The Daily Beach Blog
At the still point of the turning world, and time began to move again
- Robert Williams
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December
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September 11 2011 I woke up this morning to Paul Simon singing Sound of Silence at Ground Zero. At times like these I am at a loss for the eloquence I long for. Ten years; the counted and other countless dead by our own hands, this human family of man. Will we ever know how to secure a simple, human dignity and hope for each child, each soul on this planet? Until we do, homo sapiens will continue to suffer the evils of our own parochial self hatred.
August 24 My most fervent wish today is to be one of the highly paid Suits that guys like me complain about because of their bone-headed decisions that so very severely effect our ability to simply do our jobs well...
July 20- God Rest, Pop. I miss you so much...
June 30 2011 I have a hard time with change. Always have. The Fourth of July weekend is starting. I can tell because the weekenders are showing up in the neighborhood; across the canal the pretty blonde lady and her husband have arrived at their little cottage for the weekend. Looks like the kids have just joined them. Down the way the boys are out with their beers and lawn chairs, sitting around the chimorreah on their dock. The 4th of July weekend starts tomorrow and the great weekend warriors are already here.
My work day is over and I am enjoying a drink on the dock, watching them and remembering how I used to spend these weekends. The cabin was the central point of all three day weekends for my family when I was growing up. I remember get-a-way Thursdays and Fridays and how exciting they were. Due to distance I no longer spend the Fourth at our cabin, but have made damn sure my kids have a regular vacation there every year. I suspect it is as important for them as it is for me. Nothing is as emblematic of life's meaning or evocative for me as a family gathering for the holidays because of those summers at the cabin. I'll be going up soon. Have a safe, happy 4th everybody.
June 28 2011 I've always loved the beach, but never has it been better than this week, because I got some serious beach time with my kids and extended family. My daughter Stephanie and husband Max spent the week camping nearby, celebrating their anniversary and birthdays, and also stayed at my place for a few days. My son Robert and young lady friend Tori came up to join us this past weekend and Max's family stopped by as well for a beach party on Saturday.
Best of all, we all went in together on a surf board!
I've already broken my nose on it but that is another story...
When I was very young, I always hoped my children would appreciate the ocean and the beach the same way I do, and as my father did for me, I always tried my best to expose them to the joys of the outdoors. When their mother Layna and I first came to Florida as young lovers we saw a little girl like Max's niece, photo top, at the beach. We built a sand castle with her and dreamed of having beautiful beach babies some day. The dream came true. Now that Stephanie and Robert are older, it is a joy to see them enjoy the beach!
Stephanie on "The Blue Pineapple" SurfKids
June 16 2011 Right Whale migration's done, Sea Turtle season is starting. Saw my first nest yesterday!
Also counted half of all beach goers, on a beautiful sunny day seaside, absorbed in electronic devices. Quite distressing.
June 12, 2011 A copy of my letter to the White House: Bring 'em home Mr. President.
I could write paragraphs about waste.
Lives, money, political capital,geopolitical history, local politics, influence, etc.
You and I know how it adds up.
We got him, Sir, and any more is a waste. Nationbuilding won't work Mr. President, and neither will Armybuilding- not in the long run. Self government will either work or it will not now, after a ten year war. Granted the southeast has been shored up with the surge, but at what cost- what could possibly endure with the present governments of AF-Pak? How many more years, lives and treasure to secure the rest? It's a pipe dream.
Let's get 'em home. Now.
Respectfully,
David P. Schneider
June 7, 2011 As the character in Little Big Man said, "Today, my heart soars like a hawk!"
About six months ago, shortly after Dad's passing, I was sitting outside one morning and noticed a large hawk fly across my field of view. It was carrying a large stick. I stood up to watch it and saw it fly into a nearby Magnolia in my yard. Audobon identified it as a Red Shouldered Hawk, and it was building a huge nest with its mate. For the next few months I watched and waited, my grieving being bouyed a bit. I found my ups and downs in those difficult months being buffered by those wonderful creatures getting ready for a miracle. The female would sit on the nest while the male brought more buliding materials from nature's Home Depot. At one very low point the male dissapeared and I thought for sure it had ended in divorce and lifeless eggs.
Then a couple months ago I noticed a small cheep cheep coming from the nest and saw a tiny white ball of fur with two huge eyes and a hooked beak looking down at me. A baby! The male was still nowhere to be found, but Mama came swooping out of nowhere with a snake dangling from its talons and plopped it in the nest.
During the ensuing six weeks I saw that little furball grow real feathers and more and more down became nest decoration. Audobon had warned against getting too close to the nest, not because of getting dive-bombed by birds but being sprayed with poop! It seems the critters are adept at spraying guano so as not to foul their nest. Man, Audobon was right. Some mornings it looked like mom was turning on a garden hose! I was amazed at how fast the baby grew, and very soon it became apparent that he was still sqwawking for food but was now nearing flight. I sensed a little consternation from Mom. I whispered to the fledgling "I think Mom's getting a little pissed... it might be a good idea to spread your wings..."
For two more weeks the little shit just sat in the nest and sqwaked for his dinner...
Then this morning I walked out side and was swooped down upon by a red shouldered hawk. I thought it was Mom protecting her nest, but lo and behold it was the little shit finally taking his first flight. He found the nearest tree and skwawked to beat the band, puffing out his chest and telling the world he was a flyer now.
First Flight First Landing... pretty cool, aren't I ?
I toasted his first flight, as well as a fine job of nurturing, with a morning cup of Joe. Well done! And thanks for the reminder.
June 2 2011 A hero of mine died today. Jack Kevorkian, 83, died of natural causes in a hospital room. He spent eight years in prison for pursuing the most basic tenants of human dignity. Rest easy, if you can, Dr. Jack.
May 5 2011 I am so damned proud of our President.
He not only made the couragous decision that finally got that puss head bin Laden, he made NO SPEECH (read politics) when he visited Ground Zero today. He simply made a quiet visit ( as quiet as a Presidential visit can be ) with the first responders and the families of 911. 'Nuff said, except a thank you to our military men and women, and a caution to those quick to condemn George Bush for failing to fulfill the mission earlier- we didn't understand Pakistan, etc then as well as we do now. These types of missions are always long odds at best.
March 7 I find G. Gordon Liddy had it just about right when he said "the secret is in not caring..."
March 5 Thank you to all my friends and family who wrote to comment on my last blog. That really got everyone talking! For my conservative friends who contributed, consider this:
"...sensible Americans must be detecting vibrations of weirdness emanating from people associated with the party...the most recent vibrator is Mike Huckabee. who referred to President Obama as having grown up in Kenya- actually grew up in Jakarta and Honolulu- ...A spokesman for Huckabee dutifully lied, saying his employer 'simply mispoke'. Let's not mince words. There are at most five Republican presidents on the horizon- Daniels, Barbour, Huntsman, Romney, and Pawlenty. So the Republican winnowing process is much advanced. But the nominee may emerge much deminished by iinvolvement in a process cluttered withcareless, delusional, egomaniacal, spotlight-chasing candidates to whom the sensible American majority would never entrust a lemonade stand, much less nuclear weapons..."
My friends to the right, that comes from George Will.
March 03, 2011 You may have seen my home town Madison, Wisconsin in the news lately. Madison is a progressive college town and the state capital- a blue island in a sea of red.
Now, Wisconsin's new Governor Walker has declared war on public workers' unions and colored it with crayons of 'fiscal responsibility.'
My step-mother was a state employee, She boarded a bus every morning before light for twenty years to get to her clerical job at the Department of Vital Statistics. My brother in law Lee is a biologist with the Department of Natural Resources. Lee and other workers like him- Teachers, Cops, Firefighters have agreed to pony-up more out-of-pocket contributions to their benefit package- probably something long in coming yet perhaps debatible for another time.
Yet Governor Walker has not stopped there. After the State Employees Union agreed to make these concessions, Walker still pressed ahead with legislation to abolish the Union's collective bargaining rights. Immediately after the election Lee stated with ominous clairvoyance that "the shit will hit the fan in this state." Lee is as down-to-earth- conservative as it gets, although he is much too intelligent to embrace the knee-JERK Birther Sharia Tea-Party Sleep-with-my-AK, fudge- the- facts insanity that seems to be gripping this nation.
Take Mike Huckabee for example. I detest the religous right, but always thought Huckabee to at least be a thoughtful man. That is until he got a FOX in his shorts and now has a rabid audience to satisfy. At least get your facts straight. It's Indonesia, not Kenya, for one, Mike. At least double check what the writers are feeding you. The President went to school in Hawaii, our 50th state the last time I checked, and played basketball, a sport, by the way, made in America, then went on to edit the Harvard Law Reveiw. I mean, I think all this is related.
Yes, we are digging out of a shitty economy borne years ago not of any one party but of Wall street Geckoistic greed-is-good gone amuck and people trying to buy half million dollar homes when they can only afford a hundred grand.. We've had State fiscal crises before- California, etc ( if that's what this really is and I don't think so ) and nobody has threatenened to crush the civil workers unions.
To be fair, Ronald Reagan ( an ex Union President hhimself ) did it to the Air Traffic Controllers back in the 80's but that was after the union went back on it's word and it became a public safety issue. So what is really going on here? Is the new Governor of Wisconsin trying to eliminate his most potent political adversary- an historically loyal opposition? Paranoid, you say? What is happening to this country? Has one Progressive President of color precipitated all this sky- is- falling- white robe -donning right-wing silliness? Is there something in the water?
Two nights ago I was at the local convenience store getting gas. An older couple (even older than me ) came in and noticed my Wisconsin Badger T shirt. "oh, thank the lord you aren't in Madison now," they said, refering to the citizen protests on the Capital Square like it was Beirut or Tripoli or something. Had they forgotten the euphoria of Cairo already and what that meant?
"On the contrary, I responded, I am proud of what's going on in my hometown- it is a good and responsible fight in my opinion." They walked out without saying anything.
God, that felt great. On Wisconsin!
Associated Press
Those are real people down on the Sqaure...
Febuary 27 2011 Suprise! I'm back. A lot to talk about, a lot of water under the bridge. I haven't felt much like writing over the past few months. Two reasons. First first: Dad suffered another stroke in December and passed away in early January. What he meant to me is sprinkled liberally through past blogs, in my writings on this site, and in several magazine articles I have had published.
I had just brought home my Christmas tree when my sister Debi called to tell me about the stroke- a big one this time. .I spent a most profound Christmas Day in a hospital room watching Dad watch a one foot-tall nylon christmas tree, unable to speak, only able to move his left hand with a slight wave. Debi and I bought the tree in the hospital gift shop. They had one with decorations already on, but we chose the naked "Charlie Brown" one so we could put some lights and ornaments from home on it. The little plastic tree looked a little funny with ornaments meant for an eight foot tree but Dad knew it was there and he knew we were there. Four days later Dad was released to a nursing and rehab facility. He was facing an uphill battle. We were trying to stay optimistic, calling up as much positive energy as we could. I flew back home.
The longest night of my life came three days later. The kids were visiting for a belated Christmas and New Years Birthday for Robert. The phone rang at 1:45 in the morning. It was Debi. Dad had taken a turn for the worst. The local hospital couldn't handle the problem and Dad needed to be rushed to a major facility 70 miles distant. Debi would call back when they got there. We both knew what was coming. At 4:40 am the phone rang again. A decision had to be made. A surgeon came on the line and explained the medical option. The second option was comfort. Dad had a living will. We knew his wishes and we knew him. It didn't make it any easier. The chances were slight. If they were to operate, it had to start now. No waiting allowed. The time it took to say one word- yes or no- would span a lifetime.
We chose what we believed Dad wanted.
I and the kids flew back up to Wisconsin. All the grandchildren and greatgrandkids were there. Debi was exhausted, and I slept that night in Dad's hospital room. The next morning at 6:37 I heard my father take his last breath. I'll never forget how quiet it became. After a few minutes I walked out to the nurse's station, and then called Debi. She and I had lost our mother when I was seven. We lost our-step mother nearly 20 years ago; Debi and I and Dad were like a triad. My whole adult life I dreaded the phone call I figured would eventually come from her. Now I was the one making the call.
"It's over," I simply told my sister. It was all I could muster.
October 17 Friday Night Lights in America. At the risk of sounding trite, is there any single thing that more exemplifies what makes this country what it is? I don't think so.
I have always loved youth athletics. That is, as an adult, I have loved youth athletics. I coached my two kids and many others' in three sports for ten years. One year I didn't coach I drove over the median of a boulevard to beat a traffic light into the school gymnasium so as not to miss the tip-off of my daughter's first basketball game. Dad, sitting beside me in the car, thought I had lost it. He was right, I had.
Last evening, as a chill whipped the north Florida air, I drove out to the local high school to watch a game. I could see the bright lights for miles on approach and in front of me a stunt plane did loops near the stadium. The school's mascot is a Falcon.
The place was packed, for this was Homecoming, surely near the apex of American tradition. I scrounged a place to park, bought a ticket, dog, and Pepsi from the booster club and walked through the crowd to the bleachers.
Young lovers, pom pom girls with glitter in their hair and futures, students whizzing past to tell something vital to their best friend down the way, kids in black with the stuff in their ears shuffling along slowly, math dorks assembling in the shadows, homies trying to look cool. Kids all trying to sort it out and find their own way.
Parents; Mom and Dad and Aunt Ruth from out of town come to support someone they love- let 'em know what they do means something to someone important to them.
I sit next to a couple who, it becomes apparent, are the parents of the school's star halfback. When he scores a touchdown on a long run, they cheer with the rest of us, but when the young player celebrates his touchdown not by showboating like so many "heros" do now but by simply tossing the ball to the Ref and kneeling in a moment of thanks, I see his father's eyes well up. I can't help but wink at him and offer "you did good."
Halftime comes and the Sherriff's car leads the Homecoming Court around the track surrounding the field, with the town's convertables and pickups holding our planet's most precious cargo; young people with dreams and plans and maybe more than a little naive idealism. Enjoy it while you can, I silently, jadedly direct to each of them, and wish that only good things, like Homecoming games, will happen to all assembled here.
The silver glare of America's friday night lights fill my rear view mirror as I pull out of the parking lot to drive home late in the fourth quarter. The glow stays with me.
October 9 It was last week, just shortly before my workday ended, that it must have happened. Around 7pm I logged off my computer, poured myself a rum over rocks and slid open the screen door to the porch. The unmistakenly Florida coast sound of a helicopter close by, crawling along, made me shiver. I looked to the east and saw it; carrying County colors flying low and slow.
By the time I walked down to the shore the chopper had already shifted and expanded its back and forth momentum north- following the long-shore current, confirming its gruesome mission. Hopefully still search and rescue at this point, I thought.
It started to darken but I could see a county truck down a ways with jet skis on the trailer- not a good sign, as the machines were not in the water. A lady with a patch on her shoulder was leaning on the truck with a cell phone in her ear. My mood darkened along with the shadows, and I walked home.
The whoop-whoop-whoop continued for the next few hours, the wraith appearing at my bedroom window as the helo's searchlight turned back towards the coastline on each pass.
The next morning I went to the beach for my daily walk. Approaching from the boardwalk, my eye was drawn to a bright scarlet object stuck at the surf line. As I approached, the object morphed into a spray of flowers with a man's pipe beside it. The rising tide was threatening to wash away the pipe. I did not want to disturb anything, but decided to place the pipe with the flowers. As I did so, I could see it had been freshly packed with tobacco, as if someone had just prepared it for someone.
A chill ran up my spine as I looked out at the angry surf and confused currents.
Whoever had laid this here had shared with me an intimate secret with their missing loved one. The seabreeze brushed my cheek. I turned and went home.
I checked the local paper later that day. It reported the incident but added that the victim had not yet been found.
Two mornings later a Mr. Andersen, we'll call him, age 66, was identified as the body recovered nearly four miles north in the lee of the St Augustine city fishing pier. He had been swimming with his ten year old grandchild Michael off my beach when a rip current had pushed them both off shore. Mr. Andersen had called to Michael to swim for shore, and rescuers had pulled the child from the surf. By the time they had turned for Mr Andersen, he was gone.
That evening I walked back to the beach. The flowers and pipe were gone of course, swept away by the same tide that had claimed Mr. Andersen.
The sea is not kind or giving. It is not malevolent or cruel- it simply is what it is. I hope it is some comfort to 10 year old Michael and to whomever left those flowers with Mr Andersen's pipe at the surfline that Mr. Andersen passed while playing in the warm surf of a beautiful sun filled beach with his grandson. Surely not the worst of ways to go.
My best to him and his family.
September 25 Autumn Dilemmas of a Displaced Badger Fan
Let me illustrate a new millennium definition of desperation; Last night I sat in the darkened den of my rented St. Augustine, Florida home and ate cashew nuts and radishes, washing them down with a requisite Miller in front of my computer.
Occasionally I would fly out of my office chair spitting epithets at the little ball that flitted from one side of the screen to another, or whisper words of encouragement to my first, oldest friend, UW volleyball coach Pete Waite, in front of nothing more than the glowing, animated CBS Gametracker.
I had just called my cable guy and added the Big Ten Channel to my TV package, but tonight's match against Ohio State would not be televised live. The new channel would allow me to see Buckingham football take on Austin Peay the next day at Camp Randall, but tonight I had to settle for a silent cartoon volleyball creating Batman comic-like splats on a cold 17" monitor; Ooof! Blaaam! Badgers tie it up 18-18 in the third. I'm out of my seat pumping my fist in the air, grateful there's no one watching me. Badgers score two more unanswered and Ohio State takes a time out. "YOU WUUUS!" I scream at the Buckeye Coach-in-the-tube for stealing our mo.
Suddenly I have an out of body experience not unlike the dying victims of trauma, watching from the ceiling of my den as this lunatic carries on below me.
Back down on earth I become rational for a moment and click on my email provider, sending Pete a note:
________________________________
From: David P Schneider [mailto:david1@someplacelse.net]
To Pete Waite XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Sent: Friday, September 24, 2010 9:24 PM
Subject: Animated
I feel like an idiot-
I am in front of my computer with CBS Gametracker on watching a court graphic with this ball bouncing around. Its 18-18 in the 3rd set and I am bouncing off the walls watching a stupid animation since I can’t get the match live.
Feels kind of cool writing to the coach while watching the “action” though…
Gotta go- its 18-19. Bucky just scored… D
Then a half hour later:
From: David P Schneider [mailto:david1@someplacelse.net]
Sent: Friday, September 24, 2010 10:03 PM
To: pete Waite XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Subject: FW: Animated
You’re killing me.
Third and fourth set decided by 1 pt.
I thought I was going to stick a pencil thru both ears when they came back in the mid 4th.
Every time you got some mo, they’d call a time out.
Dominique Thompson’s a warrior…and Kuzma w/ 17 digs!
Gotta go- last set is starting.
I know he will probably read it shortly after the game. Pete Waite is like that, spending all his days and nights coaching, teaching, scouting, recruiting, donating, and corresponding, instead of simply hanging with the rest of us desperate displaced alumni derelicts.
I send a last note to Pete after the match:
Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,III
Date: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pm
Size: 1K
To: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Doesn’t get much closer than that- Good game, Coach.
Thanks for the thrills.
D
ps looks like you could have a real star on the horizon w/ Walch.
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: "David P Schneider" <david1@someplacelse.net>Subj: FW: Animated- Part I,II,IIIDate: Fri Sep 24, 2010 9:34 pmSize: 1KTo: "Pete Waite" XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I then go to the refrigerator for a late night snack, wishing I were walking into Smokies or the BratHaus. No one makes a proper brat down here, split and grilled in the middle, so think of me next time you're having one after the game. Heavy on the onions and spicy mustard please- I'm desperate. David Schneider, BS'82 June 27 Would Aldo Leopold have taken a laptop to the Shack? Those that love the land know Aldo Leopold. Think John Muir with spectacles. I am from I was a Natural Resources major at the Leoplold's landmark book A Sand County Almanac introduced a concept every natural science student now learns called the Land Ethic. My freshman year the first question on my first college test was to describe Leopold's Land Ethic. I had been given a table top edition called A Sand County Almanac Illustrated by my father a year earlier which highlighted Leopold's incredible Seasons essay about renewal at his beloved shack in rural Wisconsin, but it had not a word about his Land Ethic. I had read this picture book over and over. I knew it by heart. I was ready! The morning of the exam, the first of my major field of study, I sat like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming Mac truck. I now have a copy of the full edition, of course, and recommend it to anyone who reveres what God gave us alone. Anyway, I thought about my opening question this morning while starting to prepare for my annual pilgrimage to our family cabin in northern Leopold begins perhaps his greatest essay in Sand County Almanac, 'Good Oak', with this: Still, I believe if he could, Mr. Leopold would have packed a laptop right next to his guide books and note book. I’ll pack mine as well. June 11 I called an old friend last night. Later Mark took an interest in photography. He photographed much of our senior Year Book. Mark was Charlie Brown to my Linus in our All-School Play You're A Good Man that same year. Five years later as a professional photagrapher he photographed my wedding. For free. Said it was a wedding present. I think that was the last time I saw him. After wearing a photographers badge for a few years, Mark served in the United States Army in Last night Mark talked to me from his wheel chair in his brother's home in I have never been to the pacific Northwest, and I told Mark it must be a beautiful part of the country. " I don't know," he deadpanned. "I'm not seeing much of it." Then he said "Everything I ever did I tried to do to the greatest extent possible." I said " Yeah, like those wedding pictures." How do you thank a friend for giving you a photo like this of the mother of your kids on her wedding day? I'm still not sure. Thank you, Mark, for untieing that ball for a few minutes last night. May 30 By coincidence, on this Memorial Day weekend I am watching one of the better war movies, Saving Private Ryan, and reading Hemmingway’s A Farewell to Arms. Hemingway was injured covering the Spanish Civil War as a war correspondent and volunteered to be an ambulance driver in World War I. During the early days of World War Two, he outfitted his beloved fishing boat Pilar with bombs and machine guns and hunted German submarines. In A Farewell to Arms here is what his protagonist Lt. Henry had to say about war: “I was always embarrassed by the words sacred, glorious, and sacrifice and the expression in vain. I think Tom Hanks' main character in Private Ryan, Captain John Miller, a hero in every sense of the word, as well as the few ex-combat solders I know, would agree. May 28 My son Robert had a run in with a teacher at school last week and after reading him the riot act, I thought about the teachers I had in high school, good and bad. I was an unremarkable student, but I had some remarkable teachers; Robinson, English. Probably my biggest influences after family. Bean, Social Studies. Mr. Bean held a big party every Presidential Election night to celebrate our democracy. It was the civil equivalent to a Super Bowl Party. That immediately impressed me how special what we have here in desire to teach civics and history. He cared deeply about our state of affairs and passed that passion on to me. Durnford, Social Studies. Without a doubt the most caring, dedicated, professional teacher I ever met. He and Carl Pfieffer, a brilliant Science teacher, went to the school board with an idea to teach an integrated class. They called it the Science and Economics of Energy. What a great class. Back in the pre- Three Mile Island Seventies, we were in the midst of an oil crises, and nuclear power seemed the way to go. Like Bean’s classes, we discussed things, and Durnford and Pfieffer were truly interested in what the students thought, since we, they pointed out, were the “decision makers of tomorrow.” First time I’d ever heard that. I would love to sit down and talk with those guys today about what we talked about then. Mr. Krizmanic- Same. Ziegler- Science. Never had him. But he always walked around shaking his head and saying “so little time, so much to learn.” He was half my age now when I first heard him say it. Dead, straight on, Mr. Z. Van Dellan- History. The worst teacher I ever had. She had no business inside a school. The class room was, for her, a waiting room for the next break, the next paycheck, retirement and pension. She lectured from the black board, scratching notes with her left hand while erasing with her right. Any talk or transgression would be treated like the Crucifixion. She would stop and slowly put down her chalk, then walk over to her desk where the dreaded Pink Slips, symbol of failure and admonishment, were waiting. Great drama, really. Tupesis, Math. God I gave that guy a hard time. I was so full of myself, spouting the old Blum- Phys Ed. I loved Joe Blum, but I am not sure why. He opened every class with a military style close-order drill. God we hated him for that. Thought he wanted to be Tojo or something. He negated the only good play I ever made in scholastic athletics, calling back a 60 yard touchdown I had caught in a big junior high school game for offensive pass interference. I didn't even know what that was. I was never gifted physically, but Mr. Blum knew I wanted to do good- he knew I was competitive, and he knew I tried. Later, after hearing me perform in the school talent show, he passed me after gym class near the showers. “ I thought you were terrific” he said. “Keep going.” Man, I felt a hundred feet tall. I am fascinated by teachers; their motivations and their commitment to do the most important job in the world. I would make a special trip back to Banana Grove, as Robbie called it, if I could just visit with those special men and women again.
September 22 I'm back- two busted computers, two weeks with out a paycheck, an unfunded soujern to my my beloved cabin, and now the beginning of Autumn; Since I last wrote the turtles have hatched, the oil spill has finally been capped,and depression has come and gone. Stay tuned...
July 17 Last week I wrote about the Sea Turtle nesting season here and showed a couple phots of a nest. Well, this morning there was a great set of Turtle crawls on the beach, the remnants of mama turtle's slow crawl out of the ocean to lay her eggs and back again.
The whole process can take most of the night. Our beaches here in St Augustine are huge- very wide, and this turtle chose low tide to lay her eggs, so she had a very long, arduous evening indeed.
Hopefuly I'll get to witness the result of this mother's hard work in 50-60 days.
July 10 The Sea Turtles are back!
Late spring and summer, our beaches are graced with huge meandering tracks of green ghosts coming out of the ocean to lay their eggs at night and escape again into the deep. To see a turtle crawl ( the word crawl being used as a noun here- not a verb ) is an awesome sight on my early morning beach walks.
After laying, the eggs sit in nests for about 60 days, then, on a night of God's choosing, the nests erupt in a cascade of sand and amniotic goo while the progeny struggle to the sanctuary of waves before becoming a meal for birds and other critters. It is really quite a miracle that any make it to adulthood, which is one reason they are so rare now. I once heard Jimmy Buffett, an avid quail hunter say that "everything wants to eat a quail."
Same thing's true about turtle eggs and baby turtles.
When we first moved to Florida, my ex-wife Layna and I volunteered with the National Audobon Society to patrol Key Biscayne's beaches in the early morning hours to relocate nests and help baby turtles struggling in the lights after hatching. There is now a coastal "lights out" ordinance there, and here in St Augustine, during nesting season. The Park Service still rope off the nests however.
A nest right next to my boardwalk!
Come September and October, I'll be on the beach late at night waiting and watching for an eruption of sand and goo and little miracles.
July 8 Since starting this website I have received many satisfying letters, some of them appearing in my Guestbook, from wonderful friends and strangers.
Like the mother who had stumbled on my story Orb Hunting in Sedona about Smokehorse Ranch in Sedona Arizona. Cindy's father Grant, a retired psycologist, owns the tiny ranchette, and this mom had googled his name, hoping to thank him for helping her daughter many years ago. She had just graduated Yale. The mom wanted to know if I could forward her address to Grant, which I of course was very happy to do.
My great buddy Seering wrote to thank me for running my memoir of the old Dells days OKID Summer. Seems one of his ex-girlfriends ran across it while googling his name and called to tell him the story proved he was still an asshole.
I received many notes from folks who read Swamp Rocket, including the Chicken Lady in Key West. She wanted to mount an expedition to the place in order to supply her modern sculpter friend with some "media." I politely advised against it.
My blog entry on my old high school teachers resulted in some nice comments from classmates. Sure would be great to see them all again- my teachers especially.
I received my latest note from Chris and Vickie Shepherd in Port Aransas, Texas. They are the new owners of Tranquility, the sail boat in my story-log Race Week in the Bahamas. They had found my story while researching Tranquility on-line. I asked them to send me their new adventures aboard her and hopefully I can update you all later.
Thanks for reading- and writing.
I find most writers or artists in general will welcome any tool which allows them ingress.
There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm.
One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery,
and the other that heat comes from a furnace.
The Cabin
June 24 
Happy Birthday, Ballerina Girl.
To steal a phrase from Lionel Ritchie
....you are so lovely.
Your father loves you very, very much.
June 19 Traded another email with Bill Hunter this morning.
Bill Hunter. We graduated high school together but had been out of touch until just recently. We shared a great passion for music. Bill and I were both influenced by our sibling's 60's records and learned to play the guitar.
He and I played in the first ever Cablethon in our hometown when cable TV first came out. It was the middle of February and I had spent the day ice fishing with my brother in law. It was the coldest day still on record for Madison. I damn near didn't make it to the show, on account of my fingers being frozen. Didn't make any difference in my playing anyway.
Bill was one of the smartest and funniest people in our class. Still is, I believe.
He thinks. I like to be around people like that.
Bill was also the most popular kid in our class. He got along with everybody- from the eggheads to the Boys Room smokers, and graduated at the top of our class. He now designs and builds circuit boards.
Bill spoke at our graduation. After all the usual "climb to the top" motivational speeches and other bull shit, Bill Hunter, barely 18 years of age, stepped up to the podium and said this:
"Will we try to be warm, enthusiastic, feeling human beings?
Will we strive to understand all the different things that make us different?
Will we try to be honest with each other,but more importantly, honest with ourselves?
It's very easy to say right now, 'No problem, of course I will.'
But if you can say that in five, ten or fifty years, then you have reached the
only goal that really matters."
Bill
Like I said; smartest kid in the class.
I am planning on seeing Bill for the first time in 35 years at the cabin next month.
We're gonna share some tall tales and a little music.
June 17 Below is a copy of my letter to Joe Barton, U.S. Congressman from Texas, who I used to see at Cheeca Lodge and Spa every year for his annual "Charity" fishing tournament- actually a fundraiser for his 'Political Action Committee' ( his campaign bank ).
I worked the bell stand at Cheeca Lodge and his fishing guests' luggage tags read like a
whos-who of American industry; Oil companies, Pharmaceuticals, the Airlines ( Air Transport ), Big Banking.
June 17, 2010
re; BP
Mr. Barton:
I must respectfully tell you, sir, that I believe you to be the worst sort of American Politician.
Capitalism? Of course it is our preferred way of life.
But blind approval and apologies to a (foreign) company that has proven to repeatedly disrespect American values of Life (11 people on that rig), Liberty, and Pursuit of happiness
( mine happens to be the water, the outdoors and fishing ) ?
Shame on you, Sir.
David Schneider
June 14 "These are not very bright guys- and things got carried away..."
-Deep Throat in Watergate's All the President's Men
Have you been reading about how the oil companies were getting their way under the U.S. Dept. of the Interior's Minerals Management Service(MMS), being able to ink over what the MMS had penciled for them on regulatory forms? Hows this:
According to Tom Dickenson of Rolling Stone, among the sensitive species that they anticipated being impacted in the event of a deep water accident in the Gulf were walruses.
WALRUSES??!!
Apparently, not only were the oil companies utilizing low-tech techniques such as tracing pen over pencil over at MMS, they were "Copying and Pasting" from old Environmental Impact Statements regarding their operations in the Arctic. Still think we need no regulatory reform?
I've know Mark Adams since we were eight years old. He was always an electronics freak. Mark would take me up to his bedroom where all the cool stuff was- transistors and switches and amplifiers and patch cords and transformers and diodes and cathode ray tubes and all sorts of wonders.
Then about five years ago a quick, viscious form of MS found him.
John Menlove Edwards wrote about living life being tied up in one own’s string.
Mark from my senior yearbook...
June 8 I went fishing this morning. For 10 minutes. Before work. In my back yard. I have a small canal running behind my house. Depending on the tide, the water there can be less than a foot deep. There are usually no fish in the canal over three inches long. Why do I do it?
Fisherman know.
It helps my blood pressure, brings contentment, takes me back to wonderful places and wonderful times. A fishpole in your hand is as magic as Harry Potter's wand...
We had heard them, sometimes standing in the rain almost out of earshot, so that only the words came
through, and had read them, on proclamations that were slapped up by billposters over other
proclamations, now for a long time, and I had seen nothing sacred, and the things that were glorious
had no glory and the sacrifices were like the stockyards at Chicago… there were many words you
could not stand to hear and finally only the names of places had dignity.”
The guy who taught me there was life- lots of it- beyond our village limits.
Getting one was more relief than punishment. I am no teacher, but it seems to me once you have made that the focal point of your class, you have lost it.
There is so much potential to make the world come alive to young minds in the Social Study disciplines. Personally, I believe that making any of them boring should carry with it criminal penalties. I would love to meet Van Dellan today so I could give her her own giant Pink Slip.
“ when will we ever use this stuff?!” rubbish. He knew better, and he only sent me to the office once, though I deserved more. He cared. A lot.
One time while running relays, I forgot I wasn't the anchor and ran again when I found myself back at the front of the line. Blum belched STOP!!!
Then he threw his clip board at me.
He was right both times; what a dumb shit. I sulked back to the line. Both times.
May 27 Just spent this morning catching up on what's happening in the Gulf with the oil spill.
Man am I pissed.
To think of all that death and destruction and mayhem coming out of a 6 inch hole... and why?
BP, enjoying a period of HUGE profits, tried to save a few bucks on drilling mud.
11 dead, 17 injured, wildlife and jobs in extreme jeoprody, all because the U.S. Government let oil companies do this. The Minerals Management Service is a joke; nothing but a bunch of well paid bureaucrats sitting on their asses waiting for a real high paying job offer from the oil industry. I'm telling you, it's ugly.
Twenty years ago when Layna and I first moved to the Keys we, along with thousands of others, petitioned the Governor and Senator Dante Fascell for a drilling ban around Florida. What did we get? The Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary; more bureaucrats telling us where we can fish and dive. OK, maybe helpful.
But then Dick Cheney, while Vice President, cuts a special closed door "hands off" deal with the CEOs of the Oil majors, and then, right before this spill, President Obama proposes to open up Florida waters to the Oil leasees again. It hopefully won't happen now.
This better be a wake up call to the anti regulation crowd and the US Department of the Interior.
May 14 Listening to Crosby & Nash's record Wind on the Water this morning...
"...got the soul of a rag picker, got the mind of a slug-
and I keep sweeping problems under my rug..."
Cros, I couldn't have said it better myself. Have we met?
May 8 Pardon me, for I have sinned.
I sinned twice: 1) I have been away for a while and 2) I am stupid. One caused the other. I have been away because my computer was down.
My Computer was down because I am stupid- Stupid Stupid Stupid. Here's what happened:
About a month ago I received an email. The email was from DHL shipping, sayng they could
not deliver a package. I was expecting something so I opened the attachment. Stupid Stupid Stupid. Only too late did it occur to me there was no logo or other identifying item in the email. And the tracking number was only seven characters. Stupid, stupid stupid.
Too late; the attachment was already open.
Within 10 minutes my computer went beserk, with pop-up-after pop- up telling me I had been infected and "just push this little button to make everything OK. I did, paid $29.95, and everything went away. for a week. Long story short, there are a lot of people off-shore making a ton of money on this shit. Not only does the santi malware software they sell you not work, it plants other worms to blow up later and also steals all bank passwords, credit card #s etc.
By last friday my computer was so infected my computer tech told me it would take 6-7 hour at 60 bucks an hour to completely clean my registry, etc.
So I reformatted instead. After contacting my bank, missing two days of work (I do CS work at home off my computer), spending eight hours bringing eveything back ( I back up EVERYTHING ) I am now back.
Lesson: Best Practices:
1. Back up Everything Important.
2. Do Not open attachments- even those that look legitimate on first look if they are
not regular correspondents. Walk away and think. ( Logo and TRK #, remember?)
3. Do not trust anything you see pop up on your computer at first look. The crooks
use logos and product names that look like the real thing. ( Microsoft, Windows, )
double check every pop up and every product. Google software before you buy it.
That's how I foud out about XP Defender Pro- my nemisis.
4. Use your Window Restore tool (Start, programs, accessories, tools, restore)-
Create restore points often.
I filed a complaint with the Florida Attorney General and the FBI's cyber unit, but of course it was a waste of time. These guys aren't in the States. Duh...
I know most of you are smarter than I am, but I got lazy. Don't get lazy.
This episode is the best argument for gun control ever. 'Cause if I had the anachroids, counting their money in the Caymen Islands or Majorca or where-ever, that did this to me in front of me right now...
May 2 Spending Sunday morning over coffee reading about the BP oil spill, then switching to Rolling Stone's blistering expose on the Goldman Sachs debacle, all while watching Goldman's CEO Lloyd Blankfein on Charley Rose making a most believable, eloquent (read bullshit?) case for his firm:
Rolling Stone: The notion that the bank (Goldman) would go out and create big balls of crap that would be designed to fail seemed too nuts for even me (Rolling Stone's reporter).
Blankfein: "Yes, Charlie, I suppose it is cultural to some extent... " (responding to Rose's question whether cynical, cold-hearted crossing-the-line on bet hedging has become part of the system).
Rose, to his credit, never used the cliche "Too Big to Fail" with Blankfein, but something occurs to me:
Rolling Stone reminds readers that they predicted the SEC- Goldman suit a year ago in their article "The Bubble Machine" about real estate and the sub prime mortgage mess.
Everyone said they were crazy- displaying the same short-sided thinking shared by the Drill Baby Drill crowd.
Here's the Question:
What do Blow Out Valves have in common with General Motors, AIG, and Goldman Sachs?
Answer:
From the Titanic to the Depression to Three Mile Island to 911 to the Housing Bubble to Bernie Madoff's Ponzi scheme to the present Oil disaster in the Gulf, we the people ALWAYS assume that something is too big, too strong, too smart, too remote, too sophisticated, too reliable, to failsafe to fail. Yet it inevitably does.
The next time you hear dire predictions, something you know could never ever happen, think again.
Truth trumps fiction every time.
April 20 It is 9:05am and I just heard (and felt) the Space Shuttle's sonic boom as it came through the sound barrier to the south west of my house, on schedule for a landing at Cape Canaveral. Awesome.
April 16 I got an email from Dan Storm yesterday. He attached a story about the meteor that flashed over Madison and most of the midwest earlier this week. Dan is a fellow star gazer. It got me thinking about "sleepers"- folks whose still waters run deep.
Storm and I shared a nice apartment on Madison's west side during college. We were going to school, but we were both working full time as well, so we could afford it. Dan was the best roommate you could imagine. I was- well you can imagine.
Dan's quiet, agreeable demeanor always masked a go-for-it spirit. No adventure was too remote, no mission was impossible.
Underneath all this was the soul of a philosopher- he just couldn't get it out.
Storm and I grew up in the same neighborhood. He was a jock. I was a dreamer. One time in little league, I was playing Catcher and Storm hit an inside-the-park home run in the bottom of the ninth. He rounded third and came towards me. One run would win the game. I miraculously caught the ball from the cut off man and was sure I had him tagged. But instead of sliding, Storm slammed into me on a full gallop at home plate. The ball flew into the bleachers, I careened into the backstop.
They won. We lost.
I hated Storm. With a passion.
Later during our high school years I began to see him regularly sitting out on a nearby hill late at night, watching the stars. One evening I went out too. We became friends.
After coming home from the Air Force, Storm learned to fly (typical, always doing things backwards). One night he called and wanted to know if I wanted to go flying. He needed to do some touch-and-goes to keep his license current. What a glorious night! A full moon, Madison and the Capitol twinkling below, and the sky was ours. Dan did three flawless landings, each time zooming off again into the heavens.
When I got married, Storm was my Best Man. We had the reception at the homestead in Monona; a hundred chairs were rented as well as a large tent. Storm had three women hanging on him the whole time. Poor guy- he didn't know which way to turn. It was like watching a tennis match. The night turned into a late one, no one feeling any pain.
All the chairs had to be returned to our church for the early Sunday service, so
I showed up at the folks' at 6:30am ready to start folding chairs and guess who was there, still in his tuxedo, lying on the patio, ready to help? That's right- Dan Storm.
Dan's a quiet guy. He won't tell you, but now you've got all you need to know about Dan Storm.
April 14 Sorry- I've been gone for a while.
Last Sunday, a beautiful warm spring day my muisical appetite was rumbing so I went down town for some nourishment.
The tourist district of Old Towne St. Augustine has a vibrant music scene, which is one of the things I love about this town.
Walk the narrow cobblestone streets of Old Towne, and you can't help but get caught up in the great acoustic music wafting out of the old stone buildings and streetside cafes. Turn down Anastasia Street, however, and the performances get right in your face...
Street musicians sit or stand with open guitar cases, upside-down hats or other means of collecting the rent and bang out some of the sweetest music you'll ever hear. No stage lights, no microphones, no P.A. Just the magnificent acoustics of this particular thoroughfare- One gentleman sat belting out Robert Plant and Steve Perry tunes like it was effortless. The street carried his clear voice for blocks while others played flamenco guitar or solo sax. A great deal of it was better than what I heard coming out of the bars- or my car radio for that matter.
I asked the fellow on the corner for an original. He answered with a haunting melody and relevant lyric.
So to paraphrase the great John Prine, next time you're walking down the road and you spot some enlightening act...
Don't just pass by as if you didn't care. Say Hello in there...
This guy could sing... Just another work day... Ya gotta have a novelty act...
April 5 Happy Easter!
My idea of an Easter Sunrise Service
March 28 I want to tell you all a true story. I want to tell you this story because it is a Sunday morning before daylight and I am troubled because of an email I returned to a good friend recently. This is a friend I love and respect and have known for most of my life.
For the first time in this life, I felt I had to stand up for what I felt was right, no matter who I might upset; that as we sometimes do in the company of friends with differing views, I could no longer laugh and look the other way. I am not speaking now of mere political disagreement- we all have those and can laugh about them and agree to disagree. But because of the story I am about to tell you, and other experiences like it, this email somehow struck me as different- as over the line; I felt compelled to say No thank you to my good friend's message.
Here is my story:
Last year when we were in Rome, as Cindy and I were stumbling along trying to find the Vatican, a young man, as often happens, took up a conversation with Cindy as we sat on a street corner, me with a map in my face. As usual, Cindy asked the man how to get to where we were going and he offered to show us the way. I went along reluctantly, preferring to "figure it out myself- dammit."
Cindy and the man, dark skinned, handsome and articulate with an intonation I could not place, talked on and on, laughing and pointing, me following behind.
Finally we turned a corner to our left and lo and behold, there stood Vatican Square, Michelangelo's Pieta and the Cistine Chapel beckoning in the background. Cindy and I thanked the gentleman, who laughed and said "it is ironic that I should show Americans to the Vatican. It is not easy being a Muslim in this town. We are misunderstood and hated here, and everyone thinks we are terrorists."
We shook hands and I watched him walk away, alone. I wanted to buy him a beer or a glass of wine, but we had much to do that day.
The following week in Istanbul, Cindy and I would visit the famous Blue Mosque. After removing our shoes, Cindy covered her legs, cleavage and head with a scarve, which, if you know Cindy, amused me no end. What an amazingly peaceful place. These were open, welcoming people, the locals, and I was proud to be among them. I made a pledge to myself then and there that the next time I witnessed bigotry or intolerance in any form, I would not turn away, even if it was passed along, quite innocently, I might add, by a good friend.
March 26 I celebrated a warm spring day by driving a short ways down A1A to Matanzas National Monument.
The site of a fortification built in 1565 by the Spanish to protect the southern flank of St. Augustine, America's first city, Fort Matanzas sits in the middle of the Matanzas River just up stream from the Atlantic's Matanzas Inlet. The word Matanzas is spanish for The Massacres and was so named for the battle and subsequent execution of French Huguenots there in 1564. Fort Matanzas is made of the same Coquina rock that protects the much larger Castillo de San Marcos up town.
Fort Matanzas protects the town from south. This canon could punch holes in The inlet as seen thru gun ports by
brittish and french ships all the Spanish solders in this lonley outpost.
way to Matanzas Inlet- 2 miles! Photos courtesy of Debi Goehring
