Wednesday, August 31, 2005
ON A SCALE OF....I’ve been wondering why there is not more evidence of stranded, beached or dead marine life in areas which have been covered with flood waters? It seems logical that there should be a visible collection or crust of sea creatures in the low places who did not survive the land grab. There ought to be a scattering of fish, crabs, shells, and all types of seaweed with, perhaps, an occasional shark, whale or a stray manatee to hype tourism. I can understand, of course, that it may well be that fish and other moving marine critters leave water as it rushes toward shore and the daily routine of fish might well make them a bit leery of any marked change. The vibration of the surf - noise to us - might screen them from any threat of impending danger or entrapment. Changes in what we would call smell or odor might make them go for deeper waters or the presence of certain other types of sea-going life may suggest a change be undertaken - for reason unknown unknowable in fish living lore at that time. Mama Fishes must have devised a variety of handy sayings to teach their fry to go around such trouble - things found being suspect and sharp changes in currents or velocity. "Dry land doth not help a healthy haddock stay that way!"..that sorta thing - a warning to a sensible young fish to cut and run ...swerve and scoot or whatever it is young fish do to evade danger. Certainly, the daily living habits of such creatures dictates much of what they choose to do. When water gets shallow ...take off! I was amazed when people along the edge of the surf during prep time for our present hurricane kept making references to the increasing warmth of the incoming water. They spoke again and again of temperatures in the 90-degree area. Isn't that a bit on the toasty side for a fish? It may be that simple temperature changes keep fish away from waters rushing for their end. A.L.M. August 31, 2005 [c356wds]
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
VIVE LA BUS The last Greyhound bus to travel through the historic Shenandoah Valley of Virginia serving regular stations or stops at a point which, oddly enough duplicated many of the remount station locations the horse drawn public transportation which served the Valley portion of the Old Dominion State many years ago. The stage needed fresh horses about every ten miles or so if they were expected to maintain the rapid pace needed to maintain a schedule which made the rigorous trip worth while. Stage management chose stores, homes, a specific farm, an inn or tavern or, at times, a wide place in the road, to serve as a "Station" where fresh mount were stabled and ready to lug the heavy stage for a ten mile or so phase. The old maps tended to mark these stops on printed maps of the time by pen or pencil and this accounts to this day for the number of towns going by a name including the word mount places where you have trouble locating even a few low hills. Mount were be had at Crawford's and the stop called Mount Meridian was half way between the towns of Rocktown (Harrisonburg) and Basic (Waynesborough). Check out some others: Mt. Sidney, Mt. Jackson, and others faded away up and down the Valley and know that the Greyhound bus, directly or indirectly served them all for many years - and well, at that. There was, I suppose, only one rival to the Greyhound line - one called National Trailways and it operated an East-West configuration which caused it to serve as a feeder like when it crossed the Valley at Staunton. Early buses were, of course, little more than truck chassis fitted out with two rows of seats. The wagons which were used ahead of them had scant covering and the bus bettered them on that score with a box and sides top protect the riders from bad weather and from the dust and grime of traveling on unpaved roads. The early buses were high, too. They became lower and wider, in time and, today enjoy the most modern fittings and they are high up again with passengers seated above luggage storage and power equipment below. When it all began to fold in 200 the bus was high rise once more... sleek, fast powerful. sturdy, monsters arising out of the puzzling post war era and many have been privately purchased very much like the tycoon of yesteryear bought Pullman cars. Others buy them as recreational homes. The stage coach died because the trains were coming in and fewer passengers were awaiting arrival of the stage at the set stations. The problem is still here today. Americans are in love their cars, trucks, SUV's, RV 's such. We can't blame the railroads this time because it appears they have virtually ceased to exist save in symbolic sense only. They are dependent on just a few stops and are no longer concerned with those of us along the rural way. We depend on our cars now, and, the glamorous travel guides laud the idea that we will soon be flying the family chopper anyway. Don't wait around for the car to disappear. It will be a while. Who can say? We might even take another swing at the bus while waiting for our wings. Vive le Greyhound! Let them do our flying for us. A.L.M. August 3, 2005 [c576wds]
Monday, August 29, 2005
FAULTY FAME The pressures of being famous must be a great trial to those who attain to that level in our social system. We see unillustrated so often an our times as individuals come out of poverty to win sweepstakes; to gain sudden recognition for their artistic talents of one sort or another. We see them leap into prominence from obscurity and seemingly to demand and receive her adulation of vast throngs. The rocker/rapper and the nation's political leaders build a temple which lures worshipers from all over to pay loud homage and make generous tributes to advance the extent and worth of their new circumstances. It was Andy Warhol, the artist who became famous largely for having painted a picture of an empty soup can on canvas in realistic exactness, who limited fame and rather severely at that. He gave each of us an alloted "fifteen minutes of fame". A fellow artist, Jackson Pollock was said to have placed stretched canvas on end and by dribbling paints of many colors over the upper edge - some say -sight unseen - to create what have become acceptable works of art in our time. Some writers even insist that actually stood erect and threw fistsful of paint at the empty canvas sections. He did his best work when blind-folded, they will tell you if you push them, but you can't do that because that fame-fashioned scribe will lie through his or her artificially whitened false teeth to enhance what makes people deserving of fame and public adoration today. Being famous has become somewhat blended with be notorious. Among fellow criminals, I suppose, the man or woman who merits having their photograph numbered and placed on the walls of the nation' post offices under a "Wanted" banner have become famous, but not in the opinion of those of us who see their being there for exactly opposite reasons. Fame is often shallow. Fame is fickle. Fame is fanciful and fame can be false. Yet it still held to be something for which people might well strive. Achieving fame today is often another case of the journey being more rewarding than the destination. A.L.M. August 29, 2005 [c372wds]
Saturday, August 27, 2005
ONE MORE TIME There is one invention I've waited to see come forth over the years. When are we going to see automobile, truck and aircraft tires made from recycled plastic materials? We see other products coming into the market place at regular intervals which have proved to be successful and I wonder when we are going to make tires for all of our fine array of wheeled vehicles ...bikes, wagon, and carts for kids; roller skates, golf carts, ATV's, lawn mowers, farm equipment, roller skates, golf carts, and all cars, trucks and every bus as well as super-cars for the race place. It must have come to me along about the time we really started to take recycling seriously and began to return or stash away at home all of those handy plastic bags from the food markets that I realized what was being done with them. Shoppers, commonly thought they were being “melted down” and refashioned into more shopping bags – of a different, darker color each timer around. Not so. The neat, sturdy and corrosion and rot proof posts, poles, gates and pylons nearby farmers were buying and installing were of recyled plastic bags. The new flagpole down at the High School or at the V.F.W's war memorial site might be, plus your local garden shops flower pots,urns, holders and decoration. The new in your pathway are more likely to be of recycled plastic than of rare slate. I realize that manufacturing is not always as simple as it may seem and there may be very sound reasons for not developing vehicle tires of such materials.On possible reason may well be at concerning overheating of materials in such stringest use. If such a problem exist it should be made public so that others may work in solving it. To cast the potential of such a source of needed equipment aside because it might prove too costly, or that it might disruptive to present marketing strategies is unwise. Physical properties of the materials developed may vary greatly, but those qualites desired can be, in time, strengthgened and made more practical. It is quite true, I must admit, that solid rubber tires and others which were solid but with two-inch openings all around and throiugh thebody of the tire to allow the surfaced of the tire to relax - plus many versions of a modified surface - did not catch-on with the buying public when they were available in the past. It is obvious that we still need lab work and studies as to the problems which may be involved, but to keep the concept under lock and key is not the best way to go about advancing the product. Who, if anyone, is working on such a use of plastic for automotive and other tires? Why don't we ever hear anything about such a project? A.L.M. August 27, 2005 [c402wds]
Friday, August 26, 2005
FRAGMENTED NATION Have we become a nation of fragments? Some very serious writers were very much concerned back in the 1980's about the nation being divided into regional and sectional units. People in the entertainment industries were among the first to react to such change From 1975 into the '80' television viewers were watching the three major TV networks 93 per cent of the time. That figure dropped to 63 per cent in the decade. You were watching such shows as “The Honeymooners”, “All in the Family” and other such well-done shows” but all that changed suddenly with the advent of cable systems, TV tapes, and the first of the computer games. Viewing habits changed radically as program quality fell. They all retain swatch of old shows today and re-runs are endemic. Technical innovations hit us in unexpected ways, too, such as the long-distance telephone business falling into ruin; the Gulf War, in attention of Interstate Highway maintenance and replacement or enlargements as needed. Train travel more or less died; air travel changed radically with unknowns being featured - even favored, new lines, small airlines grabbed a slim-profit routes. Union hazards continued as a serious problem. The problem stemming from uncontrolled illegal immigration is causing “local” problems and I read of it happening in all sections of the dividing nation. I feel this is the most important of all the problems in which we are currently involved. It will prove to be a major problem we are going to have to face eventually. Do you agree that we are , as a nation, fragmenting? Breaking up? Falling apart? Take a few moments to thread through the warp and woof of our changes in what we loosely call “life styles” , our religious beliefs and our patriotism. Have we lost a sense of belonging? I think we have good reasons for concern. A.L.M. August 26, 2005 [c324wds]
Thursday, August 25, 2005
EXILE: UP TO DATE
I experienced a sample of what it must be like to find oneself to be totally exiled for a night and the better part of the elongated next day. Our computer ”died” yesterday or gave every indication of having done so.
It just sat there in its comfortable niche and stared back at me without the least glimmer of recognition or any sign of ever having had any association whatsoever with me or any glimmer of recognition or concern. The mood of the moment equated quickly and with somber certainties assuring me that a demise of some sort had taken place in the area. I suddenly realized that I did no longer sensed the flicker of tiny lights over there, up above or down there below in superficial ad-on regions. A dramatic zone of absolute quietness closed in all about my agitated body.
I should have known it was coming. The printer had be “acting up” for several days, kicking out a blank sheet now and then. It's off to on side in he particular setup we enjoy here it runs pretty much own as long as it feed good paper. It stops if slighted and it makes a tire-skid noise when it tries to spit out an indigestible piece of parchment. Printers are quirky,I've been told, and it is common sludge-talk that if you are having printer trouble you can expect to have more of it elsewhere. The family car, maybe; the dishwasher - but not the family computer.
I insist something happened. I walked away from last night feeling small. I returned to the site of the event after breakfast having prepared myself with words my computer-guide-son Andy Jr. always tells me when computer problems arise. “Remember, Dad, It's only a machine!” With that in mind I started checking out what it was supposed to be doing and, suddenly it was.
This afternoon I have also decided that computers and printers are events-oriented, as well. They seem to emulate thunderstorms which coincide so well with planned picnics or follow so closely on car washings/waxings. Our day or so of communications exile happened a day or two before a group from our extended leave for a pare-school steeping in sunshine, sea water and sand a Kill Devil Hills on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. That means e-mail and pictures sharing the land of the Wright Brothers and of other such notable persons such as Blackboard the pirate who once frequented those waters.
A.L.M. August 25, 2005 [c435wds]
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
FROM THE SKY Look upwards! Think for just a moment of the myriad wonders which have come to us from above. The beauty of the stars so endlessly prolific, are, perhaps, foremost of the wonders Man can observe and know, in a general sense. I have been that Man, viewing them from Earth can see about six thousand individual stars with many clusters distinguished as a single points of light. You have, no doubt, witnesses such a sight and wondered what the ultimate intent of it all might be. We, it appears, are not yet ready to know about such things. It does serve, however, as an avenue by which we might seek to learn of the immensity and boundless dimensions of the overawing Will of God the Creator, maker and constant mender of it all. We, in this age, have more reason than Man has every had before to learn about the space around us because we have been allowed to reach out and actually touch some of the material portions of the cosmos. We have become more and more aware of what might the heavens might hold which will be special interest and concern. Now that we “been there” -in a very limited sense - we are, I feel, on the very edge of finding out what it might all mean for our future... if, and there are conjectural potentials contained in all of this, for we must show we can handle it properly. All of this may be compared to that point in the history of Mankind at which he discovered “fire”. How our space learning may best be used might determine which way we go. We might make a proper choice, and we, as has been done before, might select a pathway which will not only mis-use the advantages we have at the moment but to utterly waste them. It is entirely possible that we, so intent as we seem to be on merely getting along with each other. Our wars and social, political, and religious fixations place our true future in grave jeopardy. A.L.M. August 24, 2005 [c358wds]
Monday, August 22, 2005
THEY DIDN'T BELIEVE ME! Just last week,when I was talking with a small group of young people they did not believe me when they heard me say that when I was kid their age we used to back the family car up They refused to accept my statement. There a short silence; then muffled confusion. My grand-daughter Lucy, present and alert as usual,cleared her throat rather loudly and when she knew she had proper attention stood before me as if ask a favor of me. Then,loud enough to be heard by everyone present,she assumed a swami-like tone of voice we all heard her say: “Oh, ancient, wise one - would you please tell us why in the world you felt you had to back your cars up when you came a steep incline in the road?” She handed them to me attentive and warm and I took over quickly by citing the location of the specific hill I had in mind in the City of Radford,Virginia. A “city” by reason of a law which allowed any town counting a total of five thousand citizens could call itself a “city”. It was part of U.S. Route ll just inside the city from the Pulaski County side of the New River. Much of city five miles length is built on numerous levels which have been carved down the valley over centuries. Then, as the oldest river on the North American continent it took its time carving a series of wide levels along the edge of rocky cliffs forming the other side. Much of central Radford is built on these natural levels. At that time – l924 – U.S.11 entered Radford by crossing the river bridge and heading up the first hill to the initial street level. Route 11 traffic incoming made it up the short hill to First Street. If the city's only, street car - Number ll – happened to be stopped a that corner travelers waited for east-west traffic before heading upward another level. This unpaved,though generously graveled, road was bounded on one side by a wire fence ;on the other by an overgrown hedge and a footpath. The grade was steep and the final fifty feet - even steeper. Some cars never made it never made up the hill by normal methods. There was a side street at the bottom of the hill. The stalled car drifted back in to that side street parking area. After re-starting the car - not always easy after a choke-out – it was headed downhill and backed up the hill with no trouble at all. It doesn't happen now. Our 1924 FORD Touring Car had its gas supply stored under the diver's seat and gas flowed by gravity through a small line to the engine ahead. A.L.M. August 20, 2005 [c477wds]
Sunday, August 21, 2005
TRIAL BY QUESTIONS? Have you ever asked yourself if there has even been such a thing as a perfect crime? I think we could ask that question of just about any one and get affirmative replies all along the way, because it is one problem which everyone has wondered about at one time or another. It is a bit of speculation which has lured some people we have known to try to see how it works in real life. I say “No.” I don't think there can be a perfect crime and here are some of my reasons for thinking that way. First, must set up some ground rules for our discussion. Is that agreeable with you? Fine. If we can agree just what make a crime a crime we are well on our way. We all tend to make us a wide variety of terms to describe crime. Would you agree with me on such a definition which, i think, has all the simplicity and directness needed: Crime is...“an offense against society.” Doesn't that pretty well cover the entire subject in a simple straightforward manner? O, thus supplied with a simple definition which seems to meet with general approval, let's continue to examine the possibility of someone committing perfect crime. Shall we start with just a small one, perhaps -a theft. Will that do? We can save major embezzlements and murders until we get our rules firmly in mind. A person or person has, we find, stolen a valued watch, some jewels and a secret formula for an unknown product. We heard about this morning, but it happened a month before on the very night the owner had left for a business trip to Peru. The incident was unknown until the owner returned from South America. It was the moment she relayed that vital information to someone else that the act – a month old – became a crime. That was when it became an offense against society. It was discovered - which indicates it was imperfectly planned or executed. The crime was never solved. Had the owner died or been killed in Peru the stolen goods would not have been known to have existed. Once a crime known to be an offense against so society it exhibits a weakness – a flaw. There can be no such thing as a perfect crime. A.L.M. August 20, 2005 [c402wds]
Friday, August 19, 2005
FENCE SITTERS Sitting astride most fences can never be comfortable. Neither humans or fences are made for that so they sag under sheer weight or boards pop off which wave the wind. The sitter never finds out what is in either field. Curiosity alone should help overcome such wasted time “on the fence”, on any “in- between” islands, or temporary havens of hesitation. Get off of your fence; get your feet on solid ground and start to enjoy work or play in either field. Not being able to make a choice; to openly state your true feelings , is a common condition, too. You might be fence sitting in more places than you know about. It is often found to be acceptable in political life and many of us insist that the “secret ballot” concept makes it valid. Rest assured that the candidate you favor suffers – may even lose his or her political battle - because you, and voters like you, did not speak out “loud and clear” to support them. Verbal support - taking sides - is more and more important in our political sphere. Fence sitters just sit and look and often wish they were somewhere else. They do nothing whatever to improve or modify conditions in anything to any of the fields and forests on either side of their secure perch. We see people torture themselves in health situations for days, weeks, even month as they stubbornly refuse to seek a medical doctor's help. For a while, Time is on our side but that fades quickly with senseless delay. Major among all such points is for the “patient” or “subject” to freely admit he or she needs such a change. You can say: “I am...” then , if you will simple come down from your deceptive roost and face reality can make it: “I can be....” A L.M. August 19, 2005 [c316wds]
Thursday, August 18, 2005
MY MIDDLE NAME One of our grand daughters - Katie McCaskey - who an active, oncoming artist and designer currently a Graduate Student at NYU, wrote to me asking about my rather unusual middle name. It is written as “Loeffert” but said as “Leffert”. So Katie was correct in assuming that an umlout is properly used over the initial “o.” (That's two dots over certain letters in Teutonic writings. Those two dots tell the reader that the next upcoming vowel is to be pronounced with it as an “e” as in “eh”. I can remember being puzzled about all that as small child. It was “different”, so I insisted on using it when I wrote or printed my full name. I stopped using it when a smart aleck classmate started calling me “Umlout” out loud. The exact date of the first arrival of this Loeffert group is not, as yet, known but we do have authentic birth certificate attesting to the arrival of John( Johann) George Loeffert at a house on Madison Avenue, in Pittsburgh, Pa. He had brother named Henry and a sister, Emma Loeffert who married a Reise. John, my grandfather, - a musician at heart – a “bandsman” – accepted tradition and stayed with his father's trade as a carpenter. John married my grandmother - Ida Armanda Lenz. A quick glance at eleven year old Henry Lentz and a younger boy thought to have been a brother, were on a small, wooden ship for ninety days in passage from Darmstadt, Hessen, Germany. He, like the Loeffert boys and others were escaping military drafts which demanded that all twelve year old males standing and breathing be in the army. Thanks for writing, Katie. I think it is a good thing for us to look back now and then and try to understand some things about life in the olden days No, I don't know what the word “Loeffert” might have meant. I don't know enough German to delve into such inviting depths but I have always had a feeling it is occupational in nature, possibly stemming from old guild organizations of the 12th Century of so. It might stem from a woodcraft or forestry concern. A.L.M. August 18, 2005 [c373wds]
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
CRY UNCLE!
Year ago when we, as boys, engaged in quasi-mortal combat we made occasional use of an expression which was available to us from adult thinking of that era, which enabled us to “give up”, “quit” or “stop fighting” without being considered as having been ”chicken”. If a combat loser felt he was in such a desperate moment, he could always cry out the word : ”Uncle!” Just exactly who or what this body-saving entity might have been I have not the slightest idea, but I do remember the magic word working at the extreme moment in which victim was flat on his back being physically choked by a bully seated on his chest. When those gathered nearby hear that whispered gasp: “Uncle!”he witnessed the muscular assailant relaxed and released his grasp on the victim's throat. I sat up. I breathed deeply and he stepped away as he bystanders made a path ready for him telling all: “He said Uncle!” I had to show him who is boss around here – which he ain't He said 'Uncle!” We need something like that today. It is needed in “combat areas” around the country and the troubled world as well. I have no trouble at all in accepting WAL-MART's “Always!” but I do find it difficult with the television networks who seem to be determined to celebrate “Aruba Forever” with continual delving, detailing and dredging into the Natalee Holloway case. Enough! Uncle! Uncle! A.L.M. August 17, 2005 [c253wds]
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
WHAT'S NEXT? We are in a phase so often of late in which we wonder what may possibly happen next? We should not expect to see speedy solutions of such problems. This morning I have heard much comment pro, con and non-committal, concerning the national constitution the leaders of Iraq are supposed to come up with this week. We forget that we are fairly young as nations go and that it has not been too long when we, too, were in such a waiting period. As I recall my version of our history lessons, it took some time to get the colonies to agree to discuss such matters, and even longer for them to approve such a document once basic principles had been written down. It took time for the participants to decide what was good and what was not suited to their common needs. And, if we think our constitution came into being as a fully blown bloom you are dreaming. It did not come off the presses all finished with all “t's” crossed or jotted and all “I's” and “j's” properly tittled .Why do you think those twenty-one plus amendments had to be appended? They are added to patch up the holes in the original documents statements or to give meaning to new concepts generated though living by democratic principles and beliefs. The people of Iraq, so long without any mode of self-expression will now have a state document which assures that each of them has equal rights. The words of the document are a guide by which they may keep it that way it that way and the exact words are not something to be rushed or faked. Even if they happen to have another Thomas Jefferson at hand to dash off a finished document it will still have to be put to the tests of time, trials, and tests unknowable. A. L. M. August 17, 2005 [c330wds]
Monday, August 15, 2005
AND MORE OF SPAIN... In 1561, when Pedro Menendez de Avila sailed into a broad bay on the coast of Florida and north of his temporary home port of Havana to the south, he named the spacious body of water “Bahia de Santa Maria”. The bay retained that name for over half a century until in 1607 the English started Jamestown settlement several miles up Powhatan’s River and came to accept the Indian name for the wide waters. They called it the “Chesapeake” meaning “great shellfish bay” which was that to them, has been to us for a time and can be again if we take proper care of that which remains. During that 1561 trip, Menendez was able to, either from force or persuasion, to convince the seventeen-year-old son of an Indian chief of the Chiskiak tribe on the York River to go back to Spain with him. His name was Paquiquino. . The two visitors were ”exhibited” to the Royal Family of Spain and to the best society of the land. Menendez used the twosome to help raise fund as backing for future exploration trips and the two Indians absorbed a great deal of European culture. They were taken to Mexico,, as well,for additional training and from that point on only Paquiquino/Don Lois is mentioned in the story. The Spanish made another attempt to establish a footing in the area. They sent in a group of twelve Jesuit priests and one, small boy. They depended on Paquiquino to supply when they had traded away all heir tools and other equipment. It was a famine year and Paquiquino refused He had decided to return to his tribal ways. He had moved to a new village and had, according to local custom, which did not set well with the needy Jesuits. No one knows, of course what pushed the Indian leader to such an extreme, but he followed those begging food of him and killed them – all except the young boy. Less than a year later a Spanish ship which happened to pass by learned of the boy being held captive decided to rescue him and avenge the deaths of the twelve priests a year earlier. They attacked the village and killed forty natives including seven whom they hanged from the rigging of their ship in full view of the natives watching from the shore. As a result of this incident in the York river district natives had a rather warped idea of how Europeans might be expected to act. There can be little doubt it affected he way in which Indians greeted arrivals of 1607 or later. The Indian lad Paquiquino may well have left another heritage to us. Chief Powhatan had an organized Confederation made up of thirty-two rather weak family-tribe units brought together to be strong and meaningful. One wonder if he had discussed organization with a nearby Virginian who had observed European politics for nine years or so. A.L.M. August 15,2005. [504wds]
Sunday, August 14, 2005
OUR SPANISH BACKGOUND We, here in the Commonwealth of Virginia, have for so long, been schooled in our complex English heritage that we have overlooked the natural interest the Spanish explorers and adventurers must have had in this area of the Atlantic rim. It appears they investigated just about all of the world known to Man at that time - some really strange areas. They have been taken by surprise when they found that it was the far off, inland areas of South America - Peru and other Andean mountain nations- which held the wealth of which they dreamed. It proved to be even greater than they had anticipated. Small wonder then, that the Spanish efforts at exploration avoided the coast of the new world to the north and west of the area and aimed, instead, for the high, inland wilderness where, they hoped, perhaps, even greater wealth awaited them. They were bit too early for Sutler's Mill and the Klondike and other such northwesterly gold and silver strikes, but their plan was a sensible one in many ways. There could have been some hesitation , of course, about getting involved in the north because England and France had shown aggressive interest in that area beyond fishing attractions off Newfoundland. The need for some type of Spanish base on the east coast grew as their ships began to carry more and more shipments of gold from the Andean mountains as well as elaborate gold pieces. Those treasure laden ships became the main targets for numerous government sponsored privateers - their semi-legal next-of-kin. They preyed upon the gold-moving caravans of the high seas with militant exactitude. Privateers, of course, had to share their ill-gotten gains. Noted pirates came to both fame and fortune along this golden opportunity offered by the Spanish galleons along this route within easy sailing of havens of escape along the coasts what would become North Carolina, Cape Hattress and the Chesapeake Bay. Which they called by the Danish name “Bahia de Santa Maria”. (To be continued) A.L.M. August 13, 2005 [c352wds]
Saturday, August 13, 2005
MORE “11TH” ON THE 13TH. It was on this day in 2005 that additional materials concerned with the events of September 11, 2001 were published. Much of the information was, of course, known, and widely so, but it had not yet been suitably codified and properly positioned in the complex sequence of events which took place on that day - now “a long time ago” to many people today. I was surprised yesterday, while talking with a young man ready for college next fall just after we had both heard a TV bulletin let us know that Home Defense authorities had officially lowered our national alert from “Orange” to a less threatening “Yellow”. The young man's response was negative. “That;s all so much super-foolishness,!” he commented.”I used to believe all that stuff they hand out. They said we would have more like the planes flying into the high buildings in New York, and I believed them but it hasn't happened that way at all. I kept wondering when and where it would happen again, but I didn't and I think they just made up a lot of that stuff....” The young man's viewpoint - expressed in stumbling words and parroted phrases troubled me all day. What did we really retain from our experiences of 9-11-01? Are we aware of the dangers which lied ahead? Or, have we hear the “Cry wolf!” type warnings too often? I find adults who feel the same way and this is really disturbing. Far too many people have filed the 9-11 towers scenes away along with their memories of the film showing the burning of the “Hindenburg” at Lakehurst, New Jersey many years ago. Both actually happened but they are difficult to accept. What is your current feeling about home defense alerts? Have we overdone any of it to the point where the very people who need to know and seeing it all as a foolish undertaking? I know one young man who thinks: “They keep saying something bad is going to happen. It never does. I don't think they know what they are talking about.” Check it out at your own level. A.L.M. August 13, 2005 [c372 wds]
Friday, August 12, 2005
NEVER SURE You never know who owns what today, in seems. It could work to our advantage in some ways, such as giving us ready and economical access to certain products or services which we might find prohibitive if we depended solely on our own ability to acquire them. We are puzzled - even amazed at times when we read of various business transaction in which companies we have know all our lives are being “sold”, “enlarged”, “downsized” or “saved” by another firm. Very often one or both of the better known firms is suddenly supplanted by a foreign company which is the first we knew either one of them was not a local business. Many people are surprised, even shocked, when they find that the diamond business in world-wide sense - is pretty much under the control one European family. They rule from the moment of mining – the very first awareness that such stones exist and that control by the de Beers family ruled that facet of the world's business to be its own. Many Americans are rather shocked to find their American firms by foreign interests. Many American firms which have been said to have “merged with”,”added to,”“enlarge or “enhanced by” “absorbed into” are not what they used to be at all. Far too often it has meant the American firm has been swallowed up by the foreign firm. The first proof will be seen when operating officers lists non-Americans running the business and selling under the European product names rather than the American one. The names on the Board of Directors page complete the story. We have, in recent years become accustomed to finding that our clothing is made all over the world. To find an item that is Made in U.S.A. is a rarity. I checked my shorts recently and found them to be made in at least eight different nations, of course, with two from Nepal, one Bangladesh, Honduras, Taiwan and one pair from India, a set from Mexico, some from China and Vet Nam. Shirts are a rainbow of nations. Footwear: India and China This quality of closer interdependence on other nations has seeped over into other aspects of our living. I find it to be the supreme irony of our generation that the main holding in estate left by Asher Arafat was that of large amounts of holdings in the stock in the world's largest and most profitable bowling alley operation. Their stellar New York location is largely dependent the regular attendance at play by citizens of the preponderantly Jewish communities around it. Yasher Arafat, always the Clown Prince of the Arabic world, must have grinned happily as he fondled or simply thought of those certificates in his personal folio. A.L.M. August 12 , 2005 [c468wds]
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
IT WAS NOT EASY If you are thinking you have a bit more trouble than a most other people in your daily life, think for a moment about those people – your forebears – who started all of it. When those self-styled settlers who intended to start a colony in the New World in the early years of the 1600's, and start a new colony early in the sixteen hundreds did not anticipate most of the difficult conditions they either created, met with, or discovered. What they had chosen to do was not easy. They did not know what faced them, and when they had gathered at Southeastern ports, they set forth into the channel between France and England they found poor weather conditions existed. It was a delay of six months, and many, at that time, felt it was was all over and longed to return go England. Seasickness prevailed on the choppy channel waters and many settlers wanted to give up. The sole minister present the Rev. Robert Hunt convinced them go stay the course. Some say he convinced them by pointing out there was no sense in being sick a second time if they made another try. In time they came to ”the Fortunate Islands” - words which must have sounded very welcome – a and which later was changed to “The Canary Islands.” There they took on supplies of water, fruits and vegetables but there is no indication they were even aware of the harsh fact hat they had used six months of their essential survival supplies which could not be replaced. The three ships spent several weeks visiting eight or ten of the islands and took their time entering the bay area by way of the James between two capes they named Henry and Charles. There was dissent ion and disagreement among the settlers and records plainly indicate that the one man who was destined to lead the strange group in so many unheard of conditions - a five-foot-two inch man (at best) ,a bull-necked, swarthy twenty-year-old man named John Smith – officially named by a parchment opened at this time to be one of three councilors who had been named to lead the colony was confined to a prisoner's cell charged with ”treason”. Once the official word from the founding London Company had been read, nothing more was heard of any such charges. The colony at Jamestown started off with plenty of deep troubles in desperate need of solutions, it seems. We do it the other way around today, perhaps when we, allow our executive-types to become what we did not expect them to before accusing them of any wrongdoing. Jamestown's troubles were plentiful and complex. Don't ever get the infantile idea that they did not face worries and cares equal to, and even exceeding those we face today. The first permanent Colony in the western hemisphere was, from the very start, beset with hard times, worries and cares. Let's all start thinking of such hard times headaches in this way: If they licked it - so can we! A.L.M. August 9, 2005 [c523wds]
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
THE WAY OUT? Do we ever find a clear way to truly “leave” a place such as Iraq? I rather doubt that it can be done if our original commitment was honest and sincere in doing what we might to help the people therein. One does not simply revoke such a pledge. Now, with the total of Americans dead in Iraq now at the eighteen hundred with the promise of more casualties we can expect more agitation to “Bring the boys home.” it is a phase which is common to all such conflicts and it has held off a bit longer than usual due to the nature of the actual conflict without established “fronts”. Americans are not .as yet, used to the concept which has been very real for us ever since 9-11. We seem to be at the stage right now when certain people who have been generally supportive of our war effort, having suffered personal loss, are changing their attitudes. The middle-aged lady who was pictured standing in the hot streets of Crawford, Texas yesterday pleading tearfully for a talk with President George W. Bush to demand that all troops be brought home. The caption did not say that she has already met with him once this past week. She like, many others, has never quite grasp the idea that we are, and have been at war, with an enemy of no mean consequence who can do us real harm. Grandstanding exhibits such as this one are common and they usually do well in the media area but, on the whole, they harm the “dialog” said to be taking nation idea. Far too often the so-called “dialogs” are more akin to talk-a-thons by narrow-minded interests intent on personal advantages. We are in this conflict to win. We have not become so engaged just to make points with friends or simply to pester often obscure opposition forces. The nature of the war itself dictates strict attention to detail which area which are far removed from usual classifications. There are no quick, easy ways to get out of Iraq. Please-everyone ways do not exist and “protectors” who march in opposition are subversive in a fundamental sense. We elect leaders and, in so doing, promise to support them as they make decision on our behalf. You can't have it both ways. A.L.M. August 1, 2005 [c405wds]
Monday, August 08, 2005
GOING SOMEWHERE? Yes, now that you mention it, I have, indeed, had people ask me - point blank and, I think with genuine concern in some cases: “Tell, me Andy, are you leaving the church?” I have had a set reply which I have used to respond to what I consider to be a rather nosy query into private areas of our lives; private holdings and not to be noised about “in public”. One's religious sentiments are, I have long felt, rather intimate items of individual ownership and not, usually, materials lightly cast before the questing prods and inquiring discussion in search engines of the public forum. It is quite true that I have been said, in recent years, when people have asked me if I am leaving the protestant denomination into which I was born and have been nurtured all my life. I have – perhaps - appeared to be a bit disturbed by the overt action of someone daring to voice such a thought – and I admit I have done so often to determine if the inquiring individual has a personal concern of his own as the main reason for his or her asking. This is what I have been saying, when asked: “No. I am not leaving my church, but I do feel - and very strongly at times, that my church is leaving me!” Until recently I had considered it a problem future generations of pew warmers but, recently, when I read stats on the subject I learned that our denomination - not among the large ones - is losing an average of about fifty-thousand members each year. You don't have to be a rocket-scientist-accountant to realize that such shrinkage cannot continue for any appreciable length of time. So, that which seemed to be of the future is of real concern for tomorrow is urgent for today – now! Those members who are aware of the problem tell me a major cause of our problem is “pluralism”- an eagerness to be all things to all people and a tendency to come to agreement with opposition by not stressing basic beliefs and practices one's faith. Heterosexual marriage relationships are of prime concern; and under the pluralistic view the concept is that religious and philosophical aspects of living are of human origin. In truth, they are but trial-and-error human attempts to comprehend the fundamental and control of the divine. All religious systems are not the same. I have purposely withheld any mention of a specific mention of a specific protestant denomination. Do the above points concern you in any way? A.L.M. August 7, 2005 [c439wds]
Sunday, August 07, 2005
AVALANCHE One of most fearful aspects of, living in a mountainous section of the world is the avalanche. One finds it difficult to comprehend that which we have always considered to be firm, steady and unmoved - the very Earth we stand upon - becomes a flowing, movable, crushing monster in movement and beyond our control. Few people survive when an avalanche strikes. Man, himself, has managed to develop tediousness's devices which can make living a fearful time for all, but Mother Nature retains the title for having the most insidious. The avalanche is among her worst. I read about, and remember such disasters and those which took place in Peru 1996 and 1970 prove to be of special interest in several ways. Both originated at a place called :”Nevados de Huascaran” , Andes Mountains, Peru, South America. Hugh slab of granite rock, debris of all kinds and glacial ice fell suddenly without any apparent triggering mechanism. You may have noticed that geologists of our time use the name “Mass Wasting Events”, when speaking of “landslides” and it applies aptly to the two Peruvian examples. On January 10, 1962 a huge slab of granite and glacial ice fell, with no apparent triggering. It all moved into the valley below and destroyed the town of Ranrahirca, killing its four thousand inhabitants. Peruvian air force planes flew supplies into the area and dropped to victims who managed to evade the erratic sic path of the killer wave. Some fifty people are said to have survived in the entire area. Then, on, May 3l, 1970 a 7.7 magnitude earthquake hit the same mountain peak and shook it for forty-five seconds. A mass of granite crashed down the mountainside on the town of five hundred people who had re-established as a small community there. All were killed and their village erased forever. The new avalanche, said to have been the largest South America has ever known roared down the canyon-like gorges of the wildly torn valley and,this time it did not stop at the hill which the previous one had found to be a barrier. Instead, it took the slope as a jump-off spot and hydroplaned into the air as house-sized blocks to fall on the houses on some eighteen thousand residents of the town of Youngay, with little, if any, warning and no hope of being able to out run the oncoming wall of death. The speed at the original fall was estimated too have been over three hundred m.p.h. and the churning walls must have averaged sixty-five m.p.h. for the rest of the trip roaring down the crooked, narrow gorges of the Valley, jumping over the side walls at times. There is much wisdom in calling avalanches by the new name. They are, indeed, “Mass Wasting Events”. A.L.M. August 7, 2005 [c477wds]
Friday, August 05, 2005
YELLOW HOUSE INN One of the inns built in the river town called Port Republic, in Rocking ham County, Virginia after the Civil War took such a name unto itself, perhaps, because the enterprising Port people had a well established traits acquired for many years of commercial association with people downstream including the Bay in the Baltimore district. It might have been that a Port person acquired such a odd color of pigment with which to make the new in stand out as being unique among building which were general drab, even unpainted. It's name was built-in or plastered on, you might say. The original builders had no way of knowing it but they seem to have built in some other unusual features which disturbed ordinary folk. It appears to have been common among so many houses constructed during that Victorian era that many of them proved to be haunted. Not so with the Yellow House at Port. There, only the front porch was subject to visits from an apparition of an older lady who took possession of one of the sturdy, wooden rocking chairs which were a main feature of the spacious hotel porch. There was only on thing about the old lady which made her of special interest. She lacked a head. There have always been doubters in every community and the three men stepped forward and volunteered to sleep all night long on the Yellow House Inn porch to disprove the existence of such a headless hag. They selected rocking chairs and arranged them around the one the old lady always sat in; boxed her in, one might say, with her ghostly feet almost touching the porch rail. No one could get in or out without them knowing it. We think we know, now, what actually happened but they did not want to see it that way. Along a bit after one-thirty in the morning when all three of the men were asleep, one of the men started to snore; sat up sharply and called out. This noise startled a cat sleeping on top of the railing. The cat jumped from the rail top, ricocheted off of the upright back of the chair, and took off across the floor. All thee men were aroused at the same time and, looking across at each other saw the central chair rocking away steadily. By their own admission, they all three “grabbed their hats and got outta there!” The old Yellow House Inn was torn down in 1914, but some old say the headless lady still wanders around the area. Another thing: no one has ever seen a live cat within twenty feet of the place where rocking chairs used be a main attraction. Fact is they take a wide circle around the spot. A.L.M. August 5, 2005 [c474wds]
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
NIGHT VISITOR There is a story about Abraham Lincoln spending spending a night in the Shenandoah Valley which has no historical basis whatsoever, but that doesn't stop it from being told and re-told now and then. The usual account tells of a time when Abraham Lincoln "was on his way back to Washington" suggesting he had frequently traveled in the southland area. The basis of the story seems to hinge on a letter said to have written by Lincoln to an innkeeper in the Valley - some tellings insist that the keeper of the inn lived at what is now known as Lacey Springs. It is also said he told Governor Stewart, of Virginia, that he had spent the night in an inn operated by none other than one his own cousin. Acting then on the urging from the Governor of Virginia wrote such a letter regrets to his cousin the innkeeper. The letter explained that he had not been aware of the connection at the time of his visit. One reads of people who say they had seen and handled the letter but not the past fifty or more years. We known not where it ended up; who might have it. No one seems to want to know. Abraham Lincoln was about eight or nine year old when his father Thomas Lincoln was killed by Indians and he'd been about three or four when they left the Lincoln homestead near Linville, Rockingham County, Va. The boy had sopped up family history eagerly, however, and, most likely, would have actually sought out and found a relative with whom to spend the night had he been that close to the home place in his adult years. The majority of Lincoln-lore writers tell the story but mark it as fiction... some was one's fantasy... some local person who was, ,perhaps, seeking some way to establish a closer relationship to a famous name. They speak of the story as being a fable and I have yet to find one such writer who points to a major flaw in the story. The Commonwealth has never had a Governor named Stewart - either elected or appointed! No siree! Not even a Lt.Gov!. A.L M. August 3, 2005 [c355wds]
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
SAINTHOOD - POEM IDEA Saints are made, like trees, by God alone not set aside by the votes of papal men. Saints are those who, oft by constant prod, are doubly endowed with Soul, and then sent among us all to fulfill God's unerring Will. In special, urgent times of human need when all for help and guidance beg and plead; when God provides as suits the victims basic want. Saints grant heed. They stay as spaces set apart. Saints are human vessels laid aside to serve as repositories each of God's own Love with special dispensation for all - tired and tempered by life's searing heat - seeking surcease in changing sorrow into joy.. .and etc..... I find it awkward when men, together, set about naming a person to be a "saint". They are always, I feel, a bit late. It is my feeling that an individual man or woman who has achieved certain goal in his or her lifetime, is already a saint in the mind of our Maker. The namers are just beginning to realize what has evident, had they looked for some time. The Pope of the Roman Catholic Church has died, and Man is led to call a series of conclaves to designate the man as becoming a "saint." John Paul lived a life of selfless sainthood. Children of God all over the world received ble ss ings from his being what he was to his closest followers. Many people of different faiths were benefited by simply being what he was, receiving blessings from his presence. By his way of living John Paul lived as a saint. Different, deftly interwoven threads of his love and guidance are there to be seen and cherished in his relations to others. The total concept of sainthood is exemplified in the sweeping glory of the principles by which he lived and which he held high so that all mankind may see and known them as well. It is something that is best said in poetic with its binding restraints and special demands for exactness. Some day ahead I may be able to re-fashion those opening lines to tell the "why" of it all when it comes to the condition of having an angelic presence among us at times. A.L.M August 1, 2005 [c385 wds]
Monday, August 01, 2005
FAT FISH STORY Last month while riding south on Interstate 77 in Virginia on our way to the annual Herman-Arndt Families Reunion in the Hickory-Newton-Conover tri-town area. Along the downgrade toward the New River I saw a road sign which brought back pleasant memories from my childhood. It is just a few miles south of I-81 before you get to Fort Chiswell. South on I-77-77 there is a road leading off to the right but I'm usually busy looking in the opposite direction to get a good look at the old Shot Tower there on the bank of the ancient river - the oldest on the North American continent -ironically named the "New." I remember going to that fish hatchery many years ago when I was just a little kid and seeing what, to me was something unusual - and still is today. a real natural. I saw the world's largest fish bowl and possibly the fattest fish, as well. We called them "goldfish" - not knowing any better and compared them to the pair we had in a small, glass bowl at home. We fed ours sheets of tissue paper food but the ones we saw that day were among the steak and potato-eaters, at least. The "bowl" was a metal tank; rock-fringed all around and set deep within the floor of the foyer in the first large building on the Hatchery grounds. The tank was alive and throbbing with interweaving fish of an average length of about a foot and half as wide! With each of many collisions you wondered which one was going to pop first! We learned that very day, of course, that me of the official name of the fish was, of course, was "carp." I've learned since that they are long-lived creatures, but I would imagine the fat has taken that batch of golden swimmers to fin and flipper paradise by this time. I'm going to stop in at the old hatchery the next time we head trip-town way to check it out. A.L.M. Aug. 1, 2005 [c359wds]
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