All in the Family

Two Saturdays ago, when I was visiting my mom in El Paso, I returned an Idaho friend's phone call from the day before and found myself on his car's speaker phone. When he rushed in to let me know I was on speaker phone, I made the reasonable assumption that there were other people in the car. My assumption was correct - "I have Jim (garble garble) and (garble garble garble) here in the car with me," my friend said, and explained they were on their way back south from Sandpoint. I'd hardly said hello when my friend continued, "Well, we shouldn't keep you - they need to make phone calls home," and I thought - ah. A carload of Republicans, is it? That would be the only logical answer for why he would rush me off the phone like that. (As if I didn't already know that a carload of people with this particular friend would likely be a carload of Republicans.) I felt like texting him: "You don't have to rush me off the phone. I promise not to say anything about how great Barack Obama is..."

I started to say goodbye, But Jim Garble-Garble decided to keep me on the phone. "Yes, we've just come back from campaigning for (garble garble)," he said. Great guy, he said. Oh, that's so nice, I said (wondering who in the heck they had been campaigning for). Sounds great, I said. Jim asked me where I was, then asked why I was in El Paso, and about my family... "Good for you," we said to each other. And then my friend finally got me off the phone. That Jim's a nice guy, I thought as I hung up. Even if he is a Republican.

Later in the day, I decided to check my local newspaper's website to see the news back home. There it was. The headline. "Sarah Palin's father and father-in-law visit Idaho," it said. "Jim Palin and Chuck Heath are here to campaign for Republican hopeful Vaughn Ward, who is running for Rep. Walt Minnick's congressional seat..."

Had I just been talking to Jim Palin?

I checked with my friend later. Yes indeedy, I'd just been talking to Sarah Palin's father and father-in-law. How funny is that? I don't know about Chuck Heath, as he didn't say much beyond hello. But I stand by my first impression of Jim Palin. He's a really nice guy.

Cat Idiosyncrasies

I took Alex to the vet yesterday. I was worried that he was losing weight. We got there, weighed him. He was fine. But it was the ride there and back that was such a joy. Alex, unlike Annie (my other cat), hates the car. Hates it. He paces back and forth as I drive. (If I keep him in his carrier as I drive, he is more terrified. I figure watching a pacing cat is better than listening to his heightened terror.) He meows the entire time - except when he goes guttural, meowing from deep inside. That's when he sounds like a little cougar. At one point yesterday, he crouched atop my headrest and meowed in my ear as I drove.

It's my fault, really. I'm the one who wanted to take him to the vet.

So then I got home and went searching for a pen to write a check. It was not on the table, where I had left it the day before. Why not? Because Annie had stolen it away during the night. This is a favorite game of hers. She wanders the house at night, locates unsuspecting pens lying around, and confiscates them. Usually she carries them into the bedroom and then spits them out - pah! - on the floor next to my bed, as though urging me to get up and start writing (at 3 a.m. in the morning).

It's my fault, really, that I couldn't find my pen. I'm the one who left it on the table.

Though I do have to admit to real responsibility to the pen game. I leave them around on purpose, for her to find and relocate. Why not? It makes her happy. Which makes me smile.

Interconnections

I have this philosophy: life is art, if we choose to see it that way. Symbolism exists in our day-to-day lives. Sometimes the story is larger than life, and so can make its way to the printed word. But even if the moments of our lives do not carry screen-worthy drama, they still are so often filled with potential for quiet realization (if we choose to see symbols and patterns, themes and metaphors).

Like trilogies. When something happens for the third time in a short span, it's my wake-up call. What can I get from this now-surfaced theme?

I apply this philosophy to body parts. Now, now, get your mind out of the gutter and instead pick up a book called "Heal Your Body," by Louise Hay. In HYB, Hay describes what each body part and/or ailment symbolizes so that you can focus your healing on what the ailment itself represents.

I'm not a proponent - not at all - for the idea that we bring on our illnesses. In fact, I get upset when people talk like that. (Use the illness as information, yes. But don't blame people for their illnesses!) However, I do think that if we are headed for illness, we can pay attention to where the illness manifests and use that as an opportunity to ask questions that can lead to "ah ha" moments and give us a little bit more insight into a part of our lives. So Hay's book is helpful to me.

Most of Hay's connections are pretty logical - if you have a sore throat, you might want to consider in what ways you haven't been speaking up (or have been speaking too much). Clogged ears - what is it that you don't want to hear? Hands and feet symbolize movement. (Well, actually, a foot symbolizes movement while a hand symbolizes how you "handle" things. But you get the idea.)

The reason I bring up feet is because of my big toe. Or, more accurately, my big toe's nail. Right side. I injured it years ago playing soccer. Now, a feather can hit it the wrong way and it will turn black and blue. Well, that's an exaggeration. It usually requires some stronger force, like another soccer player stomping on my foot, before it starts up the colors of the rainbow...

But once it goes blue, I know I have about nine months' worth of nail trauma. It won't hurt. It'll just look ugly and then, within a few months, it'll fall off, and it will be another several months before the nail is back to normal. It's a dance we do, my big toe and me. When it does happen, I find myself wondering (sigh, sigh, sigh) if I'm going to have to get patient again about something that I really really want. (Apparently Hay says that injury to the "big toe" signifies obsessing too much about the details of the future. Hmm.)

So it happened again. This time, it happened because my tennis shoes were new when I started my walking program a few weeks back, and the pressure on the big toe created black and blue. Now, the shoes are broken in, and the same outcome wouldn't occur now. But that doesn't change the fact that my big toe is already injured, and looking pretty bad. And by "bad," I don't mean "good." (I am wearing red nail polish to camouflage.) (Actually, it happened to both big toes.)

Now, here's the switch. I don't think I'm losing the nail. For 25 years (which marks the first time I had this injury), if my toenail went black, I lost the nail. Every time. Probably half a dozen times in 25 years, this has happened. But now - after 25 years - I think I'm keeping the nail. A whole new pattern of being... Which doesn't have to mean anything, other than I get to avoid nine months of an annoying pattern... which is nice to know...

And then something else happened. The day I started my boot camp class - about three weeks ago - I injured my lower back. For most people, they think- oh, I'll just rest, it'll be fine... But for me, this was potentially catastrophic. I had a lower back injury when I was 19 that stayed with me until a few years ago. It could go into agony at just one wrong turn. In 2000, however, when I was in particular pain (couldn't even stay seated), I did all this work on the back - a combination of therapies, including chiropractic, massage, acupuncture and actually talking the whole thing out. It's a long story, but one day I realized something about the history of my ancestors that caused me such great sorrow that I just cried and cried... And three days later, my back was healed. Done. Finis. Never to bother me again - every so often getting tight, but then the tightness would go away.

And then - OMG - there it was again. Injured, on the first day of boot camp. Truly injured.

So, here's the thing. It's okay now. There's a twinge, but it's almost completely better. And it hasn't stopped me from continuing with the boot camp. This is not the old story at all. It's an entirely new story. Just like my toenail is an entirely new outcome, though the injury is familiar.

So I'm a little happy. It's like my body wants me to know that something traditionally "bad" can happen without being life-altering for months or even years.

And now I'm in trilogy mode, waiting for the third shoe to fall... This time, though, I'm happy to anticipate. Or maybe the third thing already happened. Was my anemia. Which I always knew to be temporary and fixable.

photo credit: Darwin Bell, found here

Topol's "Fiddler on the Roof"

Last night, I had the chance to go see Topol perform in "Fiddler on the Roof." He is on a months-long farewell tour. He's been all over the country - Los Angeles, etc. - and now Spokane.

What an incredible story, what a great performance. I loved, loved seeing Topol perform! Our seats were a little far away, but not too bad. We could see the funny grimaces and gestures... When he bowed at the end, from different places on the stage, I thought: this is it. The end of an era.

I think "Fiddler" is one of the best written works out there. It is a roller coaster of emotions, a timeless story set in a very specific time and place. I grew up loving it. Now that I'm older, I am more conscious of its potency. Last night, I went with a friend who had never seen it before (while I know most of the lines). I wondered what that would be like, watching this musical for the first time as an adult. It was hard to imagine.

When I was a kid, we saw "Fiddler" in San Diego, at the zoo's open air theater. (We saw many plays there.) I remember it so vividly. As I read about Topol coming to Spokane, I thought - hey - didn't we see him in San Diego? So I asked my parents. They don't remember (making them officially useless), though my mother did say she thought perhaps it was Marcel Marceau. (You mean Zero Mostel, I told her. Oh yes, she said. But we did see Marcel Marceau once, in Arizona, so she was partially right.) ;)

So then I thought, you know, I think it was Zero Mostel that we saw in San Diego! As my mother pointed out last night, no one can contradict me if I say that (certainly my parents can't!). So that's my story. That I've seen both Topol and Zero Mostel play the role of Tevya on stage.

What a controversy there was back then, when Topol was the one chosen to played Tevya in the movie version (early 1970s). Yet he owned the role there, and owned the role last night. This is not to say that Zero Mostel was anything but phenomenal as well. For he "owned" the role too, when he played it.

It is odd, isn't it, that there can be two such brilliant actors playing the same, stunning role during the same time period in a play that shall go on in history as one of the best musicals (and stories) ever. It was unlikely for that to happen, but it did happen. All quality - in acting, in script, in voice, in score - had to be present to succeed in the ever-precarious stance of that kind of multiple perfection. Just like - a fiddler on a roof.

photo credit: Thwaites Theatre Photos, found here

Hurry Up And Wait

The best laid plans...

I wrote on this blog, almost two weeks ago now, that the day after Labor Day would mark my big push to move my writing up and out. One thing has led to another, however, and I've decided to delay my move until the week of September 20th. Actually, it's a good idea. It gives me a chance to get some more feedback, and finalize my screenplay just a little bit more. It also lets me resolve some legal projects that are coming due in the next couple of weeks. (You remember - my day job?) So it's a good thing.

In the meantime, I've come up with a new screenplay idea. It's really good, though it's going to take some research. So I'm puttering around with that, content. And setting into visual place my next steps - step by step.

Oh - and I'm home from El Paso! Great trip. Great to be home. It was good to see the cats. Annie is next to me, holding vigil (as she does, when I write). (Okay, now Alex - who couldn't stand it, that Annie was sitting in such a privileged spot - has jumped up on my lap and is trying to curl up in my arms as I type. We're all in one chair out on the front porch - not even indoors on the couch, where there might have been space for this menagerie...)

Teddy Kennedy

So many have had such elegant words about Teddy Kennedy these past 24 hours. Joe Biden's comments are stirring. Real. It was Teddy Kennedy that swung the primary process last year, in late January, when he endorsed Barack Obama. It came right after some poorly chosen words by the Clintons - like he thought, enough is enough. I knew something big was getting ready to happen. The next day, Teddy Kennedy endorsed. He helped so many, broadly and individually. I've been teary-eyed off and on this past day, remembering him and listening to others remember him. Listening to Joe Biden now, as I write this, makes me teary-eyed again.

El Paso Calls

I'll be gone for a week, to visit my mom and family in El Paso, Texas. The cats will enjoy the cat sitter! Hard to say whether I'll post while I'm gone... it's always a challenge to blog while away from home base...

Patience, Interrupted...

... but in a good way.

I spend much of my life practicing patience. It's like I rush to the corner and then turn around and urge whoever's with me to get to the corner - now, and fast! And they just mosey along instead. We all gather there, at some point - but it takes longer than I would like.

Sometimes in the midst of one of these rushing-around marathons, I take on the task of Being Patient. "I will learn patience," I vow from time to time (like the time my house was invaded by ants). This will last a little while, and then I will think, enough with this patience thing. I've figured it out already. Its gifts, its joys... blah blah blah. I'm ready to move again! (which, of course, is direct evidence that I haven't quite gotten this patience thing down yet...)

Now, however, patience is to take a back seat. I'm finally moving forward. After Labor Day, I've committed to moving my writing into solid reality. I have a few ideas of paths to take and will pursue them. Some people have offered to help, and I'm going to rely on them. Other people - I had thought they would have stepped into form by now, so I do move forward with a little bit of sadness at the thought that what I had expected and imagined may not be the ultimate path here... but that's okay too, if that's the way it all turns out. I've decided to take action, and will accept that outcome as a potential consequence of my choices.

Part of the motivation is simple mathematics. Meaning, either this happens or I go back to the law. You know, to pay the rent, put food on the table... Those two cats have such a demanding diet! I've had some financial cushion, and that's been great, but time marches on and I need to go back to making a living again. The thing about going back to the law - and taking on a regular caseload again - means that the law will be where I will spend my time (both my working and my mulling time). The law is not so compatible with writing, because it uses a completely different side of my brain and it likes to take up all my thinking time (which is what the writing likes to do). But clients take precedence, if I have them. Which, I will need to take them on again, soon, if the writing doesn't come to fruition. And then I will be torn from the writing for awhile. A long while. (Do not - I repeat, do not - believe any of the law shows that have the attorneys in trial within days of taking on a new case.)

But then part of the motivation is because it's time. It feels like time, I know it's time... It's like I'm standing at the corner, and people are arriving there too... I can't quite see them, not quite yet, but it all looks very, very good.... Movement, at last. Let's see how it goes.

Paul Krugman's Right

The past week or two - especially the past week - I've been only slightly interested in politics. The turning point, I think, was a one-two punch. First, they took out the end-of-life counseling in the Senate bill (giving in to the "death panel" baloney). Then, they waved the "no public option" flag, which means that people still will be without health care - or at least effective health care. I would know more if I were paying closer attention. But those two bits of information, coming one day after the other, just has me skimming headlines and hoping someone out there knows what they're doing. I sure don't.

So this a.m., I read a column by economist Paul Krugman entitled "Obama's Trust Problem." In it, Krugman explains how people who voted for Obama are disillusioned with many of his choices. The choice to back big bankers and bonuses, for instance. Or the choice to back away on these extremely important health care reform points. Or the choice to embrace Sen. Charles Grassley (R-Iowa) even after he joined the "death panel" scare by saying that people should be scared and that he wouldn't agree to something that would kill grandma.

And Krugman's right. I'm not one to be blinded by ideology. When I campaigned for Obama, I said he would work to find middle ground, even if he didn't need to, because he believes in buy-in by everyone (or as many people as possible).

But there's compromise and there's selling out. As Krugman put it, "There’s a point at which realism shades over into weakness, and progressives increasingly feel that the administration is on the wrong side of that line." Or, as I read recently from blogger Matt Taibbi:

I’ll say this for George Bush: you’d never have caught him frantically negotiating against himself to take the meat out of a signature legislative initiative just because his approval ratings had a bad summer. Can you imagine Bush and Karl Rove allowing themselves to be paraded through Washington on a leash by some dimwit Republican Senator of a state with six people in it the way the Obama White House this summer is allowing Max Baucus (favorite son of the mighty state of Montana) to frog-march them to a one-term presidency?

Manito Park Insanity

There is a little-known fact that, every summer, from 6 to 7 a.m. on weekday mornings, Manito Park - one of the nicest parks in Spokane, and oldest - plays host to a group of women crazy enough to sign up for a month-long "boot camp." Some of these crazy women sign up for this "boot camp" three times in a row - i.e., all summer long.

Now here's the sad part: for the next four weeks, I'm joining them. And this morning was my first day. It's only 7:30 in the morning, and I feel like the day has been going for half a day now.

I keep telling myself that this will be a good thing. And it will be, four weeks from now, when it's over. For as much as my walking program is going well (and look at all the books-on-tape I get to hear!), I thought one more big jump-start to getting healthy again was the way to go.

I'm only signed up for three mornings a week, since next week I'll be missing most of it (will be in El Paso, visiting my mom). This means that I'll be doing make-up days - for instance, this week's three-day week will be four days...

Boot camp sounds difficult, looks not-so-bad as you get started, and then really feels like hell at about 6:35. I did this program back in January 2008 - with a similar goal of getting in shape - five days a week that time - nothing like overdoing it, right up front...

Here's the saddest part. I will have disrupted mornings for the next four weeks. Usually I have such nice mornings... I wake up early (around 6 a.m.), get my coffee going, feed the cats, read the newspaper, get on the computer, make blog entries.. Annie and Alex (my cats) hang out with me as I hang out, and it's just calm and lovely, especially in the summer when the weather is so nice, first thing in the a.m. When it's going to be 95 degrees for the day, the mornings are particularly nice (usually around 70 - given our altitude and northern exposure) and so I spend those first few moments out on the front porch in the light breeze, drinking my coffee, reading the paper...

Now though, that will not be how my summer goes. For the rest of this summer's mornings, I'll be lifting weights and running around tennis courts and simply making myself grumpy - on purpose!

Explanation of Proposed Health Care Reform

This is just an excellent and entertaining explanation of what is being proposed by health care reform:



(Okay, can I just say how impressed I am with myself that I finally figured out how to put a video on my blog???) (oh, and it's actually phenomenally easy - will be using this as a metaphor for my life in upcoming weeks...)

And here's an interesting column by Bob Herbert, talking about the success of Vermont health centers that serve rural communities.

Sleeping on the Couch

A friend - who's an active Republican - returned a phone call from me last night just as I was in the middle of my upset over the Dems caving to "death panel" lunacy. I tried not to bend his ear about it, but then I did. He listened well, and sympathized (figuring, I'm sure, that this was a time to be a good friend and not a political opponent).

After I was pretty much done, he made the observation that, since my time isn't taken up right now with a boyfriend, I'm using politics to fill the time gap.

I stopped. Oh, no. He was right. Partly right, anyway. I got excited about politics last year for the first time because of Obama. But I've stayed hooked. Is it just a way to kill time? Though I really do care about the issues. Before, I'd ignore the issues enough to not get emotionally involved. Now, I'm emotionally involved. That's always a bad sign, when you get emotionally involved with a unpredictable, ne'er-do-well partner, hoping for consistency even in the face of unreliability...

"Well, he's sleeping on the couch tonight," I said. My friend chuckled. "He'll be back," he said. "You'll let him back in." You're just going through a spat with good ole Politics tonight... You'll let him back in later.

And there it was. Not even a 24-hour fight. By this morning, I had turned my computer back one, ready for another round...

Alex, High Strung?

My cat Alex is loving in the mornings, these days... very loving... extremely, extremely loving (as he winds his way back and forth between my legs, nearly tripping me, any time I walk near his food dish...)

Hmm. I wonder if this has anything to do with the fact that I now give him wet cat food in the a.m.

Enough, babe. You've gotten all the wet food for the day that you're going to get.

Yesterday, I looked up just in time to see him drinking room temperature coffee from my coffee cup. And I wonder why he's occasionally high strung...

No Good, Very Bad Day

So after hearing about the caving by the Senate on the "death panel" lie, I see this headline: Michael Vick signs two-year deal with Philadelphia Eagles.

O. M. G.

I knew some schmuck team was going to hire Vick. But did it have to be my team?

And that isn't even the bad news.

After I read that headline, I started digging around - having not followed the Eagles in the off season - and found out that safety Brian Dawkins is now playing for Denver, and that defensive coordinator Jim Johnson has died.

The Brian Dawkins thing - so frustrating. But that's football. That's how it goes.

But Jim Johnson - that breaks my heart. For those who may not know, he's considered one of the best defensive coordinators ever. He had this way... when the chips were down, and the offense left the field with heads hanging, an Eagle fan had hope. The defense was taking the field! And you had to know that came from Johnson. Players too, but Johnson made it work.

I went through and read some of the tributes. What a good man. So young - only 68. He had cancer, was trying to beat it... I hated to hear the news. I'll have to remember not to scan the sidelines this season, looking for his grumbly face.

No Can Kickin'

I got pretty upset yesterday, late in the afternoon, when I read that the Senate Finance Committee has caved to hysteria and lies and has taken out of their proposed health care reform bill the part where Medicare will pay for people who want a counseling session on things like living wills.

Insanity. And then I heard how the former chief of staff for Sen. Baucus (D-Montana) is on the Obama staff now, and how that means it's likely the president has acquiesced to this caving.

It's such a good proposal. But it's been hijacked by "death panel" talk - by the very people who have, in the past, endorsed going to the hospital to get this kind of advice. And this was an amendment proposed by a Republican congressman!

Others have covered the issue, have explained the hypocrisy of the Republicans to call this "death panels" - people like Rachel Maddow, Paul Krugman, and then this blog entry which explains how the Republicans tried to pass that very same thing just a few years ago. (Sen. Grassley - R-Iowa - for all his blustering and fear-mongering two days ago, voted for it back in 2003.) Still, hysteria appears to have won the day.

The worst of it was - how upset I have been with Obama. Why cave to the crazies? (Crazy like a fox.)

So then I saw this. And I got some perspective, I think. It's a radio interview of a Rep. Boswell (D-Iowa), who explains that President Obama told him he'd be a one-term president if he has to, but the country needs to pass health care. "I'm not kicking this can down the road," he told Boswell...

I do really want the answer to my "crazies" question. And I don't know that I would be making the same decision. BUT - while this counseling provision is a great idea, it does not make or break health care reform. And for a president who is committed to doing this now and not later... Well, I respect it. And I appreciate it. Not for myself - my health care insurance is fine - but for all the people out there who need a way to buy health care insurance.

My only fear? That it won't work. If you cave to the crazies, it's like saying, "Oh my gosh, you're right! We did have death panels in the bill! Oops." And then what do you say when they go after the next provision, and lie about that? We could compromise our way out of a bill altogether. Sigh.

Joan Baez, Idaho Falls, and Protestors

I haven't written about the raucous town halls. I read about them, as is my civic duty (I think - I guess), but they are too depressing for my written word. How can people feel justified in shouting down the debate? I don't have a problem with people who shout their questions when it's their turn to ask a question. Neither do I have a problem with people protesting outside. They should do it in droves, if they want. But shouting down answers? Shouting down other questioners? My biggest worry is all the people who simply aren't coming to any town halls because of predictions of mob behavior. Which means they aren't getting their questions answered. Which, I guess they wouldn't get them answered anyway, given the way the town halls have gone. Sigh.

And of course the other part that's upsetting is all the misinformation out there. Here's a link to a new website started by the White House to confront and resolve the lies. Oh, and here's a link to a three-minute video debunking the now-floating-out-there claim that Obama really intends to eliminate private health care insurance. (Apparently someone has cobbled together various statements he has made to leave that impression when the statements themselves have been all taken out of context.)

And then to have Republican congresspeople validate these lies - not just talking heads and radio jocks, but actual congresspeople... Chuck Grassley, of all people...

Alaska Senator Lisa Murkowski deserves credit for toning down the rhetoric yesterday, and confirming that there are no death panels. In her words: "It does us no good to incite fear in people by saying that there's these end-of-life provisions, these death panels." Not that she likes the bill, mind you. Just that she doesn't want lies to be spread. I've called her office to let her know it was appreciated. (My own congresswoman, Cathy McMorris Rodgers, also deserves a thumbs-up, as she apparently stated yesterday that there are no death panels in the bill.)

Okay - with all that said - here is a very touching description, with photos, of what went down yesterday at a Joan Baez concert in Idaho Falls. Four Vietnam vets came to protest her concert. Before the concert started, she came out and talked to them, told them their misunderstandings. And she listened. Her merchandise salesman, a Vietnam vet himself, came out and talked to the protesters too, vouching for Joan Baez. They left with signed protest posters - mostly on the back, though, as she didn't want to sign on the front when such awful things were being said about her.

When she got back in the building, she cried - not for the things that were said, but because her merchandise salesman had stuck up for her like that. "Did you hear his voice shaking?" she said. "That was bravery..."

Let freedom ring.

Torture's Synopsis

The New York Times has published on today's front page a concise, clear article on Spokane's most recent claim to infamy: the two psychologists - Jim Mitchell and Bruce Jessen - who got the CIA to hire them to head up the torture program back in 2002. I think these guys are headed for an indictment. Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch.

The article is interesting in that, as a latecomer to the topic, it looks backwards in time at events that have unfolded from 2002 to a couple of months ago, and gives perspective to them. It adds nice color too. There's an interview with Mark Mays, who was the first psychologist to manage the SERE program (a survival training program for our military personnel that Mitchell and Jessen twisted into an aggressive torture program). Mark - a local psychologist and lawyer here in Spokane - explains how the SERE facility was set up like interrogation camps based on American POW recollections, then says, "It was clear that this is what we’d expect from our enemies. It was not something I could ever imagine Americans would do."

Until now.

One interesting quote comes from psychologist Martin Seligman, who wrote on a theory called "learned helplessness." Seligman discovered in the 1960s that dogs that learned they could do nothing to avoid small electric shocks would become listless and simply whine and endure the shocks even after being given a chance to escape. He termed this "learned helplessness." Lenore Walker used this theory to help describe what happens to battered women who are so beaten down that they cannot leave the abusive relationship. Apparently SERE instructors used it to describe what can happen to military personnel - according to the NYT article, SERE instructors would stop short of creating a "learned helplessness" state. In his torture outings in 2002, Mitchell cited the "learned helplessness" state as one to attain, to force the tortured to give in to the torturer's commands. Problem with theory - all it will do is get the tortured to say whatever the torturer wants him to say - even if it's false.

In the article, Seligman is quoted as having met Mitchell, and that Mitchell praised his work on learned helplessness to such an extent that he mentioned to his wife that night. "Later, [Seligman] said, he was 'grieved and horrified' to learn that his work had been cited to justify brutal interrogations."

Keep in mind, these two psychologists had never interrogated a prisoner before becoming the head of this torture program. The article highlights the opportunistic nature of these guys, and the slobbering desire of the CIA (the people in charge) to have someone - anyone - who would justify torture under the guise of a psychologist's title.

The article also discusses how Mitchell and Jessen closed down their offices abruptly just a couple months ago. This I know - I wrote an entry about it. That entry prompted a phone call from someone purporting to be a BBC reporter, even though BBC had no idea who he was. (I returned the guy's voice mail by calling back the BBC directly rather than his cell phone.) This shall remain suspicious in my mind. Why would someone pose as a reporter to get information from me about the Torture Building and lack of offices? Especially someone who is listed in the New York business pages as a lawyer and architect? This is a mystery that remains unsolved. But it sounds right up the alley of Jim Mitchell and Bruce Jessen.

One of the article's comments: "'We have met the enemy, and he is us.' Pogo."

And here is a comment by someone named John, in D.C.:

As a former interrogator, I know from experience that you MUST put aside what you feel a suspect deserves in terms of punishment and focus on what most effectively produces reliable intelligence. That is the #1 goal of interrogation. It is not punishment, it is intelligence collection. Readers like Matt from NY and TN from Texas would do well to remember that distinction. There are NO PROVEN INTELLIGENCE results from interrogation. The only proven results are an increase in hostility from local populations, increased recruiting of extremist groups and increased attacks on US military service members. The fact that torture does not produce reliable intelligence is not news to well-trained, experienced interrogators and intelligence professionals. Over and over again, we see how the former administration employed AMATEURS with NO TRAINING or EXPERIENCE to do what trained professionals were unwilling to sanction. And THOSE who ordered and conducted that activity DO deserve to be punished.

CAT Stuff

The other day, I tagged along with a friend to the Grand Opening of the new CAT (with tractors) dealership in Hayden, Idaho - just next to Coeur d'Alene. The best thing about it - everything was free. Well, not everything. The tractors cost money. But there were free CAT caps, free pens, free key rings, free hamburgers and hotdogs. We'd just had brunch but still - I wanted a free hamburger. It was a hot, hot day, but cool in the two-story warehouse-type building that was more of a walk-through than anything else. What I loved was all the people in there - mostly men, but some women - who wanted to see the new CAT building and get the brochures on the newest style of tractor. It makes me happy to imagine that there are people in the world, and not so far away from where I live, who care about that sort of thing - that actually need to know about it. It's an area of expertise that I do not have, do not plan to have, but that someone should have. That day, I was surrounded by the experts.

I'd been loading up on all the free stuff and saw some golf balls. I went to take a set of three but the guy manning the table stopped me, explained I had to sign up for the raffle first. I signed up my friend (nobody really wanted my name and number from the CAT group - I knew that, even if they didn't) and went to grab my golf balls. He stopped me again. I needed to have my name pulled now. Oh. "They're not free?" I said, looking at the table and at the other items to be raffled off - just one table over, those pens and key rings are free, I wanted to tell him, but figured he had a system...

So, no golf balls. I went and got my free hamburger instead. And then, lo and behold, our name was called! (I say "our" because I couldn't say "my" since I didn't fill out the raffle in my name.) And we won.... drum roll...

A little matchbox car.

But not just any matchbox car. It matched the CAT race car that CAT had brought into the warehouse for this special Grand Opening occasion. They started up the race car too - very, very loud. One of the guys at our table had asked if they were raffling off that car. I showed him our little Matchbox version. "Yes, they are," I joked.

So then I had an idea. Couldn't we take our little race car and put it on the big race car and take a photo?








And so - voila. That's what I did. Can you see it on the window sill of the driver's side?























Here's a close-up view. So cute!

Heavenly Seventy

Ah, the weather. Finally a cooler trend.

The forecast today: 71. This is 30 degrees cooler than last weekend (when we reached 100), and more than 20 degrees cooler from two days ago. This makes my walking program that much more enjoyable. I've been doing pretty well with it. I took a hiatus last week for a few days (only coincidentally during the hottest days) because I realized I needed to give my home a spring cleaning (mid-summer). But I'm back in full swing step, prepared this time with special bandaids strategically placed where blisters likely will try to form.






Here's a photo from one of my walks of the volcanic rock that I mentioned is sprinkled throughout the South Hill. This home uses the rock as a decorative front lawn ornament.




















And here's a photo of the Spokane River, as it runs through the middle of downtown. (Had the weather not been 70 degrees, the title to this entry would have been "a river runs through it"). I took this photo from one of the downtown walking bridges that cross over the river, next to Riverfront Park. It's a little surprising that the river has this much water, this late in the summer...

The One Thing

I'm 48. I have almost no desire to be a different age. The older I've gotten, the faster and easier it has been for me to grow. It's like I spent the first 40 years building a foundation, and am now reaping the benefits of having a foundation from which to build. I remember the moment, a few years ago, when I realized that I'd gotten ahead of the learning curve and was able to leap into information - "aha" moments - rather than struggle and reach for them. The things that flummoxed me before were just annoyances now - or nothing at all. It was the alchemy of time that had brought me to this point. I had been only missing the time it took to reach the jumping-off point. So I'm glad to be old. Wrinkles and all.

I've worked hard to get here. And I have a good life. The one thing, though. I sometimes forget about joy. I often forget it. Working hard is my habit. Loose-limbed joy? Not so much.

Maybe this is why I enjoy being around kids, when I'm around them. They just can't help their absolute joy. Even in tears, they are in joy. "Down they will forget as up they grow" (as e. e. cummings would say). But they do start out knowing.

As did I. I know I did. I was a pretty joyful kid, I think. Full of life - and awkward moments - oh my gosh, the awkward moments (I blush as a few memories coming flooding back). Age has helped me soften those edges. But I think I've overdone gravity. Maybe it's time to get a little edgy again. And get into a zone of joy.