What's in a sign?

We were out enjoying the warm Sunday afternoon, just taking a back road to get to our grocery store.
I didn't see the sign at first, but Howard did.
Wonder what that means, he muttered.
 We both read it again:

It still wasn't clear. Was the signmaker saying the president had done something wrong?
But then, somehow that wrong something turned out to be right?
We agree that any president might be wise to seek the guidance of a higher power, given the stresses and the gravity of the job.
Even if that president so often acts in opposition to the express commands of the higher power.
Even if that president openly defies the tenets of the religion he claims to espouse.
But let's give this president the benefit of wishing a blessing on him.
So the second line is understandable, I suppose.
But the first?
What has this president done recently that is widely seen as wrong?
That is surely a subject for debate, since half of the country sees his actions one way, while the other half views them differently.
But, for the sake of argument, let's say this sign creator believes kicking a hornet's nest in Iran by killing its top military leader wasn't a
     wise move. Wrong, even.
How, then, could it have been the right thing to do?
Look at the Middle East after the killing.
Where there was, certainly not peace, but an uncertain quiet three years ago.
Then the US blew up the Iran nuclear deal.
Then the US pulled out of Syria, leaving our allies the Kurds to fend for themselves against sure massacre.
Then the US attacked military sites in Iraq and Syria to illustrate our displeasure with the killing of an American contractor.
Then Iraq brought our embassy under seige, threatening the lives of our ambassador and embassy staff.
Then this president, activating an action he apparently authorized seven months ago, ordered the drone strike that killed Iranian General
       Quassem Soleimani and Iraqi commander Abu Mahdi al-Muhandis.
Then Iran launched a dozen or so missiles in the direction of an Iraqi airbase where US forces are housed.

For a country with fairly precise strike capability to aim missiles so far off any human targets seemed a fairly nominal retaliatory measure. But anyway, now we have anxious populations in Iran and the US, tensions having been racheted as high as possible short of all-out war.

So how does that wrong equal a right?
Only the sign maker can answer that, but it made us stop, read the sign and wonder.
.

Auld Lang Syne

It's hard to believe it's 2020. And I'm sure I'm not the only person saying so.

After all, where did 2019 go? It sped past so quickly... from January to December seemed to be one big blur.

But here we are, facing the second decade in the century, filled with uncertainty and not a little apprehension. We are, after all, literally at the mercy of those who decide the fates of our nation and its people.

And we don't know all the facts, so we can't protect ourselves or react in a way intended to keep us safe.

It's true that our governments have lied to us consistently, mostly without ever being held to account for it. I was too young and naive to know what Presidents Eisnhower (my first consciousness of a president) and Truman might have caused then covered up with carefully orchestrated lies. And I haven't looked back or attempted to study the issues in detail.

But I know we didn't always get the truth from Presidents Kennedy, Nixon and Ford. Witness our involvement in the Vietnam conflict.

President Johnson lied big time about the outcomes of Vietnam ... fake body counts, bogus field operations, etc. He and his defense secretary, Robert McNamara, should have been tried for war crimes, but we didn't know until later the extent of their perfidy.

President Carter's stint in office was, by comparison, relatively honest. He seemed incapable of deception regarding his job performance and those around him followed his example. But after the Iranians took Americans hostage and Carter couldn't get them released, he earned a reputation as a failed president. I never bought that and still think history will show that he was probably one of our most honest.

President Reagan got into office on a lie. His arms for hostages deal brought the hostages home at a price and he spent his two terms finding ways to increase deficits and reduce the size of the middle class.

President Clinton abused his office with a tawdry sexual exploit. Period. While it didn't spill over into his actions as president, it forever labeled him as the second chief executive in our history to have been impeached. He was charged with lying to the FBI but not convicted and removed from office.

The two Bush presidents, George HW and George W will be known for their part in miring the US in the Middle East. The first Gulf War, the invasion of Iraq and the subsequent nearly decades' long wars there are on their heads, George W's in particular. The lies that came out of those administrations were, at the time, some of the biggest we ever heard. And many of us knew it.

The years of President Obama, while free of scandal or indictments, also had their share of lies. They were almost always related to war: the outcomes, the wins, the progress, the unfailing greatness of our progress to stamp out the bad guys. Now, years later, we know they were lies, but they were so artfully told many of us didn't suspect.

But right after candidate Donald Trump rode that escalator down to announce his candidacy, we have been subjected to what a fact-finding organization has reported as over 15,000 false statements (read lies) with more being delivered every day. His insecure, narcissistic personality pushes him to lie about the simplest of matters. His undisguised hatred of his predecessor and his successes pushes him to trash every policy designed to better the lives of we the people or keep the nation on an even keel in the world.

Now he and his war-mongering associates are trying to make us believe the United States was morally justified in targeting and killing a monstrous Iranian leader, that we alone are permitted to take such action on foreign soil without consultation of any kind with any experts in foreign relations or bipartisan groups of Congressional representatives. The rhetoric is blustery; the threats belligerent and the notion that retaliation for such an act would be cause for new violence.

I've always been an advocate for peace. I still believe that religion and greed are the two drivers of world conflict. The Middle East has been in religious wars for thousands of years and we had no right to interject ourselves into them. Many say it's because of the oil...that magic substance that is fueling not only the SUVs our auto makers have taken to creating almost exclusively, but also climate change which is altering life as we know it on our planet.

Denying that oil is a catalyst is another lie.

By now, I would have hoped the American electorate would have been done with lies. That we would have seen through the mercenary actions for what they are. But the chest-thumping is loud and long. Look what wonderful thing the US has done! We have rid the world of an evil man out to attack our homeland.

I don't know when we started calling the United States a homeland. But I do know that no place is safe now that Mr. Trump has unleashed the rage of entire populations of people who chant "Death to America." We were in a relatively calm place, with Iran abiding by the nuclear deal we signed and with diplomacy working to resolve the other crises afoot in the region. Now? No one knows what is next, but it's safe to say, without lying, that nothing good will come from what Donald Trump has done.

Remembering John Clements

He was a sophomore in high school when he walked into my newspaper office.

Eager, enthusiastic and filled with self-confidence, he told me he'd be an excellent addition to my tiny staff.

To every item I threw at him... writing headlines, pasting copy on flats, making halftones, typesetting... he professed either an existing proficiency or a willingness to learn.

We agreed that he would come to the office after school three days a week and do whatever needed doing.

It never was three days. John literally became the indispensable right hand for all of us and he was there every day after school and often on Saturdays. He understood deadlines, learned everything we had to teach him and relished the pressure.

He managed to keep me from totally stressing out in a very stressful environment. His unfailing smile, his optimism, his we-can-do-this attitude lifted me up on the darkest of days. 

I missed him terribly when he went on to Rutgers in New Brunswick after graduating from Edgewood Regional High School as salutatorian with honors and a ton of awards. But in typical John style, he wrote often and turned up at the newspaper every weekend.

John lived with his grandparents in Medford, loving people who supported everything he wanted to do. So they happily agreed to allow him to have friends over for a New Year's Eve party on December 31st, 1978. He came bounding into the office with the news and with a wooden angel Christmas tree ornament for the tree in our foyer. Naturally, we would be happy to attend the party.

On December 29th, John let his girlfriend take his big old Chevy to a college interview. He drove her smaller car to Cedarbrook to visit his mother. He made it to the intersection of Tuckerton and Jackson Roads in Medford. Three men fleeing the police ran the light at a high rate of speed and send John's car 20 feet into the air. It landed on its roof. The men continued to attempt their escape.

John lingered in a coma in the hospital for a week at what is now Virtua Memorial Hospital in Mt. Holly before he died on January 5.

I still have a hard time writing about those days and the grief we shared with his grandparents for whom the light had gone out of their lives. I still choke up when I talk about John.

He was a young man of unlimited potential. He would have succeeded at anything he attempted and the world would have been a better place because he was in it. His teachers at Edgewood were lavish in their praise for him. Everyone who knew him spoke of his generous good humor, his dedication to his family and his love of The Journal. 

I think of John a lot, knowing how much he would have loved living in this time. He'd be almost 60 now, having fulfilled whatever career dreams he pursued, possibly raised a family and been a happy man just like he was a happy young adult. It saddens me to think of everything he missed.

We decorated the house for Christmas this past weekend. The tree is always the last to be finished and the last ornament to be hung is John's wooden angel. As he was hanging it that last Christmas, it fell from the branch and part of one wing napped off. John said it made the angel unique... an angel still smiling in spite of having a broken wing. 

So she hangs on my tree and reminds of me of John every time I look at her. I wish her were still here.

 

An impossible task

I need to make a list.
 Should be simple, no?
 I make grocery lists every week. I list to-dos on my calendar. I list the things I'm thankful for on a regular basis.
 I make lists of all my medications and the doctor visits I schedule.
 Easy then, right?
 Not this list.
 This year, my family has decided to stop buying for the sake of buying and do a Pollyanna, or for those unfamiliar with the term, a Secret Santa.
 We drew names at the Thanksgiving celebration. 
 Now Howard and I have to provide lists of what we'd like so whoever drew us knows what to look for.
 We like a lot of things we'll never use or simply admire for the sake of admiring them. 
 Like air fryers, universal chargers, slow cookers and air purifiers.
 But we don't want anyone buying any of those things for us.
We don't need anything. 
We have the home we love, all the bells and whistles we want in our cars and gadgets for smart tv's we don't even know how to work.
We don't really have hobbies aside from tv, gambling, reading and listening to music.
We don't even buy clothes for each other, let alone trusting others to get it right.
But we have to make lists.
Oh, and did I mention we can't ask for gift cards?
Nope, it's gotta be a thing... an actual gift of some kind.
So we are doing the only thing we really do well when it comes to requests like this.
We're procrastinating.
After all, it's only the 2nd of December and we have plenty of time.
Anyway, I've already bought my gift for the person I drew.
Can I be done?
 
 

Happy trails

It was an ordinary business trip for Howard last week. Up to North Jersey, consult with a customer or two, drive back on the NJ Turnpike and be home in time for dinner.

I got the phone call at about 5:15 p.m. Howard had just driven into our community, turned the corner toward our house when his car suddenly stopped.

It stopped.

No warning lights, no gradual shutting down, no coasting toward the curb.

Just stopped.

He called the dealership whose mechanics have cared for our cars for so long we've lost count of the years.

Have the car towed in as soon as you can, he was told. It would be checked out first thing in the morning.

Hours later, the car resting comfortably (and still quite dead) in the dealership lot, it hit me out of the blue.

What if that car had suddenly stopped, say in the middle lane of the NJ Turnpike, where cars routinely speed by at 75 or 80 miles an hour? I could envision a chain reaction crash involving as many cars as were behind him, or the cars he would have hit as he was being struck from behind.

Would he have survived? Questionable at best.

When the mechanics checked the car, they found that the fuse block, a piece of the car's equipment of which I'd never even heard, had burned and destroyed all the connections to the fuses that run the car... every function controlled by a fuse was stopped cold. They removed the burned-out fuse block and replaced it with a new one... there, problem solved.

Only it isn't. Not in my mind anyway.

There was no explanation of what caused the fuse block to burn out. Freak occurrence. Hardly ever see one of these. No idea why. Just one of those things when so much of what the car does is governed by electronics.

Gee, thanks.

The blame can't be laid on the make of the car or the model. As strong as was the inclination to leave it at the dealership and trade for a new one, in the long run it really wouldn't have mattered.

Nor would it have guaranteed the problem would never recur. Flukes are flukes. That's why they call them accidents.

So, a warning. Not that you can do anything to avoid the possibility that one day you may be riding along, listening to your favorite talk show, music play list or podcast when suddenly you stop.

It's the thing nightmares are made of.

Our 60th high school reunion

I recognized the first few people who walked in the door.

Funny, how after our high school graduation was 60 years ago, most faces look, if not exactly, much like they did then. Oh, there are some cosmetic differences... hair color change (a lot have gone to silver)... weight (most have gained, a few have lost). But I could walk down the Boardwalk in Atlantic City and recognize every one of my former classmates in a crowd.

There were only 62 of us to begin with. We have lost 12 to death and cannot locate three. There are a few who choose not to respond to invitations or announcements of events we plan, or who flatly refuse to attend, and I feel bad that they miss out on the warmth and genuine affection among us all.

We had 25 actual classmates attend the reunion on Saturday, September 24th, plus many spouses and significant others. Two of those at the party started school with us but moved, still maintaining affection for everyone and still coming to the reunions as if they had completed all four years with the rest of us.

Too many of our classmates who really wanted to attend could not be there due to illness. We remembered them and wished them well.

I wasn't what you would call popular in high school. I didn't have a very high opinion of myself and never felt that I fit in.

But I was academically successful and loved being part of the music programs, either as a pianist accompanist or as a vocalist. So, I was very much involved in the school.

And the reception I received from everyone who came to the party mirrored the way everyone was received... with love, hugs, smiles, laughter and reminiscences... kindness and friendliness, regardless of past history.

We were all members of the Class of 1959... we had memories in common: the teachers, the classes, the mischief, the seriousness and the sense that there was something good waiting for us someday when high school ended.

As Frank Anastasia said in his opening remarks as emcee, we were fortunate to have grown up with loving parents in the shelter of a small, South Jersey farming community (though some of us made the trip to Hammonton daily from Egg Harbor City where we grew up). We were naive, innocent and unaware that outside of our little corners of the world life wasn't as easy for many young people our age.

College, full-time jobs, marriage, whatever paths we chose after graduation changed all that. But we faced the world with a solid foundation of belief in ourselves and the knowledge that we were prepared to compete with anyone we encountered in the real world.

We will have another get-together soon. No way we will wait for the 70th... that's tempting fate. We are planning to meet to celebrate our joint 80th birthdays in two years, perhaps earlier in smaller groups with less organizing required. Everyone wants to do that. No one is content to call it a day at the 60th reunion.

That's how we relate to one another now and it's a joy to be part of it.

Never get complacent

I will turn 78 in August.
Nothing special about that, except that so many people are not fortunate enough to get there.

Thankfully, I've been in excellent health, with just a few exceptions... hypertension, diabetes and kidney disease.
Shrug all that off... be diligent, watch diet, take meds, stay on top of blood tests and good to go.
Until last week.

Both Howard and I contracted a gastrointestinal virus at the same time. We were really, really sick.
Thursday morning, as we debated what to do about our worsening conditions, I fell and hurt my left foot... badly.
The virus was more demanding, though, so we went to the hospital ER.
Howard was treated and released.
They kept me.
After a couple days of testing and IV drips to raise my blood sugar levels, on Saturday afternoon they sent me home.

Sunday my blood glucose level was critically low, so we went back.
While there, they x-rayed my foot and declared nothing broken. Just a bad sprain. Give it a few weeks to heal.

By Tuesday, blood sugar levels had reached safe numbers, the virus symptoms were all but gone and I went home again.

Still, the foot hurt like crazy, even without weight being applied to it as I hobbled around the house.
So today, my foot doctor re-xrayed and diagnosed a broken fourth metatarsal. Clean, clear through.
I'll be hobbling around in a heavy, cumbersome boot for six to eight weeks until it heals.

In the middle of May, I will have a battery of tests to determine the health (or lack thereof) of my heart.
EKG results were abnormal and we need to see why.

There is a lesson in all of this for me.

Never get complacent.

And I have been so guilty of that!
I've frequently expressed gratitude for the good health I've enjoyed.
I've felt deep compassion for people who struggle with persistent health issues.
And I've honestly believed I could go on through the coming years without any serious complications to the status quo.

No more.
Now there needs to be the humbling acknowledgment that age doesn't permit complacency.
I didn't see it coming and I'm not prepared for the tests and waiting for the bone to knit.
It will take some serious attitude adjustment.
I'll work on it.