Saturday, September 21, 2002
FLORIDA FLAP
The State of Florida recently had a re-run of Election Day mishaps.
For some reason the problem did not come as a surprise to most people when the Democratic Primary voters met with all sort of difficulties in casting their votes. Recounts were demanded and some such
secondary counts were made with little change in the end results.
After two years and millions of dollars spent on new “Touch” voting machines voting and even then irregularities turned up in many areas. Some had to do with disagreements on voting hours and there were
others, but the most interesting one, to me, was the fact that much of the troubles has been reported as being the direct result of the inability of election officials at the polls to read and comprehend enough English to undertand
the printed instructions which came with every touch voting machine concerning its proper use and maintenance.
This opens at least two cans of potential “worms”.
How many newcomers to our shores were hired to be poll watchers and such? Was this hiring done because someone needed to be politicallfy correct for that area so as to assure a favorable Spanish vote? That’s
one area in which investigations could be made and a suggestion or two set forth that would require such job holders for the day to, at least, be able to read basic English, or urge that some training instructions be held in advance of
the election day concerning the proper care and feeding of newborn voting machine. And, by the way, are such “employees” required to be citizens?
I can readily understand that special attention must be given to balance at this time in our history. Studies show that in 1999 fourteen percent of Americans over five years of age spoke a labguage other than
English in their homes. That was an eleven per cent increases over figures for 1980. Now, in 2002 ,the total has grown even higher, I’m sure and it has become more important than ever that an attempt be made to fit polls personnel
hiring more in line with averages available. Bi-lingual help should be sought, as well to help solve recurrent problems.
Another can of potential “worms” has nothing to do specifically within Florida voting machines hassle but this whole thing is almost sure to bring some “Let’s make English our official language!” devotees out of the woodwork. It
has been a while since Congress undergone a drive to make English official for the nation.
Lawmakers in D.C. who have such a thing in mind should remember that just about all of us stem from people who did not speak English - certainly as we know it today.
There is s no need to legislate what our of choice of language must be. The English language is, on it’s own, making strong inroads on all other tongues around the world. English is now predominate in the aviation
industry and on the Internet worldwide. English is fast becoming the language of trade, commerce, industry and business of all types. It is now the language of more than one half of the world’s population. China is now the largest
English speaking nation on Earth. About the only place you see English losing out, is in the lyrics, so-called, of most rock and music of our day.
Ireland tried this national language kick years ago when it was renamed Eire and Gaelic was made the official speech. Do you, or anyone you know, say: “Please pass the Gaelic potatoes, stew or whiskey?” It is
about as useless as two-dollar bills or coins in the United States - authorized by Congress.
A.L.M. September 21, 2002 [c618wds]
Friday, September 20, 2002
BIG ‘‘A”
By this time, most of us are aware that Yasher Arafat-head of the P.L.O. is once again, seated rather tensely at his big desk in the previously pounded compound at Ramallah, on the West Bank, with Israeli tanks
leveling their guns at his office window menancingly for the second time.
No word this time that he will be without electricity as he was the last this same “set” was used. He struggled though TV interviews “by candlelight” at that time which is not at all easy to do. You may remember
him hunkered down grimly behind his desk with a giant hand-and-a half gun on the desktop at the ready and, one would assume it to have been fully loaded and ready for whatever. With his relatively small hand pictured beside
that hugh gun, it appeared to be even heavier than it might have been. I envisioned Afafat firing the piece and I pictured the normal kick-back of the monster weapon knocking his burnoose loose.
Renewel of suicide attacks in Israel this past week caused the re-entry of the I-tanks at Ramallah and Arafat ought to be reading the “righting” they may do upon his walls at any moment.
It has been evident, I think, that Y. Arafat, Esq. has not had the full gamut of control, as was claimed, over all elements of his own government for some time. From the Aabic viewpoint, he has served well, I think,
many must admit, certainly as interim leader on the way to more competent leadership. He has been the Clown Prince of much of the Arabic world long enough, however. If at all, he has not, in recent years, had control over those
individuals prone to suicide bombing attacks. I wonder, at times, if they have any true control in the government or in the ragged edges thereof.
Arafat has had many narrow escapes over a score or more of years. It seems to me that I remember, just a short time ago, when he was being ferried out of his besigned and defeated location in Lebanon, him half-standing on
a load of something in the bed of a small pick up truck ...on a safe-passage “parade” ride to freedom and all the while waving victoriously every mile of the way seeming to anyone, anywhere especially to those of us watching TV at
home thousands of miles away.
The man has been a prime self-promotion expert in so many ways. I have talked with people who have met him and liked him, in spite of previous feelings about the nature of his place in world history. He has
charmed the leaders of many nations from time-to-time and his immense popularity with the common people is not to be underestimated as we begin to think of him as being in the Past Tense.
Once again Arafat has been offered Safe Passage. This time it is for a one-way ticket out of Israel (I assume the recent offer is still valid) with all doors, gates and loopholes closed against his return at any time.
Take it, Yasher. Go. Go, now.
It is past time for you to join your or wife and child in Paris.
Get out while you still have a chance of survival, and let the rest of the world worry about who will take your place. Don’t push your luck too far.
You are leaving a pair of gunboat-size sandals behind you, too.
Knowing that should make you fell a bit smug and laughing up your roomy sleeve.
So long, Large “A.”
A.L.M. September 19, 2002 [c602wds]
Thursday, September 19, 2002
HERE WE GO AGAIN.
Iraq has decided to allow United Nations arms inspectors to return to their country to try to locate any prohibited weaponry development.
“Decided” may not be the exact word to use. They have stalled on this point long enough. Four years gives them sufficient time to either hide any such work being done; to export evidence of such a project or to
to rig up something to make inspectors believe their scrutiny has caused a fundamental change in some way if such an activity has been underway. I think Saddam Hussein may have been “convinced” rather than that he simply
decided of his own will, that it was time to back off a bit to let inspectors nose around once more. President George W. Bush for one, seems to have been pretty well fed up the stay on inspection and was get urgently huffy about it,
leaning toward the point of unilateral forays to do something about it rather than waiting for UN action. The actual strand of fiber which fractured the camel’s back was, I think.
when Saudi Arabia, just this week, agreed to allow U. S. planes to operate from bases within their borders and, with toothy smiles in place, seemed to be urging other Arabic nations to follow through with other element of assistance
such as became available in the “coalition” of the Gulf War era.
“Uh,oh!” Sad-Hu must have whistled over his morning coffee at one of his twenty- seven palatial residences (I think, it was 27 at last count) and commented to cronies present that it was time to concede a small point to keep
fellow Arabian associates lulled into acceptance of his over all wishes.
His “offer” seems generous enough, too.
“Without restrictions” he has plainly said, which is far different from the way it has been in the past. What could be more fair, open and honest, some are saying.
One would imagine Iraqi officialdom and even the public, if they knew of such developments, were beginning to get a bit edgy with George W. Bush talking in such stern terms which could be readily understood
and which could lead trouble...real trouble. Their mentor, of course, cannot allow himself to retreat but he stands ready, even eager, at times, to engage in strategic rearrangment of position.
So, he steps aside and allows inspectors to enter through the screen door. He may actually hold the main door ajar for their entrance and he will refrain from cautioning them about stepping too heavily on the royal
rugs or to avoid singing high notes in the area where the family crystal is on display...all such common rules covering such visits
Don’t expect Sad-Hu., or any of the Iraqi officials, to invite the inspectors in for lunch. This is more like opening the front door to allow the man in to read the gas meter in the basement and then to get the hell out,
rather than a social visit.
For the moment - all is unusually quiet on the I-Q front and it will take about a month to get an inspection team on site, I would guess. In the meantime, just back from the ranch with his linguistic lariet swinging,
President George W. Bush shows little signs of toning down the rhetoric which has awakened some key Arabic listeners and even caused a few UN minds to pay attention, as well.
Then will be lots of talk..talk...talk... from all sides.
Rappy days are here again!
A.L.M. September 18, 2002 [c592wds]
Wednesday, September 18, 2002
RECALL
Some people I know seem to have the uncanny ability to remember dates of importance and some of little consequence whatever. It makes no matter if it happened last week or a decade or more ago. They
have it ready and waiting right there on the tip of their notebook mind.
I often feel silly when they do this in my presence. I have had trouble spelling my own second name, so memory is not among my fortes if I have any.
Other do ,too. They feel touchy when others remember what they cannot, I find.
I was talking with a couple the other evening (I have forgotten what night it was) and the husband said they had run into a friend of theirs a day or so ago who greeted them with the question: “Well, I guess, you
two are getting all excited this week, right?” He seemed to know what they should be celebrating. He must have seen a blank look on their faces because he offered an explanation at once.”Your twenty-seventh wedding
anniversary is coming up Saturday!” He then listed several other events which took place at about the same time, as if to prove his declaration. He finished with “Y’know, Mac, you don’t look fifty-one years old at all!” and cited the
exact date of birth. The couple said they were tempted to ask what time of day or night the natal event took place
but refrained from doing so b ecause they though he might have an answer.
There are others, too, who are more useful and less aggressive with their specific knowledge. I knew one young man who worked as a clerk in a store where everyone had a membership card which allowed us to
shop there. Every account -thousands of them - had a six-digit membership number. If such a number was mentioned it was “recorded” it in some magical manner. You never had to remember it, or look it up, ever again. He didn’t
even ask for your number. He knew thousands of such numbers and used them as needed. He would have been a real gem if he had worked in the parts department of a large industrial plant.
Have you ever encountered such a date-doter as that?
The ability does seem to run in families, however loosely.
My father- in-law, Marcus Arndt, could always come up with important family dates - birthdays, anniversaries,and special events within the family. He maintained a neat little, black notebook, however, in which
such information was detailed. His recall of items written in that small book was truly remarkable! Our grandson, Chris Shirkey is a walking telephone book. That tendency was aided and abetted by our readiness to “ask Chris” instead
of consulting our tri-city phone books for numbers we needed.
More power to ‘em, - all these people who remember things so well. May they stay close to me. But, as for the reasons I had in mind urging them to do so....I forget.
A.L..M. September 17, 2002 [c509wds]
Tuesday, September 17, 2002
IS IT TRUE?
Rumor always spreads rapidly, it seems. Truth has a bit more trouble in doing so, largely perhaps because we have to make doubly sure - these days - that what is being called “truth” is, indeed, what it claims to be.
Too many of us seem to think that because we have heard it on radio, seen it on TV, or in print, we can trust it to be accurate. Many people seem to hold that to be a sacred system and freely quote what they
have heard or seen as fact. If a well-known TV talking head says something is “Truth”, then, so be it - whatever he or she said - must be accepted as being authentic without question . It is also amazing how many people accept the
judgment of a vague group of unidentified persons called “they”. Think how often you have hear that credit given as a prelude to the stating of a fact which needs some strengthening. “They say...”; places the responsibility for
judging something to be true upon a group of people who must be, or must have been, experts on the particular subject being discussed. Who “they” are has never been established. Others try to narrow it down a bit by saying:
“Doctors tell us.....”or “leading health studies show that....”scientists tell us..” Worse yet ,perhaps: “Educators tell us....” and you can go right on down the list of occupational groups to quote authority which seems to authenticate the
”fact” about to be stated.
I knew one very sharp individual - a technical person - who had developed a habit of making statements he set forth sound true by alluding to the fact that certain authors... let’s say: “Finkleberger, Smothers and
Costerson”, for example, “once wrote” so-and-so. I first became aware of his learned book-hooks when I realized he always used three authors and alluded to the fact that the text was available only in German or Classical Greek.
The aura created was that he could read the originals and we could not. His trio-quotes came in handy when setting forth presentations in our business. Always three! He never read a book by just one author. And he often added
icing to the sweet cake when he made reference to the books as “papers”, even as in “learned papers”, ”theses” or “manuscripts.”
Exactly how do we ascertain that something is true?
To me it seems to be what verbally uncouth persons might call “a gut feeling.” You sense, ’way down, that something rings true or does not do so. The old maxim : ”if it seems too good to be true, it probably is”
stands as a valid test.
We seem to be a nation which is easily led to con game
altars. Millions of dollars are thrown away by people every year who fall for a line of lies made to appear to be truth. We are constantly grabbing at straws hoping ,thereby, to avert some supposed disaster just ahead.
Truth , I feel, is best found in faith. Faith in oursleves and in our
heritage; in our friends and family. Faith in a religious sense, is a positive factor...a willingness to see ourslves as we really are. It is also an essential guide in seeking out Truth. It seems that, even today, as it has for centuries, goodness
equates with achievments and higher goals while evil seeks a constantly lower level.
All that - and I still cannot decide how we accept something to be true. Someday, I suppose, it will prove to be a mathematical concept as so much of life and living is about us in this world.
A.L.M. August 4, 2002 [c620wds]
Monday, September 16, 2002
MOLE BANE
The lowly mole digging under your front lawn, does not care for noise. He prefers quiet as he works, and he needs his rest.
I found a way to invite such pests too re-locate elsewhere than in the front lawn. I simply made it uncomfortable for them there by introducing a bit of natural noise.
In former times, I could go along the side of the road on which we lived and gather those short, stubby beer bottles - pints, I assume they were, which used to be sold in six-packs. I don’t see them anymore, but any
bottle of like size and shape will do. Half a dozen is all you will need.
Dig holes and “plant” the bottles in your lawn. Leave just an inch or so sticking up - a bit more If you like but enough so that you can see them to avoid smashing them to bits with a lawn mower. Plant them in
existing courses which the mole has raised in the lawn. If you plant them low down, drop a thin drinking straw into each to mark the precise spot.
For a pre-view, or pre-hear, of what is to take place blow across the top of an empty bottle. Wind passing over the bottle neck edges will make steady noise like that and it will circulate throughout the burrow and
cause the mole to seek a new, quieter home.
How long will it take? That will depend on how much the wind blows, of course. If it rains you will have to go along and empty the bottles or the tone will get sharper an disappear. I have heard of people installing a
small electic fan to blow across the units, but I’ve never tried such a fine-tuning method myself. I never had to do so.
In case all of this is too much bother and doesn’t appeal to you, the title of this piece mentions a weed that is not too unsightly or odiferous and which, I think, can be found in some seed stores. It can be used as a
natural means of warding off moles and other such critters from yard and garden areas. It’s called “Molebane”. It grows perhaps three feel tall and fits well enough with taller background plantings. One or two such plants will take
care of a good-sized area.
A word of caution: try to re-locate your moles rather than killing them. They are often worth their weight in coin of the realm because they eat bugs, mice and other causes of damage to your garden. They do ,
however, also eat earthworms which is a mark against mole saving. Poisons and steel traps can be used of course, but only with special caution. Plain old moth balls dropped into runways at regular intervals will also so the job in some
situations, so try that method initially and if it doesn’t work go the bottle-planting route. Your neighbors may look at you oddly, but ignore any remarks they may throw your way. Just smile and look the other way. After all , your exiled
lawn moles may well end up getting re-established in their front yard.
A.L.M. August 31, 2002 [c-534wds]
Sunday, September 15, 2002
DEJA VU?
It has, no doubt, happened to you, too.
Have ever been somewhere and had a strange feeling come over ycu which insisted you had been there before?
Of course, you knew you had never been there before and you were startled when certain things seemed familiar.
I had such a feeling one time in a most unusual place. I was in Northern Ireland shortly before the end of World War II Europe. We were visiting that part of the Ireland which was open to G.I.s at the time. Two of us
knew we had Irish connections in our family histories, but it was long after that when I learned the many of the Irish and Scots leaving for America actually sailed from nearby Larne Harbor.
We had entered Ireland at Larne Habor, having come across the Irish Sea from the ferry port of Stanrear. I remember it was raining that morning and down the street to the wharf came a
marching band - dressed in green kilts and playing bagpipes! I might well have had some deje vu feelings at that point, but I registered only surprise in being welcomed with bagpipes in Ireland.
The feeling came over me severa days later when I was standing on the rocky shore near Bangor, Ireland looking out over the sea. For just a few moment I “knew”.... I knew I had been to that
exact spot. I knew it. I looked out across the bay beyond the narrow beach at the rusty hulk of a freighter broken in two on the rocks as a reminder of the war then in progress. Other such hulks were to be seen along the shore in those
days. My feeling was that I had just come up from that wreck except, in my memory it was a long, sleek sailing vessel which was broken on the rocks! I had, escaped , found my way through the pounding surf to the firm shore. I felt so
glad I had escaped; made it across the hundred yards of rock and froth I looked down and closed my eyes to orient myself. Then, since the feeling which pinned me to the spot was, suddenly no longer there, I walked away and
rejoined my friends.
“You o.k. , Andy?” asked Donovan and short, chubby little Irish buddy of mine from Lamay, Missouri. I said I was and we went up the hill to visit “Floral Park”, a botanical garden site.
Only recently did I find my family had marked Norse connections. We were from Norway originally and came to The Minch in Scotland, not as Vikings , but as farmers and herdsman two centuries after the Vikings
had raided Ireland, burned the villages and killed many people.
Over the years, I have thought of that moment. It seems to have been a wisp-like glimpse in to an area we do not, as yet, understand or even admit exists. I wrote a poem about it some years ago, too which may
have caught some elments of it I have missed herein.
Have you had such experiences? Or, am I the only such kook still on the loose?
A.L.M. September 14, 2002 [c-536wds]
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