The End is Nigh

Skip Raking, Go Golfing!

I was well along in writing a new post that was a look at why humans tend to move to and live in places that are not really meant for humans. You know, places that are built in a swamp and regularly battered by hurricanes like, say, Ft Myers, FL. Or in a desert, for example, like Las Vegas or Phoenix. Included were thoughts on our selfish destruction of the environment for our fellow creatures like butterflies. But something much more serious and important has come up that I had to acknowledge and write about. The end of the golf season.

I know what you’re thinking. “What?! Golf is more important and serious than hurricanes and deserts and stuff?” Sorry, that is a question only a Minnesota non-golfer could ask and the answer, of course, is yes. 

Anyway. The season is winding down as it always must up here on the tundra. Oh, there will still be some days where you will see silly golfers out there in 40 degree weather in shorts and windbreaker pretending they are enjoying freezing off important parts of their bodies. (And don’t up and go stereotyping, it’s not all men, only 98%.) I have to admit there was a time (a long time ago - over 3 years actually) when I might have been one of them but now in my dotage, I have come to my senses and will NOT join that foolish band. No sir, it has to be at least 45 degrees AND less than 20mph wind – a man has to have standards! (Well in golf anyway.) Nonetheless, the end is coming.

A me lookalike enjoying a fall round

Weather this season has been splendid even if partially brought by drought conditions. Droughts are obviously difficult for the golf industry - do you know how much it costs to keep watering a 180 acre golf course?! And my greatest fear was that the powers that be would try to divert water to silly things like crops and people’s yards and showers. Thank the God of Golf, Lord Doubleeagle, they didn’t have to. But dry conditions are otherwise a boon to golfers (many of whom are “fair weather golfers” like most of my friends) and it has been a fine season.

Many people ("Normals" as we golfers call them) seem to have a problem understanding what it is about the game that attracts us. For example, many studies have shown that golfers are among the most brilliant, talented, highly educated and often the most handsome people around.(With a certain ex-Presient being the exception that proves the rule)Yet, they say, we become addicted to a game that turns us into brain addled Gombies (or Golf zombies.) Delusional individuals who spend an enormous amount of money and time just to be constantly beaten to a pulp by the game - and within 24 hours are convinced that the beating was an abberation and they will soon be breaking par. Well, ha, the joke is on the Normals! There is a great Garth Brooks song called “Standing Outside the Fire” the chorus of which is “life is not tried it is merely survived if you’re standing outside the fire.” It’s about people who never take a chance and just trudge through life, happy and content with their nice home and families, sanity and money. Not golfers! No,ma’m, we jump into that blazing dumpster fire that is golf several times a week – and . . . well, it hurts,yes, but there’s always another tee time tomorrow. I choose to lovingly describe the game as a “Trifecta of Fertilizer”: expensive, time consuming, and frustrating. (Fertilizer isn’t actually the word I use but this is family blog post.)

The Agony . . .

 . . . And the Ecstacy

Also, Mrs Dear Leader is endlessly fascinated by my ability to link absolutely any everyday occurrence to golf. “Dear, I got a raise!” Which I could describe as “Dear, It’s like I had two birdies today!” Or, “The neighbors house caught on fire.” Which I could say is just like “Oh no, got rearended and wrecked the clubs!” Yes, golf really is a metaphor, analogy and simile for life. 

Golf also has all the important human conditions: anger, frustration, depression, resentment, resignation – and occasional euphoria. She’s so impressed that she often just shakes her head in wonder at my brilliant insights.

So now to end with one of those figures of speech, let us just say that as the days grow shorter, the number of tee times also grow fewer. Not unlike the days of our life left to jump in the fire (or something like that.) So be sure to get your tee times while you can, you never know which one will be your last. (Although I have played in Jan in MN so I don’t exactly know what that means in our metaphor. Resuscitation maybe?)

Anyway, true story: Bing Crosby was an absolute golf fanatic. In October, 1977, he walked off a golf course in Spain AFTER a round – and dropped dead on the spot, heart attack. I know what you’re thinking, perfect way to go, right? Sadly, no, he didn’t sign his score card so he was disqualified from the tournament. See, golf really is like life – not always fair.

Well, I gotta go, I’m playing tomorrow so I need to charge the battery for the electric golf vest that my golf caddy daughter gave me and the electric gloves that Mrs Dear Leader gave me (foolishly thinking I would use them for something stupid like shoveling snow.)

A Younger Dumber Guy

Okay, Still Kinda Dumb

Anyway happy fall. Bundle up and get another round in before it’s too late.

FORE!

PS

Coming soon, a new post on more human foibles. 

Music to sooth the golfers soul:

Dougle Bogey Blues (Really blue this time of the year!)

I Come to Bury the Liberal Arts . . .

  . . . Not to Praise Them

A recent letter to the editor in the Strib regarding the looming - and apparently, welcome - decline of the liberal arts education (You know, the education most of us got when we went to colleges like the Harvard of the North, UMD!) struck a chord with me.  It reminded me that I had been thinking about the passing of the good old BA and the Humanities some time ago. Allow me to meander to my point.

I started college back when dinosaurs roamed the earth - 1966. Like most wide-eyed freshman, i.e. without a clue, I took all the required liberal arts undergrad courses while assiduously (a word I must have learned in one of those classes) avoiding math and science to the greatest extent possible. (Thankfully, one geology and one biology class filled the requirement.) I admit that when I took classes like World Lit, Intro to Art and Philosophy 101 I simply suffered through them as the price I had to pay to get to declare a major.

No change in 56 yrs - still a dork

And declare I did. I ended up with a BA degree with a major in political science and minor in world history - ha ha ha, not a STEM class in sight! Hot damn, that REALLY prepared me for the world of work. Of course, I was also in the Air Force ROTC and knew I had a job when I graduated for at least the next five years so I had that going for me.

Now fast forward over 50 years. I have been fortunate to stumble through life with a long career in the military doing a number of different jobs (including as a navigator – take that, STEM!) After retiring I followed it with stints of several years each in the health care industry and as an adjunct college instructor. (And stumble is the correct word, I never had a clue about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Still don’t.) I readily admit that my undergrad degree itself was of virtually no value to anything I did in the real world. However, GETTING that degree meant everything.

Algebra? I don't need no stinking algebra!

You know there’s an old joke that asks how often do you really need to know how many Circles there are in Dante’s Inferno (9) or need algebra (more often than you think.) I would have said the same thing in my youthful exuberance but as I reflect on my life now I know how often I have dredged up some piece of information long buried in my few remaining brain cells. For example, you would be surprised how often that knowing a little about Descarte (I thought therefore I was?) or what Socrates had to say about youth could help me to at least not sound like a total idiot in a conversation with people I respected.  Then, of course, I would occasionally bump into a conversation about Mozart (or Rod McKuen, look him up) and be able to impress attractive, young women. Ah, the humanities! (Most of my friends, bless their tiny little hearts, are just impressed that I made it through college.)

In the end, though, it’s not even the individual nuggets of information that are the most important thing from a liberal art education at least for me, it’s the skills I developed from it. I think that being exposed to all those totally new ideas and concepts and being challenged to agree or disagree with them greatly helped me in life. That also seems like a pretty good definition of critical thinking too. (As proof that there is a god of irony, I stumbled into teaching Critical Thinking.) I can’t speak for others but it also fostered in me a great curiosity about life and brought at least some ability to learn new things.

Well, I can hope, right?

That was then and this is now. Now students are asked to focus on skills that employers want rather than taking the time to explore new ideas and wasting time on “unnecessary” subjects and I get it. (Although I think there is something sinister about turning our entire education system into an assembly line for corporations.) There was a time when any kid who graduated and could fog a mirror could get a good job. That is no longer true and also a college degree isn’t really necessary for many of the new jobs - although everyone needs a skill. Besides, not everyone can or should go to college. 

And I have to admit that if I had to pay $100,000 or even $50,000 for a BA degree it would give me pause too – my degree cost $6,000, every penny of which was paid by me. I guess you can add that to the long list of benefits heaped on my generation, the baby boomers, the luckiest one in the history of the world. (Although we haven’t done much to justify that good fortune.)

But this is about those that who do go to college - or are interested in learning new things. While there is no point to lamenting the decline of liberal arts, I do think that we will find the country poorer for its loss and the skills that type education brings us. In fact, I hope we aren’t already seeing this with the turmoil enveloping our country politically, socially and economically. 

Sadly, the distrust of science, loss of belief in democracy and increase in "mystical thinking" and dysfunction this causes in many of our most important institutions does not bode well for our country.  

                                                                            Oh man, here we go again                                                                                                  (well, so long "The Catcher in the Rye" I guess)

Obviously there's no rule that a college education is required to explore new ideas and learn to think critically but even so perhaps we can find a worthy replacement for the liberal arts anyway.

And to make it more palatable to some perhaps we could name it the “conservative arts?”

 

 My Old School Steely Dan

Autumn

 Autumn in Minnesota

Ah, autumn in Minnesota, the Dolos of seasons. (You know, Dolos, the Greek spirit of trickery and treachery?) What better name for a spirit that lulls us with a perfect September, a lovely October - then punches us in the face with November enroute to the pits of January, February and March! (December gets a pass for now for good reason as you will see.) 

Wait! I said I was going to write something positive this time and by God I’m going to if I have to lie my butt off. 

So, there is much to love about the fall (as long as you have short term memory loss.) First, think of these soft, cool mornings with bright comfortable days that slide into town in late August. Then as the days wear on the leaves turn to bright colors that make the mythical Joseph’s multi-colored coat look like an army surplus sweatshirt.

Of course, the “official” end of summer is signaled by the annual junk food bacchanalia of the state fair. Where else can you see hordes of (full-figured) people across all race, age and income groups – people who on any other day might be beating each other over the head with political signs - crowd together around the French Fry hut? Or even better, eating such delicacies as Creamy Sardines on a Stick and fried Cheese Stuffed Ice Cream? Yum!

Oh hell, we can another 10,000 folks in here

We interrupt this gushing post to note the sober passing of the autumnal equinox on Sept 21st. Say good night, Dick. Even if you could balance an egg on its end, it’s a small reward for days shorter than nights.

Next, it’s important that I mention the best thing about this season – golf! (As Mrs Dear Leader often pleads, “Must everything relate to golf?” The answer, of course, is "Yes!”) The avid – but often unskilled – golfer can find many positives this time of the year. There is the savings when courses start charging those "cheap" fall rates. Wonderfully, they last until the last parka-clad golfer’s drill bit gets stuck in the frozen tundra trying to get his tee in the ground. (I’m not kidding, I know guys who carry a drill like an additional putter.) That’s so stupid, right? Just bring a hammer! Another great benefit is the “Leaf Rule.” It’s a unique rule recognized only in places that actually have both fall and trees. If you can’t find your ball due to leaves on the course the golfer is allowed a penalty-free drop somewhere near it was last seen headed. The rule is usually very liberally applied. (Golf is full of many stupid rules why not have a good one!) Sadly, the downside at the end of the season – often in December - are the increased visits to mental health professionals by twitchy golfers jonesing for one more round.

 "I think we can one more round in by sunset at 4"

Moving on, sadly we gather the last fruits of our labor from our vegetable gardens (well, not us, we had some issues but I mean a lot of people do) while we prepare to collect the red and gold bounty of our many stately old trees i.e. 60-70 bags of @%*&! leaves!

There is also, of course, the celebration of Halloween where kids can consume slightly more candy than their parents can tolerate. Perhaps lots more. It’s also when you discover who the misanthropes are on the block. You know, the ones who turn off all the lights and skulk in the dark until it’s over. Or worse, handout carrot sticks and kale. Doh.

No, you can't make me go to the Pederson's - she's nice but him and his stupid fake nose and mustache scare me!                                         (Note: I don't have a fake nose and mustache.)

We mustn’t forget the most important fall sport. No, not football – hunting! Fall is a paradise for hunters in our fair state. Grouse, pheasants, ducks, geese are all in our sights. Of course, the big kahuna of hunting is deer. Hunters forego all rationality in their pursuit of shooting Bambi. You know, staying in an old shanty, pooping over a log, inbibing vast amounts of alcohol and heading out before dawn with a high powered rifle. Yowser! (Except for the shanty, the pooping thing, the dawn and the rifle, this is pretty similar to some golf outings I've heard of.) As an aside, we also have the unusual marriage relationship here during deer season called the “deer hunting widow.” If you think there's wildlife in the woods, go to a bar on opening weekend of deer hunting.

Note: no guys in camouflage . . .

Then we have the reward for our annual labors which is, of course, Thanksgiving. That orgy of turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, 3 bean casserole, (hotdish?) cranberries, hot cross buns all topped off with pumpkin pie. Then, like our pilgrim ancestors, we unbuckle our pants and watch . . . football? An odd tradition but what the heck.

Noooo, I hate sitting with these losers, put me with other kids and Uncle Doug!

Finally, as fall gives way to December, and the dubious "charms" of winter, we watch the days get shorter and nights get longer and colder. Suddenly, amidst the gloom, Elpis, the greek spirit of Hope appears on the horizon in the early evening sky. She comes in the form of the Winter Solstice, as the greatest day of the year now comes into sight! Soon we will celebrate the Sun’s decision to stop at the Tropic of Capricorn and start back north to make Minnesota habitable again. (With Christmas thrown in as a bonus!)

Anyway, have a very nice autumn and before you know it we will be . . . 

. . . dreading the Summer Solstice again!

 

The falling leaves drift by the window
               The autumn leaves of red and gold                                                                                                                                                                                          I see your lips, the summer kisses                                                                                                                                                                                   The sun-burned hands I used to hold . . .

Yes, I miss you most of all, my darling                                                                                                                                                                                                     When autumn leaves start to fall

By Jacques Prevert / Joseph Kosma

The Falling Leaves   Nat King Cole

September  Earth Wind and Fire

It's Not the Constitution . . .

 It's How You Use It

I should start by saying that I sat down to write about the gun-inflicted tragedy in Texas way back in May (of course, followed by several others since.) I thought I had something to say about guns and death and stupidity and Americans but I don’t, there’s just no point. But it did bring me an epiphany about the Constitution.

Some time ago I wrote a  couple of posts, one was titled “I Blame the Constitution” and the other, "A Conversation with the Founding Fathers." (This one will complete the trifecta of boring stuff like why our country sucks now.) Anywhoo, they were kinda tongue in cheek – but kinda not. I was trying to make a point that several of the “unique” items in the Constitution – like the 2^nd amendment, electoral college, overbearing state's rights, life terms for Supreme Court, etc - were at least partially responsible for some of our many problems today. I was sure if the Founding Fathers revisited us today they would consider those mistakes or at least think they would have been updated. 

I now admit I was wrong. No, they would think that the government is finally functioning exactly as intended - it barely works at all!

Yet it's wrong to blame the Constitution for what is happening in the country, that’s just a cop out. For at least the first couple hundred years we were able to accomplish great things with this same document. Sure, there were flare ups, including a big one from 1861-1865, but somehow life went on and we managed to act like a single country. Now, as Simon and Garfunkel sang, “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?”

Huh, our typical dinner was mac and cheese and ring baloney

I am no sentimental old fool yearning for the good old days of my youth - a time that didn’t really exist for most people. My experience as a (lower) middle class white guy was very different than that of millions and millions of people of different gender, color, race and religions. Yet it seems like there were some things we could all depend on as Americans.

At one time, despite being a country of diverse people - many with funny accents and weird diets (talking about southerners here) - we all felt comfortable calling each other “Fellow Americans.” That no longer exists.

For nearly thirty years in the military, I visited states all over the country - north and south, east and west – and not once did I hear the terms “red” or “blue.” Sorry, that’s no longer true.

Traveling all over the world, from Tampa to Thailand, I was always happy to bump into other Americans – black, white, rich, poor - there was never a thought about where they came from or what their political leanings were, we were just Americans. Nope, that’s gone.

My dad had an 8^th grade education but was the smartest man I knew and he always had a job. Maybe not great jobs or fancy jobs but good enough that we lived in a house, I had a bike and food and wore clean (patched) clothes. And it never occurred to us that we were poor. Most everyone we knew was like us and they didn’t know they were poor either. That’s long gone. (Today, you know if you’re poor (or middle class - and it’s apparently your fault.)

There was a time not so long ago when our political parties, while strongly disagreeing about certain things, generally agreed that the USA was about democracy, progress and optimism; trying to do the best for all of us. Now? They (and we) don’t even agree on what any of those terms mean.

So, how did we go from Valley Forge to “I won’t wear a mask?” What happened to our country? I believe I have the answer - we all became Constitution experts!

Hey, I've seen that somewhere . . .

I think it started with Reagan and his “the government is the enemy” stuff. Boy, it certainly did become one! Unions? Out! Tax cuts and deficits? In! Pensions out? 401K in! Regulated markets out? Greed and graft (and huge income inequality?) In! And from there, it was all downhill. 

Politicians (can you say Newt Gingrich?) started weaponizing the Constitution. Of course, old Newt had lots of help from the other party - it takes a bipartisan effort and the media to screw up an entire country. They (we?) use every Amendment and Article to advance our political and petty personal agendas; actual needs of the average person be damned! Guns, voting rights, healthcare, religion, education - there is no problem or issue for which freedom FROM government isn’t the cure (just like tax cuts.) The Constitution says so - FREEDOM! 

Free at last, free at last, thank God I’m free . . . to live like a serf!

The Constitution is an exceptional document and it was the foundation for the richest and most powerful country in history. Yet we accomplished many of those great things because we did NOT treat the Constitution like it’s the Bible; it's just a document. (In fact, almost no one treats the actual Bible like the Bible!) Supreme Court attempts notwithstanding, it can’t be done. 

Well, that's my theory, folks. Right or wrong, we we have some difficult decisions to make.

It is said that all empires collapse from within. It would be the ultimate irony – and tragedy – if the United States were to collapse because we failed to use the Constitution properly. Or because we finally just give up on it.

Oh yeah, about gun violence. Simple: dead kids should always trump a piece of parchment, right? Right?! Probably not, just more "freedom" than our kids can live with.

If only we still lived in Johnny Cougar's country. . . 

Our Country John Mellencap

The Letter

 

Just about a year ago now I received a letter, registered mail, the contents of which were right out of a movie script. It was surprising, powerful and life-changing – and not a little scary. It also has proved again what a lucky guy I am.

I am the rare person who understands how lucky he is. No, really, this isn't false modesty, I mean it. And not win the lottery lucky or lucky dodging bullets – rhetorical and actual – but lucky in the most important way; life just always works out for me. I grant you that if you set your expectations low enough that will always be true, and that may be true with me too, but still, I know my luck far exceeds my skills.

The letter was like those that bring news of the passing of an unknown relative who is leaving you all their substantial money. One minute you’re an everyday schlump and the next day you’re driving a Bentley - Hot damn!

Speaking of luck, you could start with something I have in common with all my fellow baby boomers. That is, we are the single luckiest generation in the history of the world – period – the likes of which is probably never to be seen again. Born at a unique point in time, the stars were aligned to smile on us with all the gifts that the gods of history could bestow on us. (Turns out we haven’t been very good shepherds of our good fortune but that’s a story for another day.)

As I open the letter - a beautiful and well-crafted letter - and start reading, it causes me to stop, as is usually the case with such letters, and reread the first paragraph or two. Huh. Then, as the intent starts to emerge, I began to get that funny feeling in my stomach, both anxious and excited. Oh man, I think I know where this is going!

Most people who know me know I had polio when I was five. Bad luck? Could be, many people ended up in wheel chairs, braces and iron lungs during that dreadful epidemic. But not Dougie! For me it was gone in two weeks. It left me a little pigeon toed with weak ankles for a while but that’s about it. A miracle? Nah, just really lucky.

Finally, there it is, with the words, “ . . .  likely you or one of your brothers are my biological father” my comfortable, complacent senior citizen life is suddenly changed and rockets back to that of a 20-year-old college student.

The only one in the family (a family with zero money) that went to college, I was lucky to go at all let alone graduate and get commissioned. Without loans and the Air Force ROTC there was no way I make it. Then I was able to scrape together a very interesting 28 year air force career flying around the world including Southeast Asia and a couple other of little wars - and many other interesting things. I followed that by working at a large national healthcare insurance company and a college teaching gig. Perhaps best of all, I had the pleasure and honor to make and keep many great friends (most of whom are still on the right side of the grass.) 

And all of that without even a hint of a plan for my life. Wouldn't you call that lucky?

Well, there's no way to pin it on my brothers (not that I would.) I have a 52-year-old daughter? Suddenly, I am the father of a 52-year old daughter! DNA doesn’t lie but it didn’t need to, I was sure it was true as soon as I saw the birth mother’s name and the timeframe,  over 52 years - and 9 months ago (as of last year) or around Feb. 1969. Sounding, I know, like a politician being investigated but I have no recollection of the relationship from which my new (oldest?) daughter sprang. In my case it’s true and suffice to say that I didn’t know then that I was going to be a father. But I'm glad now that I was.

I’ve had the good fortune to have two wonderful women as wives (not at the same time!) with whom I have three healthy, productive, great kids. (Okay, biologically I could only claim two but by mutual love it's three.) Thankfully, not a lawyer or politician among them!

 

(You have probably noted they apparently got their good looks from their moms. Likely more than looks.)

And now I have four.

She was born in Duluth (where I went for undergrad degree at the Harvard of the North, UMD) then was adopted and raised in Virginia (the state not the city) by a mom and dad and brothers and sister who love her. (Her dad, a college professor, is gone now but was a big influence on her life.) Not all adopted children are so fortunate - perhaps she inherited my famous good luck?  

I recently got back from a trip to NY, where she now lives, for my first visit with her and her family. Did I mention she has two teenage boys - my first grandchildren so far! (Have I missed much, boys?) We had talked, texted and Zoomed a lot in the past year and it seemed clear that her finding me was a blessing for both of us – she had been searching for her roots for over 30 years while mine have sunk deeper in a totally different reality during that time. Meeting face to face, however, was still daunting for us both – you just never know. I will spare you all the laughter and tears of the first meeting and just say my fabulous luck continues. Besides being a beautiful person inside and out, what could be better for a “new 74-year old father” than a 52-year-old daughter with a PhD in Gerontology?! Well, we talked for six straight days but barely made a dent in all we have missed in 52 plus years. So we have much more more catching up which will be something to look forward to, at least for me.

Our big decision was what she should call me. Not sure what the custom for such things is - and I sure didn't care - but she decided on "Papa." Well, among the many things I've been called that's not one of them - and I love it. 

I have thought a lot about the “what ifs” of this story. What if I had known I was going to be a father at age 20, what would I have done? Would I have been able to finish college? Get my AF commission? What about her life with me in it? Or mine in her's? And what about the mother? (All imponderables, I suppose, which are perhaps better left unpondered.) One thing is demonstrably true, however, and that is that my life is now even better with her in it.

(Ditto on the looks and brains from mom - but I take credit for the eyes!)

So that is my story of the letter. There are two (at least) take aways here. One, you can never have too many people to love - and who love you and two, I remain the luckiest man in the world.

Thanks for reading, I hope tomorrow's mail brings you a wonderful surprise too.

 

Some Guys Have all the Luck   Rod Stewart

Memorial Day 2022 - Celebration and Remembrance

 

There is a reason for celebration as well as remembrance today. This is the first Memorial Day in twenty years that our nation is not at war - Hallelujah!

Members 4th Div. Stryker Brigade  Afghanistan 2018

Our celebration must, however, be tempered by the fact that of the 3 million plus members of our armed forces who served in the Iraq and Afghanistan wars (including my son) 7057 men and women - and 8000 civilian contactors - gave the last full measure for their country. We must remember too that those lives lost also mean that thousands of families watched with dread as a military vehicle pulled up to their home bringing them the terrible news. There are no words to describe that pain.

There is an additional and unique pain from these wars that we must acknowledge as well and that is the extremely high suicide rate among these veterans. As of July 2021, 30,177 have taken their own lives. That's over 4 times as many as those who died in combat. The demons of war always claim their share one way or the other.  

Hero Going Home

Therefore, this Memorial Day I hope we can put aside our petty political differences and come together to back up our usual empty “thoughts and prayers” with real action to support these heroes.

First, as the bills come due in the following years – some estimate that caring for these vets alone will cost $2.5 TRILLION - let’s pledge to do our duty and pay our fair share without whining and complaint. 

Second, our leaders - and more importantly - we citizens must take responsibility for the wars to which we commit our troops. When called the men and women of our military will answer as they always have and always will. That is all the more reason that we should never send them into harm’s way for unnecessary wars of choice. It is the very least we can do as we take safety and comfort in the security they provide.

Peace at Last

For now, though, let’s celebrate this rare moment between wars and honor all the loved ones we’ve lost in the hope that it becomes the norm.

To close, thoughts on "Taps." I have shared this on several past Memorial Days because I have never found a better way to express my feelings about this solemn day. For those of you who have seen it before and grow weary, I apologize.

"War is young men dying and old men talking. You know this. Ignore the politics."                                           Odysseus to Achilles in the movie "Troy"

I can’t listen to Taps and not tear up. It doesn’t matter how many times I hear it I always cry a little. Oddly, sometimes I’m not sure why I’m crying. Is it because of the magnificent mournful sound that so perfectly matches the feeling of saying farewell to a warrior? Or am I crying for all the loved ones left behind – the millions and millions over the years? Sometimes, I think I’m crying for something else; maybe I’m crying for myself.

That may sound silly, or worse, completely selfish and maybe it is. Yet I can’t help the feeling that ultimately, I’m crying because Taps reminds me that the world never seems to change for the better. No matter how many heroes – and they are heroes - pay the ultimate price, war always demands more from us. Worse, it is always our young that it craves. Worst of all, we proudly offer them up.

Maybe I’m sad that someone somewhere will always be able to make complete strangers kill each other for the same reasons over and over. It is like an eternal WWI battle that rages on the same, small piece of ground in perpetuity. This piece of ground is a devastated moral landscape that refuses to learn any lessons that might spare our youth. Instead, one generation, like some militant Sisyphus, pushes the rock of war up one side of the hill only to have it roll back on the next. No matter how just, proud sounding or righteous that rock is, it still remains a monument to all the worst aspects of us poor, belligerent humans. That should make us all sad.

I spent 28 years in the military and my son has also served honorably; I am proud of our time in the service. Someday Taps will be played for both of us but it isn't that which makes me sad. No, it is knowing that melancholy song will need to be played for endless future generations that will always make me cry. For that I am not ashamed.

Have a thoughtful Memorial Day.

Time for some tears . . .

Taps Mel Carter

Hurray for Upscale!

 

Upscale home you want for $500,000

                                     

Home you get for $500,000 - in Robbinsdale

Have you thought much about the adjective "upscale?" as it's used today? Probably not - why would you?! - but a couple recent articles in the Star Tribune got me thinking about it. Here, let me bore you with my thoughts.

The first article was about why homes were so expensive to build (Apr 21.) As the commenters note, builders can’t really build affordable homes profitably (for a lot of reasons, allegedly) so they build “upscale” homes.

“Upscale.” Is it just me or does it seem like everything is going/gone upscale? I mean you can’t swing a dead developer without hitting an upscale store, restaurant, house or apartment complex. Really, you never hear, "Hey, we're building a plain, average apartment building, come on down!" Or "There's a new restaurant in town - no artisanal 12 grain bread, no kale, no raw dead fish - just meat and potatoes, oh boy!" So, this raises the question: why do we hear the term "upscale" so much? (Okay, it raises the question for ME.)

We’ve always had stuff that was expensive, classy, high quality – or all the above. (The corollary, of course, is that we’ve always had people with bucks.) In general, though, those things were also exclusive. By that I mean it was rare; relatively speaking, the shops were few and far between. Upscale homes were relegated to small, exclusive neighborhoods (you know, where the doctors, lawyers and air line pilots lived.) Nothing wrong with that - many people have always aspired to live in really nice neighborhoods and shop at expensive stores because it was a sign of working hard and succeeding. For that same reason you would drive an expensive car or vacation in Maui – it’s a symbol of “arriving.” (So what statement does my 2016 Hyundai make? Retired on fixed income!) Anyway, generally this was a pretty small percentage of people – early One Percenters? – and was a very small part of the overall economy. The REAL money got spent by all the rest of us, the great unwashed - and the largest middle class the world had ever seen. (As with today, to hell with the actual poor people.)

Factoid: about 25% of households (not individuals) in America make $100K/yr or more (In MN we make around 10% more – aren’t we special?) Let's face it, a hundred grand ain't that much anymore so if you make much less than that (like 75% of us) how likely are you to buy an expensive (and very profitable for makers) upscale car, plan extravagant upscale vacations or move to an upscale neighborhood? Not very. Nope, no money in those folks, it's in the upscale 25%. That is why most businesses are now focused on those folks who have the money and are willing to spend on “upscale” (profitable) things. Optimistically, you might say that upscale folks make it possible for companies to make low profit stuff for the hoi polloi. You know, sort of like business travelers subsidizing us cattle in the back of the plane.

Um, flight attendant, could I have some peanuts?

So there you have it, why everything is going upscale. The rest of us? "Hey, move to Commonville where all the houses, cars and people are average - Target, Olive Garden and public golf course, here I come!" (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

Upscale Soup Nazi, “No Tesla for you!”

So, can roughly 32 million families support the entire economy of a country of 330 people million forever? Guess we better hope so.

Oh yeah, the second article. It was regarding an outlandish (my choice of words) pay package for modest accomplishments (my words again) of health care executives . (Apr 22.) A local healthcare company that lost a billion dollars last year rewarded the CEO with a pay package worth nearly $182 million. (His pay check last year was “only” $2.3 million.) Note: this is a teeny, tiny company in the very huge - and very profitable - healthcare industry where 8 figure executive pay is the norm. Come to think of it, that’s norm for most executives in big companies anymore. (It is good to be king, er, CEO!) In fact, in 1979 American CEOs made 31 times more than the average worker did, now they make 351 times more – wow, talk about improved CEO productivity! 

Come on, slaves, row faster, the CEO wants to waterski!

Here's the most productive CEOs of all!

So, what has this got to do with upscale? Well, I’m just spit balling here but I wonder if pay skyrocketing at the top while pay for the bottom stagnates correlates with an economy dedicated to the upscale market (of course driving up prices for everything.) 

Nah, gotta be a coincidence.

Oh well, have an upscale day! 

PS

Can I assume you gather how I feel about the term "Upscale?"

 Okay

Some apropos music . . .

Money     Pink Floyd