Why can't I buy this book?

When my son and I were in Boston last month we stopped by Peacefield, the homestead of American Revolutionary hero and later President John Adams. We just wanted to see it; I'm an admirer of President Adams and we had a few minutes, so Frank looked it up on his smartphone and we found it.

Once there, we walked around the open grounds and took some pictures. You know, touristy stuff.
Outside the carriage house we were stopped by a staffer. There was no problem. He just saw us there and asked what he could do. We explained we were just looking around, and he took us inside to tell us about available tours, which began a couple miles away.

As he talked I saw a small display of books and memorabilia, obviously for sale. There was a biography of Abigail Adams, John's wife. I have read several volumes on the President; I thought then I'd buy one on Abigail, to hear more about her and her perspective. "There's plenty of books and such at the visitor's center," I was told. Okay, thank you, I replied, and we left.

That's what happened, in a nutshell. But I wondered then and wonder now why he wouldn't sell me that book. In my mind that conversation went kind of like this:

"I would like to buy this biography of Abigail Adams please."

"Oh, there are plenty of books at the Visitor Center."

"Okay, but I'm here. I would like to buy this book."

"You'll find all kinds of books and gifts at the Visitor Center."

"I'm sure I will. But I'm here and so is this book. May I buy it?"

"Memorabilia, glassware, collectible plates, pictures..."

"Why won't you sell me this book?"

"It only takes about two hours; you'll really enjoy the tour."

"I'm not arguing that. I just want to buy this stupid book, that's all!"

A hush slams throughout across room. "I find your lack of respect for one of our nation's finest First Ladies appalling," replies the docent. "Good day." And we leave without the book.

It didn't actually go like that, as I said. But it would have been really easy to sell me that book.

A sense of roadway humor

I have to confess, in fact I quite cheerfully admit, that my sense of humor is subtle and goofball. Do you care for some examples? You don't, I'm sure, but I'll offer them anyway.

I drive a lot for my job so I see many signs for many things. Most are ads, but some are for various attractions and activities. Some of course are just plain old road signs. Take for instance, as my son and I were driving to Boston in the heat of last month (July 2016). As we approached an overpass a yellow sign warned us, Bridge may be icy. And I thought, faux incredulously, what, today?

Many of the recreation signs indicate that after a turn and a mile or two you'll find Rolling Hills golf club or some such. I always think, so I'll go that way and find a five iron on the highway?

At times my internal jokes get borderline crass. Not that that stops me from internally making them, mind you. All around Michigan currently are billboards which assert that 1 in 5 children face hunger. I find myself thinking, so turn that kid around.

Yeah, I know. But you did have to choke back a snicker, didn't you?

To Paul: my golf game

Ach. I love golf. It still ain't baseball by any stretch of the imagination. But it's got it's proper claims to fame.

The first solid drive I hit today, it was nothin' by golf standards. But for me, it was solid. In exaltation, I threw my club forward a few yards, with a clockwise twist. I couldn't believe I hit it like that. It was in the middle of the fairway, and it felt good.

The next drive a few holes later, phew, it faded right, but it went a long way.

The third, my doubles partner Ron said I would really like. And I tossed my club before he spoke; the ball landed a hundred yards from the pin. I messed up after that, but man, I loved that drive.

The fourth, then the fifth, Ron developed a new golf phrase. It was, 'Don't throw your club'. He thought folks might misunderstand my intent. He thought it was gauche.

Maybe so. But man, I hit those balls. And it felt good every one.

I. Love. Golf.

The Bomb and war

Should we have or should we have not? That is a question which is asked about many things, not the least of which involves what happened 70 years ago today. We have arrived at another anniversary of the atomic age: the first use of an atom bomb, dropped on Hiroshima, Japan, an August 6, 1945.
It is easy to believe that the US should not have dropped the bomb. Many civilians were killed or injured, and civilians are off target according to the Just War theory promoted by the Catholics and many others. It rests on the idea that civilians are noncombatants, innocents, and should be safe from the traumas of war.
Yet William Buckley, the famous conservative writer and himself Catholic, suggested that perhaps that no longer applies. In the modern world with modern warfare, are civilians actually noncombatants? It's simple enough to see that in Imperial Japan during World War II, civilians were often encouraged to participate in the war effort. Some estimates claim that as many as 70% of the civilian population of Okinawa were injured or killed during the 82 day battle where the Allies occupied the island. To be sure, many were pressed into service. But many fought the invaders voluntarily just the same. Either way, they were not innocents.
Buckley's idea hardly singles out Japanese intentions. Across the sphere of total war, can it be argued that those who work in munitions factories are noncombatants? That those who organize and participate in scrap metal and scrap rubber drives are wholly innocent, or even those who merely buy war bonds? Still, there are true innocents involved, mostly the children. Therein we find the greatest tragedy of human warfare: that it has become so terrible that children are involved at all. But worse: that organizations such as Hamas and the Viet Cong, even the Japanese and Germans, have been heinous enough to use them as shields as well as actual fighters. This certainly isn't the fault of the children, but a reality that must be dealt with just the same.
The picture isn't pretty. Yet it seems be the face of modern war, and even though (by and large) the bad guys started the practices, it is still the reality we must live with. It is small comfort but we may just have to content ourselves, so much as we can, that it is not our fault. Even so, we must never forget the cost of war. That it leaves a bad taste, as it should, is a reflection of our humanity.

The daily paper

I'm begining to go old school again. I've found myself buying the morning newspaper on a more and more regular basis rather than catching up on news through my computer. That's not to say I don't use my desktop or laptop for, especially, breaking news. But buying the paper does seem to have its advantages.

It begins with my now routine morning walk. There's a party store/gas station near the end of my usual route. One day at the end of my daily constitutional I just decided I wanted a paper. For a buck a day it's not a bad deal. And other things are at work too.

The newspaper never freezes. It never takes forever to load; if I'm reading and article which concludes on page 3D, I simply turn to page 3D and it's right there. And while there are adds trying top distract me they are easy to ignore. Nothing pops up on my newspaper page forcing me to click it off, nor does my text get shoved downward on the page where I have to scroll to keep up with, or look for that insolent little tiny box with the 'x' to click on, to roll what I'm reading back up. I also get the puzzles for my entertainment, and the comics are found nicely arranged on one page. No going to a couple dozen different web pages for my daily comic fix.

My computer and smart phone will always be available, and I certainly get my use out of them. Still, the morning paper has reacquired for me a certain charm. I read as I want to read, jumping from page to page I feel quicker than my computer sometimes does. It's simply a nice way to ease into my news day.

Wow. I'm loving golf and reading actual newspapers. I am getting old school.

Zeke

Dad called him Zeke. I never heard no explanation, so I thought of him as Zeke, and that's a fact.

I never called him that though. That seemed a familiar between brothers, you see, so I respected it as such. He was always Uncle John to me, and I respected that in all our dealings.

But Zeke, he had a way about him. It expressed itself in rage, but more generally in humor. I could never tell a story like Zeke, nope, never. So I'll not do this story justice. Not a chance of that.

I'll tell it anyway.

He had just arrived in Nam, and had a letter in his hands from his sister, who had just had a child. Zeke bet a fellow brother in arms that he'd never guess the child's name.

You gotta play better than that, says the soldier. You gotta give me a clue.

All right, replies Zeke, I'll give ya the first letter of his name. It's T.

His fellow soldier pauses a minute, reflects, then asks uncertainly, 'Todd?'.

'Nope. Theodore.' says Zeke without a blink. He says it without reflection, without a thought.

Zeke told me that tale many times. He won five bucks. He granted it was unfair each time he told the tale.

Yet he laughed each and every time he told it. I could tell he liked the tale; I could tell he felt a bit of shame at it too.

My cousin's name is in fact Todd, in case you're wonderin'.

No more school supply battles

It's August, and that means one thing for parents of school age children: it's time to buy school supplies.

The ads are everywhere, for clothes and backpacks and pencils and notebooks and all those items on all those lists helpfully supplied by our teachers. If you've got one schoolchild it can be a daunting task. If you've got several it can seem too high of a mountain.

I'm past all that and I don't mind at all. Rushing from store to store to get the best prices on different items was simply a chore, especially factoring in all the other parents doing the same thing. It wasn't long before the school supply aisles at Office Depot and K-Mart looked like bombed out cities from the Second World War.

Then there was always that one item which, somehow, became impossible to find. Erasers; I remember one year when we could not find an eraser anywhere. Well, yes, on pencils, but you know how quickly those wear down. You needed actual hand held erasers. Yet there were none, as though the erasers themselves had gathered en masse and decided, nope, we're not having anything to do with this madness this year. You're on you're own; bye!

I don't miss it at all. I pity the folks still dealing with it. I have absolutely no sentimentality for the school day preparation of my children. We ran the race, we fought the fight. And I like the feeling of switching channels the instant a back to school sale commercial appears. It is empowering in ways beside which fighting the crowds at Target pale.