True Patriotism

A lot has been said of patriotism during the past election cycle.  Some define this as a desire to have America police the world and use it's military might, and if you are not for this, you must not be very patriotic.

Webster's defines it as:
: love for or devotion to one's country 

Oddly, Websters gives the following examples of use:
 :You may not agree with him politically, but no one can question his patriotism.
:They supported the war with a fierce patriotism.

The main use of the word does always seem to be about war, and about politics.

But, as many people complain about me, I am a literal person.  And as such, I embrace the true definition; love for or devotion to one's country.  I love my country, and I am devoted to my country.  I love it so much and am devoted to it so much that I feel safe and within my bounds to "call it out" when my country is out of line.  Really, isn't that what love is all about, the ability to be truly honest and open with those you love?

Sad to say not all Americans believe in the America that I believe in; but fortunately America checked in and I  am happy to discover that at least the majority of Americans believe in the America that I believe in.

I believe in an America where we share.
I believe in an America where everyone has a chance - whether they use it or not
I believe in an America that believes in education
I believe in an America that believes in Science
And I believe in an America that cares about the planet. 

The day after the election I attended a meeting at Benaroya Hall put on by 350.ORG.  It is an organization that is trying to save the planet, and in doing so has vowed to fight Big Oil. 

If Big Oil has it their way, our planet will be destroyed.  This is a fact.  If they are able to procure, deliver and consume all the fossil fuels currently owned and identified, our planet is toast.  Sadly, Big Oil does not view themselves as being in the energy business.  Big Oil views themselves as being in the Fossil Fuel business.  If they could but open their eyes; and their incredible cash and capital reserves and pursue clean energy they could be a positive force.  But alas, they are only interested in easy and ample profits that can be made by destroying the planet.

I have thrown my hat in with 350.org.  

I will work hard to stop the coal transfer station being contemplated in Washington State.
I am riding my bike to work each day
And my biggest commitment, so far, is that I am purchasing a Chevy Volt.

My purchase of the Chevy Volt does many things:
1. It sends a message to Big Oil and frees me from their clutches - Washington's energy is clean
2. It supports the AMERICAN auto industry
3. It sends the message to the American auto industry that CONSUMERS will reward them for developing clean energy alternatives to fossil fuel.

To me, that is true patriotism

Being a Man or The Joy of Knowing You are Wrong, but You Know Somehow There is No Other Path for You

Frank Sinatra started out as a crooner that made the teeny bopper girls wilt. Maybe that is his legacy, I don’t know, but for me I think he ended up as a Man’s Man singer. A singer that made men sit up, listen and take quiet comfort in knowing that all the stupid things they have done as men, the stubborn, the stupid, the self indulgent were worth the price paid.

My I-pod just played Paul Anka’s version of My Way. It stopped me in my tracks and made me set the dial back twice and listen, and listen with stupid man satisfaction.

Because no matter what kind of nickel dime world we each think we are king of, we all know and appreciate how we got here and I know I am proud of my path, my choices and my location. And I even think that the guy I will pass tonight on the off ramp with the cardboard sign will have a similar feeling.

I made a post a while back (that I will repost right behind this one) about men and the rough life we live. And to stop any confusion and harassment – Yeah, I agree, women have it tough as well - it is just that a) I am not qualified to talk or address their issues and b) hetero-sexual wise they have to deal with men.

But to BE a MAN one MUST live life knowing the words of My Way, and quite frankly I have to say, and I think most men (the ones I enjoy being around) will say you ain’t shit if you haven’t actively acted out some of that song.

This is to say being a man means that times will come when YOU KNOW what the world wants of you, you KNOW how a reasonable person would react to the issue, BUT you have this inner voice, this voice you know causes trouble for you, but YOU KNOW you are gonna side with it – World be Damned.

It is not always an anger thing, but it can be. Most of the time (at least for me) it is a quiet choice. You know it is going to cost you, you know “things” (meaning the short term world) will be better if you don’t, but the VOICE says so, and you do so. And it makes you feel better and you can indeed spend the rest of your life ….proud.

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels;
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows -
And did it my way!

I am proud to be on my feet, I am proud of the blows taken and am quite looking forward to the next series of blows. Bring them on, I can take it.

Now here are all the lyrics:

And now, the end is near;
And so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear,
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.

I've lived a life that's full.
I've traveled each and ev'ry highway;
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Regrets, I've had a few;
But then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.

I planned each charted course;
Each careful step along the byway,
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I stood tall;
And did it my way.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried.
I've had my fill; my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing.

To think I did all that;
And may I say - not in a shy way,
"No, oh no not me,
I did it my way".

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels;
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows -
And did it my way!

Men, A repost to go with the post above

This is not about me turning gay. I am pretty sure I am not. And I will save you the Seinfeld line here. I am not gay. Maybe it is just all the Phillip Roth I have been reading lately. Too much Zuckerman. But I have been looking at men lately. Taking a good look. Like never before. Really looking at men. Almost for the first time.

I like men. I like being a man. I have a pretty good definition of men. It is pretty broad and open. Very accepting. I feel for men. I feel the pain of being man. The conflict of maleness. How hard it can be to be a man. Difficult job that never ends.

For me, it is what life is about. Being a man. Hard work. Nasty stuff. It is a cold cruel world. It moves fast. It is always changing and the world always wants more. And there is not much help out there.

It is a confusing, rule oriented, demanding no excuse world. As Frank Sinatra would sing, you’re riding high in April, shot down in May. Nothing lasts and like any good prize fighter we are judged by our will to get off the mat, try again knowing another punch is sure to come, and knowing that there is a punch to come that could end it all.

This is what I think about when I look at other men. As I do, I wonder…how is their fight coming along. What do they fear, how do they cope and how do they get through their day. How is the world treating them.

I see slight answers in how they dress, how they walk, how they hold themselves. I notice that more men limp. More men seem to carry pain. I see some men that are behind on points in the fight, I see some men that look undefeated, and I see some men that look like they cannot take another round.

And I worry about them. And I forgive them. And I want them all to find happiness and above all acceptance.

More and more I notice how life is not good to men. We are most likely not like the guys on TV. We typically are either not that pretty or that stupid. I have never asked any other man, but I sure do not like the way we look on TV. We are not as simple as that. We are dealing with way more fear and confusion than TV portrays.

So I go through my days, take my punches and punch back at the invisible foe from behind my guard. I seek shelter in my corner. I take refuge in my castle and thank my lucky stars that there is someone in my corner who loves men, knows my pain and sometimes even clears a path for me and sheds light on another way and at times understands why I sometimes cannot take that path even though I know it is better.

Blackhawk Tryout

Stan Makita

Pregame at the Billygoat Tavern

The gang with Tony

The gang with Bobby Hull

Bobby Hull

This weekend I flew to Chicago for a tryout with the Chicago Blackhawks. It was a gas.

Based on the original offer of a tryout I agreed to fly to Chicago with my lovely wife Peggy and we were to meet up with her Canadian friend. Linda from Toronto. Linda's vast Canadian knowledge of hockey led me to believe she would be perfect as my agent. The tryout offer came with four groovy tickets to the game.

Late in our planning, in a search for a home for the fourth ticket, I invited my cousin John who lives in Indianapolis. John asked me if his brother Joe could attend as well. When I approached Peggy about perhaps missing the game and having a wonderful dinner with Linda, the relief was evident in her eyes and it became a boys night at the game and a ladies night at the Farmhouse Restaurant. A win win for both of us.

The tryout went well and I hope to hear soon on how much money they will offer me. They want me so bad, they let the Cougan Cousins come up to the Legends Skybox at the first intermission and meet with Bobby Hull and Tony Esposito.

Egad

I sometimes get sick of it all. Whitney. Nuff said. Please stop.

Dream Come True

Yesterday I took a vacation day and, along with my son Peter, kidnapped my grandson Eli for the day. First time. Great time. Hopefully first of many. Next stop; Abbyville.

What a day. Had it all planned out.

Picked Eli up at Kelsey's school, drove to Uncle Peter's house and off to West Seattle. In West Seattle we made a birdhouse, painted the birdhouse and took Neko for a walk on Alki. Back to the house, grabbed our swim suits and headed (too early) to the YMCA for swimming and romping on the mats.

We were a long ten minutes too early for open swim and we were regulated to standing by the side waiting for the call. After a swim, we showered up, got dressed and headed for the gym where there were mats galore set out and we ran around, dove and built a mat fort. I am not sure we were allowed to build a mat fort, but Uncle Pete found a cart with a bunch of shaped mats that made a great fort but somehow could not be put back into the cart in the same tidy fashion, but we did our best.

From the Y we headed for Zeeks Pizza (our best child friendly alternative) and ate a good lunch and drove into White Center to pick up my mother, who had four passes to the Museum of Flight.

Wow, what a place. It was amazing and I think Eli had his mouth agape most of the time.

Things I learned hanging with Eli

* He doesn't like to "just chill", he likes to do things
* There are perhaps a hundred things different about my YMCA and his YMCA, as in "Pappy you know what my YMCA has that your YMCA doesn't......"
* swimming entails climbing out of the pool and jumping back in - quite the jumper but it is time to tone down the Olympic dreams - he is a Cougan and "not a strong swimmer" Swimming for him relies pretty hard on the life jacket (my YMCA has different colored ones than his) and a lean back style. Pretty good spinner, but locomotion is not a strong suit.
* He is the funniest looking guy taking a shower that you ever want to see. His head goes down and tilts to the side - all sides, he walks in a little circle and talks and genuinely enjoys himself. A site to see. Did I mention there is usually one arm sticking out away from his body.
* He is quite the talker.
* He was under strict orders to be "flexible" - and was!!!!
* When he is real good and his mommy is being real nice he gets gum. - I meant to get him some but never got around to it - I hope he did not think he was not real good or that I wasn't real nice!
* He has waaaaay more energy than Peter and I. We were beat and he was still the energizer bunny.

A Blessing and a Curse

I always got perfect attendance awards at school. I cannot remember EVER missing a day. But I must have missed at least one day because to quote Dave Barry " I must have been absent the day they took all the boys out of class and taught them how mechanical things work so they could fix anything and everthing".

I got Peggy a Vitamix for Christmas. I did this so she could make brown and green juices that make me vomit, but make her extremely happy. Just three days into her blissful healthy eating good ole' lefty Peggy (the woman who cannot open any cellophane package without destroying it and the bag it came in) got the lid (don't ask me how, it should not be possible) stuck in the teeth of the blender and rendered it in-operable. This put me in my least favorite role of Mr. Fix-it.

Luckily I discovered that there was a little part that was designed to fail and thus keep the expensive motor from hurting itself. This little ($16.00) part attached to the square revolving nut that comes off the motor that is made out of soft, almost hockey puck rubber had literally dissolved itself. One quick call to Amazon had this little baby on its way to us.

On Friday it arrived. Mr. Fix-it attempted to put the new thingee (my technical word for the part) back in and that is when other things began to deteriorate.

The original thingee had kinda melted over the post. Melted and reformed to make putting the new thingee on difficult. I tried all the things one should not do. I tried a butter knife, my pocket knife and screw drivers (both fillips head and regular....with no luck. Then I had a brilliantly bad idea. I have this little drivel thing. Kind of like a dentist tool only bigger and certainly not as sanitary. I gleefully pulled out this little used (impulse buy) tool and started to play dentist on the square nut. After accidentally gouging the cover plate and perhaps the little green thingee that I was not sure just what it did, why it was there and just how big a deal could it be.

I also discovered, by burning the ever-loving shit out of my finger, just how hot the end of the drivel bit can get.

Like all home improvement projects I soon ran out of swear words, patience and hair brained- bad-for-the-part-I-am-trying-fix ideas and gave up. I vowed to bring it into the shop and have a smart guy look at the problem. Not as easy as it sounds.

This requires bringing the part in, begging one of the foreman to look at it, trying to explain what "I" think the problem is and getting laughed at, ridiculed and treated kind of like the skinny guy in the old Charles Atlas add that I am featuring in this post.

So on the one hand, I always have a great place filled with people who can do anything, but boy does my ego pay a price for this service.

But whenever Peggy breaks something I still have three brain cells left (the same ones that get excited every June prior to the big league draft) that think that this time I can become THE HERO OF THE BEACH!