2009-03 GEORGETOWN

Georgetown from the Guanella Pass road, I-70 to the left, the lake at the far end... Click to enlarge.

January is dead in Georgetown, when the traffic dwindles to cross country truckers and weekend Denver skiers heading to and from Loveland, Keystone, Breckenridge, Vail, and A-Basin. And most of those pass by, stopping only for gas and a potty break at the Valero. But at least once a season, I-70 on one or both sides of the tunnel is closed for hours by accidents or up to several days by inclemency, turning the village into a bustling metropolis of misanthropes cursing the same Mother Nature they previously lauded for coating the slopes with glorious powder. I’ve yet to witness such a transformation, and contemplate renting out my living room floor to a gaggle of nubile coeds desperate for shelter. I also contemplate winning the lottery, peace on earth, and smaller government.

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Faithful and attentive readers will recall that a favorite subject of my pillory is Garrison Keillor. His early works were sparsely witty, with smiles found every few pages and good yuks few and far between. As an avid reader of his work, I can attest that as he has become “progressively” vile in his political rhetoric, he has improved the frequency and quality of his wit. Both Wobegon Boy and Pontoon were droll pleasures, and his latest, Liberty, should not be attempted in public places lest the reader become an object of concern through unsuccessful containment of excessive mirth (this from one who rarely succumbs to jocularity). The juxtaposition of hatred and glee might make a fitting PhD thesis for a budding sociologist.

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Finding Liberty on the library shelf produced a confounding moment as I couldn’t for the life of me remember if I had previously read it. The cover looked vaguely familiar. No matter. I realized some time ago, while searching for positive aspects of aging, that there can be a silver lining in the cloud of advancing maturity. It first occurred when, around page 85 of Mayle’s “A Year in Provence,” something seemed vaguely familiar. Alas, I had read it several years before, yet it provided near virginal pleasure in the reiteration. I have since re-read all of his work with but rare and occasional twinges of recollection, and am about to embark on a third go-round. I anticipate that I will soon be able to acquire a complete library of a half-dozen volumes that I will periodically recycle through my brain with great joy. As I truly enjoy just one in a dozen or so books I read, the near certainty of a pleasurable repeat of a previously enjoyed but entirely forgotten work will bring great comfort as autumn proceeds into winter.

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I wonder if the disintegration of the American family began with the introduction of the automatic dishwasher into the American kitchen. We used to eat as a family, then wash the dishes together, or more precisely Mom and the kids. Dad had the dinner table, asking piercing questions about the day at school and checking on chores assigned. Then Mom and kids repaired to the kitchen sink and put a human face on things, subtly redirecting assignments, advising on life and love, and promising to explain the difference between acute and obtuse triangles. Or have I been watching too many “Leave it to Beaver” reruns?

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With the stroke of a pen less than 24-hours on the job, our new President has “closed” Guantanamo. Well, not quite. He has “promised” closure within one year. Credit should come at the completion of a task, not the beginning. It occurs that a lion's share of the credit for the much ballyhooed change should accrue to the American people, who have by and large moved beyond several hundred years of intolerance and made a decision based on hope and promise rather than prejudice and color. That credit should rightly transfer to our new President, but only upon achievement. The European model takes credit for good intentions; Americans have traditionally rewarded accomplishment.

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Since Letterman made “lists” so popular I have gone off the concept. But while surfing my 26-channel TV universe, I came upon “10 heroes for 2008”, including a father-son duo, while traveling I-70 in my current hometown of Georgetown, CO, were so impressed by the steep canyons (some exceeding 60 decrees) they pulled over and went for a climb. Predictably they stumbled, fell a frightening distance, and the 9-year old son, finding his father bleeding and incoherent, used a cell phone to call 911. Having no idea where he was, he guided rescue teams by telling dispatchers when he heard their sirens. For this someone bestowed upon him hero status.

I have long been disturbed by the evolving definition of heroism. I would rather have awarded the appellation to rescue crews that risked their lives to bring them to safety. I do know with certainty that I would hang “Stupidest Person of the Year” on the dad.

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After near record high temperatures, it is finally snowing again. For those from other parts of our diverse planet who might find themselves in the high country, I provide as a public service local snowfall terminology:

Less than 6”: flurries
6” to 12”: dusting
12” to 18”: covering
18” to 24”: snow
Greater than 24”: dump

...the adventure continues as I dig further into the history, culture, and sociology of my current home...

2009-02 GEORGETOWN

An historic day, and one would hope seminal as well, predictive of more genial times ahead. The day is reminiscent of January 20, 1981, when another President destined for greatness took the reins from an extremely unpopular predecessor. Would that our new leader enjoy the success of our 40th President, and the world prosper under him as it did nearly three decades ago.

An historic day, not perhaps in the words of Oprah Winfree “the best day in the history of the world.” The birth of Christ, July 4, 1776, and Columbus’ first glimpse of the Americas come to mind, but an historic day indeed. A day for pride, for hope, for reflection on both our progress and our promise.

And yet, George Washington was assigned a single military aide at his Inauguration, whom he dismissed as unnecessary. So near and yet so far.

The obvious cordiality among the incoming and departing Presidents and the First Ladies, and the warm embraces exchanged by Bush 41, Barbara, Hilary, and Bill Clinton. Then an MSNBC commercial break promoting Keith Olbermann’s upcoming program urging criminal prosecution of Bush, Cheney, and their aides for war crimes. So near and yet so far. Sad that great promise cannot seem, even for a moment, to overshadow intense hatred.

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On the stroke of noon the nation greeted a new President, yet at 12:06:23, with a simple “so help me God,” we reached the watershed. And now the hard work begins. Someone who counts such things has noted that our new President in his campaign made more promises that our past 3 Presidents combined. It is certainly a time for promises, many and great. But as not all can be fulfilled, prioritization becomes more than an abstract concept. As governing begins, so does the process of making difficult choices, which will tell us much about political courage.

Perhaps no better example exists, floating high behind the legislative floodgates, than the misnamed “Employee Free Choice Act” which would remove the secret ballot from union organizing elections. It will be swiftly considered by the House of Representatives as an acknowledged and unapologetic payoff for unwavering union support, and will be a powerful indicator of whether the call to great national purpose truly heralds an era of positive change or is simply another in a depressingly long string of empty promises and steely partisanship.

If the process is flawed, it should indeed be fixed. But it should not be trashed by removing one of the great cornerstones of egalitarianism. After a week of ceremony glorifying the greatness of America, the strength of its founding principles, and the enduring durability of its traditions, to cast aside a keystone of American democracy will be telling indeed. President Obama was elected by secret ballot, likewise all 535 members of Congress who will decide this matter. To suggest that the ACT will redress unfair tactics perpetrated by American business but will not be replaced by unfair tactics on the part of American Unions is not naïve but crass.

A case can be made, though surely rejected by many, that some actions of these past 8 years, however flawed, were the reaction of a nation in shock after the first devastating attack from beyond our shores. We did some bad things based on good intentions but flawed reasoning. And as we now move to correct injustices and mistakes, will we commit others of the same stripe and form. We’ll see.

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And a sobering footnote to a glorious day as the Dow Jones Industrials dropped 332 points. Fat cats getting theirs, it might be suggested, but those who fail to recognize that Wall Street and Main Street are indeed joined at the hip will feel pain not of their own making, but searing and intense nonetheless.

As the Nation’s Capital shivers in near zero wind-chill, the adventure continues under deep blue sky, brilliant sunshine, and near record high temperatures…

2009-01 GEORGETOWN

Holiday malaise has kept me from the Blogosphere for a bit, but judging from the absence of outcry from my readership I assume all are muddling through despite the dearth of witty pearls and droll commentary.

And the alert will note that I have belatedly realized that I can include pictures, all from before the holidays when we were graced with snow. The "busy" street scene is from the Christmas market. Most days you can walk down the middle without fear of vehicular mayhem. Click to enlarge.

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Boredom has increased my interest in local commerce, and perusal of the local Help Wanted Ads led me to the following: (a) at the local, highly acclaimed community school, “experienced Pre-School teachers, $8-$9/hour”, and (b) at the local motel, “maids/housekeepers, $11 - $13/hour.” Depressing but no surprise that we value clean toilets and hospital corners over the education of our children. Could that be why we have so many more day laborers than innovators?

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My new president continues to make impressive pronouncements, propose stratospheric (if vague) solutions, and surround himself with bright stars and few ideologues, which is already eliciting anguished wails from the left. The plethora of memorabilia on the market is astounding, particularly since so few substantive memories have yet been created. Coins with JFK and BHO side-by-side, sneakers that by some accounts are outselling Air-Jordans, and now a call for an official holiday in his name. It occurs that even Jesus had to perform the odd miracle before he was awarded December 25th.

My own expectations remain elevated. Pols traditionally spend political capital on furthering their partisan agendas. At this early point at least it appears that Barack Obama is cashing his in on the quest for national unity. His expressed “inclination” not to prosecute Bush and Cheney for war crimes, the one great dream of the radical left, is already elevating Pepto Bismol sales to record levels.

I suggested sometime back that the new Chief Executive was likely to receive more heat from the left than the right. From Rick Warren to Robert Gates and Hilary Clinton, to hedges on exiting Iraq, taxing the rich, and closing Guantanamo, our new leader is learning as does every President that there is more than a subtle difference between elocution and execution.

The fear is always that a leader’s heart will refuse to pump blood to his brain, and common sense for the common good with go the way of the 2008 economy. So far, at least, we appear to have a pragmatist, and although it causes some pain in the admission, a pragmatic liberal can sometimes be preferable to a blind conservative. Recent Chief Executive pragmatists include Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton. Good company!

And by the way, I have always been proud to wear the badge of conservatism, while it appears that liberals in their shame have now shed their appellation in favor of the more politically-correct sounding “progressive.” What was it Shakespeare said about a rose? Proud noveau-progressives are undoubtedly too young to remember the 1960s motto of the quintessential American beacon of private enterprise and its spokesman Ronald Reagan: “At General Electric, Progress is our Most Important Product”.

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My life these days is so dependent on Mother Nature that I should be immune to surprise, yet any celestial institution that can cut a surgical path reducing one residence to rubble while leaving neighbors left and right untouched deserves both admiration and respect. I am barely 10 miles east of the Continental Divide (landmarked by the Eisenhower Tunnel) and the streets of Georgetown are void of snow. Silverthorne, just 10 miles west of the Divide sports 12-foot high drifts in its parking lots and a consistent cover of white – replenished almost daily – that will conceal asphalt until mid-spring.

I long ago discovered that I love snow and hate cold and especially wind, although the east coast damp chill that seeps into bones is infinitely more insidious than its dry counterpart of the west. A cold Paris drizzle can wither the spirit while crisp Colorado nights are bracing and bring comfort. Of course the debilitating Gallic dank drives the populace into warm cafes, toasty bistros, and dreamily olfactory restos. It’s an ill French wind that blows no good, and I have as many happy memories of shedding a winter chill with a “Cotes du Rhone chambray” and a confit de canard as I do of August romps in the Jardin Luxembourg and sweltering in long summer lines at the Louvre or the Musee Hotel de Ville.

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Governor Jindal of Louisiana may be a rising star on the national political scene, but he erred grievously in allowing his minions to cancel a proposed disaster response contract that promised me lucrative employ in the land where les bon temps rouler. And so it looks as though I will be stuck in paradise for some time to come, unremunerated but content.

…the adventure, propelled by a howling Chinook wind, whistles through the trees …