She Ain't Heavy. . .

She's my nandina.

The Work of Christmas

by Howard Thurman

"When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among brothers,
To make music in the heart."

A Dog's Life: The King Surveys His Lands

Eisenhower Wisdom

Guess who said this?

"Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children. This is not a way of life at all in any true sense. Under the cloud of threatening war, it is humanity hanging from a cross of iron."

Dwight D. Eisenhower, From a speech before the American Society of Newspaper Editors, April 16, 1953

Imagine any Democratic president saying this today, let alone a Republican. Where is Ike when we need him?

Perhaps it takes a man from the battlefield, and a person of unusual humanity, to understand truly the senselessness of war.

Nuclear Fallout?

The NY Times ran an article yesterday, "U. S. Rethinks Strategy for the Unthinkable," about the American public's preparedness for a nuclear attack. Apparently there's plenty of educational information available now but a reluctance to disseminate it for fear of alarming us.

The article brought to mind a vivid memory from childhood: air raid drills in elementary school where we would huddle under our desks--with our hands clasped over our tucked-in heads--readying ourselves for "the unthinkable." (It turns out that these drills weren't as ridiculous as they seemed; studies show that we're best off staying inside buildings rather than heeding an impulse to flee.)

At any rate, I'm struck by how much has changed. We didn't worry back then about scaring the public; everyone knew those were scary times and we were advised to think and plan accordingly. Contrast this with today, where people often comment on how dangerous our world is, but addressing this reality is itself unthinkable.

Indeed, we learn in the Times article that the Obama administration had planned to simulate an attack involving about 10,000 emergency personnel in Las Vegas; the drill never took place, however, because "casinos and businesses protested, as did Senator Harry Reid of Nevada. He told the federal authorities that it would scare away tourists."

It's like everything else in America. Business interests dictate priorities.

We used to be scared of things that mattered. Now we're scared of shadows, and, as a result, we're becoming shadows of what we once were.

Government Malfunction

Not sure how to feel about the tax cut compromise reached last week? Presidents Obama and Clinton posited a spirited defense. Economists Paul Krugman and Robert Reich derided it. They're all people I respect.

As I see it, everyone has acted irresponsibly: the President for failing to show leadership a long time ago; the Democrats for failing to act on this legislation earlier; and the Republicans for protecting the pockets of millionaires at everyone else's expense.

No, when legislation passes that so clearly diverts money from desperate needs all over the country, it suggests that the system is broken. Our government is acting irresponsibly, and no one can stop it. President Obama may have done the best he could in a bad situation, but the situation shouldn't have existed in the first place.

Maybe now we'll finally face the fact that there is no knight in shining armor to ride in and stop the madness in Washington. Knights went out of business a long time ago.

For Mrs. Edwards

Long after we've finished dissecting the tragic life of Elizabeth Edwards, I will remember her for this: her honesty and courage in living with cancer. Like Michael J. Fox and Christopher Reeve before her, she brought into light the reality of living with advanced, incurable disease.

She didn't try to tie a pink ribbon around her situation, either. She knew this disease would take her life, and she told us so. She knew that her days were numbered, and she reminded us that ours are, too. She knew that cancer wasn't something that she could "beat," but she continued living her life undaunted by death's shadow.

Many people's hearts went out to Elizabeth Edwards over the course of her life--for her son's death, for her cancer diagnosis, and for her husband's infidelity. Unlike many in our ruling political class, she seemed real and human and as vulnerable as the rest of us.

Hers was a troubled journey, though perhaps in truth, her story was ours as well--just played out on a larger, more public landscape. For who among us doesn't experience pain, loss, and betrayal somewhere along the way?

Whatever contradictions may have existed in her personal and public life don't matter in the end. What we have left is the public face that she showed us. And it was a face that accepted life's terms--the hardest terms of all--without flinching.

I'm sorry that Elizabeth Edwards has died. I wish her children well and hope that they are buoyed in the years ahead by the uncommon strength of their mother.

Early Winter in Carolina

Clintonian Wisdom

My notes--scribbled in the dark while listening to Bill Clinton speak this week in Greensboro--don't come close to recording the breadth of his remarks. But one page stands out where I wrote, "Inequality is breathtaking."

The former president was talking about the first major challenge he sees in the world today: economic inequality. He began by reminding us that we took much for granted simply in attending his lecture: assuming that we would have comfortable seats, that the power wouldn't go out, that the room wouldn't get too hot or too cold, and that we could get a drink of water or go to the bathroom. In the countries he assists through the Clinton Foundation, none of these are givens. Such inequality around the world and within countries is not sustainable.

The other challenges are that our world is too unstable (WikiLeaks as an example) and that our energy consumption can't persist at its current rate. In order to address these problems, President Clinton said that we need to move beyond the old arguments of whether to cut taxes or spend money. The question now on the table for anyone seeking change is "How do you propose to get it done?"

Insisting that we all adopt a model or framework for our vision, he put forth his own: if a proposal will improve the lives of many people and move the world forward into the future, then give it a try. Tax cuts, for example, are fine if they create new jobs. Unfortunately, the ideological rigidity on both the left and the right don't lend themselves to imaginative solutions, given Clinton's sensible paradigm.

I wish more people could hear President Clinton. He's the voice of reason these days in a shrill, unstable environment. His work around the world on behalf of the sick and the poor seems to me the highest calling and gives him a rare perspective on what's important in life.

If he comes your way, go and listen. You might come away changed. I did.

Security That Works

Does anyone feel safer with the installation of new body scanners at airports? I don't. And I feel even less safe when I read in Roger Cohen's New York Times column, "The Real Threat to America," that Michael Chertoff--our former director of Homeland Security--runs a security advice business whose clients include the company making these new scanners.

Surprise, surprise. Former government officials profiting from fear.

Meanwhile, conservative Republicans are touting Israeli security, which I was curious about as well. But as Dana Milbank writes in The Washington Post, we can't begin to afford the sophisticated techniques used in Israel, and the use of profiling and invasion of privacy well exceed American norms.

No, what makes me feel safer is this weekend's story of the foiled teen-aged bomber in Portland who thought he was going to obliterate a crowd of Christmas revelers and instead found himself arrested. Good for the FBI. They'd been on his case for months and led him to a point where he couldn't succeed. This is the the kind of detective work that I call security. The more of it, the better.

Removing my shoes and watching TSA employees wand children at the airport don't strike me as powerful terrorist deterrents. Good old gumshoe work does.

A Dog's Life: Don't Give Me Any Lip

Turkey Pardons

It's fine that President Obama pardoned a Thanksgiving turkey this year, but it's not fine that he continues to pardon the other turkeys in his midst: Congressional Republicans. The President has offered so many olive branches to John Boehner and Mitch McConnell that I think even Jesus would say Obama has turned his cheek too many times.

The Bush tax cut extensions offer President Obama one more chance--and perhaps one final chance--to speak on behalf of the majority of Americans and on behalf of the people who elected him. He needs to say forcefully, and to say every day, that he does not support extending tax cuts for the wealthiest among us. Millionaires don't need a tax break, and many of them agree. This is no time for compromise.

If the President's opponents in Congress outnumber him, so be it. He will have stood up for what's just and right.

This year's lucky Thanksgiving turkey will spend the rest of his days at Mount Vernon, waddling where George Washington once walked. If Barack Obama sells out poor and middle-class Americans on this issue, he may find himself going the way of the turkey: into early retirement, living among ex-presidents. For such a sell-out runs the risk of opening up the presidential field to a third-party candidate, splitting the Democratic party, and alienating once loyal supporters for good.

Sculpture in the Garden

You never know who you'll run into at the annual outdoor sculpture show at the North Carolina Botanical Gardens in Chapel Hill. This year's artists were asked to interpret the theme "Celebrating Life Forces--earth, air, fire, water, spirit."

Amazonian cats, ethereal women, angry stone men, they're all there to discover as you wander the lovely gardens. With friends and family, the show is a great way to spend a fall afternoon in Carolina.

The Court Jester

Walter Berglund, the frustrated environmentalist in Jonathan Franzen's novel Freedom, captures America today when his anger finally erupts: "This fragmentation . . . it's the same problem everywhere. It's like the internet, or cable TV--there's never any center, there's no communal agreement, there's just a trillion little bits of distracting noise. We can never sit down and have any kind of sustained conversation . . . All the real things, the authentic things, the honest things are dying off. Intellectually and culturally, we just bounce around like random billiard balls, reacting to the latest random stimuli."

How depressing, and how true. Examples of distracting noise abound--most recently in the mid-term elections, awash with dishonesty and inanity.

Enter Jon Stewart, comedian and host of The Daily Show. If you missed his interview with Rachel Maddow, watch it. Finally, two people in sustained conversation.

Stewart gives me hope. He exposes the noise of round-the-clock cable news for what it is: divisive and polarizing and distracting. He calls out red and blue activists alike for failing to tackle corruption and dishonesty. And he does so with humor and self awareness.

Jon Stewart for president? Not yet. But a lot of people producing politics and news could learn from him. He understands and articulates better than most the direction we need to go.

Take heed, all of us, of the comedian in our midst. He's a gem of a court jester, and we'd do well not just to laugh, but also to listen.

Veterans Through the Ages

The North Carolina Monument at Gettysburg honors our state's 14,147 soldiers who fought there in 1863. Close to 6,000 North Carolinians lost their lives in 3 days at Gettysburg, over 1/4 of all Confederate casualties.

To date, the Iraq and Afghanistan wars have claimed nearly 5,800 American lives.

Does it matter how many die? Civil War numbers boggle the mind. Iraq and Afghanistan numbers, in comparison, seem like mere skirmishes. Many of us don't know anyone who's been killed this time around; I doubt if many southerners could say the same in 1863.

The dead, no matter how many they are, ask little of us. We, in turn, pay almost no attention to them. Perhaps on this Veteran's Day we can be reminded of the simple request made clear by this monument: May "[our] valorous deeds [be] enshrined in the hearts of men long after these transient memorials have crumbled into dust."

HELP!

Dear Abby,
I’m getting so much advice I don’t know where to turn. You’re my last hope. Talking heads everywhere are telling me what to do. I need to emote, I need to connect, I need to compromise, I need to lead.

It’s tough running a country with a bunch of know-it-alls. Even Sasha told me I ought to jog through the Mall or stop more often for Big Macs.

What’s a president to do?

Unaudaciously yours,
Barack O

Dear Barack O,
I know how you feel. Every time I give advice, I get letters the next day telling me how wrong I was. “Give that husband another chance?” they write. “No way.” You can’t win.

I take it by your name that you’re running the good old U. S. of A. Too bad for you. They’re a bad bunch, spoiled by years of free speech. But don’t let them get you down.

Here’s an idea. Wipe away a few tears every now and then, like that new Speaker you’ve got. Choke up when you talk about the American dream or when you see children saluting the flag. It’ll work every time.

In the meantime, don’t worry. Your people have short attention spans. They’ll soon be talking about the next American Idol and won’t remember a thing about you.

LOL,
Abby

The Ice Man Speaketh

Following President Obama’s press conference yesterday, news analysts on NPR highlighted the President’s lack of emotion. Talking heads on MSNBC did the same. Why does this trait of Obama’s—his ability to remain calm no matter what—bother the press so much?

In response to one reporter’s question—“When you call your friends . . . and you see the Democratic Party set back, what does it feel like?”—President Obama replied, “It feels bad.”

A reasonable answer, I thought.

But this wasn’t good enough for NPR’s news analysts. It actually made them chuckle. Obama’s supposed lack of emotion translates into a flaw. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t get it—these are the charges against him.

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather put my trust in the man who thinks under pressure and remains steadfast in his outlook . . . rather than our blubbering new House Speaker weeping over his weary childhood. We don’t need emotion at the top. We need courage and leadership.

I hope President Obama can summons these traits as a response to the “shellacking” he got yesterday, rather than focus on some misguided need to change his style. And fewer tears from John Boehner would be welcomed as well; he’s got work to do, and it’s time to replace the floors he mopped at his father’s tavern with the jobs Americans need to get back to work.

A Dog's Life: Tennis, Anyone?

Medical Money

It turns out that a standard treatment for thyroid cancer—swallowing radioactive iodine—could cause problems for people other than patients. According to a recent article in The New York Times, “Scientists have estimated that . . . a secondhand dose could exceed an average American’s annual level from all natural sources, and three or four times the safe level recommended for a pregnant woman.”

Patients undergoing radioactive treatment used to be quarantined in the hospital (as they still are in Europe). But in 1997 our Nuclear Regulatory Commission dropped the requirement; now patients go home, encountering any number of vulnerable people along the way, and some check into hotels, where another group of strangers could be exposed.

Not everyone thinks there’s a danger, however, as the Times article reports. "'We’re talking about really small doses,' said Dr. Henry D. Royal, the associate director of nuclear medicine at the Mallinckrodt Institute of Radiology at Washington University. 'Who is it going to harm?' added Dr. Royal, who is on the executive board of the American Nuclear Society."

Who will it harm? How do we know?

This is one of our biggest problems in medical care today: who do we believe? In this case, do we believe a group of scientists and endocrinologists? Or do we trust nuclear medical doctors? Don’t we at least question the recommendation of those most invested in the status quo?

These sorts of questions arise every day. Is the information gleaned on a CT scan worth the dose of radiation received? Is it necessary for an 80-year-old patient to undergo a colonoscopy? Is the long-term use of any drug unequivocally safe?

The answer to all of these questions is muddied by money. In every case, industries and individuals make a bunch of money from the recommended treatment. In many cases the industries that stand to benefit fund the research itself. Conflicts of interest in medicine can make you dizzy.

We’re left with this fundamental problem of our medical care: As long as our health depends on profitability, we will never be the healthy society that we could be.

Medical Menus

"Please listen carefully as our menu options have changed."

No matter which clinic you call at Duke University Medical Center, you're greeted with this recorded message. It's offensive on several fronts. First, the admonition to "please listen carefully" feels like you're in kindergarten. No doubt many choose the wrong option, but this probably has less to do with careless listening than with honest confusion.

Second, the phrase "menu options" suggests that you are at a restaurant, which you most certainly are not. Navigating the menu--whether it's to reschedule an appointment or to resolve a bill--is about as far from enjoying a delicious dinner as you can get.

Finally, the statement that the "options have changed" is fundamentally dishonest. If it were true, the options would change constantly, on a daily or weekly basis. They don't. Rather, the phrase is a ploy to reinforce the opening directive to "please listen carefully."

So we're back where we started. Irritated and annoyed and distracted: primed to choose the wrong option.

Liberty Central's Olive Branch

Just when the stories of bizarre behavior of political candidates seem to have crested, along comes the news of Virginia Thomas contacting Anita Hill for an apology. Readers’ opinions expressed on the internet are as varied and as strange as the story itself. But make no mistake: anyone who thinks that Ms. Thomas’s action is personal and not political is naïve.

When Anita Hill testified in 1991 against Clarence Thomas—current Supreme Court Justice and husband of Virginia Thomas—three main undercurrents in American culture came out from hiding. The ugliness of race, gender, and power intersecting with sexual harassment could not be denied. Whether or not you believed Anita Hill’s testimony at the time, the tension was as real as it gets.

Fast forward to 2010, when a black man sits at the top. Those of us who are white and accustomed to people of color tipping their hats to us and saying, “Yes, ma’am” and “Yes, sir,” are now on the other side of the hat. Our troops salute a black man, and our fashion magazines highlight a black woman.

Anyone who thinks that the current rage among Tea Partyers and other angry Americans isn’t driven by this race reversal is naïve.

Virginia Thomas, the founder of a new conservative, activist group called Liberty Central, knows what she’s doing. Married herself to a black, powerful man and an experienced politico in her own right, she commands all of the necessary tools to exploit the racial tension that lies at the heart of America—and that lies at the heart of this November’s election. Digging up Anita Hill, under the guise of an “olive branch,” was a brilliant move.

There’s a war going on. And it’s not just in Afghanistan. It’s right here in America, on the internet, on FOX news, and on talk radio. It’s as obvious as Republican candidate Sharron Angle telling a classroom of Hispanic children in Las Vegas that “Some of you look a little more Asian to me” or as subtle as Ginni Thomas leaving a voicemail message that says, “O. K., have a good day.”

Anyone who thinks that this war is going away any time soon is naïve.

Summer Days Driftin' Away

As the leaves start to fall and the earth travels far from the sun, I remind myself to keep alive the memory of the summer. Melancholy takes hold. A simple bucket of flowers can help.

Pretty in Pink

Pink is everywhere this month, even on the golf course. But as lovely as this muhly grass looked yesterday, I couldn't help but think of all the breast cancer pink we see in October. It may be too much, and it may not be the right shade of pink.

As Barron Lerner describes in his discussion of Gayle Sulik's new book--Pink Ribbon Blues: How Breast Cancer Culture Undermines Women's Health--many of the corporate sponsors of Breast Cancer Awareness Month are themselves pharmaceutical companies invested in the manufacture of cancer drugs. With cancer funding heavily weighted towards treatments and awareness rather than prevention, these sponsors may represent a conflict of interest. Indeed, a key part of Sulik's book is her analysis of the “financial incentives that keep the war on breast cancer profitable.”

Lerner does not dismiss the efforts of the Komen Foundation and other fund-raising groups. He captures, though, the frustration that many activists feel with a funding culture that doesn't sufficiently sponsor research into the causes of breast cancer.

Ubiquitous pink is a reminder of a devastating disease. Perhaps someday it can be the symbol of successful eradication.

Dolls, Dolls and More Dolls

The Doll and Miniature Museum in High Point, North Carolina, is a reassuring place to visit. Tended by staff who clearly love dolls, it manages to survive in our inhospitable economic climate.

Worn out by so much disturbing news--from millions of secret dollars spent on political campaigns to mean-spirited violations of privacy on the internet--I was glad to be somewhere innocent and wholesome.

Hooray for all of the little museums around the country doing simple, humble work. Heroes still exist; you just don't find them on the news.

A Dog's Life: Sundance

Even the word "regal" doesn't do him justice.

Karkinos

My hairdresser is offering pink highlights this month, the proceeds of which will support breast cancer research. A friend told me today of two women with ovarian cancer. Family members are ill with this disease. Does it seem to anyone else that cancer is everywhere?

Wondering why the name cancer springs from the Greek word for crab, I discovered that Hippocrates coined the term based on the crab-like appearance of tumors. The website About.com provides us with this additional historical information:

"Today, we know so much about the human body; however early Greek physicians weren't so fortunate. Hippocrates believed that the body was composed of four fluids: blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile. He believed that an excess of black bile in any given site in the body caused cancer."

This statement gives me pause. Do we really know much more about the origins of cancer than Hippocrates did? As one who has suffered this disease, I think he's on to something. Cancer often comes roaring out of nowhere with no discernible cause. It follows its own unpredictable course, having stumped generations of doctors and scientists.

An accumulation of black bile in the body seems as accurate as anything else I've ever heard.

The Art of the Steal

The Art of the Steal is an all-American story. A chronicle of the Barnes Foundation--the collection of post-Impressionist art in Merion, Pennsylvania--the film captures many of our nation's themes:

The iconoclast who thumbs his nose at the establishment.

The self-made man who doesn't forget his roots.

The neighbors who band together to defend their territory.

The city that robs its suburbs.

The power families who run everything.

The politicians who sleep with the elite.

The whiff of conspiracy that accompanies money.

The issue of race that haunts the landscape.

The rich and powerful who always succeed.

It's too bad that the Barnes Foundation can't stay where it is. Soon to be housed along museum row in Philadelphia, it will lose the character that Dr. Barnes intended to preserve. His American story--a visionary who saw and collected art for ordinary citizens to enjoy--collided with that other American story--the one where opportunists exploit vulnerability for power and wealth.

Go see the Barnes collection before it moves. Participate in the story that Dr. Barnes told, however quirky and unconventional you might find it.

You'll be glad you did.

Art to the Rescue

The teaching of art, at least in elementary school, isn't what it used to be. Gone are the days when you trace your fingers to make a turkey or spend weeks learning to paint a tree. Art teachers today use all types of media--yarn, paint, clay, beads--to help kids find the artist inside. Each child is successful; if you can't paint a tree, you can weave a mat. If you can't weave a mat, you can shape a pot. If you can't shape a pot, you can copy Matisse and produce a cutout. At day's end, each kid is an artist.

Which makes me wonder about all the handwringing over the state of education today. Good news, of course, goes unreported, so people don't know the amazing work in art and music and drama taking place in many of our schools. And, of course, some schools have dropped these programs altogether, so there's nothing to report. But if art teachers can find ways to educate kids and bring out their talent, why can't teachers of academic subjects do the same?

Perhaps the spirit of creativity and flexibility that underlies the teaching of art needs to be restored to the teaching of math and reading. Where there used to be time for academic teachers to engage their students through a variety of media--not unlike art teachers--they're now forced to prepare their students for standardized tests. If you feel a big yawn coming on, you're not the only one.

The tests are boring. Practice worksheets come home constantly. And despite the effort to make the tests inclusive and multicultural, the fact that Miguel buys 10 pounds of apples instead of Michelle doesn't eliminate the tedium. Standardized tests have an occasional place in education, but the everyday use of them has rendered inspired, creative instruction obsolete.


Thank God for the artists. In these bleak days when the "Race to the Top" means more standards and more tests, I'll take a sunflower any day. And it doesn't even need to be yellow.

Why the Silence, Mr. President?

Having received emails this week from both the Brady Center to Prevent Gun Violence and North Carolinians Against Gun Violence, I'm reminded of President Obama's woeful lack of leadership in this area. Paul Helmke, president of the Brady Center, writes most recently of Obama's failure to appoint a director for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives (ATF). This 18-month vacancy of a permanent leader is the longest in the agency's history.

The Center also issued a report, "President Obama's First Year: Lost Leadership, Lost Lives," in which the president is issued an "F" grade for his "concessions to the 'guns anywhere' mentality of the gun lobby and lack of leadership for common-sense gun laws." Though the report lists the bills that Obama has shamefully signed into law--allowing loaded guns in national parks and in checked bags on Amtrak--his ommissions are equally damning. He hasn't supported efforts to reinstate the assault weapons ban or worked to strengthen Brady background checks; above all, he hasn't stood up to the NRA.

Throughout the report Candidate Obama's strong statements in support of gun laws are paired with President Obama's couched statements in support of the status quo. As an example, when he accepted the presidential nomination in 2008, he said, "[D]on't tell me we can't uphold the Second Amendment while keeping AK-47s out of the hands of criminals." But on Face the Nation in March 2009, he said of the assault weapons ban, "Well, I think the main thing we need is better enforcement."

And so it goes, with one gun safety issue after another.

As we head into the November elections, plenty of talking heads are commenting on Obama's failure to court his base. This is another example. It's also an example of his playing it so safe that he doesn't play at all. He allows others to dominate his agenda. In the case of gun safety, the other player--the NRA--has more money and clout than most of us can imagine.

But doesn't the voice of the President of the United States count for more? Especially when he speaks for the majority of Americans?

Fashion for Everyone

No matter what my Saturday is like, I can always count on Bill Cunningham to perk things up. A fashion writer for The New York Times, Cunningham produces a short video each week, "On the Street," that features ordinary and stylish New Yorkers. Sometimes he follows them to places like The Hamptons or Newport, but usually he finds them on the streets of the city.

This week's episode--"Views"--which you can find on the Fashion and Style page, captured guests at the New York Fashion Week in a mixture of subdued style and outrageous fun. Earlier this summer "Color on Wheels" featured cyclists and skaters and anyone on wheels on a Sunday afternoon along Park Avenue.

That Cunningham loves people and loves watching people is evident in every clip. He's not at all critical or snooty, and his seemingly simple commentary makes fashion accessible for even the most unfashionable among us. I love his gentle sense of humor and his opening music that hums.

Feeling like your weekend isn't what you'd hoped? Google Bill Cunningham and watch his latest "On the Street."

Tea Party Treachery

Christine O'Donnell, the new Republican Tea Party candidate for Senate in Delaware, said on Tuesday night that the "same people who are supposed to be protecting our freedoms are taking them away." I wonder what she meant. The last time I checked, most of us still have the freedoms guaranteed to us by the Constitution--unless she meant Muslims in New York and Latinos in Arizona.

She also said that the cause of her campaign is "restoring America." Everyone in her audience nodded and cheered. They knew what she meant. I didn't. Restore America to what? A past where we didn't have a black president? A past where gays weren't advocating marriage and open military service? A past where Muslims hid behind burkas?

Hypocrisy in America is at an all-time high. I hope too many people aren't fooled by it.

A Dog's Life: The Buddha and His Protege

Get Off the Couch and Support Elaine

It's easy to feel discouraged about the coming election. Predicted gains for naysaying Republicans, who consistently block legislation to help ordinary (meaning non-rich) Americans, make me want to sit this one out.

But there's hope in North Carolina in the senatorial campaign of Elaine Marshall, our current Secretary of State. I first became aware of Marshall in 2002, when I contacted her office to establish my new business. Her staff couldn't have been more helpful in guiding me through a complex process. If there's one thing I've learned about office staffs, it's this: the treatment you get by the front-line people reflects the attitude of the boss. I knew then that Elaine Marshall was topnotch.

When I started receiving emails earlier this year about her campaign for US Senate, I was struck by her direct, straightforward tone. No games, no bragging, no stretching the truth. She lays out our problems and provides solutions. Check out her website. She proposes a fee of .25% on certain stock transactions to fund a comprehensive jobs program. She advocates aggressive Wall Street reform, having addressed investment and securities fraud in North Carolina. She believes it's time to end the Afghanistan War and to redirect our resources (1) to protect our borders and ports and (2) to disrupt terrorist activity wherever it occurs, rather than mire ourselves in unstable nations.

Marshall's opponent, Richard Burr, has been an automatic vote for the powerful and well-to-do. He opposed legislation that kept state workers employed--teachers, fire fighters, and police officers. He currently opposes a bill to help small businesses, which even the North Carolina Bankers Association has endorsed. He supports continued tax breaks for millionaires, and his campaign is bankrolled by Washington lobbyists.

Elaine Marshall is a vote for the future. A future where we all have a voice, regardless of how much money we make. We're lucky that Marshall hasn't given over to doubt and cynicism, the way so many have. She's tough, and she'll act on our behalf, and--if anyone can--she'll begin to change the elitist culture of that club that calls itself our United States Senate.

I'm putting my money, and time, with her.

Hanging by a Thread

The 18-year-old son of the art teacher died last week in a car accident, along with his good friend. In the past year two other staff at my daughter's school lost their sons, one to a car accident and one to cancer. None of the boys lived beyond their early 20s.

We are--all of us--hanging by a thread. It's only every so often that we're made aware.

A Punctuated Presidency

Can Labor Day—that turning point, that burst of fall energy, that end to summer ennui—come soon enough for President Obama? He's in one of those passive stretches again, where he's passionate about nothing and allows others to seize his agenda.

Watching his speech this week about Iraq, I found myself wondering what he really thought. He was scripted as he so often is. His salute to the troops, his summary of the war, and his unrealistic call for unity as we tackle domestic challenges were all delivered in the same wooden manner.

He's been like this all summer. The one moment of hope, when he burst out with enthusiasm for something, ended with a thump: his eloquent endorsement of religious freedom for Muslims, undercut the next day by his tepid language, left us uncertain about what he believed.

Whether we agreed with them or not, we knew what his predecessors thought. Though George Bush issued ignorant and often inane observations, his intent was clear--"I'm the decider," "Bring them on," "Mission accomplished." We knew where he stood. Bill Clinton talked spontaneously to us all the time. As if a popular professor, he explained complex subjects--Bosnia, welfare reform, Oklahoma City--while munching on a cheeseburger or boarding Air Force One. We knew where he stood.

Obama, on the other hand, is too often like a comma, a pause, a hesitator. Americans like their presidents declarative.

When he emerges from these passive states, as he did during his campaign and when he finally fought for health care legislation, President Obama, too, speaks from the heart. We know where he stands. But these moments don't come often enough. He's a wise man, but somehow his wisdom gets buried.

Perhaps this, his season of hibernation, will come to a close and we'll see more of the man we elected. God knows we need him.

Another Great Leveler

Death may be the great leveler, or perhaps “our courts are the great leveler” (Atticus Finch), or maybe the public schools are (my Uncle George). But I have another candidate: the Division of Motor Vehicles.

There’s something about these low, flat, uninspired buildings that cut us all down to size as soon as we pull into the parking lot. Once inside, we’re assigned a number that strips away any sense of self. We’re all the same when it comes to the DMV: a driver’s license number and a birth date.

Privacy? Forget it. At the Hillsborough office on Thursday, an officer asked all of us in the waiting room why we were there: a newlywed with a name change, a kid taking a road test, a traffic violator in search of a driver improvement class, a woman who finally found her social security card. We’d hoped to seem interesting or confident or aloof as we sat reading our magazines and checking our cell phones. Instead, we were revealed in all of our banality.

The drab, institutional feel of the officers lined up behind their desks is another immediate symbol that we don’t mean much. We may think we’re above this tedious exchange, but if we don’t have the right paper work or the required cash, we're no better than the guy with the slicked-back hair at station 2.

Maybe it’s a good thing, this reminder at least every 5 years that we’re really nothing special. It’s kind of like "pride goeth before a fall.” Start thinking you’re hot stuff and before you know it, you’ll find yourself pulling up to the DMV and all illusions will disappear.

Get the Lead Out of Lipstick

My Redken shampoo has over 40 ingredients in it, most of which I don't recognize. The first is water, but it goes downhill from there, with substances linked to cancer, hormone disruption, and immune system suppression. On the front of the bottle, the company highlights one ingredient--grapefruit extract--I guess because this sounds natural and healthy. But guess what? Grapefruit extract is the 43rd, and final, ingredient. I doubt that this small amount offsets the toxicity of the parabens, sulfates, and propylenes that precede it.

Redken and Procter & Gamble and lots of other skin care companies want us to think their products are filled with green, organic goodies, but they're not. Labels are misleading and ingredients are often known to be toxic and carcinogenic. How can this happen? The cosmetics and skin care industry is loosely regulated; FDA oversight is weak, and cosmetics firms themselves determine the safety of their products. Annie Leonard's new video, The Story of Cosmetics, gives an excellent overview of the current, dismal situation.

New federal legislation proposed last month hopes to change this. The Safe Cosmetics Act of 2010 will phase out harmful ingredients, raise safety standards, improve labeling, and fund enforcement. For those who wish to support this legislation, The Campaign for Safe Cosmetics is a good place to start.

In the meantime--while we're still unprotected--consult the Environmental Working Group's data base, "Skin Deep." It provides detailed information about known and suspected problems with a host of chemicals.

I've seen too much cancer in myself and in family and friends to think there's no correlation between our environment and our health. Profiteers will surely not look out for us. If we don't work to protect ourselves and our children, who will?

The Stuff of Life

College students moving in all over the country. We're all of us vagabonds at one time or another, our stuff reduced to cardboard boxes and trash bags.

It's just that some of us are luckier than others. We have a place to call home.

War Peddlers

Sometimes General Petraeus sounds like a door-to-door salesman. Especially when he peddles his wares--the war in Afghanistan--to a weary public.

I'm not sure if it's a deliberate tactic or not, but he uses words that can leave you dizzy. On Sunday's Meet the Press, he said, "Over the last 18 months or so, what we’ve sought to do in Afghanistan is get the inputs right for the first time. . . And, indeed. . . the inputs already are enabling some outputs."

He evidently likes this language. In June he told us that General McChrystal had "played a key role in helping get the inputs right in Afghanistan." And in March, testifying before the Senate Armed Services Committee, he said, "We've spent much of the past year working to get the inputs right in Afghanistan. . . And with those inputs now in place, we're starting to see the outputs."

My head spins with questions. What exactly are inputs? "Organization," "concepts," and mostly troops, as far as I can tell. What are outputs? Not clear. So far there don't seem to be any or he would have spelled these out, as any good salesman knows. And biggest questions of all, why has it taken 9 years to get the inputs right? And why have we tolerated a 9-year-old war that, to date, shows no outputs?

The salesmen have come and gone. George Bush, Donald Rumsfeld, Barack Obama, Robert Gates, brass and non-brass, all packaging and repackaging the same product--one that costs far more money and lives than we can afford.

Instead of shutting our doors and pretending we're not home, let's confront the salesmen and tell them we're not interested. We owe it to ourselves and our country to do no less.

A Dog's Life: Thunderstorms and Mondays

Sing to the tune of "Rainy Days and Mondays," as performed by Karen and Richard Carpenter:

Ripping up my toys and feeling scared
Sometimes I'd like to run
Thunderstorms aren't any fun
Tearing around, turning lions into clowns
Thunderstorms and Mondays always get me down.

What I've got they used to call plain fear
Thunderclaps are way too loud
Don't like what's behind those clouds
Tearing around, turning lions into clowns
Thunderstorms and Mondays always get me down.

Funny but it seems I always wind up in your bed
It's nice to know somebody loves me
Funny but it seems that it's the only thing to do
Run and find the one who loves me.

What I feel has come and gone before
Happens on hot summer nights
In the midst of flashing lights
Tearing around, turning lions into clowns
Thunderstorms and Mondays always get me down.

Summer Reading Picks: Graphic Literature

When I first heard about graphic novels, I thought they seemed silly. Glorified comic strips is all I could imagine. I ignored the genre for several years until I discovered Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis, a witty, heartbreaking account of the author's childhood during the Islamic Revolution in Iran. I quickly followed up with Persepolis 2, which chronicles her exiled adolescence in Europe, and Embroideries, a frank and charming picture of women's lives in Iran.

More recently I've read two excellent works of non-fiction: The 9/11 Report by Sid Jacobsen and Ernie Colon and The United States Constitution by Jonthan Hennessey and Aaron McConnell. The co-chairs of the September 11 Commission endorse this book's lively, engaging format as a means for readers to understand the complexities of the attacks and the subsequent recommendations. Both it and The United States Constitution would make excellent textbooks; the material comes alive through unforgettable illustrations.

A simpler book, but no less remarkable, is The Shiniest Jewel, a memoir by Marian Henley. In it Henley tells the story of her efforts to adopt a child from Russia, while at the same time facing both the declining health of her father and the decision of whether or not to marry. Poignant, honest and funny, Marian Henley's story is--like a lot of good fiction--our own story as well.

Finally, my favorite: Maira Kalman. Though she doesn't use the traditional comics format in her work, her illustrations are essential. I came upon Kalman through her blog, And The Pursuit of Happiness, published online in The New York Times. She's funny and quirky and colorful, and she loves hats and chairs and old people. Read her book The Principles of Uncertainty, and you'll find a story on every page.

Impermanence

Other than my two hometowns of Doylestown, Pennsylvania, and Durham, North Carolina, I have spent more time in Chincoteague, Virginia, than anywhere else on earth.



Every time I return, I look for signs that things are still the same. On this trip the ponies were still grazing on Assateague Island, the marsh mallows were bursting with color, the snowy egrets were hunched in the trees, and the seagulls--the seagulls--were still hoping for a free meal.


And of course the crape myrtles were in bloom everywhere,



and vacationers were still hanging out on their decks overlooking the bay.


But on this trip the bridge had changed. I had known that a new bridge was in the works for years and under construction this year, but to see it and travel on it was altogether different. By entering the island onto Maddox Avenue, you no longer get the same feel of the old fishing village that Chincoteague once was; rather, you enter on the beach road, the kind of road you might find in any resort town in Virginia or North Carolina.

So it wasn't the same. Chincoteague had changed once again. And while we'd like some things in life to stay the same. . .



they don't.

The Kite Koop moves, Etta's Channel Side Restaurant is no longer run by Etta, and the condo next door is for sale. The trees die off, the dunes disappear, and the coastline shifts.

And the people we love come and go.

Weight Matters

The scales don't lie.

Despite all the publicity and hand-wringing about American obesity, we're now fatter than ever. According to a report issued this week by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 30% or more of the people in 9 states are now obese. This figure is up from 2007 when only 3 states reported this rate.

The maps that accompany the report, published in The New York Times, show a fungus-like disease spreading throughout the South, starting in Louisiana and Mississippi and moving northward to Missouri on the west and to West Virginia on the east. The fungus skirts North Carolina, though we are just one notch below the others, with 25-30% of our population obese. Frankly, no state comes out a winner: not a single state met the "Healthy People 2010" obesity target of 15%.

When reports such as these are issued,I often think back to my childhood and recall that almost no kids were fat. Those who were would be considered, by today's standards, pleasantly plump. Why is it so different now? We see overweight children and adults everywhere we go, from doctor's offices to grocery stores to elementary schools.

It's odd, too, that obesity is rising in our culture at a time when abnormal and unhealthy thinness is still considered the ideal. Rates of eating disorders in the United States are alarming. The incidence in anorexia among young women ages 15-19 has risen every decade since 1930. And up to 24 million Americans of all ages and genders suffer from eating disorders.

Clearly we have an unhealthy relationship to food and body image, and these have only gotten worse. What will it take to change?

Complications at Monticello

When our family visited Monticello one summer, I was struck by the amazing mind of Thomas Jefferson displayed throughout his home and grounds. The entrance to his house is a museum in and of itself. Rooms show off his inventions and architectural brilliance. The grounds are filled with evidence of his botanical mind. And to see his library is to be reminded of the words he penned at our nation's founding.

Reading The Hemingses of Monticello by Annette Gordon-Reed doesn't diminish these recollections, but it does draw a much more complicated picture of the master at Monticello. As is well known today, the sexual relationship between Jefferson and Sally Hemings, one of his slaves, produced several children. Sally Hemings was the half-sister of Martha Jefferson, the president's first and only wife, and from here the relationships grow only more complex. The common-place pattern of white slave-owners fathering children with black slaves produced troubling family arrangements.

As Gordon-Reed writes, "Slavery simply provided families in the South with many more ways to be bizarre than in regions where it never took hold or was abandoned early on. Fathers owning sons, brothers giving away brothers as wedding gifts, sisters selling their aunts. . . enslaved black children and their free white cousins, living and playing together on the same plantation--things that by every measure violate basic notions of what modern-day people think family is supposed to be about. This was one of the myriad reasons why slavery was a horrific thing."

It's enough to make Strom Thurmond turn over in his grave.

And it's enough to make me realize once again what a complicated history we Americans have with race. Slavery is a part of our ancestry, all of ours, and it's no wonder we struggle. The more we understand this history, though, the closer we'll come to understanding the present.

Gordon-Reed's book is an excellent step in this direction.

Elizabeth Warren for President

Not really.

But our current president needs to appoint Professor Warren to head the new Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, and to do so immediately. The agency is her idea, after all, and she is our leading consumer advocate in these times when those who should be protecting us aren’t.

Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner and National Economic Council Director Larry Summers have long shown themselves too tied to Wall Street. Indeed, one of Warren’s main contributions in recent years is her role as Chair of the Congressional Oversight Panel, which investigates the big bank bailout. You need to watch only one YouTube video to see that she isn’t afraid to take on Geithner and to hold him accountable on our behalf.

As one who has long studied and published on consumer spending, debt, and bankruptcy, Professor Warren understands better than Obama’s elite circle the financial challenges facing middle America. She knows the predatory behavior of credit card companies and mortgage lenders and is willing to take them on.

Moreover, she resembles us. A Harvard professor, yes, but she graduated from Houston University and took her law degree from Rutgers. Finally, someone with non-Ivy League degrees. Someone, as she told Newsweek, who has “worried about money from the time [she] was a little kid.”

With her appointment we would finally have someone representing us. Isn’t it about time?

Cows Along the Blue Ridge

Hiking along a trail this weekend at the Moses Cone Manor, Milepost 294 on the Blue Ridge Parkway, we spotted cows facing in the same direction as they grazed. It turns out that cows all over the world graze in a north-south orientation, perhaps influenced by the earth's magnetic fields. Pictures from Google Earth confirmed this phenomenon in 2008.

Facts like this make me wonder. What would happen if we could amass the knowledge of all of the earth's creatures and make use of their wisdom? Unleash a new power perhaps? Render our weapons obsolete and sideline our technology?

The cows and the birds and the pesky mosquitoes could all teach us something, if only we could figure out how to listen.

The Cost of the Copperhead

One of the biggest complaints about the new health insurance legislation—indeed, a main source of lawsuits against it—is the requirement that everyone obtain coverage or face penalties. I support the requirement and here’s why.

Earlier this year I was bitten by a copperhead in our backyard, a not-uncommon occurrence in North Carolina as we lead the nation in copperhead bites. It was a nasty, painful experience, but most of all it was expensive. I spent 23 hours in the Duke Emergency Room and came out with a bill of $65,000, before insurance kicked in. Yes, you read that right.

The main part of the bill was the charge for anti-venin: each dose cost $30,000, and I received two.

When I asked a pharmacist familiar with Duke’s operations why the cost was so high, she became defensive. She said that Duke probably paid about $10,000 for each of the doses, but had to pass along other costs to me and to my insurance company. One of the biggest of these, of course, is to cover those people who also show up at Duke this year with a copperhead bite but who, unfortunately, have no health insurance. In these cases Duke will absorb the costs because, frankly, who among us can pay $65,000 for an unexpected medical bill?

I realize that American health care is expensive for lots of reasons, and the new legislation doesn’t address all of the problems. We have a ways to go. But as long as fellow citizens remain uninsured—often because they can’t afford the outrageous premiums charged for individual plans—the rest of us will pay their bills.

I don’t mind paying taxes for the common good. But I do mind paying a disproportionate amount for other people’s health care. It’s time to make everybody sign up, to create affordable plans, and to put us all on a more equal footing.

Bring on the new legislation and follow up with more.

A Dog's Life: Happy Birthday to You

Cassidy and Sundance turn 12 this week. They may not enjoy the cake and ice cream on Wednesday night, but we will toast them just the same.

Some might say to dogs such as these, "You don't know how lucky you are to have such a good home."

I say to them, "You don't know how lucky we are to have you."

Many happy returns.

Ellis Island Reflections

At the Michener Museum in Doylestown, Pennsylvania, an exhibit by Stephen Wilkes captures the melancholy of Ellis Island. Wilkes spent 5 years photographing the south side of the island, the site of a once-sprawling hospital complex left in ruins.

In one scene of the tuberculosis ward, two sinks attached to a wall of peeling paint hang below a small mirror, which reflects an image of the Statue of Liberty: a reminder that most of the people in this hospital never made it to freedom. In the measles ward stacks of wooden filing cabinets perch erratically on top of one another, some with drawers still open, as if people left in a hurry. Snow has blown in through broken windows along one corridor of the hospital, and a series of 5 opened doors in the nurses' quarters invites us into the past.

I'm struck by these images. Life once flourished here, even in spaces that held sickness and death. Dreams grew and faded, buried now beneath the snow and behind the broken glass.

Immigrants. People coming from other countries always gets messy. Does it need to be so?

These photographs bursting with humanity remind me that it's all pretty basic: other people like us--some sick, some not--wanting to make a home for themselves and seeking life in a new land.

Do we, or do we not, welcome them?

It takes a village. . .

. . . to rescue a dog. Especially Typhoon, an older Shih Tzu with behavior problems. Thanks to the villagers:

To Motch in Chapel Hill, who arrived as a modern-day Merlin (just when the search was flagging) and offered wisdom from her years breeding dogs.

To Dr. Hughes of Durham, who identified the profile of the rescuer I needed to find.

To Amanda of Durham, who would have opened her home to Typhoon anyway--knowing that he wasn't the companion she wanted for Mona.

To Stephanie and her friends in Rolesville, who were wholly unsuited to adopt Typhoon but taught me I needed to probe deeper.

To the animal rescue groups in our community, who offer a safety net for lots of creatures like Typhoon.

And finally to Ellen of Durham, who was determined that Typhoon be given another chance to live.

Damned If You Do

There's a good chance that the sunscreen we're using contains ingredients harmful to our health. Retinyl palmitate, a form of Vitamin A that also appears in cosmetics products, could be increasing our risk for skin cancer when exposed to the sun. Oxybenzone, which I found in my favorite sunscreen, has been shown to penetrate the skin and may disrupt the endocrine system. Nanoparticles of zinc oxide, long used to coat the noses of lifeguards, may also penetrate the body and cause damage linked to cancer.

All of this and more from Michael Hansen, a senior scientist with Consumers Union, and other analysts and dermatologists in a recent New York Times commentary.

Of course, if you don't use sunscreen, you increase your risk for skin cancer. And if you don't get out in the sun, you don't get enough Vitamin D. Round and round we go.

A similar scenario presented itself on Tuesday's Diane Rehm Show. The discussion of battery-operated cars and their promise to eliminate oil dependency turned on itself when a listener questioned the energy source. If we use coal to power these cars, he noted, we're damaging our environment in yet another way. Harnessing sun and wind power for electricity would create energy-efficient cars, but for now, these are expensive and lie somewhere off in the distance for Americans.

That "somewhere off in the distance" usually has to do with money. Cosmetics and sunscreen companies are making lots of money promoting questionable products. Oil and coal companies continue to grow rich as they degrade the environment. Powerful lobbyists see to it that we consume goods that aren't good for us.

Our consumerist culture has come full circle. Damned if we do and damned if we don't.

Scenes from the Eno Festival

Rabbits took center stage at the Eno Festival this year, as t-shirts, sand carvings, and children's creations of bunny ears sprang up everywhere. The festival's a great way to celebrate the 4th of July without the fireworks. Enjoy the music and the crafts and the food and especially the people. Best of all, the weather this year: unseasonably not too hot.

The Geese Go Marching

On their way through the parking lot of the North Durham Regional Library, these geese made me laugh.

Choose a book, any book.

Rolling Stone Revelations

Of the many troubling observations offered by Michael Hastings in his Rolling Stone piece about the Afghan war, two sentences stand out: "Even those closest to [General] McChrystal know that the rising anti-war sentiment at home doesn't begin to reflect how deeply fucked up things are in Afghanistan," he writes. "'If Americans pulled back and started paying attention to this war, it would become even less popular,’ a senior adviser to McChrystal says."

When the advisers themselves start advising the rest of us to pay attention, so we should.

We have been at war with Afghanistan for nine years, making this the longest war in American history, as Hastings points out. We’ve spent hundreds of billions of dollars, he writes, "on the fifth-poorest country on earth [and have] failed to win over the civilian population, whose attitude toward U.S. troops ranges from intensely wary to openly hostile."

Moreover, we have allowed General McChrystal to use Afghanistan as a testing ground for the military’s counterinsurgency strategy, COIN. As Hastings describes it, "COIN calls for sending huge numbers of ground troops to not only destroy the enemy, but to live among the civilian population and slowly rebuild, or build from scratch, another nation's government – a process that even its staunchest advocates admit requires years, if not decades, to achieve."

That we should invest in such a process in Afghanistan is bizarre. That we expect our military to die for this senseless cause is immoral. We have too many problems in our own country to pour money into a sinkhole. I’m afraid the emperor is wearing no clothes.

Speaking of whom, President Obama must acknowledge that a change of clothes isn’t all that’s needed. While General Petraeus can restore respectability to the mission, he can’t work miracles.

It’s time to end this war and bring our troops home.

McChrystal Mother Goose

It’s hard to understand Stanley McChrystal’s bizarre decision to allow an interview with Rolling Stone. Somehow, Mother Goose comes to mind:

Bye-Bye Stanley
(From “Baa, Baa Black Sheep”)

Bye-bye, Stanley,
Did you lose your brain?
What you did
Was just so lame.

V P Biden disagreed with you,
Clownish Jones did so, too.
So you spoke to Rolling Stone,
Let your staff piss and moan.

Bye-bye, Stanley,
Now you’re on your way.
You’ve been sacked
Because you had your say.

Stanley McChrystal
(From “Little Jack Horner”)

Stanley McChrystal
Sat on his pistol,
Talking to Rolling Stone.

He put in some words,
About all those nerds,
And forgot
He was simply on loan.

Stanley, Stanley Biden Biter
(From “Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater”)

Stanley, Stanley, Biden biter,
Had a plan but couldn’t keep her,
Thought he’d save Afghanistan,
But landed in the frying pan.

Stanley Put the Pressure On
(From “Polly, Put the Kettle On”)

Stanley put the pressure on,
Stanley put the pressure on,
Stanley put the pressure on,
Barack blew his top.

Stanley took it off again,
Stanley took it off again,
Stanley took it off again,
Barack let him drop.

The Jury is Out

Some of The New York Times columnists that I especially like—Frank Rich, Maureen Dowd, and Charles Blow—have hammered President Obama this week over his management of the Gulf oil spill. As much as I usually agree with them, I’m not yet ready to condemn the president. I’d like to wait and see if he gets a substantial energy bill passed before I decide that he’s botched this catastrophe not of his making.

Though I was unhappy about his seemingly lackadaisical approach to health care, in the end President Obama achieved ground-breaking legislation that had eluded multiple presidents. Those of us with adult children unlikely to secure health insurance now rest assured that our kids are covered on our plans. Those of us who are self-employed now know that, within a few years, we will be able to afford a decent plan. And those of us plagued by pre-existing conditions can no longer be discriminated against by insurance companies. All of this, and more, under President Obama’s leadership.

In his speech last week, the president said that he would not accept legislative inaction as a result of the oil spill. Let’s hold him—and Congress—to his word. And remember that years of regulatory lapses under the previous administration led to the calamity which Obama now inherits.

Diplomacy as Metaphor

In his speech to the nation on Tuesday night, President Obama declared war on the oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico, drawing on a familiar metaphor in American culture. Presidents have declared war many times in recent history: President Johnson’s war on poverty, President Nixon’s war on cancer, and President Reagan’s war on drugs.

The trouble is, these wars—and perhaps all wars—never really work. All of the scourges listed above—poverty, cancer, and drugs—remain as strong, if not stronger, than they were when war was first declared.

I don’t blame President Obama for his use of the metaphor. In fact, I think he and his speechwriters realize the need to use this language. Because Obama is a cerebral leader who takes his time weighing options and thoughtfully arriving at conclusions, he is perceived as weak by many in our saber-rattling culture.

Nonetheless, wishing we could move to a different metaphor, I propose the word “diplomacy.” It’s true that in diplomacy you negotiate and talk to the other side, and we really can’t do either with the oil leak. But implicit in diplomacy is understanding: understanding why poverty is so prevalent, understanding what causes cancer, and understanding how drugs invade entire communities.

In much of the President’s speech, he actually drew on diplomacy rather than on war as a model for action. Appointing an independent group to determine compensation for workers and businesses in the Gulf is an act of diplomacy. Commissioning a long-term Gulf Coast Restoration Plan is an act of diplomacy. Insisting that we understand the facts about deepwater drilling and the concomitant risks to workers and the environment is an act of diplomacy. And calling on members of both parties to propose ideas to end our country’s dependence on fossil fuels is an act of diplomacy.

President Obama understands and applies diplomacy more than he gets credit for. Or perhaps it’s that diplomacy is held in low esteem. In any case, don’t let the war metaphor fool you; it’s required shorthand that I hope will become obsolete someday.

Lessons from the Scripps Spelling Bee

Watching the finals of the Scripps Spelling Bee earlier this month was frustrating—not because the contest was poorly run or because the competitors weren’t engaging or bright. But because the ABC commentators wouldn’t shut up.

The pronouncer would pose a word to one of the students, and we would listen blissfully (as I realized later) to the contestants ask for the word’s definition, its pronunciation, its origin, and its use in a sentence. These exchanges were fascinating, as we observed the students processing each word.

But as soon as one of the kids asked a repeat question, the commentators felt free to let loose and tell us their observations and their thoughts, making it impossible for us to hear the students. Each time this happened, the spell of the bee was broken.

Talking heads of every sort—whether in sports, news, or the bee—rob listeners of the pleasure of puzzling out something alone. Maybe we want to watch the spectacular catch at home base in silence. Maybe we want to think about what we think about the oil spill. Maybe we want to hear the origin of the word one more time.

Unfiltered experience is hard to come by these days with so much non-stop talk. A little silence now and then, with room for our own reflections and ideas, might make for more thoughtful responses. By minimizing the role of knee-jerk talking heads, we could create a less predictable, less polarized society with a more informed populace.

The result? A new and improved C-O-M-M-O-N-W-E-A-L.

A Dog's Life: Serenity

I asked my family to look at this picture of Sundance and give me adjectives that came to mind. Here’s what they said:

Peaceful
Cozy
Heavenly
Serene
Fluffy
Trusting
Adorable
Plush
Secure

These say it all, I think, the hallmarks of a good life. Not just for dogs, but for all of us.

The Birds of the Gulf

Of all the images and information coming from the oil spill, the ones that sadden me the most are the pictures of oil-laden birds struggling to survive. More than the loss of livelihood, of income, or tourism, I feel saddest about the birds.

Evidently others do, too. MoveOn.org sent to its membership one of the most upsetting pictures to surface so far of a bird in Louisiana. With the subject line “Heartbreaking,” the email called on members to protest America’s dependence on oil. MoveOn could have sent a video of angry, frustrated Gulf residents or pictures of the oil plume itself, but instead its organizers chose the bird.

And what about the deaths of the 11 rig workers, which heralded the start of the disaster? Even these losses don’t seem to supersede the loss and degradation of marine life felt so keenly by so many.

Sometimes I think our complicated, uneasy relationship with animals all goes back to Genesis, where we were given “dominion” over all of the fish and birds and every creeping creature on the earth. What did God mean by dominion? When I checked to see if the translators might have had it wrong all these years, I learned that, indeed, the Hebrew word radah means to rule, to have dominion, dominate, tread down.

So the translation is right, but maybe it’s the interpretation that’s wrong. Maybe the intention is that we are to rule benevolently, as caretakers rather than as dominators.

Or maybe it’s that God got it wrong altogether, or that the writer of Genesis misunderstood. Maybe we are to steward the earth jointly with the animals and plants that share our time here together. We don’t seem to be doing such a great job by ourselves. Maybe we need to pay more attention to the clues that the animals are giving us.

The canary in the coal mine takes on more and more meaning as we destroy more of our planet. When birds are covered in oil, they can’t live very well, if at all. The message is this: neither can we.

The Appeal of Silly Bandz

What a refreshing fad this latest craze is. Colored rubber bands in the shapes of trombones, stars, castles, and ice cream cones—to name a few—they’re worn on the wrist like some elaborate, ancient bracelet. One pack of 12 costs $ 3.00, so you can sport a stylish look without losing too much money. Or, as is the case at my daughter’s school, those who have share with those who don’t, so everybody has at least a few. Silly Bandz elicit generosity where it’s sometimes hard to come by.

They also appeal to girls and boys alike. After years of resisting products marketed separately to each gender—brown and violent action figures for boys and pink and gentle dolls for girls—we can finally buy something that obliterates gender. Silly Bandz let kids be kids, rather than forcing boys to be boys and girls to be girls.

Perhaps the most fun of all, they are traded each day on an open market, housed on the playground or school bus. Trade a dragon for a duck. Trade a mermaid for a minotaur. Trade two figures for a phoenix, the most desired Silly Band of all, or hold out for an IPod. Each day brings something new.

Silly Bandz: simple fun in the midst of complicated times.

Belated Thoughts on J D Salinger

When J. D. Salinger died in January, we heard--ad nauseum, it seemed--both about the author's failure to publish beyond his early works and his subsequent life as a recluse. These parts of Salinger's biography were portayed as they usually are, with dismay and with a sense of failure.

After rereading this spring The Catcher in the Rye, Franny and Zooey, and Nine Stories, I can say that I share none of this disappointment. Salinger's work is brilliant. Holden Caulfield speaks not only to the disaffection of youth but also to the heartbreaking, thin line between mental health and mental dissolution. And if you haven't read the short story "For Esmé--With Love and Squalor," find it and read it immediately. The war-ravaged narrator and his meeting with the young British girl are unforgettable and, like Catcher in the Rye, transcendent of time and place.

If J. D. Salinger had more good work to publish, well, I guess it's too bad we didn't get to read it. But more often than not, we read too much from one author. Once a writer publishes one good book, it's often assumed that everything else is equally good. This is rarely the case, I've found, and results in awkward book reviews and undeserved accolades.

Perhaps Mr. Salinger got it right. Put out your best work and allow it to stand on its own merits. And maybe, just maybe, generations of readers will continue to discover you long after the book tours are over.

Birds in Flight

In his research on a bird species called bar-tailed godwits, biologist Robert Gill discovered in 2006 amazing flight patterns that turned previous assumptions upside-down. While godwits had been thought to make several stops in Asia as they migrated from southern Alaska to New Zealand and Australia, it turns out that these large waders fly far out over the Pacific Ocean, traveling “up to 7,100 miles in nine days — the longest nonstop flight ever recorded.”

As reported in a story in this week’s New York Times, advances in technology—such as tiny and remote tracking devices—led to Professor Gill’s findings and opened up the door for similar research. Not long ago ornithologists thought that ruby-throated hummingbirds, for example, stopped in Mexico as they traveled home in the spring. We know now, though, that they “set out from the Yucatán Peninsula in the evening and arrive in the southern United States the next afternoon.”

There’s something comforting about this news from the animal kingdom, especially when our own species seems to have gone so far off track. With angry finger-pointing over the BP oil spill and violence at the Mexican border, we seem to be at war with ourselves. And not just in America. Tensions are mounting between North and South Korea, and Europe is in a tailspin over its economic woes. It’s as if the gods on Mount Olympus are looking down at the humans and wondering at the mess they’ve made of things.

I’m reminded specifically of Pandora’s Box. She seems to have opened it even wider these last several years, allowing greed and anger and hatred to flourish. Fear and mistrust abound. But Pandora offered a gift to humans as well. It was Hope that tumbled out alongside the pestilent plagues. Hope that would remain a constant comfort to the mortals below.

The bar-tailed godwits and the ruby-throated hummingbirds seem to me to carry Hope with them as they soar miles beyond our expectations. Unlike us, they’re using their god-given talents not only to survive, but to survive with grace.

We have god-given talents, too, with our minds and imagination and heart. If we use these gifts the way the birds use theirs, we just might find our way home—the home that most of us want, one devoid of hatred and injustice.