Mickey Z
Cool Observer
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
"Gotta give the artist some room"
Shhhh! It’s very quiet at CO today.
I’m fresh out of stories, Mick… this is a non-fiction year so far.
I see that the Red Sox beat the Yankees, 7-5, in Florida. It means a great deal, of course. For spending over $100 mil for this Dice-K guy, Boston deserves to lose 90 games. Here’s to it.
The New York Globe also had an article about the Army excessively promoting mid-rank officers. Something to do with a rash of retirements after three straight tours in Iraq, apparently. Will such practices degrade the Army’s officer corps? Given the status quo of ticket-punching careerists who know little of leadership, I wonder if that is technically possible. One of the better books on American military culture is the late David Hackworth’s “About Face.”
The word for today is “science” and the color is “cerulean blue.” Set your sub-woofers on stun.
Posted by Zen Prole on from Urth 03/13 at 11:27 AMHi Zen...David Hackworth was an interesting guy. I don’t agree with his global view but some of the things that he said really impressed me. I will never forget one C-span interview with him back when the war started in 1991. He said that in war “some people get rich, and some people die”. The simplicity of that statement made a lot of sense to me. I often quote him.
How’s it going with you? The temp is up to 60 here. That is good but can cause flooding. I have been chopping ice since Valentine’s Day. Someone found out about it and the local high school put the word out. They asked for volunteers to help me. The nicest high school senior showed up and really worked hard for about an hour. Proves that there are some really nice people in the world.
Posted by RMJ on from Churchill 4 Prez Hdqts 03/13 at 03:27 PMHello Expendables...I’m still in Texas. Thanks for all the good wishes. It’s like fuel. We’ve been cleaning out my parents’ apt. as they have to move soon. We filled 12 bags with garbage and 12 boxes and bags to donate.
I’m flying home tomorrow and, based on the low comment turnout today, I probably won’t make a post tomorrow.
Glad to hear you got some help today, RMJ, and Zen: I’m ready for another Yankee season.
Posted by Mickey Z. on from Dubya Land 03/13 at 03:43 PMHi Mickey...moving is a BIG job, especially while there is a medical problem going on. Good thoughts to all of you in Texas. Have a good trip home and get some rest.
Posted by RMJ on from Churchill 4 Prez Hdqts 03/13 at 03:49 PMHeres a little something that happened a couple of days ago.
I was leaving the grocery store, bags in hand. I was right between the set of automatic double doors, when I heard a small voice behind me say,
“ How do the doors open all by themselves, mom?”
She answered, “Its Magic!” I hesitated. I wanted to turn around and tell the boy about the sensor in the floor and signal that gets relayed through wires to a mechanism that prompts the door to open. But I kept walking out to my car. Thinking about all the reasons we fib and lie. She probably wouldnt have thought of her response that way, as a lie. Maybe she was tired, maybe she didnt know what triggered the door to open, maybe she was doing a ‘disney’ thing.
It got me remembering my own Mom and all the creative stuff she engaged us in when we were little. Lots and lots of reading and potato prints and playdough and fort building and fairy tales. But our mom always managed to tell us the truth and I remember her saying that that was the most important thing to her was that we be truthful with ourselves… and with her...Maybe, over the years I have blown it out of proportion...maybe all she wanted to know was Whos responsible for that mess in the bathroom! and why is your brother crying?!
I have always tried to be straight with my kids about my take on the way the world works. And I guess I have my mom to thank for that. We never got along all that well, but I love her and miss her and sometimes I wish I had a time machine...that i could roll back the years and say...alot of stuff actually. I wish I could have known how to burn past the barrier that seperated us. And now I am conscious of a barrier growing between me and my daughter...so this is where I start… healing the rift between mother and daughter, reaching out, keeping it real.
Thats my story contribution, hope yall like it.Posted by frances on from british columbia 03/13 at 07:05 PMThanks, Frances. I’ve often thought about that topic. Parents always tell their kids stuff like: “Don’t make too much noise or the policeman outside will arrest you.” All kinds of stuff to keep their kids in line.
Posted by Mickey Z. on from Dubya Land 03/13 at 08:10 PMI’ve been thinking about that a lot, Thanks for the insight Frances.
Posted by Luna_C on from The Delta 03/13 at 09:16 PMHere’s a story/poem that I wrote. Enjoy.
“We broke into an empty store”
We broke into an empty store,
Shivering in our rain soaked shoes.
The light came through in dusty beams,
Then silver on the wooden floor.The rain seemed distant in the room,
The musky air was dry and warm.
Empty shelves and half-packed boxes,
Half-hidden back among the gloom.We ventured through the inner door,
And found a little home inside.
The dust told there was no one here,
Yet no one spoke on what we saw.In the hall the clock was ticking,
Each tick was booming in my ears.
The pendulum was still inside,
All in my mind, afraid, alive.Ev’ry room was near packed away,
Open boxes not quite finished.
Half-drunk cups up on the table,
Open letters and bills not paid.My fingers found a silver frame,
Faced down inside a molded box.
I fumbled for my handkerchief,
And slowly wiped the dusty pane.I fixed it in a dreamy gaze,
The room around began to melt.
I saw an elderly couple,
Clear behind the sepia haze.I traveled up the creaking stair,
Gazed out the bedroom window.
A battered doll sat on the sill,
And then I knew that she’d been there.I took the doll and looked around,
Saw her turn that picture over.
No more strength to close the boxes,
With no one there to hear the sound,Of teardrops falling gently down,
Of raindrops falling all about.
With shaking hand the door was closed,
The key was thrown and never found.In the back we found a bucket,
A mop and cloths next to the tap.
We filled the pail and wet the rags,
We hung our shoes along the rack.At first we took the boxes out,
Filled the empty shelves and cupboards.
The cups and dishes by the sink,
I wound the clock and let it tick.Then next we took the rags and scrubbed,
We poured the dirty water out,
Into the rain-filled gutter mouth,
With grease marks on our sweaty brows.At last I placed the picture there,
On the mantle, above the fire.
We set the kettle on the stove,
And stayed to see if she came home.We sat an hour, all the while,
The rain still beat down on the tiles.
I brought the doll down to the room,
Paused, and sadly cracked a smile.She could not come back to this place,
To see it live for one more hour.
We piled the boxes in the room,
And took the wood from out the grate.I found some matches in the store,
We hesitated by the door.
I struck a flame and threw it in,
We rushed out from the burning floor.The flames shot up into the night,
Then smoldered, doused by gentle rain.
For night had fallen all the while,
I hoped but still she never came.We heard the fire-engine near,
And ran away with pumping hearts.
The store just ashes on the ground,
The rain had stopped, the sky was clear.
Andy.Posted by Andy on from Shanghai 03/13 at 10:18 PMI told my housemates tonight about following a marching band that came through the open-air market of a small town in the Netherlands several years ago.
Young folks in their mid to late teens dressed in very nice band outfits played tunes with professional skill with nary an adult leader or parental unit in sight. They swung into “Brazil” and marched into a department store. Having just arrived in the country the day before I didn’t know if this was a common occurrence or not. Judging from the looks on customers’ faces it was the latter. They continued playing as they rode up the escalator to the third floor and then back down. One shop owner was angry and yelled at the kids but everyone else seemed to be amazed and amused. The band returned to the bottom floor and calmly exited.
There’s no moral to this tale other than to remember to delight in unexpected magical occurrences.Posted by 'soup on from li'l beiruit 03/13 at 10:32 PMI drove by a church today. The sign said:
“Use self control with your remote control”
Ya dig?
Posted by Kap Fulton on from San Diego, CA 03/14 at 01:29 AMI hate Christmas. Frances’ story reminded me of that fact, as it reminded me of how people lie to their children about the existence of this character named Santa Claus and all sorts of other stuff, which I think is a crying shame.
Hola to all mi Expendable amigos.
Posted by Jeremy on from Taipei, Taiwan 03/14 at 06:25 AMHello again, all. I’m heading out soon for the airport and plan to return to regular posting tomorrow (I hope). I’m always glad to see the conversations continue without me.
Captcha sez: post (good suggestion)
Posted by Mickey Z. on from Dubya Land 03/14 at 12:34 PMMickey, I have always had a deep distrust of the police. When I was a kid we lived in Fairfax Va. for a time ...driving through Maryland, the black chain gangs labouring along the side of the highway,sweating. At eleven the sight of those men being held to task with a rifle, in chains left a deep impression that I have never really gotten over. The cops are never around when ya need them, and when they do show up they usually bring trouble.
Up here in Canada we have a program called restorative justice and although it isnt being used as effectively as it could be, it is helping youth and first time offenders to stay out of the criminal justice system.
Somethings gotta give soon...the weight of it all seems really heavy these days.Posted by fschieder on from british columbia 03/15 at 12:11 AMfschieder, that is interesting about the restorative justice. I used to read Tony Hillerman books, and was facsinated with his portrayal (no idea if it is accurate) of the Navajo view of it being the community’s responsibility to help someone who did something “wrong” find their way to be in harmony again.
I was thinking of this last night, as I read a letter from a prisoner I correspond with. He was somewhat bitter/frustrated with the lies told to the prisoners that they are there for rehabilitation...and then everything that goes on serves to further isolate them from society and knowing the discrimination they’ll face when they get out (from jobs to renting apartments), and the likelihood of that discrimination forcing them into a pattern of behavior that will send them right back to prison...well, anyway, I printed an article to send to him that I found about the Navajo Peacemaking. http://tinyurl.com/mxnzk
Do you have a good article on restorative justice?
My story is related to this same prisoner. When I first wrote him, I included a picture (as I’m a somewhat obsessive shutterbug) and when he wrote back he was so thankful to have a picture of something, anything that was outside those prison walls. He said he’d begged his sister to send a picture of anything, even a puddle, but so far nothing. And then my letter and picture (of bananas, of all things! lol) arrived, and he was really happy about it. I was in queens a couple months later, and as we were walking down the street to the train, I saw a fairly large puddle on the side of the road, with about five birds splashing in it - a semi-natural (ignoring the asphalt) bird bath. I’m not sure I would have noticed the beauty of a puddle if Jesse hadn’t put the idea of a puddle picture in my head. But he did, and I noticed, and I guess the point is that there is so much in this world that we don’t notice, and that we should. I think it was a gift, that he got me to see something special in an ordinary thing.
Posted by Deb on from NoVa 03/15 at 06:20 AMA story of flies and survival....
Why I Became a Veggie
I literally wouldn’t hurt a fly; mainly because, once upon a time I did and noticed. It had been dive-bombing me at bedtime and would not give up. I opened the window to encourage it to find a new challenge, no joy. So I got the tin of insect killer (such honesty in advertising is rare) and gave it a quick, relatively guilt free spray and settled back to bed.
But this was Super-Fly’s big brother and he wasn’t going down with a namby-pamby, girly squirt. So I sprayed some more…..lots more. I sprayed till the fly-lethal chemicals dripped down my red, imprinted thumb. Super-Fly Snr. finally succumbed and lay in the twitching death throes of the last moments of his life.
The acrid air was stinging my throat so I leaned over him to open the window wider. At that point he spotted me coming and made a last bid for escape; trying with his last controllable leg to scramble away. Circle after circle, the rudderless fly spun; clearly, to this shamed murderer/observer, sharing with me a common dream – to carry on live as long as possible.
As the chemicals finally did their job and Super-Fly Snr.’s throat was burnt and swollen, he died in agony. Please don’t bother telling me that he, like fish, felt nothing of pain (unless of course you can clearly recall the experience yourself, I am not going to trust your second hand testimony). At that point, in 1996, I became and remain a vegetarian and avoid causing harm to anything that lives.
As the years have passed, I have come to realise that this comradeship with flies and animals could extend to people! That as different as you are from me – we share some of the same dreams. This may not be prophetic or earth moving as philosophies go, but it works for me
I also eventually became ‘active’ with http://www.armsagainstwar.info - because like me, Iraqis, soldiers and everyone else pretty much hopes to go on living, go on loving and go on about their lives without being trampled.
So now I try to be aware of the effects I have on the things around me. I tread gently because I don’t want to squash anything – flies, dreams or hearts.
A joy as ever to be reading you Mickey Z
Namaste,
Tina Louise
http://www.armsagainstwar.info
p.s.
To Frances: I think that the only answer for children is the honest one. The last time I told a lie to my daughter was about the Tooth Fairy - when I broke it to her that is was me, she was so upset -not at the crashing of the image and magic - but because mummy lied. Now, we have decided to be totally honest with her child - no Santa lie either. We will simply tell her that once their was a St. Nic and that folk remember his generosity by dressing up in red suits. I think we set a poor example with lies. Stories are great, but only if we make it clear they are fantasy and fun....my humble opinion
Posted by Tina Louise on from England 03/15 at 08:29 AMHi Deb
Heres a good place to start with restorative justice:
http://tinyurl.com/37mno9
its a pdf.
You can also find alot of info by googling
“restorative justice canada”
hey the captcha says freedom lol
Posted by frances on from british columbia 03/15 at 09:47 AMDear Mickey Z: I read your columm of the Opinion page of teh Metro paper in my way to school. I take take the 6:30 a.m. into Manhattan everyday to 125th street. You have become the voice of sanity to me. I never wrote to you before but “breaking the news’ is a matter of perspective” was right on target. I am a teacher in the public school system, so the teacher in me would give you an A+++++++++++++++!!!!!!!!!
In the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy is ready to return to Kanzas she clicks her shoes and says:There is no place like home.” Lucky for you, you are home, and your journey to your inner core may be a path of enlightened discovery and close
encounter with the Universal truth. As a mother I was very touched by your deep and sincere testimonial. Hope your mother is doing better. Unconditionally yours, Patricia.Posted by Patricia Suarez Weiss on from Highland Falls, New York 03/15 at 06:34 PMWow...thanks, Patricia. Much appreciated...and I hope you’ll stop by here again.
Posted by Mickey Z. on from Astoria 03/15 at 07:49 PM
Next entry: "Let's Roll": The Lessons of United 93
Previous entry: Masters of War
Copyright © 2005-2007 Mickey Z.
