Once More, With Feeling

I sit in my home, watching the Memorial Day parade going by. Anyone that knows me knows my feelings about war. I watch the ex-supply clerks riding by or marching with their bellies hanging over their belts, leading troops of Girl Scouts and Cub Scouts and young soccer players and dance classes, all supposedly honoring our war dead. They stop and fire off a volley of rifle fire, probably the last thing that our war dead heard. That seems inappropriate to me.
I have no sons to worry about in war. I have four grandsons but I will be long gone when their time comes. Who will read to them the words of "Dulce et Decorum Est" or explain Passchendaele to them when the poppies are being sold? There will come a time when they hear the Tunes of Glory and feel the same feelings that I felt when my turn came. I remember the day that I told my Father that I had enlisted in the Army. He looked at me silently for a few minutes and then turned away and walked away silently. Much later he said "I don't want to lose my son over oil.". It was many years later when it came out that he knew what he was talking about, the oilfields off of the coast of Vietnam.
So I sit and contemplate the futility of it all. Then the band starts to play "Those Caissons Go Rolling Along". I feel a rush of the pride that I once felt of being part of the Infantry, the Queen of the Battlefield. I remember the purity of Infantry Blue. I have not felt that stirring in many years. Many things can overcome rational thought. I remember the scene fom the movie Cabaret, where the young German boy gets up to sing in his Hitler Youth uniform. You can feel the emotion stirring even if you don't understand the language. My grandsons will hear the music and the valiant words and feel those emotions. Mothers, you must read to them Dulce et Decorum Est. It took more courage to say "Hell No, I Won't Go!" than it took to "Follow Me!". That courage was confirmed on May 4th, I don't remember which year, at Kent State. The young soldiers that fired those bullets were as innocent as the students that were slain by them. It was supposedly a misunderstanding. Misunderstanding, a good definition of war but a poor definition of murder. They heard the music and believed the slogans. The volley that they fired may have done more to end the war than all the bombs and bullets that sluiced their way through human flesh. Hugh Thompson Jr never recieved the Medal of Honor but I honor him in my heart. He is my hero.
As the wars in the East continue on I think of the slogans. Weapons of Mass Destruction and Evil Empire and Axis of Evil. I think of "Remember the Maine" when I read about the situation in Korea. Many years later it is believed that the Maine blew up because of some internal problem but that was long after the establishment of the American Empire and the findings lie covered in dust. Remember the Maine led to our involvement in the Phillipines and Southeast Asia and its oil and may have led to "Remember Pearl Harbor!". That war was necessary. I have never heard a veteran of that combat talk about their war experiences. They just look at you and quietly turn away.
My grandsons will have to make their own decisions, not be swayed by a Chauvanist. I hope that they will have the intelligence to see that the Emperor has no clothes or evidence of WMDs.
Still, the tune lingers on.
"Counter march
Right about
Hear those wagon soldiers shout
As those caissons go rolling along
For it's hi hi hee in the Field artillery
Count off your numbers loud and strong
And where ere we go
You will always know
That those caissons go rolling along"
Caissons, they not only transport artillery. They are also used in funeral processions to carry the casket. Those caissons go rolling along, one way or the other.

Bleeding

The Earth is bleeding. After poking holes in the Earth all over the globe, Mankind has finally hit an artery. Whether the bleeding will ever stop is unknown by the experts that so proudly proclaimed that all that they were doing was safe and controllable. Petroleum is the heroin of business and technology. My life would be very different without petroleum. I don't know how difficult it would be but I am sure that it would be. I would be colder in Winter and have to rely on locally produced food. Even the candles that I would normally use for lighting during a power outage come from petroleum.
We have only one Earth to live on. This bleeding will soon spread to almost all of the Atlantic region. I am sure that British Petroleum is aware the the Gulf Stream will slowly bring those chickens home to roost in Britain.
There will be no more blue crabs in the Chesapeake Bay, the mansions in the Hamptons and Newport will reek of the substance that made their construction possible, and Chatham will be sending out for clams and scallops and lobster. Nantucket will reek of oil as it used to reek of oil from slaughter. Every creature, except for Man, on the planet knows that you don't foul your own nest. The oil will spread over half of the planet. Some day there will be a spark that might turn the Earth into one huge kebab. There will be accusations of government corruption and laxity in regulation and finger pointing galore. Global warming will become Global Grilling.
The Earth is bleeding but some day it will stop. Once it has rid itself of the parasite that caused the bleeding, the Earth will go on somehow. Life will adapt and go on somehow. Mankind, we had a good run but it looks like the show is over. I will miss the scallops but I don't think that they will miss me.

Poor, poor, pitiful tomatoes

This year I started a great many tomato seedlings. During the last few days, I left them out on the porch. The Sun must have been stronger than I thought because when I checked on them yesterday, most of them had expired. I have a few left but not many. The seeds that I have left will be good for next year but this year will be a bust for tomatoes. I do enjoy picking fresh tomatoes from the porch so but this year I will have to be satisfied with supermarket tomatoes. They are not the same as the tasty, warm, homegrown ones. I am sorry little seedlings, you had such promise.

Fixed

The telephone is fixed. It has been several days since I was able to get dial tone. The repairman came out yesterday and found a trouble in the line and fixed it. Being without the telephone has been quite an experience. It also reminds me of the time many years ago when we had the telephone disconnected. That time it became apparent that there were no disturbances during the day or night. This time it became apparent how much time I had on my hands. Without the telephone there was no access to being on line with the computer. How many hours I waste each day being on line was never so glaring. It also became apparent what a useless device the computer is without on line access. You can only play so many games of minefield before you become aware that the thing's only purpose is to monopolize your day. I have a bridge game and a chess game and a scrabble game and after a while I began to think "You are wasting a pretty good life by staring at the cyclops on the desk.". So another resolution has been made. I will Wikipedia each morning and then get out in the wonderful New England May weather and walk and talk to the neighbors and enjoy this wonderful ease with which I have been blessed. I worked fifty years to come to this point and it is time to enjoy it. The green grass, the green trees, the chirping birds, and the Simpson clouds are all waiting to show off their splendor. No dial tone was a clarion call to stop being an air waster and start living.

On Toast

Once again the pundits are all crying "The people are voting for the anti-Washington D.C. candidates.". Once again the same old crap is being touted as the national fervor and once again the candidates are all spouting "I am against big government and Washington D.C..". Once again the American people are wolfing down empty hors d'ourve. The main course will come when that candidate gets to Washington D.C.. The menu will have changed, it will be business as usual, and the candidate will fall asleep each night dreaming dreams of moving into government housing on Pennsylvania Avenue. To do that the candidate must raise huge amounts of money for their campaign fund. That money doesn't come from food co-ops or organic farms or homeless shelters. It comes from the endless all-you-can-eat buffets that lobbyists put out in the bulging Washington D.C. trough. When the meal is finally over, here comes the dessert. When the candidate retires from public office, the candidate gets to keep all of the money that is in the campaign fund. Sort of a multi-million dollar doggie bag.
Solutions? I don't know if there are any. No matter how the electorate trys to limit the system, the system is controlled by very smart people who will always find a way around it. I do have a few suggestions.
1. Put all politicians on a diet. No more banquets. You must dine at the automat. A limit of $100 dollar contributions from anyone reistered to vote and no corporations or committees are allowed to contribute. $100 times the American population of registered voters is quite a lot of funds. Once a campaign fund reaches a certain limit, no more funds are allowed to be added to it. Thus the older solons will have no incentive to accumulate more and the power of contributions might be limited. Thus the head of a committe will have the interest of the electorate on their mind rather than the interest of a huge multi-national conglomerate. Can you imagine the rush to get all of the undocumented resident immigrants made into citizens so that they can register to vote?
2. Dressing. Now that the politicians are eating from the salad bar instead the To-Hell-With_The-Country Buffet, they will be reminded of a simple fact. Just after oxygen, the thing that we can't live without is water. Oil and water don't mix! Oil and vinegar do. America must learn to swallow the bitter draught of a lot less oil or spend more time taking notice of the water.
3. Going to the rest room. Even birds, with their tiny little brains, know that you don't crap where you eat. The rest room is where you wash your hands of your past activities and head back out to finish your salad. The dressing of the salad may be bitter and sour but take a sip of fresh, clean water and things will seem better. Have a nice meal of good, clean, fish or mussels. Still there will be the traditional Washington meal of lobster and caviar, on toast. The rest of us will dine of our traditional electoral meal of:
S. O. S. on Toast and gobble it down like an ambrosial campaign promise.

P.S. A note to all politicians. The clean, fresh, water is an instant way to extinguish the inferno that is your trousers. While dining at Chez Congess, make sure that the Maitre'D's pockets are not bulging with fifties from guests from out of town that did not have a reservation (B.P.?) and make sure that the Chef in the clean White Kitchen has clean hands.

A not so hottie

The chorizo wasn't as hot as I had been led to believe. I had never had it before. It is sort of like kielbasa with large globules of fat in it. It still has all of the nasty things in it that kielbasa has so I think that I will stick with kielbasa or make my own without the nitrates. I am reticent to make sausage at home due to the possibility of it getting hot while being ground and therefore becoming deadly. I am a Swede so putting in my obituary "Died from Lutefisk Poisoning" is o.k. but "Died from Chorizo Poisoning" is not acceptible.
This brings up something I have been wondering about. Almost all insurance, be it car or life or house, states that the insurance will not pay if the incident was due to an act of God. Using the term God suggests that insurance companies accept the presence of God. If they do then they must admit that everything that happens in the universe is an act of God because God controls everything. This seems to say that they will never have to pay any claims at all. This is wonderful news for the insurance company that covers British Petroleum. It is not such good news for British Petroleum. The matter will be dealt with by the British Petroleum Not Such Good News Department who will deal with it when they get the time. They have been quite busy lately. They are up to their arse in alligators.

The Pot Thickens

So much for the peas. It seems as if every time I get out the dutch oven, I end up with the same dish. I started on the soffrito. Olive oil, onions, garlic, peppers, and spices were gently simmering away. Sure enough, when it came time to add the tomatoes, two cans were added along with basil, sugar, cherry peppers, olives, and mushrooms. Every time I get out the dutch oven I end up with spaghetti sauce. Why? Because I love linguine. For meat I sauteed up some boneless short ribs and let them braise for several hours in the sauce. I know what the menu will be for the next several days as I have a great deal of leftover sauce and three boxes of linguine. Life is looking very good right now.

The Fire Down Below

Today may be a day burned into my gastronomic memory. I have plans to make Portuguese Peas. The recipe is simple. Soffrito is made first. Then peas, pimentos, asparagus, ham, (here comes the fire) and chorizo are added. Several eggs are cracked whole on top and the whole thing is baked in the oven until the eggs are poached. Parsley is added at the end as a garnish. Dig in, here comes the fire and the frantic search for baking soda to extinguish the fire down below. The chorizo is not imported but it is Gaspar's from New Bedford and should be very good as all things from New Bedford are. Oh, to once more have a chance to eat at Antonios on Coggleshall Street in New Bedford and have the Shrimp Antonio. Imagine shrimp and Manila clams cooked in a very garlicy marinara sauce with all of the Portuguese pops you can eat to mop up the gravy. There is no better place in the world to order fish and shellfish than New Bedford. Margaret's in Fairhaven is a close second and just across the river. Turk's on route 6 in Fairhaven is best for a mixed fried scallop and clam plate.
The history of New Bedford and Fairhaven is interesting. Fairhaven is almost all Nowegian and New Bedford is Portuguese and French. The French were in New Bedford first, then the Portuguese and Norwegians arrived and couldn't decide who would have to live with the French and their unique tolerance of things not French. So the tossed a coin. The Portuguese lost.
The Portuguese may have won out after all. When it comes to food, it is good to live near the French. I have seen a fat Frenchman. I have seen a fat Portuguese. I have never seen a fat Nowegian. That may be because of the Scandinavian attitude towards food which is:
1. The Danes live to eat.
2. The Norwegians eat to live.
3. The Swedes eat to drink.

As a side note, the reason Antonios has no apostrophy is that it is not owned by someone named Antonio. It is simply that all of the cooks are named Antonio. The restaurant also has a cappuchino machine as big as a Volkswagen Beetle. They also have draft beer in one quart mugs and the Portuguese beer Cristal is as good as Heineken's. If you feel like skipping the food and simply sipping your way through town, there is the Irish Immigrant Bar. It is a good place to go if you have lost your fistfight and looking for a new one.

One More Sign

R asked a question. That question has been on the minds of human beings for thousands of years. There is no answer. Can a Daphnia understand the mind of a human being? It is only recently that that question was even allowed to be asked. It was always there in the minds of reasoning human beings but it had to be kept hidden. I can picture Aristotle sitting by himself, asking himself the same question.
The closest I have ever come to an answer was given to me by a dear one when she quoted "Were you there when I made the mountains?". A person could ponder that question for a lifetime and come no closer to the answer.
There are questions every parent must learn the answers to. Why is the sky blue? What is centripetal force and how can it be? Why don't we fall off of the Earth?
There are so many questions that we just don't have answers for. There are answers, we just don't have them. Neither does the Daphnia. We are just human beings and we plod along through ceturies seeking answers. As we journey towards an answer, we usually find a Greek coming back from the answer. Many times we find that the answer is "Que Sera Sera." for the present. We think that we have found an answer but someone in the future will find that we were wrong. Even Hubble was wrong, not very wrong but still wrong.
The questions will always be there. Some are answered by a methodical plodding of the mind, Pasteur and Salk for instance. Some are answered by flashes of brilliance encountered on a Swiss streetcar. Some will never be answered. Science is a journey for a mind seeking tangible answers. Philosophy is a gym set for the mind seeking a journey.
R has started on the journey simply by asking the question. Newton sat under a tree and discovered an answer from his mind. The Buddha sat under a tree and discovered his mind. R has asked a question and begun the journey. I wonder where the journey will take him. R, say hello to the Greek for me. I used to meet him but that was long ago. I wonder "Why".