Monthly Archives: April 2015

Autobiographical, Guest Essay, History

ANZAC Day

Dateline: Saturday, April 25, 2015

Guest essay by Aaron Girard

ANZAC1

ANZAC Memorial

100th anniversary of ANZAC in Perth

Today is the holiday in Australia to commemorate the men and women who have served in the Australian and New Zealand armed forces. Today also marks the 100th anniversary of the Australian and New Zealand Armed Coalition forces landing on the shores of Gallipoli during WWI.

I was fortunate enough to be involved in the events today in Downtown Perth, which included a sunrise service at King’s Park and a parade down St. George’s Terrace, and included representatives from Normandy D-Day veterans to soldiers from the Afghanistan conflict. I must say that I was pleasantly surprised to see a wide diversity of backgrounds including Greek, Vietnamese, Korean, Malay, German, Bornean, Māori and Aboriginal peoples, as well as a representative from the Turkish government. It was an exciting experience filled with historical context and the chance to meet a cross section of the world’s population that I have never had the opportunity to mingle with before.ANZAC2

It seems like an appropriate time to remember my trip in December to the new ANZAC Museum in Albany, Western Australia.  One of the things I saw there gave me a very emotional moment. There was a plaque posted with a statement from the first President of Turkey, Kemal Ataturk (which you can see here).  It came to my attention that exactly 100 years ago today, Kemal Ataturk and Stanley Bruce, the future Prime Minister of Australia, met on the battlefield in Gallipoli, Turkey. When both of those men eventually became leaders of their countries, they met to proclaim governmental agreements and future peace, and exchanged gifts of memorabilia that they had carried with them on the battlefield, those many years ago. Until the day he died, Bruce kept that golden cigarette case as one of his most cherished possessions. Chilling and heart-warming at the same time, it gives an example of how things can come full circle and actually have a chance to work for the benefit of the people and countries of the world.

Interestingly enough, yesterday marks the 100th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide, as recognised by many countries in the world.  Also interesting is that the events that ocurred within 24 hours of each other on either side of the modern day country of Turkey are recognised very differently around the world after 100 years. If you are not familiar with the history of Armenia and the Caucasus region in general, I strongly suggest you read about it from multiple sources.  The region sits in the relatively small distance between places that you may know very well from modern events: Sochi, Russia; Mosul, Iraq; and Tabriz, Iran.  The region is smaller than Texas, for frame of reference.  So many different cultures, languages, and religions squeezed into a small area bordered on two sides by seas (Black to the west Caspian to the east) has caused significant hardship but also amazing historical figures and stories over the last several millennia.

In any case, I am not trying to profess or make political statements. I just found it very interesting how two similar events involving similar peoples on almost exactly the same day have such different outcomes after a century. They both were represented here on the other side of the world.  It’s a very interesting dialogue about how the world works, and I have not seen the two events remarked upon at the same time.  It also made me think about how important education of events in our world, past and current, is so important to how things turn out in the future.

Keep thinking and keep educating yourself and others. I’ll continue thinking and writing (this time I promise). 🙂

Aaron Girard © 2015

You can email Aaron ==> Email Aaron

Autobiographical, Generational, History, Sports

Simply Degenerate

Date line: April, 2015.

My wife and I made a little getaway to Missouri this past February. If you’ve been there in winter, there’s a good chance you’ll understand why I often call it “the state of Misery.” Anyhow, en route from Saint Louis to Hannibal we spent time in the formerly not so well-known — but now very well-known — community of Ferguson, Missouri.

Two rounds of riots there in 2014 resulted in multiple cars and buildings being burned. Businesses were ruined. These riots were the aftershocks from (1) the killing of Michael Brown by police officer Darren Wilson, and (2) the Saint Louis County Grand Jury’s decision to NOT indict said police officer Darren Wilson.

Ferguson Brewery, Ferguson, MO

Ferguson Brewery, Ferguson, MO

We found the community of just over 20,000 to be really quite delightful. Churches and grocery stores and homes of all sorts: like you’d expect anywhere else. We stopped in at the Ferguson Brewing Company, a cheery micro-brewery with a full kitchen and pub menu. There we enjoyed lunch and a beverage. The place was hopping, and the beers we selected were hoppy too. The patrons were mostly pale faced, but scattered about were ebony and ivory-skinned customers, even sitting at the same tables.

We made it a point to drive through the sections of town where buildings and been torched – destroyed by fires from the riots. Laundromats, liquor stores, auto parts stores, restaurants. Pretty much without rhyme or pattern, concentrated mostly in two different parts of the city. Actually, some destruction spilled over into nearby Dellwood, MO.

We stopped at the spot where young Mr. Brown was killed. Even in February, six months after the shooting, there was still a memorial to him there, on Canfield Drive, near Copper Creek Court.

We felt it important to spend some time there: to contemplate the location and its significance. It’s only a few blocks from the Ferguson Market, on Florrisant Avenue.

[What city has TWO major streets near each other with the same name? In this case “Florrisant.” Oh yeah, Atlanta. Almost every other street is named

Michael BrownMemorial, Canfield Dr, Ferguson, MO

Michael BrownMemorial, Canfield Dr, Ferguson, MO

Peach Tree.]

The Ferguson Market is where the petty theft – and physical abuse of a 120-lb weakling store clerk by 290-pound Mr. Brown – occurred that resulted in Officer Wilson locking onto a young man of Mr. Brown’s description. That theft occurred about 10 minutes before their most unfortunate fateful rendezvous.

This was all brought freshly to mind for me a few weeks ago during the NCAA basketball tournament. March Madness.

“What?”

Right. The College basketball national championship tournament. Why? Because white people riot too, and for really, really stupid reasons. Over and over again.

Kentucky was the odds-on favorite to win the championship. Basketball is religion in Kentucky. The Lexington-based school has won 8 National championship titles, including as recently as 2012. They’ve been runner up twice, including 2013, and National semi-finalists, an additional four times, to my counting at least, including 2011.

That’s a pretty impressive record, given that there are, oh, I don’t know, something like 400 colleges and university basketball teams competing at the Division-I level.

But this year they lost to Wisconsin in the National semi-final match. Which means if there are 400 schools, their basketball team is better than 398 of them. So what did their fans in Lexington, Kentucky do after the semi-final match? They rioted. Burned cars. Trashed buildings. Barricaded the streets. Fought Police.

Really? — Really.

And this is nothing new. Last year, 2014, Kentucky made it all the way to the National Championship game and lost to Connecticut. Guess what?

The fans in Lexington rioted.

Ah, precedence.

In 2012 Kentucky made it to the National semi-final. That time they defeated in-state super-hated arch-rival Louisville. Kentucky won the game. Win? They won? Yes, they won.

The fans in Lexington rioted.

Two nights later Kentucky was in the National championship match and won, defeating Kansas. This time another win!! A National Championship. Oh the glory.

The fans in Lexington rioted.

More precedence.

Back in 2011 Kentucky was defeated in the National semi-final by Connecticut (a bit of a nemesis) …

Yes, you guessed it …

The fans in Lexington rioted.

You know. Just the basic stuff. Burn cars. Tear down light posts. Throw rocks at police. Vandalize buildings. Mug passers-by.

You’d think the police and city fathers in Lexington would be a bit wise to the whole thing by now.

What is weird is that the fans are mostly well-lubricated white people rioting because the mostly black student athletes performed so well that their expectations were that they would win a Nation championship … or else. Or else what? We’ll riot either way.

In 2013 Kentucky’s record was not good enough to even get into the championship tournament (a fate that befalls the vast majority of teams). So, Kentucky pretty much sucked that year … at least by Kentucky standards. Guess what? NO RIOTS! Go figure.

White people rioting for stupid reasons (or no reason) is nothing new. Even in my current “home” metro area – Denver, CO – fans rioted when the Colorado Avalanche won the NHL’s (National Hockey League) Stanley Cup in 1996. Sure this was the first major championship in Colorado. That warrants a riot. (#sarcasm).

The next year the football Broncos won the Super Bowl. No riot. But then they won their second straight Super Bowl, 1998, … more riots. Really? Yeah. Let’s get really pissed and burn some sh*t. No riots when the Avalanche won the Stanley Cup again in 2001. A whiff of sanity.

They don’t riot for no reason in Milwaukee. Or in the whole state of Wisconsin.

I do remember the summer riots of 1967: Barricades in the street. Our humble suburb blocked off at the municipal city limits. Restrictions on gasoline sales: it had to go right into auto tanks; not into portable tanks. People who wanted to mow their lawn (pre-electric mowers) had to bring the grass-cutter right to the gas station.

A permanent scar on our country and on our memory. Newark, NJ, 1967

A permanent scar on our country and on our memory. Newark, NJ, 1967

It was a time of tremendous social unrest – upheaval – and Milwaukee was not spared. Those ’67 riots were not senseless or without reason. They were tied in with the civil rights movement, disappointment with lack of progress from the ’64 Civil Rights Acts, and the move toward freedom of expression, and of course the anti-war movements of the ‘60s. There were a shocking 159 riots in the United States in 1967. One Hundred and Fifty-nine. Mostly race related, they broke out in LA, Cleveland, Minneapolis, everywhere it seemed. The most violent were Detroit and Newark. Too vivid. Too vivid. I remember this gruesome Life Magazine photo from the Newark riots. Burned into my RAM.

The causes, racial participants, locations and provocateurs of these riots were far ranging. From Encyclopedia.com:

“… the year 1967 ended with a final act of violence in late October, when antiwar protesters from around the country moved on Washington, D.C. Those who gathered at the Lincoln Memorial on 21 October were largely white, largely middle class, largely educated, and formerly mainstream in their politics. But, when U.S. Army units met them with fixed bayonets, they took to the streets of the capital in an out-break of destructive rioting and constructive confrontation, and 650 were arrested.”

Fixed bayonets for those expressing freedom to assemble? Freedom of expression? Hell yeah, riot. We don’t turn the military on the public in the US. Riots!

Still, I don’t think that places like Wisconsin or Minneapolis have experienced totally pointless riots, like Lexington. And Denver. Maybe I’m wrong. But I doubt it.

I’ll get in trouble for this, but I can’t help but wonder if this behavior doesn’t carry some sort of genetic pass-me-down from each area’s ancestral settlers.

Wisconsin was mostly settled by the “quiet disciplined” sort. Mostly Germans. Many Poles and Norwegians. Some English, with their stiff upper lips. Work hard. Don’t make a fuss. Stick to your own business and do it well. Get it done and move quietly along to the next thing. “Don’t rock the boat” type of settlers.

Early Irish and Scottish immigrants to the New World were largely unwelcomed by the English and moved west, settling in the rugged Shenandoah and Appalachian Mountains. When the Cumberland Gap popped open they began moving into the territory that would become the states of Kentucky and Tennessee.

I’m not calling the Scots and Irish “rioters” (in fact, I love them, their culture and sense of humor), but they probably don’t have a reputation for spontaneously breaking into (a) drink, (b) song, (c) dance, and (d) fight for no reason. Germans, Poles, Norwegians … they just don’t do that. Ok, maybe they do the drinking part. ☺

Before I get in any more trouble, I’ll close with saying that Wisconsin lost in this year’s (2015) NCAA championship match to Duke University – after defeating Kentucky in the semi-finals. I’ll admit to being partial, but there were many questionable calls during the second half. It seemed that every 50/50 out-of-bounds ball was awarded to Duke, and Wisconsin frequently fouled Duke players with their chins, foreheads and eye-brows.

Nevertheless: There were no riots.

Wisconsin fans did not riot when they beat Kentucky in the semi-final, nor when they lost to Duke in the final.

For emphasis: Last year, 2014, Wisconsin made it all the way to the semi-finals, losing to Kentucky (by one point!, 74-73).

There were no riots.

Meanwhile, in late 2014, while overwhelmingly mostly peaceful riots were going on around the entire country in sympathy with the mostly peaceful protests in Ferguson, something weird was going on in Keene, New Hampshire. Keene State College – mostly white, upper class privileged kids – had their annual Pumpkin Festival.

Yes. You guessed it. … Riots broke out.

Riots broke out.

Drunken brawls. Random fires and mayhem. Burned and overturned cars. Vandalized buildings.

The media are deluding us.

Well, New Hampshire is the “Live Free, or Die” state.  Love the motto.  Hate the riots.

Wishing you peaceful, riot-free and headache-free spring, summer and fall.

Peace,
Joe Girard © 2015

[1] Encyclopedia.com: 1967 Riots. http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1G2-3401803621.html

Autobiographical

Old Faithful

Old Faithful

A normal placid trip through the canal takes, oh, about 24 hours most of the time. Passage requires transport through various locks; gates have to open and close.  It’s all pretty closely monitored with a computer and a closed-loop control system. Traffic jams are to be avoided; smooth flow for all cargo is highly desirable. Smooth, slow and steady wins the race.

Leisurely Canal Travel

Leisurely Canal Travel

Powered movement is usually quite slow and leisurely. That’s ok, because we really don’t want these things to move in a hurry along the old canal.  That can put stress on the system. It was designed for slow, almost casual, progress.

There actually are some interesting, um, sights along the way.  And some noteworthy stops as well.

The particulars of your genetic makeup, your lifestyle and diet can affect the time for passage through the canal.

For instance I — as an aerospace engineer who works on a secured campus where access to every building requires a computer controlled scan of an RFID security badge — well, my lifestyle includes a few cups of coffee every morning.  Also, lots of water and eight to ten servings of uncooked vegetables and fruit every day.

Consequently, a trip through my canal is usually only about 12 to 18 hours.  Of course, I’m speaking here about the alimentary canal. Yes, the old digestive tract, the canal that begins at one’s mouth, proceeds through several locks and gates, hits a couple lay-bys, and ends at … how do I put this nicely? Well, I can’t … it ends at one’s anus.

Thanks to the hydration, the fruits and the vegetables, the locks and gates for me are usually wide open.  To spice it up a bit: Beverages with caffeine in them are often nicknamed “Morning Thunder”, and for good reason. This means that sometimes the 12 hour delivery catches up with the 18 hour delivery, so it can be rather a significant cargo.

My office is in a building with two men’s restrooms.  When Morning Thunder happens – usually around 8 to 9AM – it’s simply astounding how often the first restroom I go to is closed for its daily cleaning.  I mean, what are the odds? I love the cleaning staff, but, wouldn’t 6AM or Noon be more appropriate?

Also – I know this is weird – why does this often happen to several people at the same time?  I mean, sometimes both restrooms are occupied.  As luck would have it, that’s usually when the gates and locks are wide open; the freight train is coming downhill, with a full load of coal, and the brakes are getting weak.

Runaway Steam Locomotive -- full load of coal freight

Runaway Steam Locomotive — full load of coal freight

I do have a recourse. The adjacent building has a restroom that has never, ever, ever, failed me.  I call it “Old Faithful.” There is a dark hallway in that building, just past the closest door to my building – it of course has a security badge reader — and for some reason no one is ever in it.  And I’ve never found the restroom in that hallway occupied.

I’ve only told one other person about this restroom, and if he ever tells anyone else about it, I swear I’ll kill him.

Often as I make my way to Old Faithful a remarkable phenomenon occurs: “Gophering.”  Or sometimes it’s “Prairie dogging.”  Just knowing that Old Faithful is waiting for me and my keister to rest on her wonderful seat in my moment of great need – in all my desperation and anticipation of relief – my brain and control system allow a slight, premature involuntary opening of the final gate.  Thankfully, Old Faithful has never let me down. Has always provided a safe port for that dramatic, last moment, splashdown.

A few weeks ago I had that Morning Thunder feeling.  Restroom #1: closed for cleaning.  Restroom #2: Occupied.  I always have a choice: I can cycle back to restroom #1, hoping it’s ready soon, then back to #2 (ha, ha, #2) if need be. Or I could go into a Ladies’ room.  I’ve never chosen that latter.

If I shuffle back to #1 and it’s still being cleaned, then shuffle back to #2 (ha, ha again) and it’s still occupied, I’ve wasted a full minute, and the freight is even farther down the chute, piling up against the shutter valve.

That day I needed Old Faithful. I could not risk the extra minute. The locks were flooded and the gates of final protection were losing their commitment to their sworn duty.

I commenced to do the penguin waddle to the exit door, so that I could then amble across the small parking lot to the adjacent building.  There would be good Old Faithful.

I left the building. As the door closed behind me I had a sort of vague uncomfortable feeling.  Something wasn’t quite right.  And it wasn’t just the onset of gophering or the shifting of my balast.  It was like the feeling you get when you leave the house and halfway to where you’re driving you get the feeling you’ve left something simmering on the stove, or the windows open, or the bathtub water running.

Focus Joe, focus.  You can do it. Penguin waddle. Only 20 yards across the parking lot to the next building and then a few more yards to Old Faithful.

Then that feeling agian.  And I realized! I realized that my security badge was not where it was supposed to be: on the lanyard around my neck.  No lanyard equals no badge.  Without the badge I could not get past the security badge reader into the building where Old Faithful awaited my dramatic buzzer beating appearance. In fact, I could not even return to my own building. I was stranded.  Stranded in the parking lot.  And I was absurdly desperate.

 

Panic.

I experienced genuine panic accompanied with acute awareness of my case of steadily progressing Gophering. Prarie dogging.  Please, God, someone show up and hold the door for me. Are there bushes near here?

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds.  Concentrate.  Squeeze. You can do it buddy.

Thirty seconds.  I’m pretty sure I’ll need to drive home for … um … a wardrobe adjustment.

That’s when I put my hand into my sports coat and found … ah ha! … my security badge with the RFID strip.

Why did I put it there?  No time for that thought.

Waddle.  Waddle.  Waddle.  Open the door.

Penguin squeezes his buns and waddles to Old Faithful. Oh, Old Faithful.  OH please!, Please Old Faithful, don’t let me down.  Please!

The freight train is now at the station.  There’s Old Faithful and her door is … ajar.  She is available for me.  Again.

Oh thank you! Shipment safely delivered.

That was one very special delivery.

Every single day is special, in its own way.

Wishing you peace and tidy, timely deliveries.

 

Joe Girard © 2015

Vowel Movement

Vowel Movement

Autobiographical, Current Events, Politics

Miss Buzz; Double Click

Dateline: April 12, 2015

It was quite breezy along the front range in Colorado today. A strong high pressure pushed air currents over the Rockies and pulled down some cooler Canadian air.

One of Zephyr’s effects was to tug at the many petals that had emerged these past 10 days or so, as spring had sprung to life.  I was noticing mostly the brilliant whites and pink blossoms of fruit trees, not to mention lilacs and many others. The petals, like mute winged fairies, floated gently, settling near their twiggy sources.

I recall last year about this time — when working on pruning some shrubs and doing some early weeding — that I heard a tremendous buzzing. Like an enormous joy-buzzer was going off in the neighborhood.  I could not discern its source, so I continued busily at my tasks.

After a few minutes of attentive listening while puttering away, the source become evident: our non-fruit-bearing apple tree only 15 feet away was in brilliant full bloom!  Upon it and about it were thousands and thousands of bees doing their business.

Busy Bee at work

Busy Bee at work

It was beautiful.  I moved myself right up to the trunk of the tree, leaning against it,  and enjoyed the sense of life happening all around me.

We’ve heard so much about bees being in great distress.  It was good to see them healthy, buzzing, making honey for their hives and maybe some Pooh Bear somewhere.  Life on earth would be so much poorer without the diligent contributions of the hardworking honey bee.

This year it’s been different.  As I’ve walked about the neighborhood and worked in our yard this past week I have heard no buzzing.

At first I didn’t think much of it. Then I guessed perhaps it was a sort of tone-deafness on account of the incessant ringing I’ve had (at just under 4,700Hz) in my head since the car crash, last May 1.

But no.  I’ve walked right up and into the branches of many full-bloom fruit trees. There are hardly any bees. On each tree I can find at most two, or three. No Buzz. This saddened me.

I’m usually rather skeptical to the insistence of greenies and tree-huggers that we have to do this, and do that, and sacrifice our way of life, in order to save this or that aspect of Mother Earth.

But the plight of the bees is, I believe, real.  Bee populations have been caving. Hive collapses (CCD: Colony Collapse Disorder) are epidemic. They’ve been overcome by parasites, most notable Nosema ceranae. Fungicides have made the problem worse; not necessarily by directly killing the insects, but by weakening their resistance to parasites. And insecticides have indeed had a direct effect; if not killing adult bees, then by killing the larvae who consume nectar from the pollen.

Agriculture in this country would take a horrible beating if we lost our bees, not to mention much natural beauty.

________________

I’m kind of ashamed to admit that as a young boy I would catch bees in jars, like empty Flintstone Jelly or Skippy peanut butter jars. Actually, I’m also kind of ashamed to admit that I ate Skippy.  But what did I know? I recall once proudly showing my mum a jar full of perhaps two dozen honeybees, and a few clover blossoms, in an old  jar. She was not impressed.

Wisconsin lawns were full of sweet, sweet clover.  And the bees loved it. It was almost unfair. Almost. When a wee bee lit on the little pollen laden ball-looking blossoms, I’d lean over, crack the lid of the jar, and slide it over the bee and blossom together … and into the jar they would go.  There may have been some informal contest between some lads in the neighborhood to see who could capture the most bees.  In the end, we’d set them free. We often got a sting or two in the process.

Later, with more than a twinge of guilt, I learned that honey bees die shortly after delivering their sting. So simply are they designed that they make the ultimate sacrifice just to defend their blossom, their payload, or their hive … which is pretty much all the same thing to them.

Catching Fire Flies was more difficult.  No sweet bait to lure them.  But it was more practical, no?  If you could catch a whole jarful you’d have a natural lantern for the rest of the evening.  Try as we might, it never seemed to work out that way.  My sister was better at catching fire flies: more patience. But at least we didn’t get stung. And no fire flies died.

I actually do miss the buzz.  The spring buzz.  Busy bees are buzzy.  And that’s good. But if the ringing in my head ever goes away, I won’t miss that [(it’s not really in my ears, but I “hear” it)].

__________________

Meanwhile, my knee replacement recovery is going well.  Of course, it’s not as quick or as continuously improving as I’d like.  It still swells and gets a bit cranky. The muscles are learning how to work with their new partner.

I had written just before the replacement surgery that my left knee — the one I called “Click” — was going away. [essay here]

Well, I have a surprise lately: new knees “click.”  Especially when climbing stairs, or when tired.  Turns out the muscles have to tighten up a bit after surgery and patients can experiencing clicking — even clunking — for a year, or more. Oh well.

Now I call my left knee “Double Click.”  Or sometimes “Click Two”; (or Click Too).  It’s like a whole new relationship.

_____________________

Today’s breezes portend things to come later this week. Some chilly, wet and breezy weather should bring much needed moisture and … gasp! … perhaps a few inches of snow.  A not uncommon occurrence in Colorado — April snow.  But it usually means bad news for all those white, purple and pink pretty petals.

Good news/bad news about Double Click: I no longer get arthritic pain when storms approach and descend upon us. That’s good, but I had gotten used to the extra warning.

Cheers and wishing you a healthy spring and a fruitful summer!

Joe Girard © 2015

Postscript update, April 13, 2015: The bees are back.  I heard and found them en masse during neighborhood walk today! Yay! Not quite as many as last year, but the apple tree in our front yard was abuzz this afternoon. (see photo below).

 

[1] http://qz.com/107970/scientists-discover-whats-killing-the-bees-and-its-worse-than-you-thought/

[2] http://www.beyondpesticides.org/pollinators/chemicals.php

[3] http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2008/may/23/wildlife.endangeredspecies

 

Bee on Blossom, Girard front yard, 4/13/2015

Bee on Blossom, Girard front yard, 4/13/2015