Afghanistan

My thoughts have turned toward Afghanistan in recent weeks and months, both because our President-Elect has said that he will shift the focus there, and more importantly on a personal note, because my nephew Robbie is there defusing bombs.

So my curiosity was piqued when I saw an article this morning in the Wall Street Journal concerning the US military in Afghanistan and the author of "Three Cups of Tea", Greg Mortenson. Mr. Mortenson authored his book amid his many years of humanitarian work in Afghanistan, building schools and bridges, both figurative and literal.

The article, titled "Military Finds An Unlikely Advisor in School-Building Humanitarian", details how the Pentagon has invited Mr. Mortenson to address the military about ways to fight Islamic extremism.

Judy read Mr. Mortenson's book several years ago and has spoken of it many times and about the author's personal efforts to help the people of Afghanistan after the villagers of an impoverished community there nursed him back to health following a mountain climbing accident.

The fascinating thing, of course, is that the military is seeking out approaches like Mr. Mortenson's. It's not wholly surprising to me. I've long held a great regard for the US military at the same time that I have been ambivalent, at least, and often quite in disagreement with our military adventures. The choice of those adventures, of course, is left to our politicians and the military is there to carry out those commands which it does with dedicated loyalty and with deadly efficiency.

It's true that the military embodies a force of highly intelligent, dedicated individuals and while it's methods are, well, military, it's objectives of course, are to protect the American people, our democracy and American way of life. It's easy for any thinking individual to understand that pursuing those objectives in a military fashion can sometimes be at odds with actually achieving them, especially with respect to fighting the 'global war on terror'.

Mr. Mortenson's premise is that providing a moderate education to impoverished Muslim populations is the best tool for fighting Islamic extremism. General David Petraeus read Mr. Mortenson's book and recommended it to his staff.

In listening to voices such as Mr. Mortenson's, Mike Mullen, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, having invited Mr. Mortenson to speak, appears to acknowledge that terror is a tactic, not an enemy. And that using military methods in trying to fight an enemy without a nation, without borders, without uniforms is like trying to hold handfuls of water. While we are engaged in pouring huge resources into our war in Iraq, collateral damages and grave miscalculations like those that led to permission to torture and incidents like Abu Graib, only serve to our enemy's advantage, becoming effective recruitment tools.

Of course I understand the vast and powerful interests who profit from war and who create tremendous pressures to execute our objectives in ways that can line their pockets. They're happy to cynically use the lives of our sons, daughters, brothers, nephews to their own profit.

And then there are those who earnestly and honestly believe that a military solution is the ONLY solution. They have our nation's best interests at heart and feel as I do, that we cannot just retreat into ourselves and hope that problems around the globe will not affect us. We may have to simply agree to disagree, and hope that we can do so in a civil way.

But I'm under no illusions that the threat posed by what Eisenhower called the "military industrial complex" will not do everything in their power to undermine any efforts to bend the instruments of our society toward more peaceful, perhaps less 'profitable' means of conducting the war on terror.

Still, I have the audacity of hope.

Christmas Eve/Fourth Night of Hanukkah

We enjoyed a raucous but warm family gathering last night, filled with sisters, brothers, husbands & wives, countless (or so it seemed) nieces and nephews, new babies, and the newly betrothed, and of course, WAY too much food.

Today is a quieter day. Judy is working (though, so far, no patient's families are requesting to be seen). This afternoon, probably without Judy, we'll get together with a bunch of other, mostly Jewish friends to see a movie and then afterward, have dinner out at a Chinese restaurant. Judy will be done with her shift by then and able to join us.

Judy bought me a very nice heavy-weight flannel-lined shirt for Hanukkah. Nice. And on the second night, she offered me a second wrapped present, in violation I might add, of our agreement to exchange just one gift each. She was let off the hook though, when she explained that it was really a gift for the 'house'. It was a new crock pot. Very nice. I fulfilled its promise by making sauce (in my family, a spaghetti-style sauce is simply referred to as "sauce") for last night's gathering. It had sausage and meatballs in it. Judy said it was the best food ANYBODY brought last night. Awwww, shucks!

Over a succession of days, I've bought four different pieces of clothing for Judy as Hanukkah presents. Finally, last night, I presented one that fits... AND she likes it! YAY! Thank goodness Hanukkah is eight days long, one finds space within its span for redemption. :-)

Greens and Beans

bean, sausage, escarole soup
Photo credit: minna883

for David:

Ingredients:
4 tablespoons Olive Oil
3 links Italian Sausage (mild)
1 onion
4 cloves Garlic
I can of Chicken Broth
1 can Cannelloni Beans
1/2 head of Escarole (approx 4 cups chopped)
1/2 teaspoon Garlic Pepper

Heat olive oil in soup pot (medium flame 2 minutes)
Cut up sausage into 1/2" chunks and brown in oil
Chop onion and add to sausage, cook until onions are softened
Mince or crush garlic and add to pot, cook 2 minutes
Add broth (or substitute 1&1/2c water and 1 chicken bullion cube)
Add beans (with liquid from can)
When returned to slow simmering boil, add escarole, garlic pepper, cook 2-3 minutes more

As a heartier alternative, you can cook some pasta in a separate pot (4-8oz dry weight) and then add it to the soup after the beans. Yumm!

Serves 3-4 as a main dish accompanied by bread, cheese, salad or crudites.
Serves 6-8 as a soup accompaniment, served alongside a main dish.

Revisiting the Holocaust in film

Having recently seen The Boy In The Striped Pajamas, the question, 'Seen any good films lately?' led to a conversation about representing the Holocaust in film.

My friend recalled enjoying Roberto Benigni's Life Is Beautiful. She appreciated that Benigni's character used his creativity to manipulate his son's imagination to buoy his son's spirit and deflect some of the horror that surrounded him.

I reflected on the fact that many people objected to the light-hearted handling of the Nazi nightmares visited upon its victims. The prospect of distracting his son from as much evil and cruelty as would surely envelope his life seemed totally preposterous, I have heard it argued.

I know many people who hardly consider seeing a film portrayal of the Holocaust. Among the objections - that It demeans the suffering of millions or that the horror is too much to contemplate. Similarly, this 'lite' retelling of the story was considered in that way not worthy of its subject.

It occurred to me that perhaps Benigni's original design by his gentle humor was not to fool his character's son but, in a way that many of his audience could cope with, to offer another opportunity to consider and reflect upon that, the ultimate manifestation of evil in the Twentieth Century.

In that way, I see films like Life Is Beautiful, The Boy In The Striped Pajamas, Schindler's List and others as prayers, reminding me of the rabbi's preamble preceding a mourner's Kaddish, that those who have passed before us shall not be forgotten.

FLU-SHING

Dear All,

Well, here we are in our hotel in NY. Clear sailing all the way in (except for some lousy traffic at the Tappan Zee Bridge).

Took Judy's mom out to dinner at the local diner. Which is nothing like what WE think of as a diner. Place is huge, menu is long, and everything there is good. The staff know us well, we've been going there every time we're in town for over the last 20 years. Our waitress tonight gave us dessert on the house!

David came in by bus from Washington and I picked him up in downtown Flushing at 8. We talked to Amy. She was going to drive in tomorrow, but with the forecast the way it is, and the fact that she's awfully busy, AND the fact that grandma has a bad cold at the moment, we decided, just as well she not come in. Besides, she had some good news that it looks like she'll be able to come up for New Year's, AND bring her boyfriend, who we've not yet met.

Anyway, nuff for now. Starting to get sleepy.

Talk to you soon...

love,
Michael

ps: RE the title of this post... Downtown Flushing is all Korean and Chinese everywhere. All the shops, stores, they're all covered in signage in two or three languages, Chinese and Korean, predominantly. We we're coming down Prince St., turning onto Roosevelt Ave. as the facade of a restaurant was coming into view, I saw "SHING". The sign was segmented into two parts. Expecting another asian eatery, my brain assembled the first syllable, FLU onto the second, SHING as the supposedly Chinese name FLOO-SHING Restaurant. FLOO-SHING, FLOO-SHING, I repeated to myself until finally it clicked! FLUSHING RESTAURANT, you dummy!

(Not so fond) Farewell

The paper reported that the Secret Service is reviewing it's procedures in light of the Iraqi reporter's shoe-throwing incident.

Judy assumed that meant they'd be making reporters remove their shoes before being allowed in the same room with GW. I said that'll only work until somebody throws a pair of pants. Eventually, they'll have to attend naked. Kind of an Emperor's New Clothes in reverse.

Apparently, the shoe-flinging reporter shouted, in Arabic, "There's a goodbye kiss, you dog!"

So much for legacy.

Grandma & Grandpa

One of my early memories of Grandma and Grandpa was of visiting them on the farm. Dad had finished working an evening shift, all of us kids were already in bed and he had Mom pack us up in the car for a ride out to Grandma and Grandpa’s farm. It was about an hour and a half ride and by the time we got there, it was very late indeed. In fact Grandma and Grandpa had long since gone to bed.

Arriving after midnight, Grandma was patient and hardworking, helping to get all the kids settled in places to sleep, feeding us even, if we were hungry. I don’t know how Dad got away with it. Certainly it was in large part because of Grandma’s big heart. I never remember feeling censured by her. Grandpa was completely the opposite, and I lived quite in fear of him. Grandpa never stirred that night, or certainly never got up anyway. And it was just as well, for he’d have surely been in a miserable rage, as he always seemed to be.

Saintly as she often was, Grandma sure had a lot of the devil in her. She could cuss and she could turn a ribald phrase with casual abandon. She became like a mythical figure to me, Earth Mother and Saucy Raconteur, rolled into one.

She was, if not the author, at least the source for some of my favorite quotations. Like: "Go piss up a rope" (her advice to ne’er-do-wells), "It's good, clean dirt" (advice to the prissy child), "It ain't gonna kill you" (more of the same), "You gotta die of something" (response to hypochondria), “Full of piss and vinegar” (her description of... well, anyone like herself!) and "You're gonna eat a peck of dirt before you die" (in other words, ‘Cleanliness might be next to godliness, but it's probably overrated.’ A useful one since the plumbing didn't work so well on the farm anyway.)

And if ever a line like any of those could be delivered with a twinkle in the eye, Grandma was the one to do it. That twinkle described her better than anything else I can think of. She was always ready to poke you in the ribs, give a little wink and toss off a rejoinder that, anywhere but our house, would surely raise an eyebrow.

Like the time when I was about eighteen and she offered sex-education device.

"You know what you gotta do when that thing is about to get you in trouble? Open a window, lay it on the sill and then CLOSE THAT WINDOW HARD!"

Her advice was always like that: playful, unsentimental and usually a little risque. Like the time she asked Judy, (in reference to marrying me), "So, are you getting any?" Judy already knew she'd married into a wacky family, but how can you ever be ready for a question like that from your Grandmother-In-Law?

I inherited a bit of that impishness, but I've had to learn the hard way that it's easier to be accepted for that kind of naughtiness if you're an eighty-plus-year-old woman. Like the time we were looking at houses and a realtor, showing us an attractive "rumpus" room said something like "The kind of place your daughter might like to go with her boyfriend." I thought that was terribly presumptuous and so I responded, "Or maybe she'd like to go there with her girlfriend!" Judy did not see the humor in that one.

I might have said, more succinctly, “Go piss up a rope!”

But nowadays a fella could get himself in some deep doo-doo for using Grandma’s lines.

APLAUDA SUS CEREBROS APAGADO (Clap Your Brains Off)

Great video of the band Nos Somos Machos Pero Somos Muchos aka NSM PSM. 

More info about the making of this video at http://www.vimeo.com/1689442 and a related page at http://www.vimeo.com/1762877

Creative Electrical Work

Published on ThisOldHouse.com, 

this photograph was taken by 

Charles H. Nance of CHN Inspections in Wildwood, Missouri.

If you don't find this image frightening, 

please, please, please, 

do NOT do your own electrical work. 

Call a licensed electrician.

Skidboot and His Friend

This is a wonderful 8 minute video about a man and a dog. The dog is amazing, but the man is pretty darn impressive too. 

Strong stuff

I saw "The Boy In The Striped Pajamas" at the Little last night. 

It's another look at the Holocaust, this time seen through the eyes of an eight-year-old boy, the son of a Nazi officer who is promoted to a post that uproots his family from their patrician life in Berlin and carries them to an isolated country home from which he presides over a concentration camp. 

From his sheltered upbringing, the boy tries to make sense of the events unfolding in the world around him and struggles to maintain his love for his father as the inhumanity of war and of the Nazi view strains the very bonds of family.

The film is not exceedingly graphic, most of its violence is implied, making it easier to watch without cringing. Still, what's suggested, along with our knowledge of the actual horrors of the Nazi 'purification of the Fatherland' provides much of the emotional strength needed to connect all the dots. 

While I understand the inhibition many feel about seeing films that examine the Holocaust and revisiting its horrors, still, and this film is a potent example, there are many stories to be told. This one reflects both on the inhumanity wreaked upon its victims and more centrally, the dehumanizing effects upon its perpetrators. 

The questions it asks about 'how far along will you participate with the corrupting influences of social injustice' are questions that each of the main characters struggles with. The film doesn't necessarily explore the underpinnings of the pre-war German psyche that laid the foundations for the rise of Nazi ideology, but instead deals with its (then) contemporaneous ramifications. 

Underneath it all, the characters are human with qualities both good and bad. Any honest individual can recognize something of themselves in each and that's what gives the film its emotional weight. 

I wonder whether some would regard this telling of the Holocaust story, by showing the humanness of its non-Jewish German characters is too sympathetic to them. I would argue that the moral dilemmas each character faces are not unlike those we all face at many points in our lives - how to stand up against what's wrong in the world. As such, those issues are, in many respects universal, and go to the root of the powerlessness we feel to resist the world's many injustices.

In the films of my youth that depicted that era, Nazis and Germans in general were painted with a broader brush. We were the good guys, they were the bad. But it was that ability to categorize entire populations that allowed the Germans to demonize the Jews. In our current era, it continues to allow people to demonize and dehumanize entire populations with horrific consequences. 

This fictional account of a Holocaust story is as true today as ever it was imagined. 

Kvelling and shilling

If you've heard this already, stop me.

When our daughter Amy finished her junior year in high school we gave her the opportunity to travel. She could go just about anywhere, but she wanted to go somewhere her friends had never been, so, somewhat arbitrarily, she picked Ghana, on the west coast of Africa. 

And so began the next step in Amy's journey, one that brought her to choose a major in African studies at Swarthmore. A journey that eventually, indirectly, brought her to a summer internship at the Woodrow Wilson Center in D.C. working for, among others, Helene Cooper. Helene was, at that time, a reporter for the Wall Street Journal on sabbatical to work on the memoir of her youth and of her family who numbered among the descendants of the founding families of Liberia.

Amy did research for Helene and capitalizing on her talent, hard work and who knows, maybe even a little of that abundant charm she possesses, unearthed a copy of Helene's great-great-great-great grandfather's hand-written journal from the stacks of the Library of Congress. It's existence had been unknown to Helene and finding it provided invaluable links for Helene's telling of the story of her family and its history, intertwined with the history of Liberia. It also helped cement a friendship between Amy and Helene and played a role in planting the seed of an idea of pursuing a career in journalism for Amy. AND... it got her a mention in the book's acknowledgements (the big kvelling part here). 

When Amy was here for Thanksgiving she brought us a copy of Helene's book. It contained an inscription in very flattering terms that thanked us for 'lending' Amy. 

Even without the personal connection, Helene's book is an engaging and very intimate and personal perspective on the modern story of Liberia during the years of Helene's youth, up to and including the overthrowing of the power structure dominated by the descendants of the founding families of Liberia, freed former slaves from the United States. It tells the story of a life of privilege amid the disadvantaged classes of 'native' Africans. Fascinating! 

Check it out. The House At Sugar Beach.

p.s. In case you were wondering, I don't get a cut.

post-Thanksgiving

What a great holiday. Mainly an excuse to get together with friends and family and stuff ourselves silly on insanely enormous amounts of food.

I kick myself for not taking much in the way of photos, especially with Norman and Kathryn here. Yeah, it's true, I enjoy the moments more without fussing with cameras, generally speaking, but then, nothing ignites a flood of vivid memory like a photographic souvenir of the event.

Still, once some of the activity and distraction had died down to a certain level, we remembered to bring out the point-and-shoot and at least snatch a shot of the four of us. Thankfully, the kids are old enough that they understand the value it represents to us old farts and they accept their duty willingly and with at least the appearance of cheerfulness.

Included here is not the shot that everybody ELSE liked best... but it's at least the one I look my best in. And since it's MY blog, well...