there.”

April 10^th saw Union General Frederick Steele’s forces encounter a Confederate line of battle at Prairie D’Ane, about 100 miles southwest of Little Rock, AR.  Steele was marching towards the vital port of Shreveport, but was diverted towards Camden after the Confederates under Sterling Price were forced to fall back.  Steele turned his force toward the heavily-defended Camden, which his forces then took.  But Steele and Banks then withdrew to Grand Ecore and Little Rock.  Kirby Smith took command of the Confederate troops and ordered Taylor to move back to Mansfield.  The Red River Campaign was over.

Civil War: Events of March 1864

The force of 500 Union cavalry dispatched by Judson Kilpatrick to the west side of Richmond was turned back, and then trapped by the Lee boys, Custis on March 1^st, and Fitzhugh on the 2^nd.

The U.S. Senate confirmed the appointment of Ulysses S. Grant to the rank of Lieutenant General on March 2^nd.

On the 4^th, Republican Michael Hahn is inaugurated governor of Louisiana.  On that same day, the CSA officially adopted the “Stars and Bars” as its official flag.

On March 9^th, Grant was officially promoted to three-star general and placed in command of all active U.S. forces.  He can now pursue the war without interference from General Halleck in Washington, the first U.S. commander to be so empowered.  Three days later, General Halleck, his position and authority now irrelevant, is relieved of duty at his own request

Civil War: Events of February 1864

On the first day of the month, the U.S. House passed legislation reinstituting the rank of Lieutenant General in the U.S. Army, paving the way to giving Ulysses S. Grant to run the war without interference from Washington.

On the 3^rd, William T. Sherman opened the Meridian Campaign, a thrust into central Mississippi to break up Confederate communications and infrastructure, and to cement Union control of the vital Mississippi River.  His troops marched into Jackson on the 5^th.

On the 7^th, Union forces entered Jacksonville, Florida.

February 9^th saw a successful escape of 109 Union officers from the notorious Libby Prison in Richmond.  59 officers actually reached Union lines.

President Lincoln attempted, unsuccessfully, to rescue 6 horses from the White House stables when a fire broke out on February 10^th.

The Sea and Serenity

Copyright © 2014 by Ralph F. Couey

both image and written content.

The ocean draws me; inspires me. Heals me.  To stand on the shore of a continent and gaze out to sea is to experience humility.  And infinity.

Our planet is mostly water.  So are we, for that matter.  The life that evolved to be us arose from the oceans, and even today salt water flows through us.  So it's perhaps not surprising that the allure comes from so deep inside of us.

The sounds of the sea inspire deep thought, or no thought at all, as the mind surrenders to the peace of one's soul.  I don't know anything that is more peaceful than the rhythmic beat of the surf.  An impulse, generated thousands of miles distant begins to rise as it approaches the shore.  At a certain point the wave curls forward and the water falls to the sand with a sort of muffled "boom."  Afterwards comes the hissing of the foam as it races across the sand, loses momentum, and slides back.  The sound is soothing, the sight hypnotic.  And it is endless.  To listen to that steady beat is to feel release.  All the sadness and anger, the burdens of life are released and replaced by a sense of balance;  of peace.  

At no time are one's emotions so touched as at sunset.  The shadows lengthen and the light, filtered through the horizon, changes to a softer, more contemplative tint.  The clouds along that horizon begin to pick up and reflect the sun's rays, turning them from white to burnished gold.  On a calm day, that beautiful light is mirrored by the surface of the sea, and the whole world takes on a scintillating beauty found nowhere else.

It is a time and a place for reflection.  People seek these moments when answers to difficult questions remain elusive.  It is here that those answers reveal themselves, as gentle in their arrival as the soft breeze on velvety summer's night.  

Eventually, we must turn away and return to the noisome clamor of our lives.  We go, however, renewed and refreshed; imbued with a new sense of possibility.  And submersed in a new serenity.

For it is in the murmur of the sea where we shall find the peace we seek.

Plagues and Possibilities

Copyright © 2014 by Ralph Couey

This past year, I received a gift from my sister in the form of a book entitles "A Distant Mirror" by the inestimable Barbara Tuchman. Ms. Tuchman can best be described, not as an historian, but a writer who loves history.  This is a benefit to the reader of her many books, as the writing style is a more lyrical narrative that is easy to read, easy to follow, and a great source for learning.

Her list of books includes "The Guns of August", the history of the complex interrelationships among the European powers that led directly to World War I.  It was a book that seemed to have a beneficial influence on President Kennedy as he maneuvered the U.S., and the world, through the crucible that was the Cuban Missile Crisis.

My sister chose the book on the strength of my research into our family history.  I had been able to peel back the years into pre-Medieval France, capturing a connection, admittedly still ephemeral, to the powerful clan of knights known as de Coucy.  Tuchman's research revealed new details to me about this powerful family, at one point considered stronger than the throne of France.

However interesting that was, I found myself captured by the recount of the human tragedy we know as the Black Plague.

Between 1348 and 1350, a pandemic of Bubonic plague grew out of central Asia, spreading along the primary trading route known as the Silk Road.  The disease hit that region hard.  Rumors reached Europe claiming that as many as 23 million had died in India and some 20 million in China.  The Mongol hordes penetrated to the gateways of Europe, bringing the plague with them.  During the siege of the trading city Caffa in the Crimean, the Mongols catapulted infected bodies over the city's walls,  In terror, the inhabitants fled.  Some went by ship to the port of Marseilles in southern France.  The primary vector of infection, the fleas of infected rats, went with them.  From there, the pestilence spread with terrifying speed.  Within a year, people all over Europe were dying at rates that defy modern comprehension.  Exact numbers are hard to come by, but it is estimated that as much as 60% of all Europeans perished.  World wide, the human population was reduced by 100 million people.

Why We Go to the Show

Mentally, he's on the road aboard Honda's new Valkyrie.

Copyright © 2014 by Ralph F. Couey

Every year, I attend the traveling International Motorcycle Show, lately sponsored by Progressive Insurance.  A big part of my motivation to do this stems from my heartfelt commitment to The Ride, lovingly accumulated over the past 20 years.  The other motivation is rooted in my dislike of the first two months of the year, a period of time I have come to call "The Long Dark Tunnel."  The show hits Washington DC usually in mid-January, thus providing a nice reminder that despite the gloom and cold of Winter, spring, and another riding season is on the approach.

There's a lot to see at these shows.  The major manufacturers display their entire lines, and unlike most dealerships, people are encouraged to swing a leg over and sit on every one.

The criteria a choice for a particular bike is different for every rider.  The first criteria is deciding what kind of riding a person is going to do.  That determines the type of motorcycle to buy.  Sport bikes, the powerful high-speed types commonly referred to as "crotch rockets," sport tourers, almost as fast but designed for the long haul, standards (also called nakeds for the lack of body panels), cruisers, the iconic beefy American design.  Adventure tourers, also called dual sports, which appeal to those who prefer the back woods and trackless deserts along with regular paved surfaces, dirt bikes, basic frame-and-engine designed purely for off-road use, and of course, the big baggers, the touring bikes which carry loads of luggage and every comfort and convenient device ever conceived for motorcycles.

The Flight of Time*

"Time Flies"
A Custom Wood Carving from http://www.beauhavenwoodworking.com/

*Johnstown Tribune-Democrat, April 4, 2010
as "Perception Governs View of Time"

Copyright © 2008 by Ralph Couey

Written content only

A couple of years ago, I penned a sentence in another essay about the passage of time:

“As children, we rush along, impatient to grow up. We them spend our adulthood sadly wondering why we didn’t take our time.”  That sentence has been bouncing around inside my brain since, teasing and tormenting me in the way that elusive ideas sometimes do.

We humans have an uncertain relationship with the passage of time. Scientifically speaking, time is always the same. Whether seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, or decades, they all pass at the same rate. The last five minutes of a timed test, or five minutes of a root canal is the same five minutes. What changes is our perception of that time.

It’s a universal part of the human experience that when times are good, the minutes tick by like fenceposts alongside a speeding car. In bad times, those same minutes seem to crawl by at a speed that would make a glacier look like Jamaican Gold Medalist Usain Bolt. Also, as we grow older, the passage of days seems to accelerate. But science aside, perception is what governs our view of time.

A Year By What Measure?

Super strands of galaxies

From unseenmoon.wordpress.com

 

 



Copyright ©2014 by Ralph Couey

Except image.

 

This calendrical thing we call "a year" is, of course, the calculation of the time it takes for the Earth to complete on lap (or orbit, if you prefer) around our star.  That's 365 days, measured as a fraction over 24 hours, the time it takes for the Earth itself to make a complete spin on its axis.  Those days are broken into 12 months which at first were established according to the phases of the moon.  Nearly everyone knows this.

 

I was thinking the other day (admittedly a hazardous undertaking) about time and space and a question occurred to me. 

 

How do we really know we've made the lap?

 

If I'm going to take my dog Tweeter for a walk around the block, I have a fixed point for starting and ending.  But space has no fixed reference point because everything is in motion.

 

The Earth orbits the sun, which in turn orbits the center of the Milky Way galaxy.  The Galaxy moves in a complex gravitational dance with other galaxies within the local group.  The local group, arrayed as part of a larger strand and superstrand of thousands of other galaxies moves in response to their interactive gravitational fields.  And the whole ball of wax continues to expand outward from that mysterious point in space and time where the Big Bang brought it all into existence.  Here on the surface of this planet, reference points on land are fixed and recognizable.  (Yes, I know the continents are drifting around on the mantle, but let's not megger this thing up any worse, okay?) 

 

So if there are no reference points, how do we know we've made that circle?  There's no finish line, and since the sun's surface is a constantly changing oatmeal-looking mass of incandescent gas and magnetic fields, no one can point to a place that might be used as a start/finish line.  It would seem that trying to determine a finish line in space would be like trying to find your car in a shopping mall parking lot while someone is driving it around.  The only clue really are the cycle of the seasons.

From Behind the Beard*

The author...um...behind the beard!

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat

December 25, 2010

as "Santa Memories Always Special"

Copyright © 2010 by Ralph Couey

For 17 years, I've been privileged to be a Santa. What started out as a favor to a friend has become an unforgettable part of Christmas.

It is safe to say that there is no more recognizable symbol anywhere in America, perhaps the world, than the bearded jolly old elf in red and white. From the youngest toddler, to the oldest centenarian, all recognize Santa for who he is and what he represents. For kids, he is unconditional love, and perhaps a moral and ethical rudder.  That hearty "Ho! Ho! Ho!" never fails to lift spirits and bring smiles.  He always brings gifts. You never know what it'll be, but like the Wells Fargo Wagon from "The Music Man," "..it could be somethin' very special just for me!"

One of my special Santa memories occurred, oddly enough, in the middle of summer.

It was a hot, humid miserable Missouri July afternoon.  I was cruising the aisles of Target, searching for a few items when I saw them.  

Christmas Prayer for the Bruised and the Broken-Hearted

Kind and Loving Father,

It is with joy that we celebrate
the miracle of your Son's birth.

In this season, we often find ourselves safely
within the loving arms of our family.

But even in this time of joy,
we know there are many who are alone.

There are those whose family has disintegrated
and scattered to the winds.

There are those who have lost loved ones
to accident, disease, or time.

There are those who, for whatever reason,
are completely alone in this world.

Santa's Prayer for the Children

Our Father in Heaven,
I kneel before you as your humble servant.

It has been my honor to serve you these many years,
sharing the message of unconditional love, generosity, and acceptance,
which is, after all, your blessing to us all.

I bring presents to children the world over,
but no gift I can carry equals the gift
that you gave to us all:

The life of your Son, Jesus.

I want to express my thanks for this gift,
but also to share my burden.

Veering Off the Path of Hate

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Except for quoted and cited portions

 

People must learn to hate,

and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love.

For love comes more naturally to the human heart.

 –Nelson Mandela 

It was a moment that has happened all too frequently.  Regular programming was interrupted and in that familiar stentorian tone, we were told of yet another school shooting.  This one in Colorado, only 8 miles from the scene of that tragedy in 1999 that forever changed our lives.  A student had walked into his high school armed with a shotgun and opened fire.  This one, however, ended quickly.  The teacher who was the student’s intended target left the school.  The 18-year-old, seeing the approach of an armed deputy sheriff, turned the gun on himself.  But not before shooting a young girl in the head, a girl who now lies in a coma, her survival unknown.

Most Americans inwardly moaned, “Not again!”  Faces became grim, heads were shaken, and people of faith offered prayers.

The political response was entirely predictable.  Those on the left demonstrated for stricter gun control laws.  Those on the right blamed the culture of casual violence in television, music, and video games.  They were both wrong.  The right’s claim on violence in entertainment, while disturbing, seems to fail on the fact that tens of millions of kids play those games for hours on end and nearly all of them will go through their lives without committing a single act of violence.  The left’s position on gun control also collides with the fact that this was a legal gun purchase by an 18-year-old adult (in the eyes of the law, anyway) who had no history of police involvement, violent behavior, or mental or emotional problems that would have shown up on even the most stringent background check.

But the media attention, curiously, was rather short this time.  Cynics have suggested that this was because the only death was the shooter, and the incident, unlike Columbine and Newtown, only lasted a few minutes, or perhaps the revelation from his classmates that he was a committed socialist, wearing shirts regaling the former Soviet Union. 

The Warmth of Victory on a Cold, Cold Day

 

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

 

It can be difficult to be an NFL ex-pat fan, to live away, sometimes far away from the team of your passion.  Such is the situation with me.

 

The path of my life has taken me to many places; 49 states and 28 countries.  My formative years, however, were spent in the Kansas City area, Independence specifically.  I was an A's fan when my heroes were players like Rocky Colavito, Mike Hershberger, "Hawk" Harrelson, Ed Charles, and Dick Green.  Baseball was my passion then.  However, when the Chiefs arrived in 1963, my interest in football began to grow.  1966 was fun. 1969 was exhilarating, setting the bar of excellence that hasn't been repeated in a time span approaching a half-century.

 

Like a good father, I passed this passion on to my son.  Although he hasn't lived in the KC area since he was two years old, he is unmatched in his ardent support for the Chiefs.

 

We now live in Virginia, he a Navy Chief Warrant Officer, and myself a federal employee.  We still follow the Chiefs online and on television when the opportunity presents.  So it was with glee that my wife announced in mid-October that she had scored tickets for the Chief's visit to Washington DC. 

 

The Redskins have fallen on hard times, and it is difficult not to feel sympathy.  As the Kansas City Star columnist Mr. Mellinger so poignantly articulated, only a year separates the Chiefs disastrous past from the 'Skins awful present.  The only thing missing over FedEx field has been an airplane-towed banner.  In fact, the unwanted attention brought on by the two teams' nicknames only adds to the shared empathy.

 

Game Day dawned cold, wet, and miserable.  The forecast was the dreaded 4-bagger, snow, sleet, rain, and freezing rain. But being Midwesterners by experience and attitude, we just shrugged and bundled a few more layers.  DC freeways being a hot mess on a good day, we took the Metro, the area's light rail.  Any new arrival to the Capitol region quickly learns that the only good way to get around is the Metro.  Even as crowded as it gets during rush, it still beats crawling on the freeway for 25 miles at 10 mph.  We boarded at the Vienna station, surprised to see several people in Chiefs gear waiting on the platform.  But the real shocker came when we passed through the Metro Center stop. There, a horde, yes a horde, of Chiefs fans boarded.  The car was already well-populated with Redskins supporters, so the good-natured trash-talk was immediate and loud.

The Civil War: Events of January 1864

On January 2nd, the Confederate Congress confirmed the appointment of George Davis to the post of Attorney General.

On the 11th, Missouri Senator John B. Henderson proposed the 13th Amendment, ending slavery in the United States.

Union commander of Arkansas, Frederick Steele, was instructed by President Lincoln on January 20th to permit elections after an anti-slavery amendment was proposed for the state constitution.

William S. Rosecrans is ordered to take command of the Department of Missouri on the 22nd.  On that same day, Arkansas selected Isaac Murphy, a pro-unionist, to be the provisional governor until elections could be held in the spring.

The U.S. government lifted trade sanctions on Missouri and Kentucky on January 23rd.

Confederates in Louisiana organize a government around General Henry Allen, designating Shreveport as the state's capital.

Confederate cavalry commander Nathan Bedford Forrest attacks and defeats Union William Smith near Meridian, MS on the 25th.

January 26th saw elections being held in Tennessee in areas where the Federal Government is in control.

On the 29th, steamer Sir William Wallace, loaded with northern supplies, is attacked on the Mississippi River near New Orleans.

The Civil War: Events of December 1863

On December 2, Union General Meade started to withdraw his troops north of the Rapidan River, an action which marked the end of the Mine Run Campaign.

After the Siege of Knoxville, Confederate General Longstreet began a 2-day withdrawal from Knoxville to Greeneville, MS on December 3rd.

On the 6th, Union General William T. Sherman broke the siege of Knoxville, entering the city.

On December 8th, the Union declared a Proclamation of Amnesty and Reconstruction, offering a full pardon to any Southern soldier in exchange for taking a prescribed oath of allegiance to the United States.

As Longstreet withdrew northeast, he was trailed by a Union force under John G. Parke, who had relieved Ambrose Burnside.  On the 13th, Longstreet turned back to capture Bean's Station on the Holston River in northeast Tennessee.  Longstreet approached in three columns, hoping to trap the northern troops in a vise.  His lead forces began attacking Union pickets around 2 a.m. on the 14th.  The pickets held and warned Union General Shackleford, who deployed his forces for an assault.  The battle lasted most of the day, but the arrival of Southern reinforcements forced a Union retirement.  They managed to entrench themselves at Blain's Crossroads on the 15th.  Longstreet, seeing the strength of their position, withdrew and went into winter quarters at Russellville.  Union forces began probing Longstreet's winter camp, after which Longstreet counter-attacked, driving Shackleford's troops back before they made a successful stand.  Later that evening, the Union forces withdrew.

Union Treasury Secretary Salmon Chase, on December 9th, recommends that the words "In God We Trust" be added to U.S. coinage.

Winter brought some changes in the Southern Army.  on the 16th, Joe Johnston was ordered to take command of the Army of Tennessee.  On the 22nd, Leonidas Polk received similar orders for the Army of Mississippi.

An Empty Page

 

From honesttogodjo.wordpress.com

 

Copyright ©2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only.

 

 

"Creativity is always a leap of faith."

--Julia Cameron

 

"A blank page is no empty space.  It is brimming with potential."

--A. A. Patawaran

 

"The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there,

written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible."

~Vladimir Nabakov

 

"There are thousands of thoughts lying within a man

that he does not know till he takes up the pen and writes."

 ~William Makepeace Thackeray

 

It was sharply cold, that Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend.  Part of our family, blood and extended, had gathered to celebrate the long holiday.  Our youngest daughter visited from Colorado and brought with her that alien culture which maintains that frigid temperatures should be no impediment to outdoor activities.  It was largely at her insistence that we fled the warm confines of our home and made the trek to Alexandria. 

 

Alexandria, Virginia is one of those really interesting places, if you have any sense of history.  It started out as a warehouse for tobacco located on the Potomac River around 1730.  By 1770, it had grown to become a thriving commercial and shipping center.  The historic part, called "Old Town," is lined with mostly brick buildings that have been renovated and retrofitted into a mile-long shopping and dining district, flanked by neighborhoods consisting of picturesque homes, some of which are more than 200 years old.  It is a pleasant place to go and while away the hours of a day off.

 

We began our explorations at the far eastern end of King Street, where the waters of the Potomac River slide by on their way to the Atlantic.  We drifted in and out of stores, occasionally making purchases, and keeping track of each other's movements via text.  It was in the second block that I made my discovery. 

 

The sign over the door read "Paper Source, Inc."  Since I am a writer, and writers still use paper, I dropped in.  The shop was exactly what it advertised.  The walls were lined with racks holding samples and reams of various kinds and colors of paper, from the basic stuff you'd find in any copier, to the really fancy stuff.  I saw, and touched, some of these, parchments and the luxurious linen papers with gold-embossed designs across the tops.  As I moved among the shelves, I was overtaken by an irresistible urge to write. 

 

The Manger, The Cross, and the Price of Commitment

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

 

We are entering that time of year that we most often associate with joy.  Thanksgiving is upon us, and in a month, Christmas and then New Years.  This is a time in which friends and co-workers have parties, we begin that mad rush of cleaning, shopping, cooking, baking, and decorating, all in preparation for that much-anticipated gathering of family.  It is a happy, if frenetic period.  It is mainly the reason why January is so hard to endure. 

At the core of this whole event is, of course, the celebration of the birth of Jesus.  The giving of presents honors the supreme gift given by God of his only begotten son.  The bright, colorful lights that brighten the lengthening nights remind us that the coming of Jesus was a light unto the world.  Even the gathering of families and the sharing of that love helps us to remember the depth of the love God has for us. 

And yet, the story of the manger is only the first step of the journey Christ took that led to that cross on the hill, and eventually the miracle of the resurrection.  It is important for us to remember that it was those awful hours on that cross that gave meaning to the celebration of his birth.  Jesus was sent here to take upon himself the sins of man, therefore the only reason for his birth was so that he would journey to the cross. 

Yeah, I know.  Buzz kill.  This is not a season in which we want to dwell on dark thoughts, on negative events.  We don’t want anything to disturb this holiday euphoria of ours.  The bad stuff can wait until April, when we can share time for the crucifixion story with Tax Day on April 15^th. 

There is a building tension in the recounting of the time between the manger and the cross.  We don’t know a lot of details about Jesus as a child, although there are a few highlights, like his teaching in the temple.  We really don’t begin to know him until that day he shows up with John the Baptist.  From that point, we know about how he gathered his disciples, and how he taught the masses, challenged his enemies, and performed miracles.  We follow along as he came to cross-purposes with the Sanhedrin, and how they plotted to take his life.  We see his torment in the Garden of Gethsemane as he accepted his fate, and his isolation as he saw that even his devoted disciples couldn’t stay awake to share the vigil of those final hours. 

The Glow of Thanksgiving*

Unattributed graphic from Google Images

*Johnstown Tribune-Democrat November 22, 2007

*Clinton (IA) Herald, November 21, 2007

*Glasgow, KY Daily Times, November 21/2007
as "The glow that comes with Thanksgiving"

Copyright © 2007 by Ralph Couey

Written content only

"I do not think of all the misery,

but of the glory that remains.

Go outside into the fields, nature, and the sun;

Go out and seek happiness in yourself and in God.

Think of the beauty that again and again,

discharges itself within and without you;

And be happy.

--Anne Frank

The setting aside of a national Day of Thanksgiving is one of those events whose origins become shrouded in mystery over time, truth and myth interwoven into a fanciful tapestry unquestioningly enjoyed by all. Thanksgiving is truly an American holiday, the trappings, traditions, and tapestries drawn from the past, both the collective and the personal.

Most societies whose survival depended on the bounty of the land have held a harvest celebration of some kind, and for good reason. As anyone who’s ever done it can tell you, farming is hard work. It was even harder before industrialization produced the tools and machinery we so often take for granted today. The risks were huge. Planting had to be accomplished late enough to escape the frost, yet early enough to ensure that the food would be ready to harvest before the cold moved in and killed the plants. In between were dangers such as hail, high winds, locusts and other insects, drought, flood, disease, the health of the farmer, and then the race to harvest and store the bounty before it rotted in the fields. So, when the harvest was successfully brought in, it wasn’t just a business accomplishment; it meant survival.

The Pilgrims who arrived in 1620 were intimately familiar with the hazards of life on the frontier. Had it not been for the largesse and generosity of the Wampanoag tribes, it’s not likely the colony would have survived. As writer H. U. Westermayer observed, “The Pilgrims made seven times more graves than huts. No Americans have been more impoverished than these who, nevertheless, set aside a day of thanksgiving.”

Losing October

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

Image and written content.

 

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir,

We must rise and follow her;

When from every hill of flame,

She calls and calls each vagabond by name

--William Bliss Carmen

 

The road lies before me, dappled in sunlight.  The black asphalt curving beneath the trees serves to highlight the bright colors of the leaves scattered across the surface.  A cloudy morning has given way to bright sunlight and a sky of the purest blue.  The air is cool, but not yet cold, and the sunlight slants through the trees illuminating the leaves, leaving them almost incandescent.  To the left, the Blue Ridge rises from the valley, its flanks alive with bright colors.  Besotted by this unmatched beauty, my heart is full; my spirit joyful.  It is October, and I am at the center of my world.

 

Autumn has always been, and will always be my favorite season, within that three months, October is the crown jewel. 

 

There's to much to love.  Summer's oppressive heat and humidity is a fading memory.  Winter, with snow and cold, is still weeks away.  In this short span of time, my days are full of beauty.  That they are noticeably shorter only serves to heighten the pricelessness of each daylight hour.

 

For sports fans, it's the best time of year.  Baseball is in it's final climactic act of the season.  Football has hit its stride.  Basketball and hockey have begun to stir from their off-season slumbers.  There is a snap in the air that heightens the senses sparks the spirit.  Unlike the other seasons, each day is different as the leaves slowly change, from spotty color on the first, to a brilliant palette on the thirty-first.

 

Drunk Driving: It's Time to Take a Stand

Photo from Missouri State Highway Patrol

 

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

 

Alcohol, in the form of distilled spirits, has been around almost as long as organized human culture.  It has been used as a celebrant, a relaxant, the lubricant of human interaction.  IT has also been used, and abused, as a way to push aside sorrows, anxiety, and depression.  Used in moderation, alcoholic beverages are accepted and even encouraged.  But their abuse has taken many down the dark tunnel of alcoholism, a path marked by anger, violence, and even death.

 

One of the places where the dangers of booze have been made manifest is on our streets and highways.

 

The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) reported that in 2009, an estimated 30.2 million people reported driving under the influence of alcohol at least once in that year.  Some 900,000 are arrested annually for DUI/DWI, a third of those are repeat offenders.  On average, around 12,000 people in this country die in alcohol-related accidents each year.

 

There is good news in the trends.  Since all states adopted a universal drinking age of 21 in 1981, alcohol-related traffic fatalities have fallen almost 50 percent.  In the 1970’s, half of all traffic deaths were attributable to alcohol.  Today, that figure is about one-third.

 

But that kind of celebration carries a heavy dose of rationalization.  If that figure represented only the intoxicated themselves, there might be found a bit of justice.  However, most of the people who are injured, and who die in alcohol-related accidents are innocents, those who just happened to be on the same road at the same time as the drunk.

 

In the United States, the legal limit is 0.08% blood alcohol content (BAC).  In some states, drivers under the age of 21 can be charged if there is any detectable alcohol at all.  In Germany, for example, where the legal drinking age is 16, standards are much stricter.  The allowable BAC levels start at zero for beginning drivers, with less than 2 years' experience, and drivers under the age of 21. The same zero-tolerance standard applies to drivers performing the commercial transportation of passengers.  For all drivers, the legal limit is 0.03% in conjunction with any other traffic offense or accident, and 0.05% without evidence of alcoholic impact.  A BAC level of   0.11% results in the suspension of the person’s driver’s license for about one year.  A BAC level of 0.16% means that the driver will require a successful Medical Psychological Assessment before the license can be reinstated.  These stringent rules, and their unbending enforcement, keeps alcohol-related deaths to around 5% of the total each year.

 

I think there is something we can learn from this.

 

Civil War: Events of November 1863

On November 2nd, President Lincoln, almost as an afterthought, is invited to make "a few appropriate remarks" at the dedication of the National Cemetery in Gettysburg.

On the 4th, Confederate General Bragg orders Longstreet to Knoxville to take on Union forces under Ambrose Burnside.

November 6th opened the Battle of Droop Mountain in Pocahontas County, West Virginia.  Confederate forcers under John Echols and a fellow named Patton were driven from their positions to the summit of Droop Mountain.  They were reinforced, but in the afternoon, Union General Averell turned the left flank, and sent dismounted cavalry in a brutal frontal assault against the main Confederate line.  The Rebs gave way, fleeing into the woods.  Echols eventually rallied his troops, but was forced to retreat back to Virginia.  As a result of this battle, Confederate resistance in West Virginia collapsed.

In the afternoon of November 7th, Union forces under John Sedgwick and William French attacked river crossings at Rappahannock Station and Kelly's Ford. After heavy fighting, the Union troops carried the positions.  The loss of these two bridgeheads destroyed Lee's plans for an offensive, forcing him to move his army back south again.

The siege of Charleston Harbor continued, with Fort Sumter falling under heavy shelling between November 7th and the 10th.  After a quiet couple of days, the shelling resumed on the 12th

Civil War: Events of October 1863

On October 3, President Lincoln called for a national day of thanksgiving at the end of November.

Starting October 2, Confederate cavalry General Joseph "Fightin' Joe" Wheeler began a series of raids in central Tennessee. On the 2nd, he raided a Union supply base at Powell's Crossroads and destroyed more than 700 wagons.  Pursuit was begun, but he managed to raid McMinnville and scooped up the 600 men of that Union garrison.  On the 5th, he cut the railroad between Nashville and Chattanooga at Stones River.  These raids helped tighten the Confederate siege of Chattanooga.

Also on October 5th, the submarine CSS David damaged the USS New Ironsides in Charleston Harbor.  The Union ship, as tough as her name, remained on station.

The next day, Confederate President Jefferson Davis embarked on an inspection tour through South Carolina and North Georgia, speaking in Atlanta on the 8th.

Starting October 9th, Robert E. Lee led the Army of Northern Virginia across the Rapidan River in an attempt to outflank the Army of the Potomac.  In response, Union General Meade withdrew to the river on the 10th.  On the 11th, heavy skirmishing broke out as the two armies clashed between the Rapidan and the Rappahannock.

Shutdowns, Furloughs, Sequesters, and the DC Merry-Go-Round

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

 

Like many of my fellow federal employees, I viewed the October 1st shutdown with a mixture of eye-rolling exasperation and quiet concern.  Unlike others, however, I still have to go to work, albeit sans paycheck.  But as of today, 12 days in, with no solution is sight, concern has turned to worry.

 

America is deeply divided.  In fact, that only view we all hold in common is a shared resentment for those in DC whose responsibility it is to solve problems like this (and who are still getting paid, by the way) before they become catastrophes.

 

The word "shutdown" is actually less descriptive of the current situation.  Those of us who are considered emergency essential, whose jobs involve the security of the nation, are still going to work.  Remember the pursuit and gunfire involving that woman who tried to drive onto White House grounds?  The cops who pursued her were (and still are) doing what is essentially volunteer work.  Most federal employees remain at home, filling the hours with long-delayed household projects.  Bills have already been passed ensuring that we will receive our backpay when this thing is settled.  In the meantime, we will sharply curtail household expenditures and dread that day when we are forced to dip into that emergency fund that every prudent fed has carefully nurtured.

 

So here we sit, the wealthiest, most powerful nation in the history of this planet rendered impotent by the poison of dueling extremism.

 

While disturbing and disruptive, the shutdown is not as serious as the debt crisis. If we the people haven't taken notice, the Chinese government, who own about a trillion and a half of our debt, are taking notice.  Last week, they issued a strongly-worded statement warning American that Chinese financial interests are at risk.  Within those words, many heard a thinly-veiled threat.

 

Blame.  Everyone wants to sling it; nobody wants to receive it.  Folks on the left blame the right; folks on the right blame the left.  But blame, however it is generously spread, has never solved a problem, never crafted a solution.  Solutions do not exist on either the right or the left, but in that common ground in the middle, the no-man's land called compromise.  Historically, compromise has been the great healer.  Inherent in that art is the principal that both sides must concede important things before peace can be restored.  For too many, compromise means "my way or the highway."  Pride and reputation erects walls between what is and what is possible.  But if those two sins can be set aside for a time, this thing, and the looming debt crisis, can be solved.