speed bumps

I read somewhere that if you hold a pencil between your front teeth, sideways, without letting your lips touch the pencil, you will cheer up. It makes your brain think you're smiling. If you go out in public, of course, it makes a lot of other people smile, and that's good too. The trick is not to bite the pencil in half over a speedbump.

Speedbumps drive me crazy. They do not stop speeding, except at the point of impact. I, personally, hit the horn when I hit the bump, then speed away with squealing tires to release some anger. Some people believe that they reduce speeding, but they just reduce traffic in general. In other words, they move the problem over a block, until the people on that street get their own speedbumps because of the increase in traffic and speeders. This process fuels the perception that they work.

Politicians and homeowners' association officials like them because it makes the people think they are doing something. They don't like to be accused of doing nothing. Do something, even if it doesn't work. Our neighborhood is built around a big loop, so there is no other street to use to get to your house from anywhere.

There is also a perception that they will stop or reduce crime. I guess they think that criminals prefer smooth street for getaways, maybe even in a high-speed chase. I can just picture two masked guys in an unmarked van, slowing to read the sign that says, "Slow! Speedbumps ahead!" and turning around to find a smoother neighborhood. Even the burglars in our own neighborhood will go elsewhere to work.

politics

Well, we're not supposed to discuss politics or religion in polite company, but I'm talking to myself here. It's my blog and I'll say what I want to.

I want to like both candidates better than I do. Flip-flops don't bother me a lot, because new information always comes along that we hope a candidate would listen to. A wise person said that "I wouldn't want to join a club that would invite me in." A corollary is that I wouldn't trust anyone who would actually want to be a politician, particularly a successful one. You have to sell a little bit of your soul to the devil or the party or the contributors to stay pure. Maybe pure is overrated anyhow.

Confucius said something like "To know that you know what you know, and to know that you don't know what you don't know, is true wisdom." I don't know, for example, why McCain is so reluctant to put any distance between himself and George. He is giving George credit for lowering the price of oil by $3.00 a barrel by announcing his support for offshore drilling, and joining that support. What about the fact that the price of oil went from $28.00 to $143.00 in George's watch? Just being practical, support for offshore drilling may cost McCain the Florida vote, because we're nuts about our Gulf.

Another thing I don't know is why Obama doesn't do more to counter the internet chatter that "exposes" him as not just a Muslim, but a secret agent of Al-Quaida who has been on a mission since before 9/11 to take over this country and turn it over to them? Show some backbone, Barack! I dunno.

Fourth of July, 2008

Kevin, June's husband, cooked burgers and brats for all the family, 34, counting cousins, and would not yield his spatula to anyone. The twins are easier to tell apart now, because Daniel is the hairy one, Jacob (shown with Doug) is the smooth one. He's on crutches following foot surgery, but will be back marching as a cadet at Texas A & M this fall. The hairy one is at Baylor, but temporarily working as an intern for McCain at the campaign headquarters in D. C.

reunions

Fifty years ago, those two kids were happy to be married.

Twenty years later, CJ still looks pretty happy.

Doug and Lazara were cautiously optimistic.

June and Sarah Jean always had a lot in common.

Our 50th wedding anniversary was a big reunion of family and friends. Our "kids" planned a big dinner at Pepin's, with every detail carried out: flowers, appetizers, drinks, table arrangements, even a slide show covering more details of the past 50 years than me might have wished. I told Jason I had never seen such a slide show except at funerals, so he said I am "Ready to go." He hosted a big round table, June and Kevin took one, Doug and Lazara had another, leaving CJ and me to host the head table. I tried to make a speech, but was pretty much speechless. The others did much better, and many filled out memory squibs that went in the scrapbook Lazara made. Some of those were better read in the privacy of our home. More to come.

Cappy

I guess this is the only way dogs get obituaries. Our paper is so full of ones about people, there's not much room for news. Most of them are boring, but at my age, it's a good idea to check them out.
Well, Cappy napped out a couple of days ago. He was 14, more or less, and was the happiest dog we ever had. He was so friendly to man and beast, June said he could have been an insurance salesman. She found him rummaging for garbage and wandering the streets of downtown Tampa when he was a youngster. She brought him home, so dirty and encrusted with sandspurs he had to be shaved to get a bath. That was OK with him, but so were meals, shots, car rides, the vet's office, sleeping on the sofa, escaping, it was all good. He particularly liked soft leather such as boot tongues, topsider laces, and suspender loops. Paper products were good, including library books and money. He once ate, and returned, $21.00 in small bills, which I soaked, dried, taped together and redeemed at the bank.
He started slowing down a couple of weeks ago, and Anita and Buddy and I just slowed down our morning walk a bit. One day he quit eating, the next day he quit drinking, and then he lay down on the warm bricks of the patio and quit breathing. Buddy sat with him until the end, and when I saw him walking around him in circles, I took his blanket out and wrapped him up and it was over. Cappy, you will never be replaced. We miss you.

It's hot

Yes, it's hot again, like August in Florida. It happens every year, and every year we're surprised. I'm walking the dogs with Anita every morning, all around the little pond. It's a little less than half a mile, but we're drenched when we get back around 8:00 AM. The dogs are in their little fur coats and their tongues are dragging. Buddy is missing the scooter ride he used to get when I wasn't up to walking yet. Blind as a bat, but he could hop in board and sit between my feet. He would stick his head out when one of his friends came in range, to get a good sniff. He also enjoyed the envy of his friends who had no chauffeur.

The birds and otters are amazing. This morning we noticed about 20 mallards, one muscovy, and a few ibis lined up on the bank, watching the water. There were two or three otters, putting on a show, fishing for breakfast. We haven't seen as many this year as last, when we watched six or eight babies grow up, belonging to two or three families. We have been joined by a roseate spoonbill this year. We've seen them occasionally in the past, but this one is there every day now, eating non-stop. His name is Pinky.

I'm enjoying playing the dulcimer and guitar again. For some reason, the six months of mending didn't make me want to play. Even though I had plenty of time, it seemed like work. I was pretty weak, and that's my excuse. I'm really glad to be past that, and I retired the cane August 6th, six months after surgery. Some of the tunes rattling around in my head need to be put on paper. I just finished putting a lullaby on Tabledit, the music writing program. It was one my Daddy used to sing to me, and I found the words he had printed out on hotel stationery, from Macon, Georgia. He must have gotten lonely on a trip. The music came back when I read the words. If I can figure out how, I'll post it.

exercise is a pain

I finally gained enough strength, according to the doctor, to begin physical therapy. Easy for him to say. My first session on Tuesday was to measure how well I could do certain simple things, like raise my foot off the mat, while lying on my back, then sides, then front. The therapist wrote down that I had worked up to zero. Then he told me to do 2 sets of 20 anyway. That gives me lots of room for improvement. I have eight others, such as hold a ball between your knees, ride a bike, push down with my knee, that I can do. I'm supposed to do these two or three times a day at home. I can't do the bike because I gave mine away when it got too boring.

Medicare will pay for 20 sessions at the clinic. At twice a week, that takes me through August. I am very glad I didn't know in January that I'd still be learning to walk in August. In general, we don't want to see the future, no matter what we say.