Three Rules After 50

Tell 'em I sent ya...but only if you're buying something.

Years ago, long before it had any semblance of relevance, one of my older brothers told me a joke about three rules a man over the age of 50 must always obey.  Rule number one was: Never pass up a rest area. I was able to recall this the other evening as I was embarking on a road trip and realized I should have used the restroom before I got in the car. Like a fear of stairs or shoes that don't have laces, using the bathroom before one gets in the car is a piece from early childhood that many will one-day, sooner or later, like it or not, revisit.

So far in life I've been fortunate that everything still works exactly as originally equipped. Some of those things may ache and hurt a little more than they did a couple dozen years ago, but they all work. The only medicines I take are Crestor, eye drops, and an aspirin.

That said, I left on my little road trip consciously thinking I didn't need to use a restroom before making the hour-plus drive home even though I'd been drinking coffee and coke over the past couple hours. What the heck? If needed, we have rest areas in this state. That simple act of over confidence and disregard for protocol lead to the second dilemma: Twenty minutes into the trip, okay, so I should have used the restroom before I left, but now, where do I stop? No rest area.

Panera bread shops are everywhere, have reasonably good food choices, and clean restrooms. I hadn't had dinner and so, encouraged by easy freeway access, I pulled in, parked the car, and stepped inside where I discovered I had entered through the rear door which put me right at the threshold of the men's room. Genius. So.....refreshed and ready to go, I walked along the counter, surveyed the menu, and realized I was neither hungry nor thirsty. And that led to this ridiculous dilemma (and post): is it okay to use the restroom when you're not a customer??

I always see those signs in major cities: "Restrooms are for the convenience of customers only." While the Panera store didn't have such a sign-- at least not on the entrance I used-- I still felt guilty leaving without buying; which is exactly what I did. Realizing I wasn't hungry and all I really needed was a restroom, I walked back out to my car and left. But even as I turned onto the freeway on-ramp I glanced back across the roadway wondering if I wouldn't see some guy in a Panera cap and apron, waving his fist and shouting insults at me while running toward the road.

Next time I'm in a Panera Bread store I'm going to eat. And just to make up for this last time, I'm not going to use the restroom..... unless I forgot to before I left home.

The Fabric of History

I have this old pair of boxers that are made of a Route 66 fabric. The fabric is fairly common. I used to have a chair and ottoman upholstered in it; I've seen purses and hand bags made from it. Anyway, I came across those boxers today and read one of the old postcard captions: "We're traveling on Route 66!"

Big deal. Nowadays we can cover the mileage of the entire Route 66 in under 4 hours and $400. We can travel from Chicago to Bombay-- more than 8,000 miles all the way-- in less time than it took to drive Route 66 from Chicago to Joplin, Missouri.

Then again, I guess that's exactly the point: We can do everything today without much wonder. Nowadays, to come home and really wow someone with your travel adventures you have to return from Antarctica or some other remote inhabitable or damn near impossible to get to location. Chicago to LA and return is a day trip. And that's too bad.

Maybe it's a good thing that our children are growing up in an age of opportunity, where the world is a small place, where Hawaii, Europe, South America, and even Africa, are familiar, the geographies of spring break and summer vacations. These are the places "everyone goes"and maybe that will one-day lead to the world becoming a connected community.

But back in the 40's and 50's, in the time before freeways and economical air travel, travel was an undertaking and a road trip was an adventure. Air travel was costly and operated (or not) at the mercy of the weather. A trip by rail was more comfortable but didn't offer a whole lot in terms of time saved. Back then, owing to the effort required, travel was undertaken with eyes wide open, expectations high, and a sense of wonder and adventure. Nowadays, the greatest sense of wonder is often whether or not an upgrade will be provided; the greatest sense of adventure occurs when the front desk doesn't find your reservation.

It's a pleasure, a luxury, and a good thing that we can so readily explore the reaches of the world. I just doubt we'll ever live to see a fabric that aims to recall the wonder of travel in this current era. More likely, it will recall a time in history when travel was dependent on fossil fuels: planes, trains, and automobiles, all burning petroleum products. We should be so lucky, to have our oil dependence relegated to the fabric of history.

Lucky and Dumb

You ever have one of those days? One of those days when you find yourself testing yourself? Your sanity. Your strength. Your memory? Your luck? The other day I tested out on 3 of the 4. Actually we can include strength as well, considering I took the garbage out to the curb.

That's where it started. I had done my weekly routine, garbage out at the curb by 6:45. Then, as I went to get in the car, I decided I needed to take one more small bag out to the bin before pick-up. So I set my iPad and sunglasses down, took the bag out, hopped in the car, and set off to work. Rounds at the hospital, an hour and a half meeting with the CEO, and then to the office for clinic and only 20 minutes late! Everything's good.

Then at noon, my partner Joe walks in, iPad in hand and asks, "Hey, buddy, is this your iPad?"  He'd found it right where I'd left it: on the roof of the car just 4 hours and 2 miles ago. Unfortunately, the sunglasses were no longer on the roof of the car. They were on the trunk of the car where they had slid to safety.

Lucky and dumb. It's not always so easy to be both

Yard Work

A nuisance-- living or dead

We woke up the other day to a rather unpleasant site in our front yard. Some poor unfortunate soul of a squirrel had ended up on our front lawn, bloodied and dead.  He either took a terrible tumble from one of our big oaks or, more likely given the condition of "the body," had been whacked by a car. Either way, he was quite dead and quite gross lying on our lawn, fluffy tail waving in the breeze like the flag of a defeated warrior.

Once we realized what it was, Tam immediately informed me I would be on the mortuary crew: get rid of it. Now, ordinarily, that wouldn't be a problem. I'd do what I usually do: call someone. Unfortunately, mid-April in Michigan is not the same as mid-April in Southern California or South Carolina. We won't have enough grass to warrant a yard crew for another month or so. So, I did the next best thing: I suggested we leave it for a day and see if we couldn't recruit a raccoon or something to come haul off the corpse.

Next morning the body was still there. Then this big hungry guy showed up around 9AM and spent the better part of an hour and a half dismantling the poor bastard. Yummy! Who wants pancakes!! You didn't have to watch him (her) work for long before you knew for certain this bird is descended from the dinosaurs. I'm thinking T-Rex.

Note the dusting of snow on April 20th. Still, it's picnic weather for some!

Unfortunately, like a lot of people, vultures do not pick up after themselves when they're done eating. I still had to dig a hole and bury the bones, fur, and that floppy tail. It was gross but all I could think of was this: Thank God I'll never have to smell a vulture's breath! I hope.

Playing With Bombs

Saturday morning we sat and watched the re-cap of events this past week in Watertown, Massachusetts. In the olden days, as kids, Saturday mornings we sat and watched Hollywood westerns and an occasional war movie as a pre-game warm-up. Then, outside we'd go to play war.

As kids, my brother and our friends and I used to love playing cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, and war. We utilized everything from bow and arrow to small arms to fully automatic weapons, from tanks to battleships, fighters to bombers. It was not an infrequent occurrence that, passing within 50 feet, you would have heard the young vocalizations of gunfire and bombs going off on our property.

In spite of all that early exposure to guns and bombs and armed conflict, I am pretty much a pacifist. I'm of the opinion, given that killing people, invading their homelands, and setting off or dropping bombs has never brought lasting peace or a lasting sense of security, we probably do not really have our hands around an effective means of fashioning a secure and peaceful coexistence in the world.

So now, just days after the horrific events in Boston this past week, I hear Evan call out from the other room, "I only have there bombs!" He's playing Fruit Ninjas on an iPad. We've never let him play with toy guns but he loves his model airplanes, his fighter jets, B-17, B-25, and B- 28 bombers. Given the world in which we live today, it drives me crazy that we've provided him with even these toys. It is the destructive nature of the beasts that seem to hold his attention, with their bombs and rockets and guns. Suddenly, as a grown-up living in a world filled with threats and actions and a pervasive sense of fear and alert, it's not fun anymore. And it's hard for me to remember anymore just how far child's play is removed from real life events.

With Ev I can talk to him about real bombs, real victims, and real events. And, I like to think at least, he kind of gets it and he knows just how opposed we are to the use of guns as personal protection and war in general. But I worry about a lot of this country where people spend hours playing war games online, bombs blasting, guns going off, and bodies flying apart.  Maybe psychologists will tell us it's an important form of release; that fantasy disarms reality. I don't know. But I certainly hope it never gets us to the point where we look passively at events like those in Boston last week-- as well as the horrors that occur everyday around this planet populated by our scared and selfish humankind.  I hope Evan, and all of his generation, don't ever stop feeling an absolute sense of sorrow at our continuing need to kill and injure-- our utter failure as a species to live in peace.

Dumb Ideas

There's a columnist they run in our local paper whom I really enjoy. He's a conservative editorialist who almost routinely pisses me off. Wednesday's editorial was no exception right from the get-go: "Why not teacher evaluations by students?" Mind you, he's not talking about university course work.  His essay goes on to discuss how teachers need to be more aware and involved in students' lives. How teachers need to be more focused on those students who are struggling or not fully engaged. Teachers, teachers, teachers.

I'm a little sensitive on the subject because the same thing is happening in medicine. Both fields are struggling with validity issues in the form of outcomes and performance measures. Both fields are being flooded with cadres of experts and consultants. Both fields are being increasingly placed in the public spotlight for failings more so than successes.

With respect to healthcare, many of the proposed changes are for the better. Many are reasonable and respond to changes in available technology and evidence based knowledge. But, as with education, many of the accusations and alleged shortcomings are misinformed and misdirected at the provider.

As in healthcare, education is currently suffering from an enormous void in personal accountability. In medicine we battle with patients who choose unhealthy habits, diets, and lifestyles. In education, teachers battle with children who come from homes where education is not cherished or esteemed, where there is little or no support or encouragement to learn. And it's not enough to lay this at the doorstep of poverty or social struggle. There were plenty of poor families and families that struggled in the early part of the twentieth century, a period when great ideas, great industry, and great accomplishments were brought forth from the public schools of this nation. Likewise, there are plenty of students who come from homes where they are well-fed, well-dressed, and afforded the luxury of every currently available form of distraction.

I don't pretend to have the answer to our tarnished system of public education. I do believe, however, that until public education is restored to a position of esteem, until our financial investment in open public schools and teachers is commensurate with our purported outrage and expectations, and until families find the motivation to encourage and support their children-- in short, until we demonstrate that we as a society value public education-- we will continue to witness the current decline in learning. We will continue to see an ever increasing army of so-called experts, we will continue to spend more and more money on more and more so-called bright ideas, and we will continue to see more and more teachers leaving education frustrated and cynical. We will not, however, see our children getting any smarter or any more engaged in the process of learning.

This country is in a crisis of personal responsibility. It is a void that breeds charlatans and hucksters, snake oil and potions. Until we collectively recognize the mandate of personal responsibility for ourselves and our children, we will remain desperate in our pursuit of half-baked remedies, victims of our own ignorance.

Grass, Gas, or Ass

I remember this bumper sticker from the 70's. It seemed reasonable enough then, in the age of liberation, drugs, free love, and gas prices creeping ever closer to 50 cents a gallon. I was 15 or so. It was funny, cool, and just slightly naughty in a hip-sophisticated sort of way.

Now it's not so funny. Now, when I read public opinion overwhelmingly in support of background checks for prospective gun buyers and then see the measure fail in the Senate, I don't think it's funny. Whether you favor fewer regulations with respect to firearm ownership or more stringent regulations, it's almost beside the point. What we really need to accomplish is the removal of that sticker from the bumper of every car registered to every legislator in every state in the Union and Washington, D.C.

The influence of special interests has got to be unplugged from the wallets and war chests of every elected office holder, whether it's the NRA, dairy farmers, retired people, insurance companies, medical societies, or any other well-financed special interest. President Obama said, "So, all in all, this was a pretty shameful day for Washington." I would have to agree. In part because, even though there are a significant number of Americans who wish to fervently maintain their rights to bear almost any and all manner of arms, there are more, an unfunded vocal majority who were asking for action; an unfunded vocal majority who were asking for some type of reasonable intervention; an unfunded vocal majority who were asking for some type of regulatory concession in light of the fact that hundreds of children are killed, and thousands wounded, by hand guns every year in this country.

In larger part, however, it was shameful because a majority of United States senators chose to feign contemplation and consideration, to feign protection of individual rights, to offer some convoluted theory of protecting individual freedom in order to side-step public opinion and maintain the support of one of the most financially and politically powerful lobbies in the nation.

Shameful indeed. The United States Senate chose Wednesday to let it all hang out and prove beyond any reasonable doubt that we are, indeed, a government of the buyer, by the buyer, and for the buyer. As a result, I think at this point I am willing to overlook the failure to make any progress with gun control if we can somehow get a handle on the whorehouse that is U.S. politics. No gas. No grass. No ass. Just get the hell out of Washington, D.C.!

Genius

A friend of mine recently wrote about her seemingly hereditary struggles to excel in certain subjects at school. Specifically, she indicated that the emphasis in her household was on passing and making an effort, both of which I fully endorse. Not passing is absolutely no fun. Not trying is a whole other problem and certainly no fun for a parent to watch.

The comment I made to her was that genius should be measured in terms of happiness and humor, not grades and accomplishments. I'll stick by that, too. But then, while I was talking with another friend this weekend we started talking about non-starter/struggling male offspring of doctors. I know more than a few. I haven't really looked, so I can't really say, but it just strikes me that there are a disproportionate number of doctors' sons who fail to launch on a personal level. And, too, maybe it's not docs but, rather, the sons of so-called successful dads.

The girls just don't seem to founder to the same degree and my guess is that has to do with both socialization and biology. Females are evolved and socialized to survive, nurture, and promote survival. Boys, by contrast, to impregnate. (If humans follow a model I'd say the page was taken from lions.)

Unfortunately, with a five-year old at home, I figure I've got about 15 years to find out what I'm doing right or wrong. In the meantime I'll try to stay focused on my five-year old son and try to keep foremost in mind that it is happiness and good humor we're all after.

Then again, in as much as I'll be retired by the time he finishes high school, productive would be good as well. What with where Social Security is headed I could use a little monetary support and a place to live in about another twenty years. (No, wait! I've got a daughter!)

In the meantime I'm stickin' to the premise that pure genius is reflected in a lifetime of happiness abd good humor. Hey! I guess that makes me a freakin' genius!

Fancy Restaurants/Special Occasions

On our way out to dinner last night we passed the location of a long gone old-time "fancy restaurant." A fancy restaurant was the kind of place you went to celebrate special occasions. A fancy restaurant might have a regular clientele that was wealthy, that had the money to allow them to live like kings and go out several days each month, or even maybe, each week. For the rest of us it was a couple times a year- a birthday, an anniversary, a graduation, a promotion. The restaurant was a destination. The meal, an event.

The hotel we've been staying at has a place called Trader Vic's Lounge. It's a fragment of the full scale restaurant that used to occupy the site, a Polynesian themed restaurant best known for its exotic drinks and South Seas derived menu.  Earlier in the day I had the great good fortune to spend a part of the afternoon visiting with some old friends. They were recounting how Trader Vic's used to be a fun, fancy, special occasion restaurant-- although I think probably more than a couple of the dads in that era made it their regular watering hole. That would have been back in the day when there were such things as watering holes.

This all started to come to mind last night after I had a just okay Caesar Salad at a rather mediocre Italian restaurant where there seemed to be several tables with couples on dates, friends gathered for a dinner out, even a few older couples, and the bill came to over a hundred bucks for 3 meals and one glass of wine. It was in a "entertainment and shopping complex" (read: outdoor mall) swarming with locals, populated with nice retail outlets and all the usual restaurant suspects. After having had that conversation in the afternoon, and after passing the site of the old Chasen's on the way to our dinner, I realized this: Caesar salad used to be fancy, special, out of the ordinary. Caesar Salad, teriyaki chicken, coconut shrimp, great fettuccine prepared table side, and a dozen other dishes have been stripped of every last vestige of their once proud place on the exclusive menus of fancy restaurants, homogenized and packaged for the mass food market and presented in name only-- impostors for what was once not just a dish, but an event. Good grief! If a person today says they don't like Caesar Salad I can't be sure what they're talking about.

It's too bad in a way. There are so few restaurants where one can go and still get a spectacular meal with dishes prepared table side or brought out with panache. Instead, nowadays a great restaurant is one where a chef struggles to make "unconventional pairings" and you end up looking at a meal thinking the kitchen is just really trying way too hard. And when the kitchen does succeed, everyone else has it within 2 months; often served in a styrofoam bowl with a plastic fork.

I guess in the end there is nothing too terrible about being able to get great sushi on almost every block of every major city. I guess there are worse things then being able to get a Caesar salad at McDonalds, teriyaki chicken at the grocery store, or cedar planked salmon at the airport. But the down side is I'm just not sure that, 40 years from now, my kids are going to be able to sit around a poolside fire pit anywhere talking about the great restaurant landmarks of their past.

In all fairness, we weren't looking for a fancy restaurant last night but I'm just not convinced the "fancy restaurant" exists much anymore anywhere.  And, based on what I see in places like where I ate last night, people probably don't know the difference. And that's too bad: They can generate a lifetime of great memories.

And too, safe to say, there are an awful lot of people who've never had a great Caesar Salad!

Stuck in Traffic

Last night Ev got to decide where we would have dinner. As luck would have it, his choice put us on a Los Angeles freeway going toward the airport at 5:30 in the evening. The whole way there, a 15 minute drive that was burning up the better part of an hour, all you could hear was, "God, I hate this. I could never do this. This is ridiculous. God, I hate this." It was like a sound loop on a cable radio station sans the variety.  The further we got into it, the worse it became.

The episode reminded me, however, of what life must be like for some people. They head out on their life adventure and instead of scooting right along to a wonderful destination they get stuck in some godawful mess. But, unlike a southern California freeway clogged with people on their way one from work which will continue to push you along toward your destination no matter how tedious, life events sometimes seem to stop a person in their tracks.

Sometimes I think people are victims of their own poor planning. They pick the wrong destination, or select the wrong route, or choose the wrong time to travel, or they don't really know where it is they're going, or, worse still, they let the wrong person make their decision. Then, when they find themselves tangled in the snarl of frustrated personal progress they simply do what every driver on that LA freeway last evening wished they could do: they just stop. They don't do it anymore. They go home. The sad thing is, like last night, if you stop, pull over, or turn around, sometimes you miss out on something really great. Worse still, many times you won't end up anywhere at all.

I guess that's one of the great lessons of the LA freeways, if you will: In life, like the freeway, it's important to have an idea of where it is you want to end up. In life, like traveling in a congested city, it's important to understand the routes available. And, too, like a busy freeway, it's important to understand timing, the "when" in life.

I guess the final realization I gained from traveling that freeway last night was this: For all the shortcomings of my little hometown, I thank god we don't have a freeway! The only time traffic stops where I live is for red lights and stop signs.

Three Stories

I read three stories this morning. About as disparate as could be but, somehow, struck me with a common relevance. They are stories that each point to our society today, our society that is more and more driven by neediness, greediness, and the promotion of self.

The first story appeared on the NPR newsfeed today. It pertains to labor practices and abuse within the construction industry in Texas. Although the discussion is solely concerned with what goes on in that industry in that state, it is a story that, to me, emphasizes so much the hypocrisy and selfishness that is America today. It's not everyone. It's not all of us. But it's enough of us to infect the whole organism. It strikes me as the central cancer that is rapidly metasticizing and eroding the foundation of this land of freedom and opportunity, eating at everything from healthcare, to religion, to education, to construction.

The second story addresses what I think are the very core issues in the first story: honesty and a sense of responsibility for others. This is a great read, as insightful and uplifting as the first is discouraging. It speaks to raising children with a sense of social responsibility and responsibility to oneself.

Finally, I read my friend Carol's Blog from the 9th. It is a wonderful story of dignity and humility. It's the story of  doing all things with grace and self-respect. And, it is a story to remind us that not all things go well, even when they should. That's life, lived well.

36 Years

I read the other day that it was Anita Bryant who really juiced the anti-gay movement when she coined the battle cry "Save Our Children." She worked to organize conservative parents to fight against the terror of gay parenthood. "Please join us in voting for the human rights of children — voting for decency." That was in 1977.

Growing up in Southern California there were several things I didn't like about Anita Bryant, not the least of which was the fact she had taken employment doing ads for Florida orange juice. Now, 36 years later and looking back, I feel this woman, the fervor, the tide that swelled from that movement-- while I know it is all still very much alive, more and more it is beginning to be recognized for the aberration it is: scared little people trying to create a safe reality.

Unfortunately, what has been envisioned and promoted is neither safe nor reality. Sadder still, the intent is not all that far removed from the way we function in this country as a whole: Rather than trusting in the power of tolerance and acceptance of others, rather than embracing the resource that is diversity, we chose to confront, attack, and attempt to control the social and political systems we don't understand and which seem so different from our own.

Perhaps we're hopelessly lost in the biology of human nature and we will never learn to accept and care about others in an open and holistic manner. Perhaps we will simply continue our course of fear, attack, and denial until we finally reach that point where we can each be certain we are, in fact, safe, happy, and free of all conflict. The grave.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Sooner or later it happens to every parent. You sit there and suddenly a word or phrase pops out of your kid's mouth that is at once inappropriate and all too familiar. Like the other night: Tam's resting on the couch, Ev and I are sitting in chairs watching the Yankees and the Red Sox. There was a wild pitch, it hit the catcher's shoe, and went flying off behind the plate allowing a runner to score.

Suddenly, as if a button had been pushed, Evan jumps to life: "What-the-hell! Did you see that. He kicked the ball!! That's ridiculous!"

I calmly explained to Ev that the catcher did not kick the ball, he was struck by a wild pitch. Then I turned and glanced in the direction of the couch where Tam's head had popped right up over the armrest at the sound of Evan's astute commentary.

We ended up just letting it pass. No lecture. No correction. No scolding. We figured he'd learned it from his grand father, rolled our eyes, and shook our heads. Then, of course, we found ourselves using the same expression a half dozen times between the two of us over the next two days.

It's not so much that he used the expression that gives a parent concern. It's the thought of getting that note sent home from school one day in the not too distant future.  We can try rehearsing now, "we have no idea where he would learn to say something like that!" His teacher doesn't have kids of her own. It might work. Then again, we'd only be fooling ourselves. Everyone knows how this happens.

At this point I guess we can just be glad he's using his expletives in the proper setting and context. His response did seem rather spot-on.

All Action No Conscience

Kansas House Speaker Ray Merrick, a Republican, watches the chamber's electronic tally board as it approves a sweeping anti-abortion bill Friday at the Statehouse in Topeka. At left is Majority Leader Jene Vickrey.
NO WIZARD

I am sad, mad, and frustrated almost beyond function today. This morning I read that Kansas is posed to enact legislation that recognizes life begins with fertilization and includes all manner of obstacle for a woman seeking an abortion, as well as those who would provide one.  I have to believe that we will get past this thing. Somehow, owing to science, reason, and economics, we will eventually realize the folly of these laws. Laws that are almost always written and forwarded by men. Laws that are almost always the brainchildren of women and men who believe they are acting to uphold God’s law. Laws that are promotoed by men and women who claim they are acting to recoginize the sanctity of life. Laws that are promoted to ensure that every “child” has the opportunity to come into this world and fully partake in the wonder of human life on this planet and in this country.

It must be easy to hold those beliefs. Especially when you have never, and never will, face the physical and emotional cost of carrying a pregnancy. Especially when you believe you’re perfect, or at least damn close in the eyes of your God. Especially when you can drive home in a car without fear of breakdown or concern for the price of gas. Especially when you know your child will be cared for every single day by you, a member of your household, or a member of your staff, in a safe and cozy home. Especially when you know your child will never know the serious side of want or need. Especially when you know your child will never lack for educational opportunity and support.

But, it must require an especially perverse way of thinking to enable one to hold those beliefs and ignore the consequences. To ignore the vast number of children who are seriously injured or die each year at the hands of an abusive parent. To ignore the vast number of children warehoused in foster homes. To ignore the vast number of children in this country who sleep homeless, who are all but discarded by a seriously damaged parent, who never know what it’s like not to be hungry. To propose ongoing cuts to social programs like Headstart, unemployment benefits, job training, schools, the arts, and all manner of social welfare programs.

I guess I’d like these supposedly well-meaning legislators to have a seat in a pediatrician’s office here, where I live. Or in any other poor county in this country. Or in the heart of any major city. Just let them drink in the wholesale neglect. Drink in the sight of a troubled and angry child—at the age of 2. Drink in the sight of incapable moms dragging their children around by the arms, yelling, pushing, hitting. Get the full impact of a child hydrated with high sugar drinks and nourished on a high carb, high fat diet.

After a week or so of that, perhaps he or she can remind me, once again, as to the gift of life in every circumstance. Remind me again of just how much your God cares for these little ones. Remind me again of what a great service it is you provide by eliminating the teaching of birth control in the schools and the elimination of ready access to abortion.

Remind me. Because, from where I live and from what I see, day in and day out,  I’ve sure as hell forgotten.

Spring Fever

The Cone Zone opened here yesterday in my neck of the woods. I know this because Ev has been reminding his mother and me of the fact that it would open on April 5th for about a month now.

These little ice cream places are fairly frequently occurring dots on the landscape here in Michigan. Certainly every small town has at least one place where you can go for ice cream: hand packed in 2 dozen flavors; soft serve in another 20; shakes, malts, flurries. On a summer afternoon or a warm summer night the line goes out to the street. And you can just forget about it after soccer on Saturdays.

I promised Ev we'd go, and we did. It was a beautiful sunny opening day, even if it was only 41 degrees. I figured we'd go through the drive-thru, he'd get his Superman ice cream in a cup, and we'd be on our way. So we went.

Apparently I misunderstand just how widely loved this little ice cream stand is here in town. We had our choice: Wait in a drive-thru line of about 10 cars or park the car and stand in a line extending to the street in 40 degree weather.

Talk about spring fever. We were a bit chilly standing there for 10 minutes waiting our turn to order. But it must have been a lot worse for the folks who showed up in flip-flops and shorts.

Around these parts, when you're done with winter, you're done with winter!

Deli-icious

I read this story the other morning. I had to. When I see a story about deli I smell pastrami and lox and my mouth starts to water. Then I read where they feature a "grilled eggplant Rueben." Rather than walking out right then and there I stayed with the article all the way through the soup course of bone marrow matzoh balls in a ginger infused broth.

The problem for me is, well actually, two problems for me are, one, I'm a traditional kinda guy and two, I don't live where great deli is an easily accessible option. So, doing the math, when I have access to deli I don't want to try an inventive twist on a tradition bagel with lox. I want the real deal. I'm willing to go with reduced fat cream cheese but otherwise, just bring me the plate with the lox, the schmear, the capers, onion, chopped egg, and tomato. It's not rocket science, why make it complicated?

I've been eating meatless for about 3 years now and I must say, I feel better. But I've also learned that when it comes to certain foods, and deli is certainly one of them, there is no substitute for the real thing. If I'm gonna fall off the wagon, I'm going for the gusto-- and hold the egg plant.

Cheers

Too good to pass up: I have a 90 year-old patient I've been taking care of over the past few days. He has a terrible hand infection that requires frequent trips to the OR for clean-up and dressing changes. He's alert and snappy if not slightly forgetful.

In the OR on Saturday morning as he settled onto the OR table he looks at me and asks, "You ever drink on the job?" "No" I responded, a bit surprised and wondering why he would ask. His response to my answer in the negative? "You haven't lived."

At ninety, he should know.

Un-Educated

A recent report about cheating among Atlanta educators brings to light the grossly mis-concieved  national trend toward accountability in education. The trend is probably the brain storm fart of some highly degreed educator who has never even spent a full semester standing in front of a classroom full of kids. Instead, probably scared to death of the responsibility and monumental challenge faced by frontline teachers everywhere, this/these brainiacs came up with the genius idea that we should hold teachers accountable based on the performance of their students on standardized tests.

I watched a short film the other evening called "Becoming13" that followed three 12 year-olds in their thirteenth year. One of the remarkable observations the film allows is the staggering difference and influence of parental involvement, judgement, and steering. And there's the rub: Teachers cannot be held wholly accountable for the work of their students any more than a car can be held accountable for a crash. A car can be accountable for causing a crash but it's a far less common occurrence than the failure of the human factor. Likewise, a teacher is occasionally bad and responsible for poor performance but, far more often than not, it is the home, the parents, that should shoulder the blame for poor performance.

And so here we are, reading about a series of educators motivated to cheat on behalf of their students in order to keep their jobs and, I presume, earn their various incentives and bonuses.

I'm sympathetic and cynical in part owing to the fact that doctors and hospitals in America are being held to the same standard more and more. It's a little harder to cheat in healthcare, though. It's difficult to hide illness and death.

The bottom line is we seem to be trying to address our most serious social problems from the wrong end of the equation. In a society that is characterized more and more by a lack of personal integrity and responsibility, by parents with no commitment to their child's safety, health, and education, in a society where we are constantly seduced to overeat and enjoy the wrong kinds of food, a society where it just has to be someone else's fault-- we are blaming those who are left trying to deal with the mess rather than those who are making it in the first place.

Those educators in Atlanta were wrong to do what they did. The system, however, is the larger offender.