On the Monday of this last July 4th weekend, I was driving back from visiting my brothers family. I passed the time listening to the satellite radio, particularly both Left and Right political talk channels.

The talk shows on the liberal channels were very similar to the talk shows on the conservative channels. They were talking about the same topics, they had the same sponsors, the same sound bytes, the same timed commercial breaks, the same news at the top and bottom of the hour…for the entire seven hours. I couldn’t take it that long, but I did listen long enough to make some observations.

The liberal channel was making the following complainants:

• Obama isn’t doing anything on gun control
• Obama isn’t advancing gay rights enough
• Obama is putting more troops in Afghanistan
• Democrats in Congress aren’t adequately addressing health care
• Sotomayor is too moderate

The conservative channel was making the following complaints:

• Obama is going to take away your guns
• Obama expanded gay rights for federal employees
• Obama is pulling troops out of Iraq
• Democrats in Congress are pushing health care reform
• Sotomayor is a liberal activist judge

If you knew absolutely nothing about American politics, and listened to these shows, the listener would have to conclude that that Obama, Democrats in Congress, and Sotomayor are hopeless moderates that can satisfy no one; not by their actions and not by their inactions.

Pundits that deliver the news via a “commentary” format usually hold extreme views (the most successful pundits anyway). Yet, polls show that 80% of Americans agree 80% of the time (actually heard that on a left wing radio program). I have coined this political tactic ‘rubberbanding,’ a term used in racing games. They preach their extreme views to those leaning to right/left, in a effort to pull the listener away from the center.

At anytime of the day, I guarantee you can turn on the radio, scan a bit, and find a political pundit talking for hours on end; 4 hours a day, 20 hours week, with listeners numbering in the millions….and there are dozens of radio pundits. Joseph Goebbels did this. So did Big Brother in George Orwell’s 1984. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury repeats the same idea using television and drugs as the medium for of social political control.

Think “incrementalism”….on meth. As Rage Against the Machine says “weapon of sound above ground.”

I believe they do us a great disservice by keeping us divided. They talk about where we differ. And where we agree, they spin the issues and try to make us more divided.

Turn it off.

George Orwell

I recently read the following George Orwell quote:

In a world where the prime necessities were money, titled relatives, athleticism, tailor-made clothes, neatly brushed hair, a charming smile, I was no good.

My initial impression was just WOW; what a great sentence.  My eyes lingered over the last four words, “…I am no good.”   The ending conveyed sense of worthlessness and low self esteem.  But its Orwell, “1984″ and “Animal Farm” aren’t exactly “feel good” reads.  But he “was no good” compared to what?

So I read it again; paying more attention to the list of social standards to which he was comparing himself.  This time, the quote struck me as strangely uplifting and slightly rebellious.  No, extremely rebellious.  Against the standards of great hair, fashionable clothes, bleached teeth, being “no good” takes on a different meaning doesn’t it. He is cheering you on to be yourself, undaunted by the materialistic world and the shallow impressions of others.  I had to share the quote with someone.

So I called my wife, who is always up for a good quote.  I got the first four words out of my mouth, and she bust into laughter.

In a world…

Just a little back story, I have a pretty deep voice and struggle with smoking.  So when I said “In a world..”, my wife thought I was aping the “movie trailer guy.”  You know the voice.  Read the quote again, and think of it being set to a big James Bond Hollywood action trailer.  Orwell goes from someone with low self esteem to James Bond, kicking the door down and defiantly saying “I was no good.”

George Orwell's Big Brother

I was struck by how this double meaning is rampant in Orwell’s works.  I read “1984″ during the Bush Administration and “Animal Farm” during the Clinton years.  Even though with those two periods of our history were staged in dramatically different environments (.com boom vs. real estate bust, war vs. peace etc.)  Both books were easily connected with the world around me.  Orwell is timeless.   He describes the horror that mankind is capable of and its equal capacity for being complacent in the face of such horror.

I ran across this quote, reading 120 page cliff note type booklet on Orwell’s “1984″.  The booklet was published in 1965.  I thought it would interesting to see how people in the 1960’s related to Orwell.   Quite interesting, indeed.

So what was the context of George Orwell’s quote?  He was describing his experiences at a British prep school.  Orwell was a poor kid that was making his way through the rigid educational system on scholarships and getting by on his smarts and the  goodwill of others.  He felt he was treated vastly different than the well to do, social elite that attended the same school.  This theme seems an ever present inspiration for Orwell.

In many ways his real life mirrored “Animal Farm” and “1984.”   At times his experiences left  him feeling  burdened with low esteem.  At other times, he could appreciate his indiviuality and see the shallowness of socital standards. In this quote, he shows he can elegantly be both at the same time.

I feel the strongest sympathy and sadness for the families, the residents involved, the innocent bystanders with lives sometimes forever shattered. But I do believe this escalation in violent crime is a tragedy waiting to happen, one that will repeat itself many more times if the city, the schools, the police and all of us — everyday citizens — don’t become involved in our community, if we fail to stand behind a call to get tough and enforce the laws already on the books, and toughen up the sentencing and cut off the “deals” that spew offenders back onto the streets with minimal sentences and penalties too easily shrugged off.

The problems emerging in Clarksville can be analyzed endlessly, and traced from myriad routes to societal and behavioral links that include a lack of family, parental or positive social role models in the lives of young people, the influence of drugs and alcohol (the crack babies of the early 90s are teens and young adults now), teen pregnancy, poverty, education (or lack of), jobs (and the lack of), fear, self-esteem, and the perception of power that often accompanies bad behavior. It’s a social dynamic generations in the making. We can delve into reasons and rationales and develop intellectual strategies to solve these issues for the future, but that doesn’t change what is happening here and now.

Zero Tolerance; Truth in Sentencing

Our schools practice zero tolerance; I’ve seen that work. So why is it so hard to practice zero tolerance in enforcing public safety laws? We have a noise law: so ticket the raucuous booming bouncing noisemakers and put a hefty price tag to those tickets (including the potential loss of registration for multiple infractions). We have speed limits: so track down the speeders and pull the license and registrations of repeat offenders before they crash and kill someone. Three strikes (two too many) and you’re off the road — not another driving class and pat on the wrist. Substantially raise the penalties for DUIs. We have drug laws: so slam the cell door and keep the criminals under lock and key, no commuted sentences, no “time served,” no deals.

Big crimes have little beginnings. They escalate because they can. Defiance, rule-breaking, misdemeanors, chronic disrespect by word or deed, a lack of basic civility, all set a baseline that may seem minimalist or unimportant, but which, if unchecked, becomes a foundation from which other, more serious, maybe fatal actions follow. It’s the “hey, look what I got away with” syndrome that spawns forays into deeper, darker, and eventually deadlier crimes.

If rowdy groups are gathering at certain locations and violence/drunkenness/gangs/drugs seem to be attached to those locations, close them down early, require tough security, park a cruiser in the lot … take action to stop it. Oh yes, the gangs and gatherings will shift and move about the city (and already have), but if the city, residents and police take zero tolerance across the board, step on this arrogant criminal behavior, there will eventually be no place for such gatherings to thrive. At least not in the city limits. Consistency. Enforcement. Zero tolerance.

Some areas of the city, low-income neighborhoods like New Providence and places like Lincoln Homes/Summit heights, some areas of North Clarksville, developments and other “projects,” are easily labeled a catch-all for troubled populations. No one stops to think that these state and/or federal developments also house senior citizens and the disabled, disaster victims, innocent people living on fixed income including Social Security, people whose rights to “quiet enjoyment” of the piece of real estate they call home, are violated when they become prisoners intimidated by their own neighbors/neighborhoods. Don’t these “innocents” have rights? Doesn’t the community as a whole have a right to public safety?

Many of these housing developments come with mandates for behavioral standards and compliance with regulations. They and the rest of the city are also governed by local, state and federal laws as well. If some people (residents or ‘visitors”) repeatedly violate the laws and the regulations (in the case of public housing, tenants must read and sign an acknowledgment as part of their rental agreement and undergo a criminal background check), fine them heavily (money talks) or evict them. Wear out their welcome. Our tax dollars underwrite housing and law enforcement: a good thing for the less fortunate, a bad thing when it provides a birthing place for crime, hate and violence. The onus is not only on law enforcement officers but on all of us who live and work and raise families here. We have a responsibility to report threatening, dangerous and suspicious behavior; that’s what neighborhood watches were created for. But more basic than that, it is what being a good neighbor is all about.

How many complaints/arrests does it take before the rules will be enforced, before public safety laws are upheld? What is the point of writing guidelines or standards if no one is held accountable to them? Violators, public offenders, stay in these areas because they can, because it is so easy: no expectation of good behavior and no consequence for bad behavior. That has to change.

Yes, it will take an investment (read: more police officers = more tax dollars = it’s worth it) and greater community involvement, but for a city on the grow, a city marketing itself first as the “Gateway to the New South” and now as “Tennessee’s Top Spot,” it should be considered an investment in that future, those dreams. Fort Campbell Boulevard is a long stretch of road through one end of the city; what happens there, if unchecked, will continue to grow and spill over into other neighborhoods, other parts of the city. Robberies at mall parking lots may spill over to the Sango neighborhoods. The domino theory is truth. Cause and ripple effect. Will the next shooting be in the Governor’s Square Mall lot? Or at Great Escape? Or maybe the city will get tough when the developers of the next billion dollar box store or upscale development get caught in the crossfire between two gangs or rammed by a speeding SUV or souped-up sports car that ran a red light while passing in the suicide lane?

I’m the last person to advocate a “police state,” to advocate “big brother,” but maybe, just maybe, some out-of-control areas, the ones routinely drawing police attention, need a 24-hour police presence, a substation, a community police officer who walks or bikes the beat, a visible and active presence that both bolsters the feeling of safety in a community and works as a deterrent to the bad behavior and the tragedies it spawns. Maybe, just maybe, EVERY car barreling down Fort Campbell Boulevard at 60 mph or more should be stopped. Maybe, just maybe, those mobile bouncing boom boxes (a.k.a cars with arrogant reverberating radios) should be toned down. Maybe, just maybe, it would be a good idea to break up groups of rowdy people especially when loud noise, music and a line of open beer cans litter the roofs of their cars. Now is the time to get tough and make an investment in public safety. Now is the time to raise our expectations, to refuse to settle for lowest common denominator behavior. People will ultimately rise to a certain level of expectation. Or sink to the depths of disinterest and apathy.

When I worked as a house manager for a rooming house managed by a social service agency, major issues of crime, drugs and alcohol abuse, and even domestic violence involving some wild tenants erupted regularly, to the detriment of other peace-seeking tenants. I was told the community police officer (a foot patrol officer) could not make random visits to our building. It was against the law. I circumvented that issue by inviting our local officer to buzz me and ‘visit’ in the tenant’s kitchen area. I made sure I always had an idea to discuss or a question to ask or a plan to put on the table to justify his presence, which was enough to deter illegal activity on the spot. The fact that his visits were random and unpredictable soon drove illegal activities elsewhere most of the time. His constant presence and high profile changed life for those peaceful tenants, especially victims of abuse, who were seriously trying to rebuild their lives. The others left, seeking friendlier arenas for their illegal and disruptive activities. In their absence, and over the course of a few seasons, the neighborhood found new, positive and productive change.

So pay attention, Clarksville! Let these wild cards know that they are not welcome, they cannot disrupt or degrade the quality of life in this community. Let these wild cards know that their escalating arrogance and violence will not be tolerated; will not be allowed take the life of another innocent bystander and destroy another family.

Note: I’m sure some people will take exception to some of what I’ve said in the above article, and that’s good, because it means they are reading, thinking, and hopefully putting ideas on the table. I’m a New England Yankee by birth, and the problems Clarksville faces are no different than the problems faced by all growing/changing cities; how hard and fast the city and its people decide to deal with these burgeoning issues will make all the difference in the world as to what kind of city Clarksville becomes. I have watched decades of decline in similar cities across the northeast and a decade of rebirth in many more. It takes a community, an involved and committed community, to resolve problems such as these and move into the future.

I am providing testimony or comments for submission into the record of S1487 hearings. Debbie Boen, Clarksville, TN 37040

After the election of 2004 mainstream media would not research or publish the following accusations about electronic voting. Along with no mainstream media attention or public outcry, these facts still exist.

• 80% of all votes in America are counted by only two companies: Diebold and ES&S.
• There is no federal agency with regulatory authority or oversight of the U.S. voting machine industry.
• The vice-president of Diebold and the president of ES&S are brothers.
• The chairman and CEO of Diebold is a major Bush campaign organizer and donor who wrote in 2003 that he was “committed to helping Ohio deliver its electoral votes to the president next year.”
• Republican Senator Chuck Hagel used to be chairman of ES&S. He became Senator based on votes counted by ES&S machines.
• Republican Senator Chuck Hagel, long-connected with the Bush family, was caught lying about his ownership of ES&S by the Senate Ethics Committee.
• Senator Chuck Hagel was on a short list of George W. Bush’s vice-presidential candidates.
• ES&S is the largest voting machine manufacturer in the U.S. and counts almost 60% of all U.S. votes.
• Diebold’s new touch screen voting machines have no paper trail of any votes. In other words, there is no way to verify that the data coming out of the machine is the same as what was legitimately put in by voters.
• Diebold also makes ATMs, checkout scanners, and ticket machines, all of which log each transaction and can generate a paper trail.
• Jeff Dean, Diebold’s Senior Vice-President and senior programmer on Diebold’s central compiler code, was convicted of 23 counts of felony theft in the first degree.
• Diebold Senior Vice-President Jeff Dean was convicted of planting back doors in his software and using a “high degree of sophistication” to evade detection over a period of 2 years.
• None of the international election observers were allowed in the polls in Ohio.
• California banned the use of Diebold machines because the security was so bad. Despite Diebold’s claims that the audit logs could not be hacked, a chimpanzee was able to do it!
• All, not some, of the voting machine errors detected and reported in the Florida 2004 elections went in favor of Bush or Republican candidates.
• A Republican computer programmer came forth and testified that he had been employed to make an untraceable hacking device for voting machines.
• Our exit poll results were worse than the discrepancies in the Ukraine exit polls which caused them to demand a redo of their election; and we saluted them for demanding it.

I took part in a group from Nashville called “Gathering to Save our Democracy” in an effort to make a difference in Tennessee. I and others attended a three day meeting of hundreds of election officials in our state. What became clear to me at this meeting was that these people have strong convictions and integrity to delivering neutral and ethical elections. They know that nothing unethical happens under their noses, at their polls, and it was an effort for them to consider that electronic voting machines can be hacked without their knowledge. Their trust in the system needs to be defended.

At this meeting we all heard a speech given by an election official and Bush supporter who said that if we question the integrity of the voting process as it now exists, then we are questioning the integrity of the United States of America. Considering the honorable people I had met there, this statement was an insult to all present.

Sirs and Madams, I question the integrity of our voting machines in the United States. I have most certainly lost and I request that you restore faith in this system. This issue is essential to all parties but as a registered Republican, I expect the protection of integrity and honesty in this, our most important voice.

Verifiable elections and independent audits are something attainable and essential to our freedom.

Thank you,
Debbie Boen

It all seems so silly now. But those times spawned a generation of classic films, some a lot better than others, but all eminently entertaining (and some still downright scary)!

At the top of my list is Testament. It didn’t get wide play, so I am continually surprised at how many people know this film.

Testament is understated. It doesn’t have the huge explosions, the mushroom clouds and the flattening of buildings. It’s much subtler. Ordinary people, ordinary families, going about their lives. It all changes in a flash. Literally. A quick burst of emergency warnings, a brilliant light, and the world changes forever.

The horror is in the innocence of the people, who wander out of their homes, into the invisible fallout and killing radiation, still blissfully unaware that they are dying. We watched, mesmerized as food supplies dwindle, as husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, babies and children begin to die. We watch a mother sew a shroud around a teenaged daughter, a father use a bureau drawer as a coffin for his infant, n old man stand watch at a ham radio, trying to reach anyone. Anywhere. The question of the day remains unanswered: Who started it?

Jane Alexander, William Devane and a very young Kevin Costner and Rebecca DeMornay star. This is one single best nuclear film to see, simply because of its humanity. (1983)

As for the rest of the list:

In the same year as Testament, we were also offered The Day After, featuring Jason Robards. It’s a graphic film that plays up the graphic reality of a nuke going off in middle America, in Lawrence, Kansas, to be specific. This film travels the path to destruction, an accounting of man’s failure to make peace. We watch as the innocents struggle to survive, even as they are withering and dying before us. It is blatant in juxtaposition to Testament’s subtleties. This could be “Any Town USA.” (1983)

On the Beach: Gregory Peck stars in Stanley Kramer’s 1959 production of On the Beach. Peck is a sub commander searching in Australia for survivors of nuclear holocaust. He finds Aba Gardner, who quickly becomes the love interest. Fred Astaire and Anthony Perkins co star as characters awaiting the ravages of fallout spreading from the north. The war is over, and nobody won. Peck and Gardner grasp for a few of love as the human race self-destructs.

A Boy and His Dog: Harlan Ellison’s tale of the telepathic connection between a boy and his dog scrounging for food and sex. The boy finds both as they stumble into an underground society where citizens are unable to reproduce. They plan to use him, then kill him. Escape is mandatory, hurling the telepathic duo back into the landscape they fled. (1975)
Fail Safe is on of those quiet movies that meanders through Washington’s social landscape before hitting its national security systems. Where everything that can go wrong does. Walter Matthau heads up this cast with Henry Fonda as the President with who makes an impossible deal to avert nuclear war. The question: what happens when a routine flight goes wrong and the territorial Cold war boundaries are violated? What happens when you can’t call the bombers back? Fail safe takes that road to its troubling conclusion. (1964)

Dr. Strangelove: (with the caveat “How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb”). Just about everyone has seen the image of Slim Pickens riding the nuke to oblivion. USAF General Jack Ripper goes mad, deploying bomber to wipe out the USSR. The Soviets says a nuclear hit will trigger a “doomsday” secnario. Peter Sellers has a triple role as the three men who might be able to stop the nightmare. We are presented with a drunken Nazi genius who admits the weapon is not “a practical deterrent.” Talk about understatement! (1964).

Other films on my nuclear hit list include:

War Games: Teen hacker Matthew Broderick invades a military weapons system only to learn that “the only way to win is not to play.” (1983)

The War Game: A fictional worst-case depiction of nuclear war in England. Oscar-winner for Best Documentary despite the fact that it is fiction (intended as a one hour BBC production). Convincingly real. (1967)

When the Wind Blows: This 1986 film follows an elderly couple preparing for nuclear war using government issued pamphlets. They survive the blast, and wait for government help that will not come, unaware that even as they wait, they are dying.

By Dawn’s Early Light: Televised in 1990, this film follows the role of the SAC mobile command post. One of the better known quotes:

Fargo: “Hell, most Soviet bombers are so old they still use propellers. The Minnesota Air National Guard could probably knock them down.”

Harpoon: “Well, do you want to get on the phone and order them into the air, Colonel, because every transistor in Minnesota is BURNED OUT!”

Mad Max, The Road Warrior, and The Road Warrior: Beyond Thunderdome: Mel Gibson is proof of survival of the fittest (and the most violent) in post-apocalyptic Australia. These three tales are created in a new world where brutality rules, commodities are up for grabs, and nothing is sacred except vengeance and protecting what’s left of the innocent… (1979, 1981, 1985)

Miracle Mile: Anthony Edwards and Mare Winningham co-star in this version of apocalypse. It poses the question: What would you do with only 24 hours to live? The bomb will strike in 70 minutes, and the only way to buy time is to get out of LA. (1989)

Panic in the City: One bomb, one agent, one million lives at stake. Is there any way to win? (1968)

Threads: Documentary style view of nuclear holocaust as it happens in Sheffield, England. It asks the question: “what are the long term effects of nuclear war on civilization?” (1984)

The Noah: What if you are the last one left? This is truth for Noah, who copes with his loneliness be creating an imaginary friend, then a friend for his friend, and finally an entirely new civilization that lives only in his mind. (1975)

2019: After the Fall of New York: Society responds to holocaust by forming two factions, the evil Euraks and the rebel Federation. The federations goal: to rescue the only fertile woman left on earth. (1984)

Drive-In Saturday is published every Friday through Labor Day to give you time to find your movies, stock up on popcorn and settle in for a night “B” movies with a few “A”s and plenty of “C”s and “D”s thrown in for good measure.

One Million Years BC: Raquel Welch fills out her skimpy skins quite well in this prehistoric time trip. Tumak is a caveman banished from his tribe, finding brief sanctuary with coastal dwelling tribes. But he gets booted from there too (a pattern here?) Along the way he’s garnered the affections of Loana (Welch), who follows him into prehistory, unafraid of monsters and volcanic mayhem. (1967)

The Land That Time Forgot: How many of these has Doug McClure made? With the sinking of a British ship, a German U Boat makes a wrong turn, landing in the unknown territory of Caprona, home of Neaderthals and dinosaurs forgotten in time. (1975) It’s sister film, The People That Time Forgot (1977), Patrick Wayne battles huge fake dinosaurs while searching the Arctic for his lost girlfriend. A lot of dirt, explosions and busty cavewomen.

At The Earth’s Core: Doug McClure and horror meister Peter Cushing team up for At The Earth’s Core. Rollicking adventure and campy special effects put these two adventures into the Iron Mole, a machine that will transport them through solid rock (shades of the much newer The Core). Naturally, when you pierce the earth that deeply you find prehistoric cave woman (a lot of body, not a lot of clothes) and telepathic birds. McClure swaggers a lot and Chushing plays against type as an absent-minded professor. This film is complete with fire-breathing animals and outdated social notions. (1976)

War Gods of the Deep: A thousand fathoms beneath the sea off the Cornish coast dwell an apparently immortal underwater gang of smugglers, served by a cadre of gill-man slaves. Vincent Price and Tab Hunter lend their services to this “B” movie.(1965)

I have to add several modern films to this category:

The Core: The world’s gone wild. Weather is both explosive and freaky. The Golden Gate Bridge collapses. people with pacemakers drop in their tracks. Birds begin crashing into things. seems the core that governs the earth’s electro-magnetic field has stall. What to do? Build a machine (in just three months) that will take a band of eclectic “terrenauts” to the center of the earth to nuke it back into shape. Add to the mix stuffy military guys, a computer geek who can control the net, and whales who relate to sounds the rest of us can’t hear. Hey, I don’t write them — I just enjoy them. (2003)

Deep Impact: A comet barreling towards earth threatens humanity. Who will allowed into shelters; who makes the life and death choices? Only 800,000 people can be saved. Are you one of them? (1998)

The Day After Tomorrow: This one has to be a “guilty pleasure.” The world’s climate is about to shift and a new ice age is dawning. The government can’t see what the rogue scientists all already sure of. Global warming is the culprit and Dennis Quaid is the heroic dad/scientist who tries the save the world in general and his son in particular. Lots of rampaging special effects including ice balls pelting Japan, tornadoes ripping up L.A., and a storm surge swamping the big apple. What more could you want in a movie? (2004)

Drive-In Saturday Night is all about fun. Summer fun at the movies. This column appears every Friday so that you have time to shop for, browse, or rent films for your weekend viewing pleasure. Maybe this is the weekend to have pizza delivered!

Consider these salient points of interest:

1. Under oath, Mayor Piper admitted that he had not reviewed the city code or read the Building Maintenence Supervisor job description prior to making the transfer. He only did so after Mr. Burkhart refused the new position on the grounds of not being qualified. The mayor also had not read the official City Due Process Procedure.
2. Jeff Burkhart was fired by the mayor for insubordination after refusing a transfer to the Building Maintenance Department.
3. The interim City Human Resources Director stated that Burkhart did not meet the job requirements. He does not have the required state certification electrician license for the position.
4. Had Burkhart actually accepted the position, he would have been in violation of the City Code for accepting a position he was not qualified for.
5. Mayor Piper claims that this was a lateral transfer, not a demotion, with no loss of pay for Burkhart. However, the Building Maintenance position salary is listed at $30,000 less than the assistant fire chief position.
6. Had Burkhart accepted the position, again, he would have been in violation of the city code when the salary was not adjusted downward as the city code requires. Mayor Piper said he was going to maintain Burkhart’s assistant fire chief salary.
7. The city code states that an employee can legally refuse a job assignment if it is an unusual one that is hazardous or unsafe. Furthermore, it states an employee cannot be disciplined for declining that assignment. The actual job description states certain aspects of the job are hazardous and specifies state certification- electrician licensure – is required. Mr. Burkhart does not have such a license.
8. The two city council members who served on the appeal panel stated their position was the mayor can do whatever he wants, because he is the mayor. The city code does not state this. They ignored all these facts in evidence to grant the mayor his wish. They violated their oaths of office to first, serve the citizens of Clarksville and uphold the law, the charter and the city code. They had an obligation to weigh the facts, the law and render justice.

Mr. Burkhart has a solid foundation upon which to suit. The hearing proceedings is a public record and the testimony given was under oath. Statements uttered are part of the official record. Dereliction of duty may well apply. It will follow those folks into court. It will likely render the city liable for another guilty judgment and penalty award. This sort of thing was not suppose to plague us any more. Remember that campaign promise? Well, it seems we are in for a new but different round of lawsuits.

Forget a marina. Someone, please, turns the lights off as you exit this mess! Slide it back in the oven. It’s not done yet!

My first pick is a film that made it’s debut at the end of the drive-in theater era. It’s an award-winning but far-from-mainstream “what if” flick called The Gods Must be Crazy. Written, directed and produced by James Uys, the story is set in Africa, where a Sho in the Kalahari comes face to face with modern technology in the form of a Coke bottle (back when such bottles were glass) that falls from the sky.

It is a wonder, a “gift” from the Gods that becomes the treasured possession of the tribe, used by all for many things. But greed steps in, and the members of the tribe begin to fight over the treasure, so it is decided the bottle must be thrown over the edge of the earth. So begins one man’s journey to save his people from this now unwanted “gift.”

A number of sequels to the original have been made, but none holds a candle to the original whacky comedy beyond its entertainment value, the film challenges us to examine how we view the simplest things, to change the point at which we stand and view things through a different lens. The result is not always what we expect, and that provokes further thought and action. And yes, this film is irreverent; it was charged with perceived racism, and distributed through another country when its own might have subverted it. All the more reason to watch it.

With subplots that include revolutionaries, a dismayed office worker turned teacher, a scientist studying animal dung, a smart tongued-mechanic and a 4X4 dubbed as the anti-Christ, the mix is nothing less than side-splitting hilarious. The message lies relentlessly beneath to comic presentation. Our visualizations of Africa will never seem the same again.

Being Ther

The Party

The Pink Panther

In the beginning there was Errol Flynn. Then Tyrone Power in The Black Swan. And always, a fiesty, pretty woman. A generation ago. Our next swashbucklers were intergalatic — the light saber play between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. Father and son. With pretty woman Princess Lea in between.

Today Johnny Deep swooshes and swaggers (more swoosh than swagger) across the big screen in Pirates of the Caribbean III: At World’s End, another theme-park-ride swashbuckler that is better than Pirates II, but a long way from the charm and manic humor and first run surprises of the original film.

(Photo: Barbossa (Rush), Will Turner (Orlano Bloom), Jack Sparrow (Depp), (Elizabeth (Knightly) and Sao feng (Chow-Yung-Fat)

In the audience on opening night (5/24), fans decked out in Sparrow regalia were at least as amusing and swaggering as the on-screen original, and seemed to be having as much fun as Depp & Co did making this movie in the Bahamas.

Depp reprises his eccentric (and now deceased) Capt. Jack Sparrow, this time in the underworld of Davy Jones Locker, only Jones is off negotiating big business in the real world with the East India Trading Company, who want to put the pirates out of business.

It’s a manic ride, peopled with Keira Knightly’s Elizabeth, Orlando Bloom’s Will Turner, and Geoffrey Rush as the snarling Capt. Barbossa, Chow-Yung-Fat as the pirate war lord with a soft (if lusting) spot for Elizabeth, and a host of supporting players including a minimally used rocker Keith Richards as Sparrow’s father (wish they’d done more with that, and maybe they will in #4, and yes, I think there will be a #4. Maybe more). Other dads make their appearances: Elizabeth watches in horror as her father sails into the hereafter in a stream of bodies floating in the waves; Will hopes to free his father from an existence as part of the Flying Dutchman.

(Photo: Will and Elizabeth in the midst of battle)

Sparrow and company either romp or blast their way through a dozen mutinies, a host of double dealings, all the while moving in tandem with other star of the show: special effects. The Shanghai style port sets is a fascinating tour of shanties, pubs, ships, bridges, lighting, shadows, heroes, villains and monsters. A landlocked ship carried across the desert on the shells of a million crabs is eye-popping. A spectacular ship-eating maelstrom plays out against a magnificent musical score and the ice-crusted entry to the edge of the world is stunning.

Amid all this is the ongoing romance in the old school of secrets held too closely, misunderstandings threatening to part the lovers, and the age-old question of will they or won’t they ever marry?

Pirates is too many things pirated from too many other things, though that may be the key to its charm: it somehow seems familiar. A close looks reveals some of its inspirations: the Amazonian Calypso hails from “Attack of the 50-Foot Woman” turf, the swordplay and music screams Errol Flynn/Tyrone Power, and Sparrow’s multiple self-images and artistic psychotic breaks scream Salvador Dali and shades of fragmented Picasso imagery.

(Photo: The Flying Dutchman turns the tide)

Double-dealing and backstabbing abound, the monsters originating from the first films’ “here there be monsters” line get more and more grissly, and any semblance of plot is due to luck. Davy Jone’s wriggling octopus-face is tamed compared to some of the creatures inhabiting this netherworld.

As a critic, I can tear the film apart (as most mainstream critics have already done), or at least break it down to its component parts: some better, some worse. But the fact is, as a movie buff and sci-fi fan of many years standing, Pirates is now a guilty pleasure of my own. I’ve made Pirate costumes for many members of my family. If a Pirates IV emerges, I may just make my own costumes this time.

Trying to take it seriously is just too much work. No movie has as convoluted a plot as this; it reaches a point where you just have to leave the details behind and simply sit back and enjoy the ride. At 168 minutes, it’s a heck of ride. And a word to the wise: just because the credits roll doesn’t mean the film is over.

The movies that we watched live on, though, some offered for rental, some order-able on online, and others now living in “public domain” and available for free downloads. Over the course of the summer, I’ll be taking a look at some of them. Might not be a bad idea to have your friends “drive” to your home on a Saturday night, pop up some fresh popcorn, order a pizza, and kick back for the best of the “B” (and a few “C’ and “D”) movies.

Horror and Science Fiction were standard fare at the drive-ins. The original mutant Jello flick was The Blob with a handsome Steve McQueen as the disbelieved teenager battling an alien glowing, growing glob of a creature (Jello will never be the same) in this black and white film circa 1958. I had nightmares for weeks of living alien gelatin oozing out of the projection booth in my little hometown theater…

And if The Blob (the old version, not the modern remake) makes you munch the popcorn faster, try these classic alien/horror flicks as well:

The Beast from the Haunted Cave (There’s always a beast, and caves are a staple in the “B” movie line-up)

The Creature from the Black Lagoon (Lizard-like creature obsessed with beautiful girl)

Forbidden Planet (rampaging alien monsters kill of scientists in space)

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (Don’t ask – so bad it’s good!) And the name says it all!

The Incredible Shrinking Man (Self-explanatory)

Tarantula (Mutant irradiated spiders this time)

The Mole People (Three guesses…)

Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women (You can guess where they are going and what they will find)

When Worlds Collide (Yes, the Earth is threatened by a rogue comet about to strike)

These films may seem tame to those who grew up on this side of Star Wars and 2001: A Space Odyssey, but they are campy, fun, and a bit of nostalgia for those of us who remember, who are sci-fi junkies, or simply “old movie” buffs.

Amazon.com has several collections of the best and worst of old sci-fi and horror — as many as fifty films in one package for under $21. Nightmare Worlds 50 Movie Pack Collection is $20.99; Chilling Classics 50 Movie Pack Collection is $16.47; Classic Sci-Fi Ultimate Collection is $20.99; and SciFi Classics Collection 50 Movie Pack Collection (1953) is $14.99. Plus the cost of popcorn. Or the pizza you order in.

Drive-In Saturday Night will be posted weekly on Fridays through Labor Day. May the Gods be kind to those who celebrate a little bit of yesterday in films now showing in your living room.

Welcome to world of Luke Skywalker, Director George Lucas’s ground-breaking fantasy that would rev up the imaginations of millions of moviegoers. That was 30 years ago (May 25, 1977). Where were you when Star Wars changed the face of movies?

Thirty years isn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it was nearly half my life ago. I was in the toddler stage of my 27-year stint as a film critic, and saw in Star Wars a kind of Cowboys and Indians adventure that roused imagination and was just plain fun. Good guys and bad guys. Not unlike John Wayne westerns relocated in time and space. Not unlike the newest fantasy realm inhabited by Harry Potter, Ron, Hermoine, Dumbledore and Voldemort (this generation’s Darth Vader).

I remember sitting near the back of theater during a non-peak-hour showing, my soda untouched, popcorn uneaten, as I sank into the fable, succumbed to the whimsy of the fastidious C3PO and the brave little R2D2, rooting for the man in white (Skywalker), shuddering at the heavy predatory breathing of the villainous Vader in his swirling black cape and gleaming enameled mask. As for Han Solo, he had all the roguish qualities of an Errol Flynn pirate, cocky smile and all.

While the first space altering film was Stanley Kubrick’s amazing but much more solemn and slow-moving 2001: A Space Odyssey,that film still adhered to old ways of creating illusion.

The unconventional, outside-the-box creativity of Lucas, and a team that included John Dykstra and the computer savvy geniuses that formed industrial Light and Magic and a host of ancillary firms that deal in special effects and computer wizardry — the magic that made films like Close Encounters of the Third Kind, ET, the Potter films, and a host of terrific movies in between, come alive.

From the first epic Star Wars trilogy (which now seems tame in comparison to its successors) to the second and far more technically sophisticated second trilogy (which ansers all the questios left hanging from the first), movie fans have come, bought tickets, and gotten their money’s worth. Not always through the stories, but most definitely through the technology.

I loved Star Wars, and the Empire Strikes Back, wasn’t crazy about Return of the Jedi or the first two “prequels” — especially Phantom Menace. That and Attack of the Clones seemed to sacrifice the story, adventure and characters on the altar of special effects. That changed in Revenge of the Sith, which worked for me, wrapping up the untold stories, answering the lingering questions. Revenge of the Sith brought back the humanity that made us cheer and root for our space heroes. For years my home was littered landspeeder models, character dolls, light sabers and other paraphenalia as my daughter and her friends were equally captivated by the heroes and villans.

Star Wars changed the face of movies, sometimes for the better, but not always. certainly not always. But first and foremost, Star Wars was and remains the one thing movies are supposed to be: terrific entertainment.

Author’s Note: for an in-depth look at George Lucas and the creation of Star Wars, you can reference my hometown alternative paper, at valleyadvocate.com (5/23/07).

He was on his best behavior, all dog, all cute, panting, excited that he’s been for a ride in the car with the windows open, his ears flapping in the breeze. He likes to ride. Crazy for it. Not quite sure why he was at grandma’s house, but hey, grandma’s cool.

KeyKey was about to be photographed with me for the annual Red Cross “Heroes” campaign.

“Heroes,” for the purpose of this campaign, are the people in a community who make significant donations to support the all volunteer efforts of the Red Cross. The agency runs almost exclusively with volunteers as its life’s blood, but the infrastructure costs money to run: office space to lease, communications gear, radios and GPS equipment, computers, laptops for the field, volunteer training, community outreach, CPR and other paid classes that help support the local chapter, emergency vehicles to maintain and stock … it’s no different than any other business in that respect. Clarksville’s Red Cross is a local chapter run with local dollars. Donors wanted.

Heroes are also characters like KeyKey, who doesn’t know he’s a dog. KeyKey was a rescued dog, an isolated neglected pet who took a long time to become socialized, to become the charming, whacky, loveable family member he is. He is also a Hero with two lives to his credit.

And that is the first story.

On August 30, 2006, KeyKey lay at my bedroom door, looking as pathetic and pitiful as possible. Dogs are good at that. My grandchildren let him into my room (not the norm) before leaving for school at 6:30. KeyKey fell alseep on my feet on that hot August morning. Then he went crazy. Whining, screeching, howling, clawing, biting and otherwise forcing me to consciousness.

Alright, already, I said and got up to this abnormally manic dog out. I opened my door at 6:55 to find the living room in flames and thick, putrid sticky black smoke deepening, depleting the breathable air in the hall. Burning pieces of “stuff” falling everywhere.

Barefoot I ran through the embers with KeyKey never leaving my side, attached to my leg, prodding, urging me to get out. I didn’t feel the embers burn my feet, didn’t feel my hair singe, didn’t feel the burns on my arms or the smoke in my lungs until later.

Adrenalin pumping, my brain raced on multiple tracks, counting off who and what might still be here, alive: kids gone (I heard them leave), Kelly away, Bearded Dragon in back bedroom (not going there to get trapped), turtle in tank downstairs, safe for now), undisciplined teenaged puppy hooked outside; Iguana dead in the fire, Robert sleeping … Robert sleeping downstairs … it is amazing how the brain plays back tracks of thought in crisis.

I raced down the open stairwell through a fiery rain and kicked the front door open to free the dog, then descended more stairs to awaken my son-in-law, who was sound asleep directly under the fire. I screamed him into consciousness and we both got out, racing back up the half-flight of stairs, under the fiery rain again and out the door. Fire officials said that at the rate the house went up, I would have died from smoke inhalation and my son-in-law could easily have died as the floor above burned through — if it weren’t for the dog.

One minute I was standing outside, in shorty pajamas, bare burned feet in mud and wet grass, watching firehouses rip through the garden and firemen pop out the windows and the ceilings. The next minute I was in an ambulance, on oxygen.

That’s where the second story begins.

I barely blinked and there was a big white truck with a big red cross on the side, parked at my neighbor’s house, a tumble of people pouring out with fluffy red blanket, folding chairs, bottled water, hugs and hope. Disaster cards issued on the spot for clothes and food. Referrals for disaster relief. Offered by people, strangers, who just dropped everything and raced to our house to help.

Today, nine months after the fact, I am a Red Cross Volunteer. Pitching in. Giving back.

The unsung heroes, now are the hundred, yes, hundreds, of local volunteers in communities across the country, who drop everything, day or night, weekends and holidays, rushing off on a moment’s notice to help total strangers when disaster strikes. They catch cold after staying up all night in sleet and snow, sweat in blistering summer heat, get soaked in the rain, go without sleep, all while offering emotional support and material assistance to disaster victims and support for the firefighters and rescue workers on the front lines of disaster. These volunteer head out of town for indeterminate lengths of time for major disasters like Hurricanes Katrina, Andrew and the four-pack that struck Florida in one summer, and Hurricanes like Andrew in the 1990s. This week there are Red Cross volunteers all over Greensburg Kansas and other communities ravaged by tornadoes last week. They were all over Clarksville when our city was struck by tornadoes in 1999.

They also plan ahead, contracting potential shelters and assembling supplies at staging areas, the logistical things needed yesterday should disaster strike.

Should a disaster happen, be it a house fire, a flood, a tornado, or some other event, Red Cross volunteers not only drop everything and race to help, they stay in the field until the job is done, then stay late in the offices doing the paperwork that tracks the help they give and the victim caseloads they manage. They continually train, study, practice and live lives of unselfish giving. Hands on.

They are also the first line of communication with our troops overseas, all over the world.

They are unpaid, unsung heroes.

That said, the Clarksville Red Cross “Heroes” campaign is underway and needs your support. You, the public, can make a difference. With your donations, you support the systems and training that allow these selfless volunteers to do the work they do.The dollars you designate for Clarksville Red Cross stay in Clarksville.

Your donation can be sent to Clarksville Red Cross, 585 S Riverside Dr., Suite L, Clarksville TN 37040. Please note that Checks must be made out to Clarksville Red Cross in order to stay in Clarksville, otherwise funds are automatically designated to national American Red Cross centers.

I never expected the disaster of fire, and never expected to find the Red Cross parked outside my home. But on that day last August, I was very glad they were there.

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First performed in 1918, Il Trittico is actually three distinct one-act operas, two heart-wrenching tragedies followed by a light-hearted look at living, dying and “the will.”

The opening segment, Il Tabarro, unfolds its tragedy in the form of a lovers triangle — with the faithless wife Giorgetta (Maria Guleghina) mourning the loss of a child, falling from her husband’s arms into the passionate embrace of an all too eager Luigi (Salvatore Licitra). Guleghina brings a beauty and power to the role, torn between what was, what is and what will be, yearning for the physical love of Luigi, while waging a love/hate war with her husband Michele (Juan Pons), the father of her lost child. Licitar’s voice, in a word, mesmerizes as he sings of his adoration and his frustration at not being able to claim his new love for his own. Pons offers a haunting aria of passion, hatred and despair as he realizes his wife has betrayed him, has triggered in him the power to kill.

The set design is a multi-story set of streets, docks, a boat and bridge that spans stories overhead. It is a dark set, with a somberness that mirrors the pain, suffering and rage of its characters.

The second act is Suor Angelica, a haunting story set in the stark courtyard of a convent, quiet and reverent, with heavily-robed and veiled sisters chanting prayer, moving through the simplicity of their daily lives with God, the ever-present Virgin Mary and each other. These spiritual woman talk of the Virgin, of faith, of their forbidden forays into wishes and dreams, while through them moves Sister Angelica (Barbara Frittoli), a quiet nun relinquished to the convent for some past transgression, surrounded in mystery as she works ‘miracles’ of healing through the plants she tends.

The story unfolds in a languid style; again, dark lighting, shadowed archways echoing the shape of the nuns in their veils, a hint of what may be the Virgin Mary in the recesses of the arch of the doorway, stone niches lit with candles as evening falls.

A guest arrives, an old woman in black, an aunt, asking for Angelica. The story moves from langor to hope, then dropping sharply from sorrow to despair. The listener learns that Angelica disgraced her family with the birth of an illegitimate son, and was banished to God’s service for that unforgivable result of youthful passion. Angelica’s inheritance, held in abeyance, must be released to her sister. Then, in an emotionally fatal blow, she is told that the young son she has dreamed of seeing, of loving, of one day holding in her arms, has died. Her aria, Senza Mamma, is heart-wrenching.

Defying God and the Virgin, Angelica succumbs to despair, looking to her herbs and flowers for the ones that can be the source of her own death. She drinks her fatal potion, immediately regrets this sin of suicide, and begs the forgiveness of the Virgin. Her hands reach up in supplication. From a cross high above the stage, golden light shines upon her her; the doors of the church are opened. In this halo of golden light, in this illuminated path of light across the stone steps and the courtyard, the Virgin and her son stand on the threshold, welcoming Angelica to heaven as she slumps to the ground, dead.

If Act One (Il Tabarro) climbed the mountain of the magnificent, Act Two (Suor Angelica) pushed this reviewer over the top and all the down the other side. Beyond the performances and the music, the sheer artistry of the set design and lighting created a haunting mood of both peace and desolation. In just a few words and in my characteristic bluntness: it doesn’t get any better than this.

Gianni Schicchi is Act Three, a total change of pace. Comedy. Old school comedy. Somewhat predictable, perpetually enchanting. The music lightens. The tenor shifts. Death is still the theme, but so is inheritance. And therein lies the story.

Buoso Donati is dying and has left it all to “the monks.” His family is not happy, and the two young lovers in this lighthearted tale are left without dowry or substantive income, and thus will not be allowed to marry. What to do? Write a new will. Mask the time of death long to let a comedy of mistaken identities put the money in the hands of a gaggle of mercenary relatives and friends..

The choreography of Act Three is delightful — replete with subtleties of movement, pacing, eye contact, gestures — all eked out with meticulous timing and the sharp edge of slapstick. The serious and melodic perfection of O Mia Babbino Caro, sung by Lauretta (Maria Guleghina), one of the anxious young lovers, steps far away from the comic for a few ethereal moments — leaving listeners holding their breath at the sheer beauty of this Puccini classic.

Plot and characters twist and turn around each other in a greedy war with time, each getting their just due. The young lovers emerge as the unsuspecting winners in this game of greed and the calculating Schicchi asides to the audience that his conniving game of fraud and trickery “was all worth it for the sake of love.”

Director Jack O’Brien more than met the challenge of staging this four-hour presentation, seeking three different moods from three distinctly different stories on one adaptable set. He moves Puccini’s characters through the light of love, the darkness of despair, creating an all-encompassing mood for each distinctive piece. Kudos. Peggy Eisenhower and Jules Fisher are to be equally commended for the stunning lightning effects, particularly in the first two segments. Douglas W. Schmidt spent 18 months creating the complex sets for this production. Every bit of it showed. Conductor James Levine masterminded this presentation of Puccini’s score, offering everything Met fans have come to expect.

In 2006, the Met offered its first Live in HD broadcast in North America, Europe and Japan, a technological follow-up to its acclaimed radio and PBS broadcasts. Building on that success, the Met now reaches its audiences through 239 worldwide venues, and 50,000 viewers — and counting. This groundbreaking effort mixes technology and the arts to stunning effect.

If Il Trittore is standard fare for HD broadcasts, the lines will only get longer at theaters like Green Hills or the Belcourt in Nashville. If Clarksville fans get lucky, maybe our Great Escape Theater will lend one or two of its screens to these productions. It’s only eight Saturdays a year. Clarksville music lovers would be queuing up for tickets. and thanking the theater profusely for stepping up to meet one this community’s unfilled musical needs.

Next season

The Metroplitan Opera: Live in HD, will offer eight performances: Charles Gounod’s Romeo and Juliette (December 15, 2007), and in 2008, Englebert Humperdinck’s Hansel and Gretel (January 1), Giuseppi Verdi’s MacBeth (January 12), Puccini’s Manon Lescault (February 16), Benjamin Britten ’s Peter Grimes (March 15), Richard Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde (March 22), Puccini’s La Bomehe (April 5) and Gaetano Donazetti’s La Fille du Regiment [Daughter of the Regiment], April 26.

The broadcasts are heard in Dolby surround sound and include interviews and short features during the ‘intermission’ times.

He leaned back against the wall, a bright blue wall that looked like sky. His eyes, those blue eyes, looked out across the room, but they didn’t seem to see; instead they held a vacancy, a distance, looking far away and anywhere but where he was. He looked old, in the way that only someone who has experienced great loss can look old.

We were in the Columbus, Ohio, Greyhound bus terminal, waiting. From my chair, I watched as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor, leaning one arm on his duffle bag, still staring. One leg bent inward, the other outstreched, he sat. Blue eyes open, still staring at something I could not see. Off to the side were three buddies, same light green camouflage, same desert colored boots, laughing, talking, ordering food: a congenial group. War clothes. He was accompanied.

I looked back to the wall, where those blue eyes had now drifted shut. Sound asleep in the bustling chaos of the terminal. An hour passed, and another, and he didn’t move. Nor did anyone approach him. Slumped on the tile floor, centered on the blue wall, he slept the sleep of the dead.

He was the image of war and peace, and had I a camera accessible, I might have photographed him. He was an astonishingly piognant image, but as I thought about it, I realized that whatever he had experienced need not be photographed by someone like me.

The PA system announced departing busses and his buddies came over, gently rustling his shoulder, softly calling his name, and he awoke. Shaking his head, he slowly inched back up the wall, blue eyes open, no smile, still holding that haunting look.

I cannot imagine what he saw, or what lives in the mind behind those eyes. On some level, I don’t want to know.

But I don’t want to forget him, this unknown soldier. He was the face of war.

*The Soldier illustrated in the image is not the soldier Christine is writing about.

I fielded that question years ago, when my grandchildren were much younger, having already abandoned the concept of an annual commitment I may or may not be able to keep. There’s got to be a better way, I told myself, as the issue grew into discussion that grew into a process of life planning I’ve kept for years.

I don’t resolve to complete anything. I plan. I dream. I explore. I follow the sage advice of a wonderful teacher from my adolescence who, when questioned about how she knew “so much about everything,” replied, “Each year I pick a subject about which I know nothing, or am curious about, or that simply appeals to me, and I use my spare time to learn more about it. I may love the subject, or hate it, but I won’t really know until I immerse myself in it and see where it takes me.”

That was my beginning. And in that beginning, I studied horticulture — extending the one-year study to three when I fell in love with plants. I dabbled in interior design. I learned to crochet. I studied children’s special education law. I explored poetry and discovered pre-Raphaelite art. I went back to college. My lists are almost 40 years long now.

So this week, as I revisit those studies, I began my 2007 lists, making three lists that shape-shift from year to year, since what fits in one year may be totally wrong for the next. The lists aren’t just about the physical act of learning; they have evolved into ways of being, ways of moving to the future.

This year’s one-year list will likely include exploration of Indian cuisine (the preparation of), a foray into playwriting, the planting of a new perennial garden, greater attention on health, exercise and diet, and a search for new authors to read. As in the mind-mapping process, each of these may develop lives of their own, with diversions and/or stumbling blocks along the way. And that’s the point. These non-resolutions do not require completion; they are  simply something to strive for, something to move toward at my own pace, rather than the antiquated, guilt-laden resolution concept. I may work at most of them, but probably won’t hit them all. I’ll just chip away at the list, bit by bit.

I also make two shorter (2-5) items list of longer range, two and five year goals. Finish my MFA one semester at a time. Explore where I might want to teach. Keep filling my ‘loose coin’ jar toward the 2010 trip back to the Amazon. Keep peacefully protesting until we are out of Iraq.

Gail Sheehy, in the modern classic Passages, wrote “the shoe size is the same but the fit is different.” It’s what happens as we grow up, as we age, as we fill ourselves with life experience and spiritual awareness. What suited us in our 20s and 30s may not fit our 40s and 50s, or beyond.

So I sit here at my desk, thinking about the past year, its unanticipated tragedies and its unexpected blessings; I take the images of the past year out,  look them overand put them away, for now. I can’t change it. All I can do is move forward, seeking out the things that will enrich my life in the coming year, and perhaps set the pace and plans for several years to come, knowing that the only thing certain is change. I work at catching that element of change and riding it to destinations as yet unknown.

No resolutions here; just an ongoing journey in the company of friends and family, and friends I’ve yet to meet.